Warcraft 1. Chapter 1 - Ambush

_Chapter I_

**A**nadelias Lightwarder trudged his way through the mist laden forest. The pestilent stench of death hung heavily in the air, as it usually did in these woods. The corrupted Plaguelands were not a place for the weak stomached. Even veterans of the Third War sometimes had problems with the smell whilst on their patrols. Thanks to the ingenuity of Anadelias' wife, he never had a problem with the smell. She had created a small charm that he could wear around his neck with her minor enchanting skills. When worn, the necklace gave an aura that smelt of freshly bloomed purple lotuses, thus negating most noxious smells.

As Anadelias continued on, a not-so-distant cracking noise broke the silence.

His patrol partner, another veteran paladin and long time friend by the name of Gavrin the Stout, turned to him with a wary look on his face. "What was that?" He glanced around at the similarly twisted and deformed trees trying to deduce where the noise had come from.

"Keep walking." Anadelias replied, a slight frown creasing his forehead. "They're trying to surround us."

Gavrin let out a small snort. "Bloody repetitive undead, why can't they make it interesting for a change?"

A small chill ran up Anadelias' back as they drew closer to the small clearing they usually stopped at for a rest on their patrol. "I think you might just get your chance today. Be ready."

Gavrin turned to Anadelias with a look of frustration. "Bah! A round at the tavern says it won't be."

Without skipping a beat, Anadelias retorted with a "you're on" and kept his attention directed forward.

He took no more than two steps forward before something shattered underfoot with a sharp crunch. A puzzled look crossed Anadelias' face. Normally in the Plaguelands, things made a wet, squelching sound when they were stepped on. He looked down to see that he had stepped on a weed, but for some inexplicable reason it had been frozen, explaining the crunch when he had stepped on it.

"Here, what do ya make of this?" he asked Gavrin.

Gavrin turned and kneeled next to the broken weed to examine it. He poked it with his finger before reaching his conclusion. "I've never seen anything like it in me life." He stood and looked around before something caught his eye. "Now, I'm no apothecary, but I'd wager it has something to do with that." Gavrin said, pointing to a tree branch that had several icicles hanging from it.

A concerned frown grew on Anadelias' face. "This is very strange."

Turning back to Gavrin, he noticed that the forest had now grown conspicuously darker around them, prompting him to action. Grabbing the spell book hanging from his waist, he opened it and flipped through several pages before he found what he wanted. Uttering a few words, the effect was instant; a great flash of light lit the surrounding area, throwing shadows behind trees and illuminating the paladin with an aura of light. The wispy mist that that been swirling about started to retreat from the bright light, almost as if it was trying to hide from it. Several shrouded figures that were close by made hissing noises when in the light and they retreated to the safety of the darkness.

"I got a bad feeling about this Gav; keep your eyes sharp and your hammer ready."

Gavrin merely grunted an acknowledgment in return.

Anadelias led the way, lighting the forest around them, which thankfully also kept the mysterious fog at bay, further increasing their vision. The more they advanced towards the clearing ahead, the more the temperature dropped. When the two paladins made it to their usual clearing, the temperature had dropped drastically. Mist started to escape from their mouths every time they breathed out, giving them an indication of how cold the area was around them.

"Ana, its colder here than bloody Northrend!" Gavrin complained.

Before Anadelias could answer, an evil, echoed laugh cut through the woods. Both paladins looked around to see where the laughter was coming from but could see nothing beyond the range of Anadelias' light.

"Actually, Northrend is somewhat colder than this." A hollow, almost ethereal sounding voice answered.

A figure cloaked in shadow just beyond the lit tree line stirred and began to move towards them. The mist followed and wrapped itself around the figure and swirled about, roiling along at the same pace. Then, when they stepped into the light and the mist stayed behind, unable to follow into the light, was the mysterious person revealed.

He was male, with a muscular build and stood of average height, clad in a set of dark blue, almost black armour from head to toe like an armoured carapace. Vicious spikes protruded from the large armoured pauldrons on his shoulders and there were skull patterns emblazoned all over the rest of his armour. The ground where he stepped iced over, creating a path of frozen boot-shaped patches behind him. Standing now no more than ten meters from the bewildered paladins, they finally realised who had been talking to them: a Death Knight of the Scourge.

"You've came a long way just to die, ya Scourge filth!" Shouted Gavrin, his voice filled with contempt.

"And you have a lot to learn of manners, paladin." The death knight condescended.

"What business do you have here dark one? Your kind has not been seen around here for some time." Anadelias inquired.

"Nothing that I shall reveal to you." With that said the death knight reached behind him and started to unsheathe his weapon. Anadelias and Gavrin looked on as he removed the massive sword.

The death knight thrust the runeblade's tip into the ground, almost as if showing it off to the two paladins. It stood over five feet tall and mist rolled off the wicked looking blade. Its razor-sharp edge and smooth surface made it seem almost elegant in appearance and was a startling contrast to the jagged runes that were carved deep into the blade. The runes themselves ran from tip to hilt and they seemed to glow with a faint blue light, almost as if emitting the chill of Northrend itself.

Gavrin looked to the death knight and shouted, "Before we purge ya from the land, what's yer name, filth?"

The death knight looked upon the paladin with disdain. "My name is Lord Soulbane, and it shall be last time you hear it!" Soulbane lifted his runeblade into the air and shouted a "For the Lich King" moments before the undead that were lurking behind him erupted from the shadowed tree line, rushing forward, some of them even charging on all fours in a frenzy to rip the holy warriors to shreds.

"For the Light!" was all Anadelias could manage to say before the wave of undead broke against the paladins. Gavrin's hammer swung left then right, smashing clean through rotting arms and decaying skulls. Unnaturally sharp nails clawed against his plate armour, snapping and breaking, unable to penetrate the thick truesilver. A quick thrust with the top of the hammer crushed a soft, unprotected ghoul torso, stopping it mid-step and Gavrin grunted with satisfaction as it toppled over, never to rise again.

With his grip never loosening and his focus never wavering, Gavrin held of the horde of animated flesh and bone at bay, never giving them ground.

Anadelias, while just as proficient with his hammer as Gavrin was with his, preferred to smite his foes with the power of the Light. Lowering his hammer, he slowly recited a few solemn, well-versed words and suddenly the ground beneath them was almost as bright as the sun itself. The consecrated ground was deadly to the undead unfortunate enough to be on it at the time. From their feet to their heads, they burnt to ash and were blown away in the cold breeze that cut through the woods.

An enterprising ghoul tried to jump down from a nearby tree branch onto Anadelias but just as it clawed at his shoulder armour, tiny golden lightning bolts arced to the attacker, cutting it to pieces.

Anadelias quickly whispered a small prayer to the Light, thanking it that its retribution was with him today.

Refocusing on the battle, the paladin stretched his arm outward with his hand pointing at a shambling zombie. He began to chant particular verses from the holy book that hung at his waist, knowing them by heart and having used them many times in the past. Every time he pointed at a different undead, his hand would glow with the golden hue of the Light and the undead would be caught in a searing holy fire and obliterating it instantly. Moving from undead to undead, Anadelias cut down the remaining horrors with ease. Gavrin crushed a few zombies that still persistently crawled along the ground with his mighty hammer and before long the only one that was left was the unmoving Death Knight, who was now alone on the battlefield.

Gavrin used his gloved hand to wipe off some on the zombie that had stuck to his hammer. "Hah, if that's the best ya got, you'd best be running away with yer tail firmly between yer legs while ya still can, filth." Gavrin said smugly.

Anadelias heaved his hammer onto his shoulder and it began to emanate a bright, holy light. "Surrender now, Soulbane, and I shall grant you a quick and merciful death."

Soulbane sneered at Anadelias' proposal. "Oh, should I get down on my knees and await my execution?" He looked at each of them individually. "I think you are both overestimating yourselves" he scoffed, confident in himself.

"So be it" Gavrin said, tightening his grip. He charged forward, hammer in the air, ready for a powerful swing.

Anadelias watched as his friend ran forward and frowned as he felt the ground begin to rumble. Having a good idea what this meant, he shouted after Gavrin. "Stop, it's a trap!"

Gavrin, already mid-charge was unable to stop in time as the ground exploded to his immediate left, a column of dirt and grass flying into the air, throwing him to the ground. From the hole, a crypt fiend burst forth, it claws raking at the ground where Gavrin had just been.

"Bloody hell!" Shouted a surprised Gavrin. He tried to shuffle backwards and get to his feet, but the agile crypt fiend was already on top of him, pinning him down with its front two legs.

Gavrin was able to move around enough to dodge the first thrust, but his reflexes proved to be his undoing as he moved right into the path of the second. The blessed truesilver breastplate that had protected him for years, thick as it was, was no match for the burrowing-hardened claws of the crypt fiend and they pierced the plate and sunk deep into his chest. His vision started to blur and go hazy. The last thing Gavrin saw was the head of the fiend burst into holy flame and disintegrate before everything turned to black.

"_NOOOO_" Anadelias shouted as he saw the claws sink into Gavrin's chest. He let forth with a burst of holy energy, instantly killing the beast and watched its twitching body fall to the ground. For a second he stood there, stunned, not wanting to believe what he just saw. He took a step forward, then another and finally broke into a run towards Gavrin's now still body. Coming to a stop beside his friend he dropped to his knees, his hammer falling to the red-brown dirt with a loud thump. He took Gavrin's head and cradled it in his hands. "No…no, no, no." A tear ran down his cheek and landed in the dry dirt, which greedily absorbed it.

"Such a waste of great potential." Soulbane said in a tone that rang of false sympathy.

Anadelias' grief and sorrow quickly turned to anger and manifested itself as vengeance upon hearing the death knight's hollow voice. Gently lowering Gavrin's head to the ground, he turned and drew himself to his full height.

"You."

"Me?" Answered Soulbane, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes you." Anadelias snapped.

"I can't see-" A horse whinnying in the distance made him pause mid-sentence. "-why you would blame me for_ his _recklessness."

"You will pay for this dark act. There was no honour in what you did. I swear, with the Light as my witness, I will destroy you Lord Soulbane, Death Knight of the Scourge."

An arrogant Soulbane sneered at Anadelias. "If you think you can best me boy you are sorely mistaken" Soulbane raised his runeblade and adopted a defensive posture upon seeing the paladin bearing down on him with a vigour unsurpassed.

Anadelias left forth a mighty rage filled shout as he brought up his hammer from the side for a powerful uppercut. Soulbane brought his runeblade up and in a practiced movement deflected the warhammer just enough that it would swing short. Anadelias used the remaining momentum to twirl his hammer behind him then above for a powerful downward blow. Soulbane saw it coming and moved back just in time to watch the bright hammer fly through the air in front of him where he stood no more than a millisecond ago.

Seeing an opportunity, the death knight went on the offensive, swinging his runeblade from the side and up. The attack would have raked Anadelias from his waist to shoulder but he brought his hammer up in a block just in the nick of time. Soulbane followed through with another quick thrust aimed at his stomach, but Anadelias battered the runeblade aside.

Soulbane merely grunted in retort. "Come paladin; see if you can really best me."

Suddenly, the runes on his blade glowed bright blue and the temperature dropped a few degrees as mist once again roiled from the runeblade. The blue hue from the runes started to grow, moving over the surface of the blade and before long they encompassed the whole weapon.

Quickly, Anadelias raised his hammer, ready for the next attack, not having to wait long for it.

Soulbane took a stride forward and feinted to the right and Anadelias moved to block it just as he intended. With a speed that belied him, the death knight twisted the blade and swung it in the opposite direction, straight towards the exposed side of Anadelias.

Only years of combat experience saved him from receiving a killing blow. The paladin twisted his body with the runeblade, the golden armour deflecting the majority of the blow. One of the jagged edges of the runeblade still pierced his side and grazed the skin underneath. The intense pain that followed was the worst that Anadelias had ever felt. It was as if someone had impaled him with a spear of pure ice from the glaciers of Northrend and was pushing it deeper and deeper into him. A small gasp escaped his lips and he tried to bear the pain spreading throughout his body. Unable to do so, he dropped to a knee and clutched his side.

Soulbane looked down upon him, a look of twisted pity upon his face. "The pain, it is eating away at you, gnawing at your resolve. Even now, with the vaunted Light at your beck and call, you cannot stop it. The fever of frost will consume you whole, leaving nothing but a broken, frozen husk."

Anadelias gritted his teeth, trying to concentrate through the freezing pain. "I gave you an opportunity to surrender before and I am giving you one last chance to do so now."

An astonished look crossed Soulbane's face for a second before he suppressed it with a malicious smile.

"Now why would I do that? You are kneeling before me, beaten and at my mercy! Soon you will be dead and yet you seek _my_ surrender?"

Anadelias spoke through clenched teeth. "I have given you two chances and you have refused both."

"So then pray do tell, o holy one, how will you save yourself and manage to defeat me?" Soulbane asked, his voice dripping of mockery.

Still down on one knee, Anadelias flinched in pain before responding. "The Holy Light rewards me with its use through my will, and my faith." He lowered his head, the strain of speaking clearly taking its toll.

Soulbane laughed at paladin before him and his hollow, echoic voice seemed to come from everywhere at the same time. "You are dying, paladin. The light of which you speak of so fondly has abandoned you! Nothing in your power will save you!"

A faint smile crossed Anadelias' face, unseen by Soulbane. "You are wrong, for I shall always have…my…FAITH!" As he shouted that last word, a bright, golden light exploded into existence, emanating from the paladin and blinding the death knight. As Anadelias began to rise from the ground, the golden light washed over his arms and legs and he stood upright, cleansed of the death knight's foul disease.

Unable to look directly at the paladin, Lord Soulbane threw an arm across his face to shield his eyes from the brightness. After several seconds he could tell the light was subsiding and lowered his arm to see what had happened. Before him saw a sight he had never seen before.

Anadelias stood erect, hammer in hand - glowing vibrantly with a golden-yellow hue. The bright light that had blinded the death knight now bathed the paladin and it almost looked as if he was wrapped in a faint sheet of pure light. The strangest thing of all that Soulbane could see was that somehow, the paladin who was near-death a second ago now had a pair of golden wings coming out of his back and extending above his head.

Soulbane's eyes widened as he realised that they too, were made of the same golden light that bathed the holy warrior. "No…it can't be…"

Anadelias wasted no time to talk and took two steps forward and swung his hammer at the death knight's shoulder.

A runeblade met him halfway and the blow was averted. Anadelias went in low for a crushing blow to the knees, but again, a runeblade blocked his path – exactly as he had hoped. Moving with a speed that was only possible due to the golden light that was still wreaking havoc with Soulbane's vision, he brought his right foot up, then down onto the broadside of the tip of the runeblade, driving it deep into the dirt and pining it there under his plate boot. Before Soulbane could free the blade, Anadelias raised him hammer above his head and brought it down with all his might onto the runeblade. Unable to withstand the momentum of the blessed warhammer, the runeblade broke into several pieces, letting out not a loud crack of broken metal, but a spine-chilling banshee-like screech.

As an astonished Soulbane stared at the broken runeblade pieces on the ground, he could see the runes' blue glow slowly fading to nothing as the hue dissolved altogether leaving only a dull, broken blade.

Rage welled up inside him as he heard the runeblade's death-wail repeat over and over inside his head. Shadows began to coalesce in his balled fists. Purple energy began to flare from the pulsating shadows as Soulbane drew upon the unholy magic that empowered him.

"You will pay for your transgression!" His voice had changed; it was now deeper and had the chill of winter about it.

Charging at Anadelias, Soulbane extended his arms and went straight for the throat. A hammer strike from now where suddenly came down upon his left arm, breaking it immediately with a sickening crack of splintered bones and crushed armour. Soulbane opened his mouth and let forth a bestial howl. The attack did not deter him in the slightest but merely provoked him further.

With his left arm hanging limply at this side, his right hand clasped the exposed throat of the paladin just under the chin. His hand, although surrounded by dark, unholy magic, still started to burn from the golden light that ensorcelled Anadelias. But the pain did not deter him in the slightest and he saw only a dark rage that would not be quenched until this damnable holy warrior lay dead before him.

So focused was he on crushing the life from the paladin with his own hand, that he did not see the hammer come up from below and hit him right in the elbow until it was too late. He suddenly lost all control of his hand and the fingers that were attached to the throat of the paladin started to pull back as his broken arm fell away. One of his fingers however, still frozen in their claw-like state, caught the band of the charm around Anadelias' neck and it snapped under the pressure. The charm fell to the ground and hit the dirt, undamaged. Soulbane staggered backward, several emotions flickered on his face at the same time, leaving him with an unreadable expression.

Moving silently, Anadelias brought his hammer out wide and then swung in, connecting with a hard crunch against Soulbane's skull-patterned armour and into his stomach. He flew backwards from the blow and landed hard against the plagued trunk of a nearby tree.

Anadelias gave him no quarter and was on him in a heartbeat. Before Soulbane could prop himself up, Anadelias stood with one foot on his chest to make sure he couldn't get away and leant down and put one hand on each side of the death knight's pale head.

"What do you think you are doing?" Soulbane said in an almost frightened tone.

Anadelias looked directly at him; his gaze bore straight into Soulbane's black, empty eyes.

"I am righting a wrong." Just as he finished his sentence, his hands began to glow with holy energy.

"Aaarrrggghh! It…burns!" Soulbane writhed in pain and tried to free himself, but Anadelias held fast, his determination to avenge his friend giving his hands an iron grip from which there was no escape.

"Stop it! Stop…it…NOW!" Shouted the death knight as the holy energy from Anadelias began to flow through him.

Anadelias replied unflinchingly with a dead serious voice. "Never."

Unrecognisable sounds came from Soulbane's mouth as the pain and heat increased. His screams were becoming louder and more feral. He clenched his teeth, trying to brace through the pain, but to no avail. He opened his mouth and let out an intense, animal-like howl as the holy fire coursing through him erupted from the opening in his armour at his neck. His mouth and eyes glowed like small golden suns as Soulbane screamed to the sky. What was once his face was now a seared skull; the fire had burnt away the dead flesh. The majority of his lower jaw had been disintegrated and only by the grace of heat fusing together what was left had it remained attached.

With the deed done, Anadelias finally stood up and let go of the charred, empty skull. It lifelessly slumped backward, never to rise again. He took a few steps back and let out a massive sigh as he let his shoulders drop. A light rain had begun to fall and he closed his eyes and looked to the sky, letting the raindrops softly patter against his face. After a few precious seconds of peace and serenity, the holy glow that had bathed his body and given him the golden wings of wrath gradually subsided and faded away. He turned back to the clearing to pick up his fallen charm and was met with a sight he least expected and felt a sharp pain in his chest.

Before him stood the self-declared ruler of Stratholme, Baron Rivendare.


	2. Chapter 2 - Servitude

_Chapter II_

**B**aron Rivendare wore an arrogant smirk on his face - and with good reason. Anadelias stared at him for a second before registering his outstretched arm which held a red-tinged runeblade, the last foot of which had pierced his breastplate. The sharp pain, in his chest - it was the blade, Anadelias realised. It had gone through his armour and wedged itself in his heart. The slightest movement on either man's part would kill him.

Behind the Baron, his mount – an armoured skeletal warhorse – let out a whiney that almost sounded like a sadistic laugh to Anadelias' ears.

"Baron…Rivendare…" Anadelias forced the words out despite his wound and his better judgement.

"Paladin." Rivendare replied curtly with a nod.

A puzzled look crossed Anadelias' face. "How did…you…"

Rivendare did not need to hear the rest of the question. "I had intended to come here with Lord Soulbane but I was delayed. He did not wait and foolishly went ahead of me. I caught up when I could. Simple as that."

Anadelias frowned. "But…why?" A small trickle of blood began to seep from his chest wound.

An evil smile slowly crept across the Baron's face. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Humour me…" rasped Anadelias.

"We came out here specifically for you, Anadelias. We've been watching you for sometime now, looking on in earnest as your powers grew, thinking of the day you become a great champion for the Scourge."

Anadelias looked at Rivendare in disgust. "I will never…serve you, never!"

"I had come to the same conclusion. So therefore, I borrowed the services of a powerful death knight to help me subdue you." He glanced over to the body of Soulbane "Lord Soulbane has more or less served his purpose. By killing him, you proved to me that you were worthy of ascending to be my champion within the Scourge."

"The Light…will never…allow it." staggered Anadelias.

Rivendare raised his eyebrows. "What makes you think that, paladin?"

"Because I still…have…" Anadelias coughed up a mouthful of blood and spat it out "…my faith."

"Your faith has no say in this." And with that, Rivendare flicked his wrist and twisted the blade ninety degrees.

Anadelias tried to scream but the only noise that came out was a feeble sound that sounded like a cross between a groan and a gargle. He balled his fists and his eyes clenched shut from the pain and he instinctively knew he did not have long left in this world.

Rivendare used the blade to slowly force Anadelias down.

The paladin dropped to his knees with a deep thud that reverberated throughout his golden plate armour.

Rivendare slowly pulled the blade out of the paladin's chest. Upon seeing the blood on the end of the runeblade, he frowned and remarked, "I'll have to get the squire to clean that off."

Anadelias coughed up more blood and spat it aside as best he could. His blood had now started to run freely down the gaping hole in his golden armour and all the way down his torso and leg, forming a small pool at his knees.

He managed to raise a now shaking hand and put it to his chest as if to stop the bleeding but he pulled it back and saw it covered with his mortality, his blood. He resigned to the fact that not even the Light could save him now.

As black started to creep into his eyesight, he craned his neck and saw the Baron standing over him, looking down at his broken, dying body.

"Goodbye, Anadelias" was all the Baron said, looking back down at Anadelias.

Blackness now started to close in all around him. Anadelias was unable to maintain his balance and collapsed over backwards, lying in a crumpled heap on the hard, blood-stained dirt. With what little vision he had left, he could see the sky through the tree's foliage. The clouds were starting to disperse and reveal some of the blue sky trying to breaking through. He closed his eyes and let his last thoughts drift to his wife and saw her face one final time before everything went black and he let the cold dark of death embrace him.

Rivendare looked down at the paladin lying on the ground without a pang of sympathy or regret or any emotion at all. He was devoid of feelings on the matter. After a minute the man in the golden armour finally bled out and died.

"You would have been more powerful alive and converted than you would have been if I had of raised you in undeath." The Baron said to himself. "No matter."

Raising his red runeblade so it pointed straight at Anadelias' body, it flared to life with dark purple unholy energy. Arcs of magic danced across the blade as the necrotic energy built up with each passing second. Before long, the dark energy swelled all over the runeblade, pulsating with malevolent intent.

Baron Rivendare thrust out his chin and adopted a regal tone. "Now paladin, you shall rise and serve me."

The necrotic energy billowed from his runeblade and enveloped itself around the dead paladin's body, sitting there like a heavy morning fog. Almost imperceptibly, the dead muscles began to twitch. As the dark energy seeped into the skin, more and more of the muscles started to move and flex, as if testing themselves for the first time. Hands clenched and arms stretched while legs bent and ankles rolled. It looked more like a spasm or a convulsion rather than the dark rebirth that it was. Slowly but surely, they started to slow and then stop. Then, like someone coming out of a deep sleep, the eyes flew open, darting up, down, left and right, taking in all the sights around them.

Letting out a deep, guttural moan, he began to slowly rise from the ground. The battered armour creaked as he stood, almost as if it was trying to protest against the unholy deed. Now standing upright, his jaw began to work itself as if trying to say something, but no sound was coming out. An audible click of bone-on-bone was heard and then his jaw stopped moving. He grunted in approval. Then, turning to the figure clad in black, regal-like armour before him, he spoke his first words.

"You have raised me." He said, making it sound like a question and a statement at the same time.

Baron Rivendare looked at his newest recruit with a smile that seemed out of place on a face like his. "You are most welcome."

A frown formed on the dead paladin's brow and then quickly disappeared. "I do not have a name yet." As he spoke, the remains of his lungs escaped his mouth in a green and brown vapour, granting him a menacing look.

Rivendare cocked his head slightly as he inspected the man, eyeing him up and down and then settling his gaze upon the two unblinking orbs in his head and held them there as if staring into his very being.

"You will become a great Champion of the Scourge and strike fear into the hearts of our enemies, I can see it. Yet, there is something else, something…" his eyes narrowed "…leftover. It is barely perceptible, but I can sense it."

The recently raised undead shifted on the spot, waiting for the Baron to continue.

The Baron took a step forward. "It's…sadness." His eyes widened in surprise. "There is a lingering sadness in you that you refuse to let go of in undeath."

The undead paladin started to make a noise in the back of his throat that signified his displeasure at being verbally dissected.

Clearing his throat and continuing, Rivendare moved on. "Very well then, henceforth, you shall be known as Dreadsorrow." His pale, aristocratic face cracked another smile. "I know you will become a powerful death knight in the service of the Lich King."

Having given Dreadsorrow a name, Rivendare sheathed his runeblade, turned on his heel and walked back over to his waiting steed.

He mounted up and looked over to Dreadsorrow. "I will meet you back at the Slaughterhouse in Stratholme. I'm sure you can find your own way there, I would be sorely disappointed if you couldn't."

Kicking his heels deeply into the side of the skeletal horse, it let out a hollow whiny and proceeded to gallop off into the plagued woods to the city of Stratholme, leaving Dreadsorrow alone in the clearing.

For a while, the newly christened death knight just stood there, unmoving, and silent. Eventually he raised his hands in front of him and stared at them. The pale, dead skin stretched across his hands uneasily as he flexed them. Turning his hands over, he splayed his fingers and closed his eyes. Ever so slightly, the air around his fingers them began to darken and shadowy energy started to emanate from them. Soon, purple flares of magic arced from his fingertips, dancing wildly across his palms. Suddenly, he snapped his hands shut into a fist and the dark energy dissipated. Letting out a long sigh that sounded more like annoyance than weariness, Dreadsorrow slowly opened his hands again. Turning them back over again, it was then that he noticed there was a small cut on his left hand. Seeing an opportunity to test his newly acquired powers, he moved his right hand over the top of his left and held it there.

Dreadsorrow closed his eyes and concentrated. In doing so, the shadowy energy once again started to swirl around his hand and purple arcs flared around his fingers. Focusing harder, he directed the unholy magic toward the cut on his hand. It seeped in, the skin and muscle around it absorbing the magic ravenously, like a fleshy sponge. Finishing the spell, he opened his eyes and moved his hand away. The results were unexpected to say the least. Instead of healing the wound, the unholy magic had made it worse, splitting the cut open further and making the skin fester around it. The muscle underneath fared worse as it had rotted and turned necrotic, giving it an unsightly black and red appearance.

Dreadsorrow made a noise of displease in the back of this throat as his frustration built up.

"What good is this magic if I cannot heal myself when wounded?" Dreadsorrow complained to himself. "All it does is rot me further, for all the good that will do" he sneered.

Looking back down to his hand, his anger released itself. "Why…won't…you…HEAL?!"

As he shouted, a blinding golden flash appeared on his hand, forcing him to close his eyes and look away. It was the pain that followed the flash that forced him to scream in agony. The pain that made him feel like he was still alive and someone had thrown burning oil on his hand. Dropping to his knees and clenching his left arm, he screamed again before the pain started to subside. As quickly as it had come, it left, leaving his hand with a numb sensation that lingered on.

Dreadsorrow slowly opened his eyes and he saw the bright light was gone too. His right hand was still gripping his arm he realised before releasing it, leaving deep indentations where the fingertips had dug in. Then, cautiously, he turned the still numb hand in question over very slowly to inspect the damage. To his astonishment, there was none that he could see, in fact, it was the very opposite. The necrotic, rotted wound that was on his hand was no more – it was replaced by a small thin line running across his hand where the split used to be. _A scar!_ He thought to himself. He had been healed, not injured by the golden flash and it was then that he belatedly realised what had happened. Somehow, even in this unnatural, rotting body, he had called upon the power of the Holy Light to heal himself. It wasn't the pain of injury, but the pain of healing. Of course it had hurt so much, he wasn't alive anymore, he was undead, but the fact that the Light still answered his call astounded him.

Standing up, still staring at his now outstretched hand, he grunted in satisfaction. Having the Light answer his calls would help him greatly should he ever be severely wounded in battle. Although, he would have to do it alone and away from the prying eyes of the Scourge, this much he knew. If they were to discover his secret, no good would come if it. Also, he thought, he would have to practice control and be better prepared for the intense pain that accompanied it. But this was a train of thought for another day.

Surveying the scene before him, he stared at his predecessor, Soulbane, and then his gaze moved over to where Gavrin still lay. An unreadable emotion passed across his face briefly as he looked upon his former friend. Knowing that there was nothing here left for him, he let out a deep sigh and turned away.

Remembering that the pretentious Baron was still expecting him at Stratholme, Dreadsorrow set off in the direction that he had seen Rivendare ride away in.

For now, he was content to play the pet death knight. Sooner or later his day would come and on that day, the Scourge will know his terrible vengeance and that he answers to no one. For even in undeath, the Light answered his call, thus clearly marking his superiority, he mused.

As he left the clearing and entered the dark tree line, he let out a evil, echoed laugh that seem to be everywhere at once and it still carried through the air as he disappeared towards the ruined city of Stratholme.


	3. Chapter 3 - Loss

_Chapter III_

**S**he stood there, looking out the window and daydreaming, her thoughts in another place. She dreamed about what she would do with her husband when he came home. Her heart yearned as she envisioned the love of her life coming through the front door and embracing her in long, warm hug. She missed him dearly and he was always away for long periods of time with his job, but when he came home, the time they spent together felt like it lasted a lifetime and they were happy every second of it.

A smile crept onto her face as she started to remember how sometimes when he was home and it was a sunny day, they would go for a stroll in the woods. The sun would cut through the foliage, coming down in golden beams as if the Light itself was trying to make the day as memorable as possible.

It had certainly worked, as she fondly recalled, on one walk her husband said he had a surprise for her. Although she had tried her hardest to coax it out of him, he was adamant to keep it to himself until the last possible second. A couple minutes on, he asked her to close her eyes and she did, being led by him for the last few meters, turning here and there. When he said 'open', she was met with the most breathtaking sight. In front of her, there was a large oak; of which, the entire middle section had been turned into the most beautiful homage of love. At a loss for words, all she could do was run her soft hands over the delicately carved scene, wanting to touch it for herself, just to believe it was real. Slightly receded into the trunk, two intricately carved figures, one of her and one of him, stood facing each other, their hands holding, staring into each other's eyes. The amount of elaborate detail would have taken him years to complete. To the left and right of the scene, each in its own small alcove, a gold laced candle stood, burning softly. He had said that the candles represented their love for each other and they would burn for all eternity and neither wind nor rain or time would extinguish them, just like their love. To prove this, he tried to blow out one of the candles but it continued burning, unaffected, as if he had done nothing. She turned to him, still unable to speak and still half expecting to wake from a dream, and pulled him close. For a second, they mirrored the scene in the tree, before embracing each other in a long passionate kiss.

_How I wish I could go back to that day and – _Her thoughts were interrupted by a several loud knocks on the front door, perking up her mood instantly.

_He's home! My love is finally home!_ She ran to the front door in a mad rush to finally see her husband again after weeks of being alone. When she reached the front door, she undid the latch, swung open the heavy door and threw her arms around her beloved.

"I'm so glad you're back my love! I have missed you so much my dear, dear…" she pulled back to see his face but was shocked when she saw it wasn't who she thought it was "…Gavrin?"

Shock quickly turned to embarrassment as she realised she was still hugging him. She let go as her face turned red and took a step back.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't…mean…to…" Her voice trailed off when she actually saw the look plastered on the poor man's face. Her embarrassment quickly drained away and was replaced by concern. He wore a bleak grimace on a face that sang of grief. When she looked into his sunken eyes, all she saw was sorrow. It was that instant that she knew something was very, very wrong.

He took her hand in his and spoke very softly. "Elencia…" his voice broke, unable to continue.

"Gavrin" she started, "tell me, what's wrong?"

He started again. "Elencia, please, may I come in?"

"Of course, but leave your hammer at the door" she replied, ushering him in.

He thanked Elencia as he followed her in, closing the door behind him. As he placed his overly large and heavy warhammer down next to the door, it raised a puff of dust from the creaking floorboards, sounding like they were protesting under the weight.

He followed her to the kitchen where he saw she was about to have lunch. "I'm sorry if I have come at a bad time, but…"

"Nonsense, I always have time for a close friend." Elencia interrupted politely before he could finish. She told him to sit down as she gestured to a chair at the table. "Are you hungry? I always make extra and you do look like you could use a bite to eat."

"No, thank you." He replied quietly.

"Suit yourself. It's here if you change your mind." She went back to preparing lunch.

"Elencia, I need to talk to ya."

"I'm listening." She replied over her shoulder.

He sighed. "No lass, I need to talk to ya. Please…sit down."

She stopped what she was doing, turned around and took a seat at the table opposite him. "What is it Gav?" asked Elencia anxiously.

Gavrin reached across and gently took her small delicate hands into his. He swallowed and took a deep breath before speaking. "Elencia," he hesitated before continuing, choosing his words carefully. "Long ago I made a promise to ya, a promise that I have kept for a long time...until recently."

"What do you mean Gav?" Her voice filled with unease.

"When I took yer husband on his first patrol through the Plaguelands, ya made me promise I wouldn't let anything happen to him."

Elencia took a sharp breath and covered her mouth, her eyes beginning to moisten.

"I…have broken that promise lass. I've completely and utterly failed ya…" his voice broke again under the intense emotions. He looked at the woman sitting across from him. Judging by her face, she knew what he was about to say. He took another breath before continuing.

"Elencia, your husband…my best friend…is gone."

She started to shake her head slowly and manage a strained cry of anguish. He then spoke the words she had dreaded to hear, wishing he had not come to visit her at all this day.

"Anadelias is dead."

A sadden cry escaped from her mouth before she buried her face in her hands. Tears flowed freely, running down her cheeks and fingers. When she brought her face up again, her eyes were red and watery lines ran down her face. She openly wept as her body began to slowly rock back and forth. Gavrin quickly got up and knelt next to her with his arms open as cries of grief filled the house. She flung herself into them and buried her head in his shoulder. Gavrin gently put his arms around her and whispered soothing words of comfort in her ear.

After several minutes Gavrin noticed her crying had mostly stopped and was now just intermittent sobs.

"…Gavrin…" Elencia said softly, so soft in fact, he almost didn't hear it.

His bulky arms released her and she sat back in her chair and composed herself as best she could. Wiping the tears from her cheeks and straightening the creases from her dress, she looked back at him. "Tell me how he…" A single tear ran down her cheek.

"Take your time lass." Gavrin said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

She continued despite her reluctance. "Tell me how he…died. Please?"

Gavrin, always the protector, hesitated before answering the question. "Are ya sure now?"

Elencia nodded in reply.

"Very well then. But before I do…" he said, looking around the kitchen. Finding what he was after, he got a glass from the bench and then poured her a nice brandy from the nearby cabinet, explaining to her that it would make her feel better.

She accepted his offer and took a sip. Contrary to what she had initially thought, it did help her feel somewhat better temporarily. "Thank you."

He dismissed her unnecessary thanks with a wave of his hand. "Now, if yer really sure ya want to know, I'll tell ya, but only if ya think ya can handle it."

Elencia pleaded to Gavrin, imploring him to tell her what happened to her husband.

"I'll tell ya what I can." He took a deep breath; clearly it was hard for even him to speak about it. "Six days ago on one of regular patrols we were ambushed, of sorts. A Scourge death knight confronted us and he set a horde of undead upon us. We destroyed them easily, but I believe it was just a ploy to let our overconfidence get the better us. Well, my overconfidence anyway. Ana knew it was a trap but I rushed in and was jumped by a bloody crypt fiend. It damn near killed me."

To prove his point, he lifted his wool shirt up to reveal a large, round patch of fresh scar tissue halfway up on the right of his chest. Elencia gasped and her eyebrows shot up in alarm when she saw this.

Pulling his shirt back down, Gavrin continued his story. "Luckily that was all the beast managed to do to me. If it wasn't for Ana's quick action, I wouldn't be here telling you about it. After that I fell unconscious for about a day before I woke up. Thankfully it was a clean wound and I hadn't bled too much. For two days after that I used what time I was awake to call on the Light and sustain my body while I waited for help to come. The next patrol that found me thankfully had a very good healer with them and he was able to get me back on my feet again."

Elencia took another sip of brandy from her glass.

"I think I might need one for me actually." Gavrin stated, getting up and pouring a glass of brandy for himself. Downing it in two gulps, he poured another before sitting back down and continuing.

"So, now that I was able to walk, all I wanted to do was get Ana's body and get the hell out of there."

"So you have his…body?" Elencia timidly asked.

Gavrin shifted uneasily in his seat, clearly knowing something he didn't want to tell her.

"What? What is it?" She demanded, yet scared of the answer she might receive.

"That's the thing. We looked everywhere for Ana but we couldn't find him. The only trace of him was this." From his pocket, he pulled a medium sized silver coin and gently placed it on the table in front of him.

The look on Elencia's face said it all to Gavrin; she did not have to say a single word.

"I found it near the death knight. If it means anything, he gave that death knight the best he had, cause that undead bastard wasn't a pretty sight, even with all things considered. We think it came loose during the fight."

"Oh…my poor Ana. I made this charm for him when he told me about the Plaguelands."

She picked it up from the table and softly stroked the surface with her fingers, her mind wandering back to when she had given it to him.

It was basically a silver coin, but instead of the bust of a king or a lord on its surface, it had a purple lotus carefully engraved into it.

"I'm so sorry lass; we looked for a whole day, covered as much area as we could, but we -"

Elencia put a finger to his lips to stop him talking.

"Shhh, Gav. Don't blame yourself."

Then she moved her hand down to his chest, over his scar.

"You did all you could and you're lucky to be alive as it is." She soothed.

Gavrin frowned. "I can't help but think it is. I know it is. All of this is." He turned his head, now unable to look her in the eye.

Elencia moved her hand up from his chest and gently put it on the side of his chin, turning his head back to face her. When he was looking at her again, she stared him right in the eye and spoke the four words he would try and remember for the rest of his life.

"It's not your fault."

She managed a forgiving smile that softened the hard frown on Gavrin's brow.

Elencia stood up and went to the bench. Standing there for several minutes, she stared out of the window, deep in thought as silence filled the small cottage.

Elencia spoke first, breaking the silence.

"Gavrin, if you are willing, there is one thing I would have you do for me."

"Anything lass, just name it."

"I want you to take me to where Ana died."  
>Gavrin eyed her with concern. "Are ya sure? Should we even get there; his body is gone. There is nothing to mourn or grieve over and I don't want ya to get all the way out there just to experience more pain."<p>

Elencia slowly turned around and looked Gavrin with her soft eyes. "I appreciate your concern, I really do, but this is something I must do." She said, her voiced chocked with emotion. "And I need your help to do it"

Gavrin sighed heavily, knowing he could not deny the lady her wish. "Very well. I'll come back tomorrow morning and we'll leave first thing."

She walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. "Thank you Gav. This means a lot to me."

In response, he put his hand on top of hers and looked up at her. "I know lass, I know."

They hugged once more before Gavrin left, still with a grief-stricken look plastered on his face, albeit not feeling as bad as he did when he first entered.

Closing the door behind him, Elencia moved to the bedroom and watched him leave from the window. As Gavrin left down the neatly paved path, Elencia could not help but think of the times she had watched Anadelias come up the very same path, into her waiting arms.

Her eyes still red and her emotions still running high, all she could do was collapse onto the bed, grasp her pillow and think about the man she would never see again, shedding tears in the process.

_Never see again_ she thought to herself. _There has to be a way, no matter the cost, where there is a will there is a way. _She continued to think about all the happy times they spent together until sleep took hold of her.


	4. Chapter 4 - Revelation

_Chapter IV_

**C**ome morning, rays of sunlight peeking through the curtains woke Elencia from her light slumber. Apathetically climbing out of bed and looking at herself in the mirror, Elencia could clearly see that her hair was a mess, her eyes were still red and worse of all, she had fallen asleep in her clothes from yesterday, too distraught to even change.

"First things first." She said to no one in particular. Brushing her hair proved to be harder than she first thought it would be when she realized the brush she was using just happened to be a present from her husband, dredging up memories and sending tears down her distraught face once again. Once she had managed to get her hair into a reasonably presentable ponytail, she got changed into fresh clothes and decided to skip on the makeup, considering that this day would be far from easy for her. She even found a new chain for her Ana's charm, making it a necklace once again. The rest of the morning pass uneventfully, but just as she had finished cooking and eating breakfast in silence, someone knocked on the door, which she guessed would be Gavrin.

As she opened it, she saw Gavrin standing there, looking solemn.

"Are ya ready lass?" He asked gently.

Elencia did not reply but nodded instead, signifying her answer. They left together, walking in silence.

A few hours into the journey, Gavrin slowed and turned to Elencia.

"The clearing is just up ahead lass," he hesitated "are ya sure yer ready?"

Elencia took a deep breath. "I am." Her hand unconsciously slipped into her pocket and began to caress the charm she had taken with her, as if it gave her some unseen strength to continue.

Gavrin grimaced. "Alright then."

Pushing aside a stray branch hanging down, Gavrin cleared the way for Elencia. As she gingerly moved past him and into the clearing, a great sense of foreboding washed over her. Her feet refused to keep moving ahead and her hands started to shake, almost imperceptibly. A reassuring hand on her shoulder from Gavrin gave her the strength to keep moving forward and face her fears.

As the clearing opened up before her, the first thing she noticed was the battered body of Soulbane, who was still in the same position where Anadelias had left him. Not surprisingly, the wild animals in the area had steered clear and left the body alone. Even the scavenger insects dared not touch the corpse, almost as if they instinctively knew no good would come of it.

The only other visible sign that anything had transpired here was a dark patch of bare dirt near the centre of the clearing. Elencia instinctively gravitated towards it, somehow knowing it was where her husband was last seen. Upon reaching the discoloured dirt, she saw it was dried blood as she slowly lowered herself down onto both knees and gingerly put her hand to the ground.

Gavrin slowly walked up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder for support. He could hear her beginning to sob softly and thought about saying something, but decided to keep quiet and let Elencia have this moment to herself.

When she finally did turn to look up at him, what he saw put him slightly off balance. Instead of a distraught woman dealing with the loss of her husband, he saw the face of a woman with a renewed hope and a smile that felt strangely out of place.

"Are ya okay, lass?" He asked hesitantly.

As the tears of joy swelled in her eyes then trickled down her soft cheeks, she stood and faced the bewildered paladin. "My Ana, my beloved Ana is alive!"

Gavrin's heart sunk as she said this. Clearly, bringing her here was a bad mistake, as delusion had sunk its dark tendrils into her mind.

He started to try to explain to her that Ana was dead but she merely interrupted him and pointed to the pool of dried blood as if it would explain everything.

"Look lass, I don't know what -"

"There, look!" Elencia interrupted excited, pointing again.

Gavrin looked toward she was pointing and to her credit, there, at the very edge of the pool was a footprint of blood. How in the Light did he miss that the first time?

He could clearly see that there were several more bloody footprints leading away from the clearing. "Elencia, lass, those tracks lead towards Stratholme." Gavrin said with a grim face. "If he is still alive, it's more than likely that he is a prisoner of the Scourge."

Unperturbed, she would not waver. "That may be so, but it still means that he is alive, somewhere."

Gavrin looked at her and could not fault her logic – as misguided as it was. Several minutes of silence filled the air as Gavrin considered his options and finally came to his decision.

"Elencia, lass, I'm going to take ya home so ya can get some rest and something to eat. I will take care of things here."

She eyed him closely. "What do you mean?"

Gavrin's face took on a stone hard look. "I mean I've failed you once and I won't do so again. Even if it takes me the rest of my life, I will find Anadelias and bring him back. I swear it."

"Oh Gav, I couldn't ask you to do that - "

"You don't have to ask." Gavrin interrupted, "I need to do this for both of us. I owe it to him…and you."

Elencia smiled softly. "I know when Gavrin the Stout has his mind set on something, not a thing in all of Azeroth will stop him. This means a lot to me."

"I know lass, I know." He hugged Elencia with his thick arms and then started to walk away from the clearing with her.

"Thank you Gav." She said looking up to him as they headed back to her house.

"Don't thank me yet lass. Ya can do that when I bring Ana back." Gavrin replied looking straight ahead so Elencia wouldn't see the doubt in his eyes. In the back of his mind, there was a tiny niggling thought that told him he wouldn't succeed. Yet try as he might to pay no heed to it, he could not help but know it was a doomed endeavour.

* * *

><p>When they arrived back at the cottage, Gavrin broke the silence that had hung over them like a lethargic cloud the entire walk back.<p>

"Lass, I don't know how long this'll take but I will bring Ana back, one way or the other."

Elencia smiled and took one of his huge hands into hers and patted it. "I know Gav and I want to help you."

Gavrin shook his head and sighed. "There is no way you are coming with me, it's too dangerous. I do not want to find Ana only to have to tell him that his wife is dead because I couldn't protect her."

"No, no, I mean I can help from here. Tell you what, come back tomorrow and I will show you what I mean."

Gavrin hesitantly agreed when Elencia promised that it would keep her out of harm's way.

After they both said their goodbyes and Gavrin left, Elencia rushed inside and went to the kitchen table and cleared it. She then went to the bedroom cupboard and retrieved a rolled up parchment of considerable size. Unfurling it on the kitchen table, it was an extremely detailed map of Azeroth. The continents were all labelled and each had their own regions outlined and almost every known village, town and city was marked and named on the map regardless of their affiliation with the Horde, Alliance or even the Scourge.

Along with the map, Elencia had also gotten a small leather bag from the same cupboard. Carefully opening it, she pulled a seemingly average spool of thread and a tiny crystal needle. From her dress pocket, she gingerly took out the repaired necklace, still stained with the dried blood, and placed it on the table. Turning her attention towards the needle and thread, she delicately threaded the head of the needle and unwound a hand span of thread before breaking it off from the spool. Upon doing this, the thread glowed with a faint haze of purple for a moment before returning to normal. The spellthread, when combined with the crystal needle, made an excellent scrying tool for finding people, places or objects.

"Right, here we go." Elencia said to her self. She picked up the bloodied necklace in her right hand and the end of the spellthread in her left and held it over the table so the needlepoint was mere centimetres from the map. Closing her eyes and concentrating deeply, words of power began to roll off her tongue, and her fingers gripped the necklace more tightly, turning her knuckles white. When she opened her eyes, the needle was moving about, but it seemed to stagger as if it was drunk. It would start in one direction and then veer off into another before randomly wobbling around and stopping altogether.

Elencia frowned, disappointed with the failed scrying. She huffed and put down the necklace and needle. The map was clearly defined and she had always used it in the past, so that wasn't the problem. The crystal needle and spellthread came from Dalaran itself and had never failed her previously, so it couldn't be them either. Her gaze then fell upon the necklace on the table.

Of course! That had to be it, she thought. The necklace was connected to Anadelias, but not as strongly as she has first thought it was. What she needed was something to act as a stronger focus, something with a better connection to her Ana. Elencia leaned back in the chair, deep in thought. As she went through a mental checklist in her head of the contents of the cottage, she came to the conclusion that there wasn't anything here that came close to what she needed. Crossing her arms in frustration, Elencia sighed and looked out the kitchen window. It was starting to get dark, which meant she would have to start lighting the candles soon. All of a sudden, like a bolt of lightning striking a metal flagpole during a thunderstorm, the answer struck her. Elencia rushed to the front door and grabbed her travel cloak and lantern, which she lit before she left and headed out to a place she cherished very much.

Moving through the forest like a grey-cloaked banshee, she glided around the trees and never wavered as she followed a route she had traversed many times before, so many in fact, she could probably do it blindfolded. At dusk, the forest was a different place altogether though. No golden rays of sunlight breaking through the canopy, no birds happily singing their tunes and no forest critters scurrying about. The sun was replaced by shadows, the birds were replaced by hooting owls and the scurrying critters were replaced by glowing set of eyes peering out from the shadows. When it was full and not impeded by cloud cover, the moon cast an eerie glow over everything like a faint, ghostly blanket. As she moved through the forest, shadows flickered and danced around the trees at her passing, slightly obscuring the path from the one in her memory. Nevertheless, she continued onwards, holding her lantern in front of her for guidance.

Ahead, her eyes could make out a faint glow and Elencia knew she was heading in the right direction. The glow became stronger the nearer she was and before long, it nearly rivalled the lantern's light. Knowing she had reached her destination, she smiled and put her lantern down. Elencia slowly approached the tree before her, remembering its beautiful lines and curves; it was unmistakable. This was the tree that her beloved, Anadelias, had carved for her to symbolise their undying love for one another. The light that tree gave off emanated from the two candles placed in small alcoves in the tree. Memories started to flood back to Elencia, walks through the forest, picnics by the lake, the times when Anadelias would playfully 'chase' her through the trees. All were of happier times and all of them strengthen her resolve to find her beloved Ana and to do what must be done.

With trepidation, she stepped forward to the alcove that held her husband's candle. A tear ran down her cheek as Elencia reached out for it and her fingers clasped around the candle inlaid with golden filigree. Millimetre by millimetre she slowly took the candle from its alcove and held it in front of her reverently with both hands, it's orange flame never flickering or showing any signs of extinguishing. For a few minutes, Elencia just stared at the special candle, enthralled by its never-ending, emotionally fuelled flame. Shaking her head and breaking the trance, she went over to the lantern and licked her thumb and index finger and put out the flame. Taking the extinguished run-of-the-mill candle out of the lantern and replacing it with the filigreed candle, it shone with an even brighter light than before. Her task done, Elencia set out back home using the well-traversed path through the forest.

Upon reaching the cottage, she rushed straight to the kitchen table where she had left her scrying material. Sitting back down and again closing her eyes in concentration, she gripped the candle of undying affection and held the spellthread above the map and began to recite the words of power again. Almost instantly, the crystal needle started to vibrate and spin, more wilder every second - then as soon as it started, it came to a dead standstill. Opening her eyes, she dropped the spellthread as her hand covered her gaping mouth and she let out a gasp.

"Oh Ana…" Elencia remarked as she looked down at the crystal needle which was sticking straight into the map directly above the Scourge fortress of Stratholme.

* * *

><p>The next day, Gavrin did come back and he and Elencia went for a stroll around the lake near her cottage. She was the first one to start the conversation.<p>

"I scryed for Ana last night."

Gavrin looked at her with raised eyebrow. "And how did that go?"

Elencia smiled as she told him that it went better than she thought it would, but left out the details oh how she managed to do it.

"So ya found him then?" Gavrin inquired.

The smile vanished as Elencia's voice went deathly quiet. "You were right Gav."

Gavrin frowned, a habit that was becoming more common these days. "What do ya mean lass?"

Elencia's eyes dropped to the ground as she told him where he was.

"Stratholme?!" Gavrin exclaimed. "So they did take him prisoner. They must have a reason for keeping him alive." Gavrin could think of several, but he wasn't willing to mention any of them in front of Elencia.

She mumbled only an 'I guess' in reply.

"Don't worry lass, I'll find him and bring him back." Gavrin said, his voice resolute.

Elencia seemingly perked up and looked up to him. "I know you will Gav."

In response, Gavrin gave her a smile, though he suspected she knew it was just a façade.

The two of them finished their walk around the lake, idly chatting. When they completed their circuit and made it back to the cottage, Gavrin said his last goodbye as he set off to find and bring back Anadelias.

Elencia watched him leave down the path and went back inside. Sitting on the end of her bed, many thoughts were swirling around in her head. Her faith in Gavrin was strong, but there was no way she could just stay here, cooped up, for however long it took Gavrin to accomplish his self imposed task. She needed to do something, _anything_, to actively work on getting her husband back and keep her occupied. But he was a prisoner of the Scourge in Stratholme. There was no way she could do anything except scry without coming to harm herself. The only things in Stratholme were Scourge, Cultist and the Scarlet Crusade – and there was no way the Crusade would take her in, she had no combat training whatsoever. Besides, they were crazed zealots her husband had said and not to be trusted for they were just as bad as the menace they fought. The city was under the control of the Scourge anyway, the Crusade was losing ground and probably wasn't a viable option – no reason to join the losing side so to speak. Maybe an invisibility potion could work. The Dalaran merchants were always selling those kinds of things. No, the Cult would have wards in place, otherwise it would have been done already, she concluded. Then a dangerous thought began to coalesce in her head. What if she could get into the city without using a potion or a magic? What if she could walk among them freely? What if the Cult of the Damned thought she was one of them? She would have the freedom to move about the city and look for her beloved and – _No!_ What was she thinking? Join the Cult of the Damned? It was madness! She got up to go outside and clear her head but as she did, her eyes fell upon a picture of her beloved Anadelias on the mantle. Rather than dissuade her train of thought, it had the opposite effect, giving her the strength the commit to this decision. She would join the Cult of the Damned to gain access to Stratholme and secretly find her beloved and get him the hell of out that city, and _then_ they could finally be together again. To do this however, she realised she would break her promise to Gavrin to stay out of harm's way. But…if it wasn't Elencia that left, technically she wouldn't break it. A new name and identity would be in order then. Packing a few spare clothes and some bread along with a skin of water into a backpack she readied herself for the journey ahead. That day, she entered the house as Elencia, dedicated wife of Anadelias and left it as Ammet, an ambitious aspirant of the Cult of the Damned.


	5. Chapter 5 - Metamorphosis

_Chapter V_

**D**readsorrow, newly raised Death Knight of the Scourge, trudged his way through the mist laden forest. The suffocating stench of the living was nearby, most likely a Scarlet Crusade or Argent Dawn patrol. If they crossed his path, they would regret it, but he wasn't about to actively seek them out - especially while he still had no weapon - he had better things to do. Stratholme was nearby; no more than fifteen minutes walk away. Dreadsorrow decided that when he got there, he would demand a steed from Rivendare; there was no way he would be walking to and from places anymore, it was too damn tedious. Lost in his thoughts, time flew around him and before he knew it the ever-burning dreaded city of Stratholme loomed before him.

'Finally' he grumbled to himself.

As he walked up the path leading to the main gates, several cultists and a few ghouls approached him. "Halt, and identify yourself in the name Lich King." One of them called out.

Dreadsorrow growled, tired of these pathetic cultists already. "I am Dreadsorrow, Death Knight of the Scourge, servant of the Lich King and you are in my way, maggot."

The cultists narrowed their eyes and the ghouls, reflecting their master's telepathic commands, stop looking around and actually focused on the death knight before them.

"You need to learn to some manners, death knight."

'"You need to step out of my way, _cultist_." Dreadsorrow spat out the last word to emphasise the guard's lower status.

"I don't think we're going to let you in." The cultist, who was presumably their leader, threatened.

Dreadsorrow started to make a guttural growl in the back of this throat. "I grow weary of this exchange and I will pass regardless of what you think." He stretched out his left arm and what looked like a blackish-purple bolt of lightning shot forth from his hand and enveloped the lead cultist before he suddenly flew forwards through the air towards the death knight.

Dreadsorrow cocked his right arm backwards and when the flying cultist enveloped by the blackish-purple energy was close enough he let loose his punch and with a sickening wet sound followed by a sharp crack, it was over. The dark energy surrounding the now limp and lifeless cultist dispersed. Dreadsorrow had punched with all his unholy might and his fist had gone straight through the unfortunate man's throat and broke his spine at the back of neck. Throwing the body aside like a ragdoll and flicking his hand free of gore, Dreadsorrow walked straight pass the remaining cultists with their mouths agape and into Stratholme.

* * *

><p>It had been nearly two weeks, Dreadsorrow reflected, since he had arrived in Stratholme before he was actually summoned to appear before Rivendare. Since he first stepped into the city, he had received numerous patrol assignments from underlings of the Baron and it was beginning to become rather tedious. He knew it was a test, so he complied with their orders, but there was only so much meaningless minion work he could do before his rage finally boiled over. Luckily, the Baron had finally requested his presence, hopefully putting an end to the boring patrol work. As he strode through the ruined city he passed more cultists, their powerful necromancer officers, shrieking banshees whose screams tore at the ears of the living, a plethora of rotting and shambling ghouls and the eerie undead spider-like crypt fiends who stood on six legs and watched him pass, chittering to themselves. He was beginning to wonder why he saw no abominations around. They were the heavy shock troopers, able to dish out and withstand an incredible amount of punishment. Surely the Baron has them somewhere – it would be madness to try and defend this stronghold without them, especially with the Scarlet Crusade still infecting parts of the city.<p>

Dreadsorrow rounded the corner of the alley he was walking through and the massive portcullis of Slaughter Square loomed before him and then he had his answer. The open square around the Slaughterhouse was utterly teeming with abominations. The majority, if not all of the cities' giant stitched guards must be here. Who in their right mind would keep them all here? Deploy them to chokepoints, bottlenecks and have them on the front line with crypt fiend support – but not all in the one damn place like this, thought Dreadsorrow. This really is madness; the damn Baron must be even more arrogant than first thought to have all the abominations concentrated here. That, or supremely paranoid. Sighing, he walked under the portcullis and past the meandering abominations that ignored him for the most part and up to the heavy door of the Slaughterhouse which appeared to be locked. He pounded on the door several times with his fist and waited.

"Who goes there?" Came a grating, hollow voice in reply.

Dreadsorrow pinched the bridge of his nose. You have got to be joking he thought to himself.

"What is this, a children's clubhouse? Open the damn door before I break it down myself!" he shouted

A silence hung in the air for a few excruciatingly long seconds before the voice answered. "Who goes there?"

Dreadsorrow had to keep his frustration in check before he smashed the door to pieces. After a deep growl he begrudgingly answered. "I am Dreadsorrow, Death Knight of the Scourge, servant of the Lich King."

Another long silence, followed by a metal on metal grinding sound as the double doors started to open outwards.

"Oh, of course…" Dreadsorrow exclaimed as he saw the skeletal Black Guard open the door and form a praetorian guard on the steps around him so it would be just as easy to box him in and kill him as it would be to protect him from attackers.

"You may enter." rasped one of the Black Guard.

Dreadsorrow stalked up the steps and into the bowels of the Slaughterhouse, muttering about the questionable intelligence levels of skeletons as he went past.

Descending down more steps into the inner section of Rivendare's 'sanctum', Dreadsorrow came upon more heavy metal doors, similar to the front ones but with one small difference – these ones were already open. Silently counting his praises that he didn't have to give a secret password or yet again state who he was for the umpteenth time, he proceeded through the massive doors.

The metaphorical central nervous centre of Stratholme that held the Baron was not exactly what Dreadsorrow was expecting.

The left and right sides of the room were basically giant alcoves and the middle of the room had a slight circular feel to it. To his right, there was several heavy iron cages mostly filled with the desiccated remains of someone unlucky enough to have earned the Baron's ire, but one of them held a still living prisoner. On his left there were three massive piles of bones from all matter of animals and humanoids, with intermittent pieces of armour scattered throughout and heaped about halfway to the roof. For a second, Dreadsorrow could've sworn he saw several of the bones twitch, almost imperceptibly. He dismissed the thought as he brought his gaze to bear on the middle of the room.

Two large banners hung on the back wall, one was the Scourge standard, but the other one had an unfamiliar coat of arms on it that he couldn't place. In front of them was the desk that the Baron was sitting at. It was as long as two humans lying end to end and about as thick as an orc's arm. The legs of the table were just that – skeletal legs of some poor unfortunate beast unlucky enough to be used for table legs. Scattered across the table itself was dozens of missives, scrolls and reports plus a few other items you would expect to see on the desk of someone in a high administrative position. Seated in a high back chair at the centre of the desk was the Baron himself, penning something onto a scroll.

"I'm here." stated Dreadsorrow, not caring if he interrupted Rivendare's train of thought.

Rivendare acted as if the death knight before him was not even there and just kept penning.

Making a guttural growl, Dreadsorrow again stated his presence, this time louder.

Not even looking up, Rivendare answered curtly as the quill swished from side to side. "I know you are there, death knight, be patient."

Dreadsorrow's face twisted into contempt as he approached the Baron's desk and slammed his hands down on it, scattering scrolls and paper in all directions. "I lost my patience the second you raised me!"

Rivendare simply put down his quill, brought his hands together in front on him, interlocking them and looked up at the death knight. "What do you want?"

"You are the one who summoned me here and now I'm here."

"Indeed. So then, your first real mission," a sinister smile spread across Rivendare's face "will involve you going to the other side of Stratholme and clearing out the Scarlet zealots by any means necessary." The Baron leaned back in his chair, waiting to see what effect his orders would have on the death knight to gauge his reaction. The period just after a new servant is raised is very fragile. It was a time to test their intelligence and obedience levels and assign them a respective position. Some ended up in a lower one, some a higher one, but most were basically just there to fill the ranks of rifle fodder. This death knight in front of him held a lot of promise, but also a strong will, which could develop into a serious problem if not dealt with early.

Dreadsorrow straightened up and put a hand to his pale chin, thinking. "I will need some new armour, a decent weapon and some support. Give me those things and the Scarlet Bastion will fall." He crossed his arms, half expecting a fight in return.

Caught slightly off guard by the death knight's complicity, Rivendare quickly composed himself before answering. "I did not think you would so readily agree."

"Killing is what I do, Baron. You ordered me to go and kill, therefore I will do as you ask," he hesitated for a fraction of a second, "…for now."

Rivendare frowned and filed away a mental note to keep a closer watch on this death knight and his potential for insubordination. He could become quite the problem down the line if not reined in soon. For now though, it would work to his advantage to assist him in his task. "The Armoury shall help you with the armour and weapons."

"And my support?"

Rivendare stood and spread his arms wide with a disturbing smile on his face "You are in Stratholme, death knight, your support is everywhere. Ghouls, cultists, banshees. Take what you think you will need." He clasped his hands at the small of his back and tried to look down his nose at Dreadsorrow, but failed as the death knight's black eyes bore into him.

"I'll get started then."

"Close the doors on your way out." Rivendare sat back down and started to try and re-organise the mess of papers on his desk. "And never forget that you are my servant,_ I _control _you_."

"Don't worry, I haven't." Dreadsorrow said, his voice filled with spite. A guttural growl accompanied him as he left.

Upon exiting the Slaughterhouse he turned to one of the Black Guard. "Quickly, there is an assassin in the Master's chambers, you must help!" Dreadsorrow exclaimed, putting panic into his voice. The Black Guards reacted immediately, racing through the doors and disappearing into the Slaughterhouse. As he walked down the front steps, he could hear a faint scream of annoyance coming from deep with the Baron's sanctum. Dreadsorrow allowed himself a small moment of contentment as he smiled and chuckled to himself, imagining the look of anger on the Baron's face.

* * *

><p>The Armoury was uninspired to say the least. As far as Dreadsorrow could tell, it was basically an abandoned ziggurat near the Slaughterhouse with its Ash'tari crystal removed. The inside, Dreadsorrow saw as he entered, had been converted to a small, yet bland blacksmithing workshop. There was a lone skeleton in some old armour hammering away at a sword on an anvil. Around him there all manner of weapons. Maces, polearms, longswords, shields, even a blunderbuss was propped up against the wall in one corner.<p>

"You! You must be the new death knight. Come 'ere to arm yourself 'ave ya? Come to the right place then." The slightly accented voice was coming from the skeletal blacksmith, who had stopped hammering and had come around to inspect the new death knight.

"Baron Rivendare has –" Dreadsorrow began before being interrupted by the blacksmith waving a dismissive bony hand.

"Bah, buggar him, who cares? I don't, that's for sure. I wanna know about you son, you're the talk of the town, eh? Or whatever passes for talk for a ghoul! Hahahaha!" The skeleton's laugh was like someone coughing up a hairball with a mouthful of sand – it sounded wrong and was extremely irritating.

A bony hand patted him on the shoulder and Dreadsorrow looked at it and growled. The last thing he need was a skeleton with a sense of humour. He brushed the hand away from him. "Look blacksmith, I just -" Again Dreadsorrow was interrupted.

"It's a good thing you came along when you did, cause it was starting to get _dead_ quiet around here."

Dreadsorrow groaned.

"But really, I joke, my smithy is the best around, anywhere; people are just _dying_ to get my wares!" Another burst of laughter.

Dreadsorrow put his hands to his temples and started rubbing. His patience was already waning when he walked in, now, it was pretty much non-existent. "For the last time, smith, I just need –"

For the third time he was interrupted. "Smith? Nah, you got it wrong mate, my name's Fred."

Dreadsorrow's rage boiled over and he lunged forward, grabbing the skeleton's head and yanking as hard as he could. The now headless body of bones surprisingly stayed upright, as if frozen in time. Its head or skull rather, was clutched tightly between Dreadsorrow's strong hands.

"One more joke or bad pun and I will crush your skull into dust." Dreadsorrow said through gritted teeth.

The skull seemed to ponder his options for a while before answering. "You know, I've always wanted to tour as a comic, I'd be a _head_-lining act!"

Dreadsorrow answered in turning by letting out a guttural growl and slowly started to increase the pressure between his hands, which was bad for Fred.

"Okay, okay, alright, I've had my fun, don't crush meeeee!" Fred pleaded.

"No. More. Jokes." Stated Dreadsorrow, shaking the skull with each word for emphasis.

"Fine, ok, sure." Fred hastily replied.

Dreadsorrow placed the skull back atop the body, which jerked once. "There."

"Oh wow, that's better. Thanks…I think." Fred said, rolling his head side to side, cracking bones.

"Now, about my -" Dreadsorrow started, before Fred interrupted again.

"Yes, yes, your armour, I got just the thing for ya, right this way mate." Fred turned and walked over to an empty section of the wall that didn't have weapons racks on it or wooden dummies wearing armour. He pulled a small green crystal from under his own breastplate and pressed it into a small waist height indentation on the wall.

Dreadsorrow raised an eyebrow as the wall started to shimmer and then disappear before him, revealing another room. He followed Fred into the hidden room and noticed that this was also used for blacksmithing, but the superior quality of tools and hammers he saw was stark distinction to the room he had just left. Even the forge and the anvil were of better make than their counterparts.

"Call it a little side project, if you will." Fred said, turning Dreadsorrow's attention to the skeleton.

The death knight's gaze swept to where Fred was gesturing towards the back of the room, where the skeletal blacksmith's masterpiece was being held.

Dreadsorrow's eyes grew wide as they fell upon the armour that was levitating in a purple haze. It was magnificent, it was beautiful, and it was…it was perfect, Dreadsorrow thought to himself.

The armour was jet black with a dark purple trim and as soon as he laid his eyes upon it, he knew it was meant to be worn by him. It was a design like none he had ever seen. The cuirass had the most detail. Whereas most coat-of-arms had animals holding a shield or something similarly along those lines, this cuirass had a battalion of skeletons holding up a massive standard with the Scourge insignia on it. Every bone and tiny feature on the standard was engraved with excruciating care and in minute detail. The pauldrons were different to each other. The left one still covered all of the shoulder, but the design on it was what looked like a trapped soul trying to escape, a twisted human face trapped in an eternal scream, striking fear in the hearts of those who would face the wearer. The right pauldron however, was fairly plain, but had small, one inch spikes protruding from around the edges. Other parts of the armour that stood out were the skulls engraved into the top of the greaves and vambraces. The gauntlets were made to appear as if they were the claws of some fearsome creature of nightmare. The helm, the pinnacle of the set, was almost crown-like. A spike in the shape of a horn at the front of the helm curved outwards and up before tapering to a point. Several more sharp protrusions were spaced around the circumference of the helm, each one slightly smaller than the last in a descending order so the spike at the back of the helm was the smallest. One of the most striking features however was about halfway up the large central spike where a fragment of an Ash'tari crystal had been embedded into the design. The immense boost to his already veritable necromantic powers the crystal would grant was an incredible boon. Then there were the nose and cheek guards which had flowing, angular lines that also ended in a sharp point just below where the chin would be.

Dreadsorrow took it all in, amazed by the detail and practicality of it. "It is a work of excellence…Fred." Dreadsorrow guessed that if the skeleton could smile right about now; he would be doing so from ear to ear.

"Well, it did take me a while to perfect it, but I got plenty o' spare time." Fred folded his arms. "And now it's fit for a Scourge Lord. Or…a really, really powerful death knight." He swivelled his head so the two empty eye sockets stared at Dreadsorrow.

A half smile snuck onto Dreadsorrow's face. "I think catch your drift."

As he discarded his battered, dirtied and bloodied paladin armour, Dreadsorrow felt relief; finally ridding himself of the armour. With each piece that fell to the floor, it clattered and rang out, the noise bouncing off the walls of the small room. Each piece was a reminder of his old, pathetic life and it had to be stripped away to make room for his new life, just like how a snake sheds its old skin to grow into the new one. Fred assisted in dressing Dreadsorrow in his new black and purple armour. The pieces slid into place easily, almost like they were eager to be worn by the death knight. Finally, Dreadsorrow inclined his head slightly to allow Fred to put the helm on. It slid on with a strange ease, eerily a perfect fit for his head.

"Eh, not too shabby if I say so myself. You scrub up rather well." Fred complimented jokingly.

"This armour, it fits perfectly – and it doesn't weigh a ton either."

"Weeeell, all blacksmiths 'ave their secrets." Dreadsorrow could picture Fred winking if he still had eyes to do so. "Speaking o' which, you might also be needing these." He produced what appeared to be two turquoise coloured stones, small enough to both fit in his skeletal hand. Both had the same intricate snowflake pattern engraved onto their surface. He dropped them into Dreadsorrow's open palm.

Dreadsorrow frowned at the 'gifts'. "I do not need rocks, smith, I need weapons."

"They are the twins, Thal'ruk and Thul'rak. Separate, they whisper death. Together they sing ruination"

"They are rocks. They collect dirt and dust."

Fred scoffed at Dreadsorrow's hastily reached conclusions. "Put one in each hand and now picture two great axes made of the finest material and sharp enough to slice a dragonscale in half with ease."

As Dreadsorrow followed Fred's instructions, almost instantly, a small fog of frost and mist exploded from each hand and evaporated, revealing two axes in each hand. They were crafted from a light blue metal that glinted even in the harsh light of the small room. They had leather tooled handgrips with pommels shaped as skulls and the heads of the axes rose two almost a meter with wicked looking jagged edges along their spines and a nastily curved front edge which did indeed look like it could carve clean through a dragonscale just as Fred boasted.

Twirling them in hand, a look of admiration for the blacksmith's creations formed on Dreadsorrow's face. He tried a few practice swings and found them quite to his liking. If he were still capable, he would probably say he loved them, but such emotions were behind him now. "Perfectly weighted, small, yet fast and deadly – why, I think you might have outdone yourself Fred." Dreadsorrow complimented with a rare smile. "How do I –"

"Simply think of their stone form and voila!" Answered Fred, pre-empting the death knight's question.

Again, in a puff of frosty mist, the axes reverted to their turquoise stones. "Handy." Commented Dreadsorrow.

"There's a niche for both of 'em on either side of your belt. Easy to store and carry around, but quick to wield in a fight."

Dreadsorrow inspected the sides of his new belt and did indeed find a round indentation for each stone, one for the left and one for the right. They fit perfectly and were held fast by some unseen force, ready and waiting to be used in combat.

"Thank you for your help, Fred."

The skeleton dismissed his thanks with a wave. "Nah, you're alright. I'm just glad that bloody Baron finally found someone with some intelligence. Better than those clichéd sycophantic morons he usually recruits. Besides, now I have to craft another set, so it'll help pass the time. Maybe put in some improvements I've been thinking about."

"Suffer well then, Fred."

"Yeah, you too ya big lout." Fred laughed, patting Dreadsorrow on the back. "Now go and kill some Scarlet zealots for me eh?"

Dreadsorrow promised he would as he left and stepped forth from the ziggurat in his new armour and strode back to the Slaughterhouse grounds with a renewed vigour. Today, he thought to himself, the pathetic Scarlet Crusade would know true fear.


	6. Chapter 6 - Freedom

_Chapter VI_

**S**tanding at the front of Slaughter Square, Dreadsorrow watched in mild indifference as the abominations milled about aimlessly, waiting for the day that someone would be suicidal enough to directly assault the Slaughterhouse.

_By any means __necessary…take what you think you'll need._ Rivendare's words repeated inside his head. He was going to do just that, follow the orders to the letter, just like a good little death knight should.

"Abominations!" His mental shout carried across the square and touched all the minds of the fleshy constructs. "By Baron Rivendare's command, you have all, as of this moment, been reassigned to me. You are to all form up into a single unit and accompany me to the other side of Stratholme where we crush the Scarlet Crusade." His powerful mental commands pressed themselves in the simple minds of the abominations, ensuring their obedience.

After his conscription, he heard several abominations talking about being hungry he swore he even heard one of them mention something about 'playtime'. Ignoring it, he turned and started to march towards the living side of Stratholme with the massive Scourge shock troopers thundering behind him.

* * *

><p>Seerath Shadewalker was crouched behind one of the many stacks of wooden, half rotted crates scattered throughout Slaughter Square. Slowly, he raised himself up and peered over the top. Around fifteen horrific abominations by his count meandered around the open ground, patrolling in random and uncoordinated directions. Muttering a curse to himself he crouched back down and turned to the others with him. They were a mercenary team with talents as diverse as one could expect. Therian, another male night elf, was a druid specialising in the healing arts, although he was currently shapeshifted into his cat form, stealthy scoping out the square. Next to him was the exotic female draenei shaman, Magma, a nickname was given to her by Seerath that had stuck like glue – more or less because it was easier to remember and pronounce that than her full draenei name. Sitting and meditating towards the back was the human priest Seranda, who was extremely proficient with the shadow arts. The last member of the band of infiltrators was the dwarf paladin, Glormek. Clad in thick, blessed armour and a wielding a shield nearly as tall as him, he was constantly on the front lines in the thick of battle.<p>

Normally Seerath worked alone, assassinating targets solo, but for this mission he had to recruit several acquaintances for the job. They didn't work for free, but it was a moot point. The client who wanted Baron Rivendare assassinated had agreed upon a 'half now, half when the job is done' deal, which meant the first half would nicely cover his acquaintances' expenses and the other half would still leave him with a nice tidy sum to retire with.

"There are quite a few abominations," stated Seerath, "but if we tackle them in small groups, we should be fine. Ok, here is what we will do."

* * *

><p>Picking up another report, this one from the Noxious Vale, Baron Rivendare sighed and quickly scanned the contents. A small Argent Dawn incursion, a few Cultists killed and one abomination destroyed. These whittling attacks were getting...abomination? For some reason, that got his attention more than it normally would. Then it hit him like an adamantite hammer. His could no longer sense his abominations outside! Broadening his mental senses, he found them; along with a presence he knew all too well. Dreadsorrow!<p>

Rivendare's fist slammed down onto the desk. Damn that death knight, thought Rivendare, he took my abominations! He sent a quick mental command to his Black Guard to secure the Slaughterhouse and call in the reserves. That should at least keep it under control until that damnable death knight gets back. _If _he gets back that is. Assaulting the Scarlet Bastion by himself and a few abominations is madness. Perhaps the zealots will beat some sense into him. Still, Dreadsorrow has too much independence he decided. There has to be a way to keep him reined in and yet still possess enough intelligence to be useful. He promised himself he would look into that matter after he finished reading these reports.

* * *

><p>As Seerath laid out his plan, Therian quietly stalked forward and gazed around the side of their cover. "Seerath, I like your plan, but I have a better one."<p>

The rogue frowned. "Let me guess, just waltz in?" He snapped sarcastically.

The large cat grinned, revealing a mouth full of razor sharp feline teeth. "As a matter of fact, yes. Have a look."

As Seerath stared at the scene before him, he could not believe his luck. All of the abominations were moving away from the Slaughterhouse, and even more astonishingly, in a cohesive formation to boot!

"Quit your slacking and let's go while we still can." Glormek said gruffly.

Seerath closed his jaw and drew his two vicious looking daggers. "I'm right behind you."

The group moved out from their hiding spot and into the square, only to have the elite Black Guard exit from the Slaughterhouse and also from a nearby building, creating a rough perimeter surrounding them.

"I knew it was too good to be true." Seerath grumbled.

* * *

><p>The Scarlet Crusade had barricaded the plaza rather well. Crates, sandbags and sharpened logs blocked off the main gateway and created a maze of obstacles that meant attackers would get picked apart bit by bit and any force with greater numbers would lose their advantage. Crusaders, magi, priests and the elite praetorians all stood guard and patrolled the area, ever-alert for another Scourge onslaught. Today would be that day.<p>

A lone figure slowly walked towards the front barricade and was seen by one of the sentries who shouted a cry of alarm and within moments the entire plaza was alerted and at attention.

"Halt!" Shouted the sentry. The figure stopped. "In the name of the Grand Crusader, who goes there?"

"I am Dreadsorrow, Death Knight of the Scourge and I am here to kill each and every one of you." Boomed Dreadsorrow's voice across the plaza.

"Your arrogance is astounding, dark one. You are alone and going to kill all of us? Hah! Fire!" On the sentry's command a flurry of arrows flew from behind him and sped towards their target. At the last possible second Dreadsorrow summoned several bones that spun furiously around him. As the arrows went to pierce his armour, the spinning shield of bone got in the way of each arrow, deflecting them and shattering the bones to tiny pieces in the process. None of the arrows made it to their intended target.

"I would advise you to lay down your weapons and let me grant you a swift death." Shouted Dreadsorrow.

"We will never surrender to the Scourge!" Cried one of the zealots in response.

An evil grin formed on Dreadsorrow's face. "Very well, we shall do this the hard way." Standing with both legs apart and firmly planted to the ground he raised his right arm into the air and then made a single downward chopping motion and yelled a single command. "Chaaaarrrge!"

At first nothing happened. The crusaders started to laugh at this lunatic death knight, and then one of them noticed a pebble on the ground start to bounce up and down. The ground itself was starting to vibrate and shudder. Horrendous noises and nightmarish sounds could be heard and they grew louder and louder. Suddenly, a building to the left of the plaza exploded in a hail a wooden splinters and fiery stone. From the ruins abomination upon abomination burst forth, all whipped into a frenzy and ready to rip through the Scarlet Crusade's lines.

The barricades were as nothing to the massive shock troopers. Brushed aside like paper and completely smashed to pieces, the abominations waded into the Scarlet defenders, ripping apart crusaders. Oversized meat hooks were flung into magi and gutted them like swine. Huge bloodied meat cleavers swung through the air, slicing the defenders to shreds. It was an utter bloodbath. Caught completely by surprise by the unorthodox entry by the undead behemoths, the Scarlet Crusade quickly succumbed to the full scale assault. After several minutes it was over; the zealots lay dead and broken beneath the Scourge.

On Dreadsorrow's order, several of the massive stitched horrors had moved up towards the main door of the Scarlet Bastion and started to throw their considerable bulk at it in an effort to break it down.

* * *

><p>As Glormek used his shield and mace to batter the last of the Black Guard into a pile of broken bones, the group started to ascend up the stairs and then down into the bowels of the Slaughterhouse. The paladin joined them at the massive doors, beyond which the Baron lay in wait, as Seerath outlined his plan to take the target down.<p>

"The four of you will approach him from the centre, spread slightly out, but in clear view. Engage him, distract him, and make him focus on you."

Glormek grunted. "And where will you be throughout this?"

A sinister smile played on the rogue's lips. "Stealthily encircling the room so that I may assassinate him from behind. After all, who expects to be stabbed in the back in their own private sanctum?"

"Someone who is highly paranoid." Magma answered.

Although Seerath couldn't tell whether the shaman knew it was rhetorical or not, he had to give the draenei credit; he was right. "That would normally be correct, except Rivendare is too arrogant to be paranoid."

"Arrogant or not, he is still extremely powerful and must be given our full attention." This from Seranda.

Magma had her hand on the door and her eyes closed as if in a trance. "Very true, I sense a lot of dark power coming from that room." She frowned. "But there is another, somewhere else in the city that is yet stronger still. This troubles me."

"A lich perhaps?" Suggested Therian.

"Maybe, but I don't wanna be standing around to find out for me self." Stated Glormek gruffly.

"He's right; we get in there, kill the Baron and get out. Clean, quick and efficient." Seerath's tone of voice told the others that no more conversation was to be had. "After you" he said, gesturing towards Glormek.

The bulky paladin pushed open both massive doors and started to radiate the Light. "Baron Rivendare!" His voice bellowed across the room. "We come for you!"

Rising from his high back, almost throne-like chair, Rivendare chuckled to himself. "How amusing, the gnats seek to challenge me! I think it is time to properly show you my hospitality." With that, his clenched his fists, shadow energy coursing through them and then splayed his fingers and sent a volley of shadowbolts from his fingertips towards the attackers. They never reached their targets.

As the shadowy tendrils of dark magic sped towards the group, they started to waver halfway across the room before they just simply dissipated all together just a mere foot away.

Rather than be angry or surprised, Rivendare just simply narrowed his eyes. "Shadow wards. So you have come prepared at least. But the four of you against the one of me? That is hardly fair. Let me even the numbers somewhat." He sent a quick mental command to Dreadsorrow before turning to face the massive collection of bones to his right and sent billowing necrotic tendrils of purple energy into them and waited. Scythe-like skeletal claws burst forth from the bone mound, followed by the body of some deformed humanoid skeleton that seemed to be fused with that of an animal. They loosed a bestial howl before charging towards the group of mercenaries.

* * *

><p>Dreadsorrow watched them in fascination as they became makeshift rams - albeit extremely pungent ones - throwing themselves against the reinforced door, with a sickly <em>thump<em> and then stepping aside for the next abomination. As he walked towards the Scarlet Bastion, stepping over broken zealots and splintered barricades, a tingling sensation started to form in the back of his head. He tried to ignore it, but it instead turned into a dull thrum, reverberating throughout his skull. He pressed his hands to his temples as the noise coalesced into a familiar voice.

"_Dreadsorrow! Come to my aid!_" Rang the voice of Rivendare in his head.

Still under the Baron's command, he could not disobey the order. Well, thought Dreadsorrow, not directly. Perhaps a little subtlety is in order... He let the thought trail off as he shouted new orders to the abominations.

"Hurry and break down that door! Kill everyone inside! Slaughter them all and fight to the last!" Dreadsorrow knew that the abominations alone would not kill everyone inside the Bastion, but it was a win-win situation for him. On one hand, they just might kill everyone inside the fortress, thus earning him a respectable victory. On the other hand the abominations would kill quite a few zealots before they were destroyed which meant the Scarlet Crusade would be irrevocably weakened by their losses and ripe to be finished off.

Satisfied that they would carry out his orders, he started to run back to the Slaughterhouse, hoping that he wouldn't be too late to miss whatever was going on with Rivendare.

* * *

><p>To deal with the new threat, Glormek charged at the Baron to limit his effective control over the ravagers by forcing him into direct combat and making him divide his attention. As the dwarf countered and parried the Baron's furious blows and blocked with his huge shield, he could hear his allies taking care of the ravagers behind him.<p>

Magma, indicative of her name, called upon the elements and even this tainted land and cursed city, they answered her in the form of a burning gout of lava, erupting from her outstretched hands. The superheated glob of magma flew at the ravager with enough force to knock it back and into the one behind it, taking both of them to the floor. Bones clacked against each other and both howled as they tried in vain to get back, but the lava that had splashed over them was already eating away at the bone, quickly dissolving it. Before long, only their legs and limbless claws remained, the rest of their frame had been eaten away by the lava which had already seeped through the cracks in the floor, returning to the earth from whence it came.

While this was happening, the shadow priest was gesturing with her hands, weaving a powerful spell. The three remaining ravagers were close enough to raise their scythe-arms to strike down the human, but stopped short as Seranda ceased moving her hands and spoke the final word of power to complete her spell. The ravagers suddenly slowed to a crawl, so slow, it almost appeared like they had stopped entirely. Cracking sounds could be heard as large fractures started to appear all over their frame and purple slime started to seep out of the cracks. The shadow magic was slowly melting the ravagers from the inside out. The skeletons started to bend and sway as they could no longer support themselves and began to fall down on broken, half liquefied bones. Apathetically clawing the air in front of them as they disintegrated, the ravagers ceased to exist and became nothing more than a purple pool of mush shortly thereafter.

With that immediate threat taken care of, Magma and Seranda turned their attention and focus back to Baron Rivendare and assisting Glormek.

With Glormek shouting obscenities at Rivendare to keep his attention mostly directed at him, Seerath was methodically making his way around the perimeter of the room, slowly edging towards the Baron. He weaved silently in between the heavy iron cages, moving just outside of peripheral vision and getting ever closer to the target he stalked. He allowed himself a second to look over to the battle to evaluate the situation. Glormek had several nicks on his armour and a rather large dent in his shield, but otherwise seemed fine. Therian was swaying slightly, like a young tree in a light breeze, deep in a healing trance, keeping the others' wounds in check. A bolt of white-blue lightning made a sharp crack as it sped from Magma's hands towards the Baron, who deflected it at the last second on his runeblade and it harmlessly impacted against the roof. If he didn't act soon, the tireless Baron would soon whittle them down and kill them mercilessly when they wore out. For that second that he watched the battle unfold, it steeled his resolve and he again crept forward towards the Baron of Stratholme.

As he approached Rivendare, he reached for the foot long sheath that was strapped tightly to his left leg. Inside was an ordinary dagger, mass produced by a weaponsmith, with nothing that innately made it stand out from its counterparts, except for the golden glow that surrounded the blade.

The reason this dagger was bathing in the Holy Light was due to the conflicting reports and relative unknown nature of death knights, Baron Rivendare in particular. It was acknowledged that quite a few of them were once living beings that had either been converted or lured to the Scourge, but what exactly they were after that was still debatable. Whether they were still living breathing humanoids, or had become soulless undead, or even if they were stuck in some kind of horrible midway limbo, was unknown to pretty much everyone and had them at a loss for an answer. While Seerath had been doing his research for the mission, he had been unable to procure any definitive proof that Baron Rivendare was either alive or undead. A lot of the reports he'd read contradicted each other and made bold, often exaggerated statements, leaving the status of the Baron's disposition shrouded in mystery.

So to be safe, before leaving on this mission, Seerath had visited a long time friend, a priest of the Holy Light, and she had blessed the dagger and anointed it with a holy oil, creating a weapon capable of taking down the Baron of Stratholme, should he prove to be no longer amongst the living, which Seerath suspected.

Silently drawing the dagger from its sheath, Seerath took another step towards the exposed back of Rivendare before raising his arm up ready to bring it down upon the bare neck of Rivendare.

At the same moment Seerath had started to plunge the dagger downward, Glormek managed to take advantage of a weak parry from Rivendare and thrust his shield and bash it into the Baron's side, knocking him slightly off-balance. The minor victory for the paladin turned out to be a fatal problem for the rogue. The holy dagger, no longer aligned with the Baron's neck, pierced his black armour easily and sunk deep into his left shoulder instead. It may have missed the neck, but the damage had still been done. The dagger, infused with the holy energies, tore through the shoulder with ease, tendons disintegrated, muscles were destroyed, wherever the dagger touched, righteous fire burned away the cursed flesh and muscle.

In that instant the dagger penetrated his body, Dreadsorrow, making his way through Stratholme towards the Slaughterhouse suddenly felt a wave of emotion pass through him. He stopped in his tracks as dizziness threatened to topple him. As he leant against a nearby broken lamp post for balance, a name suddenly emerged in his mind. _Gavrin._ He spoke the name, letting his memory try to find any connection. _Friend, best friend, known for years, fought side by side, patrolled the Plaguelands, killed by Soulbane…_ The revelation of these newly surfaced memories stunned the death knight. Where had they come from and why? Then, as if someone has lit a candle, all the pieces fell into place. Rivendare, Dreadsorrow thought, frowning. He had heard his telepathic shout of pain just before the memories had flooded his mind. Somehow the damnable Baron held control of his memories and more than likely would have used them against him should he ever become too independent. If injuring him severely could bring some of them back, then killing him… Dreadsorrow left the thought unfinished as he hastily started again towards the Slaughterhouse, this time doubling his pace.

Normally, pain was something Rivendare would never feel, but as the Light burned through him, he experienced it in the extreme and he roared in a furious agony-fuelled rage. With his left shoulder now utterly ruined, his arm hung limp at his side, his fingers dangling like some kind of revolting set of wind chimes. He lashed out at Glormek with a powerful kick, which the dwarf caught on his shield, but still knocked him back, granting a brief respite. Rivendare threw up a quick spell shield and spun around to face his rear attacker. With his runeblade still in his hand, he put all his strength into bringing it to bear; whipping it around and letting momentum carry it with enough force to cleave a person in two.

Unfortunately for Seerath, that person was him. Were it not the fact that years of combat had honed his reflexes to near instantaneous, he would not have brought his two small daggers up in time for a quick defensive block. As quick as his reflexes were however, they were no match for the power behind the Baron's swing which knocked the daggers aside and embedded the runeblade deep into the rogue's stomach.

Seerath succeeded in not letting Rivendare have the satisfaction of hearing him cry out in pain by the sheer virtue that at first he didn't even realise he had been wounded. Only when the runeblade was violently wrenched back out did he succumb to the intense pain that washed over him like a wave of burning water. He couldn't take it anymore. The pain was too much. Collapsing in a pile on the cold floor, he lay still, waiting for death to take him.

An evil sneer formed on Rivendare's mouth and he turned to face the other attackers again. "Do you think one pitiful night elf can bring _me_ down?! I have had enough of your pathetic antics!" Purple energy started to swirl and pulse around his hands and he thrust his hands outward, letting a volley of shadowbolts fly forth.

Glormek managed to block two of them with great effort and Seranda hastily erected a shadow ward around herself and Magma, absorbing the purple skull-shaped bolts of death just in time. Rivendare took a step back to put more distance between the group and himself and let loose with another round of dark energy, seemingly intent to gun them down, per se, with his powerful volleys of doom.

"I can't stop these forever," Seranda shouted frantically over the din of the howling shadowbolts, "they are coming too fast!"

"And I can't heal all of us should they get through…" Therian added.

Glormek frowned as he blocked another unholy bolt. Sparing a second to glance over at Seerath's body, he made a snap decision. "We have to retreat, now! This is a lost cause." He angled his shield and deflected yet another shadowbolt.

"But what about Seerath?" Magma asked concernedly.

"He's dead and we will be too if we don't leave this second!" Glormek countered.

Obviously distraught, but realising their current plight, Magma voiced her agreeance with the paladin. Glormek told them to start moving and that he would cover them. First Magma filed out, followed by Seranda, who threw up her last shadow ward before leaving.

Therian was hesitant to leave, but Glormek was insistent. When he turned for the door however, there was a figure clad in purple-black armour standing off to the side. It was a death knight, Therian realised. Hope fell from his heart as dread and despair gripped it. They were trapped in the damn room with enemies on two fronts. But the death knight did not attack. He just stood there watching. Wary of a trap, the druid took a small step forward to see if the armour clad figure would react. He did, but not in a way Therian ever thought imaginable. Rather than draw a weapon or throw a spell at him, he simply turned his head to look at him and spoke one simple word; 'run'. Not one to question his luck, he put a hand on Glormek's shoulder to signal him to start to back peddle. The paladin did so, and together, they ran past the death knight who watched them leave in a rush.

Rivendare lowered his arms, seeing the last of the cowardly gnats scurry away in fear. As his eyes tracked them, he saw Dreadsorrow at the door, waiting. "You let them live?" he asked the death knight.

Dreadsorrow merely grunted in retort, not belying any of the new knowledge he had gained on his way over. "They were not worth the effort." He narrowed his eyes. "You let them live too."

A smug look briefly flickered across Rivendare's face as he answered. "If you kill every single person that faces you, rumours and stories of your great power and ability cannot spread. By letting them live, you can spread a web of half stories and misinformation better than any spy or infiltrator could ever hope to."

Dreadsorrow was actually surprised – he didn't think the Baron could be that devious. Perhaps he had underestimated him? Dreadsorrow ignored such thoughts and concentrated on the scene before him. A severely injured night elf, an assassin by the looks of him, lay crumpled on the floor behind the Baron. "What about him?" Dreadsorrow asked, inclining his head slightly towards Seerath.

"Ahhh, our would be assassin." Rivendare said, turning to face the rogue. "I am very surprised by this one; he came so close to actually killing me." The Baron leaned closer. "Your skill is something that I cannot let go to waste – you will become an excellent addition to our cause."

Seerath opened his eyes to look up at the Baron. Weakly, his hand clenched around one of his personal daggers, which he had been drawing slowly ever since he hit the ground, waiting for this moment. "I think not." Spat Seerath at the Baron as he thrust the dagger towards him as hard as he could with what strength he had left.

With a swift movement of his good arm, Rivendare reached out and grabbed Seerath's wrist and held it in a vice-like grip. Looking over the weapon, then back to Seerath he slowly started to push it back towards the rogue, blade first. "I will be the death of you."

Seerath lay there, unable to put up any meaningful resistance and watched as his own dagger slowly came closer and closer to releasing him from this tormenting pain.

"And I will be the death of you." The death knight next to Rivendare stated.

Seerath watched as the Baron's eyes nearly popped out of his head in surprise and he instantly forgot about him and turned to face his attacker, which did him no good. Two gauntleted hands yanked him by his throat and held him solidly in place, ensuring no escape.

"What is the meaning of this insolence?" Rivendare roared in anger.

"You have something that belongs to me." Dreadsorrow said evenly.

"And what would that be, you fool?"

Dreadsorrow's eyes narrowed and his voice took a deadly tone. "My memories."

"Ha, and you think I would willingly give them back?"

"Not yet." Dreadsorrow let go of the Baron and in the blink of an eye, he had one of his axes in hand. In a one graceful swing, he brought his axe up and it sliced through the elbow joint of Rivendare's armour where it was weaker and straight through his arm. The pale arm clad in armour dropped to the floor hand first with a sickening thump followed by the clatter of armour.

"Now, I won't ask again."

Rather than crumble under the threat of losing more appendages, Rivendare actually started to laugh. "Do you think me beaten? Do you think me broken? All you have done is damn yourself! My last act will be to destroy what you cherish!"

Dreadsorrow felt it, like a hand in his brain, grasping at everything until it found what it was looking for - a small part of his mind that had been hidden from him until now.

"Get out of my head!" Dreadsorrow snarled, shaking the Baron violently.

Rivendare just chuckled in response. "You memories are _mine_ to do with as I please."

The hand's fingers closed around the space as if it were a delicate egg, applying pressure before it yielded and was crushed, being destroyed utterly. Dreadsorrow felt no pain. It was just a blank, empty spot in his mind, where something should have been, yet wasn't.

"NO!" Dreadsorrow cried out in anger.

The Baron's evil laugh filled the room, echoing slightly of the walls.

Now in a furious rage, Dreadsorrow directed his anger towards the man in front of him. He threw him forward and wielded both his axes before lunging at the Baron, hacking away until his blasted laughing stopped. Before long, the once powerful Baron Rivendare of Stratholme, now sprawled across his desk, was utterly dead. It was then, in the silence that followed, that Dreadsorrow felt the tingle in the back of his head. It felt like a massive weight that had been lifted – a weight that didn't even know he had. But now it was gone, and in its absence, a flood of images and feelings and emotions poured into him. It was overwhelming. He took off his helmet and put a hand to his head as if it would help relieve the intensity of it all. Gradually, the flow slowed then stopped altogether as all of his memories were restored. Everything except that one black hole in his mind that still hung there, empty and taunting. Maybe, if he -

"Thank you…" rasped a nearby voice, interrupting his thoughts and reminding him he wasn't alone.

It was the assassin. Somehow, he was still alive, albeit barely. "What?" Dreadsorrow replied, walking over to him.

"The…Baron. He was my…last mission." Seerath said, pain clinging to his every word.

Dreadsorrow glanced over the Baron. He still lay on the desk, his chest a bloody pulp from when Dreadsorrow had vented his anger. Looking back to the night elf, he knelt down on one knee and spoke softly. "Then your mission is complete. You will die with honour."

Seerath weakly nodded a thank you. Now, with a sense of accomplishment at having his last task completed one way or another, Seerath finally gave up on the struggle and he embraced the pain, letting the darkness swallow him and he passed on.

Dreadsorrow leaned forward and closed Seerath's eyes. "Suffer well, brother. You've earned that much"

Silence fell over the room and Dreadsorrow contemplated what he would do now with his newfound freedom. It didn't last as long as he would have liked.

"Congratulations, you killed the Baron of Stratholme, now can you get me the hell outta here?" a voice shouted, following by the noise of metal rattling.

Across the other side of the room, where all the iron cages were, was one at the forefront, containing a still live prisoner. Dressed in a fraying cultist robe and covered in bruises, he clung to two of the bars, shaking them as hard as he could. "C'mon pal, a little help?" he asked again, rattling the bars once again for good measure.

Dreadsorrow grunted with annoyance but decided he would be 'charitable'. "As much as I don't care about one measly cultist…" He started before he approached the cell and smashed the lock cleanly off with the pommel of one of his axes. '…you are still a witness, and that, I cannot have."

Horror spread across the face of the captive and highlighted the nasty gash on his right cheek as the death knight's intentions were made clear. He put his palms up in front of him in a gesture of peace. "Hey whoa, don't kill me – look, I'm not even a cultist, I'm with the Argent Dawn!" This however, made Dreadsorrow stop in his tracks.

"Prove it. Right now or you die." The grip on his axes tightened, wary of treachery.

The supposed Argent Dawn agent immediately started to rip off what as left of his left sleeve, tearing it off completely, before raising his arm high in the air. It was so small, Dreadsorrow almost missed it. On the underside of his arm, just above his armpit was a tiny tattoo. Closer inspection revealed it to be a sun with eight interspaced triangles coming out of it - the symbol of the Argent Dawn.

"We get the tattoo so that we don't have to carry around anything material that would betray us to Cult inspections." The agent explained.

Dreadsorrow nodded in agreement. It was a good concept. "So how did they find out you worked for the Argent Crusade?"

The crusader snorted derisively. "They didn't. I screwed up a Cult of the Damned ceremony and earned the ire of him." He nodded in the general direction of the Baron. "But enough about me. You killed Rivendare and the enemy of my enemy, as they say. So look, sooner or later, someone is going to come in here searching for that overrated corpse and when they find him, this city is going to be locked down tighter than a Sentinel's bow string."

"What do you propose?" Dreadsorrow inquired.

"Well, when you killed him, pretty much anything that he exerted direct, personal control over would have broken free. I think you'll find your means of escape over there." He pointed to the massive pile of bones on the other side of the room.

Looking over the stacks of bones, Dreadsorrow could see nothing obvious that he could use to get away with. Opening his mind, he remotely searched through the bones, using his will to see if there was actually anything of use there. The mental screeches of ravagers invaded his mind as he brushed past them, but they faded as he moved on in his search before he heard a noise he was all too familiar with. Grinning to himself, Dreadsorrow concentrated on the sound and wrapped his mind around it, exerting his mental strength and binding the weaker will to his own.

With the task completed, Dreadsorrow commanded his new subject to come forth and almost instantly, bones and the odd piece of armour flew from the massed pile of bones and started to form a spinning ball of bleached bone and blackened armour. After a brief burst of necromantic energy enveloped small group of bones, it quickly dissipated as fast as it had come, revealing Dreadsorrow's escape plan. He was going to ride out on the skeletal steed of Baron Rivendare which was now bound to his will. It brushed the floor with its front hoof and let out a ghostly whinny, approving of its new master.

Dreadsorrow briskly walked over and inspected the steed before patting it on the back of the head. "She is a fine mount and will serve me well." The skeletal horse let another whiney loose, apparently satisfied with his assertion. Dreadsorrow turned back to the undercover crusader. "Tell me, what is your name?"

"Velieros" He stated.

Dreadsorrow smiled – not quite enough to be friendly, but it held no malice regardless. "Well Velieros, today is your lucky day. Now I shall help you as you have helped me. Go to the Armoury and within is a blacksmith by the name of Fred. Tell him what has transpired here and that you are a friend of Dreadsorrow. He will be able to hide you until it has quietened down."

"Thank you, friend." Velieros said, bowing slightly to show his gratitude.

Putting a foot in one of the stirrups, Dreadsorrow deftly threw himself up and over and mounted his new steed. "You can thank me by telling anyone who asks that is was a paladin by the name of Anadelias who killed the Baron and got away. It will help throw off any pursuers I might acquire."

Velieros gave the death knight a half lopsided smile. "Consider it done." He ran a hand through his ragged hair. "I better be going before someone stumbles upon us here."

Dreadsorrow nodded in agreeance before he kicked a heel into his steed and it took off through the massive double doors and out to freedom.

Velieros watched him leave and silently wished him luck. Almost as an afterthought, he remember the nasty swipe one of the Black Guard had taken at time for not moving into his cage quick enough. He tentatively touched the wound on his right cheek and found that the blood had finally congealed, but was still very painful to the touch.

_That's going to leave a scar. _He thought to himself.

Looking over his Baron's room, Velieros moved over the body of the night elf. He wasn't going to leave him here without letting his relatives know what had happened to him and the sacrifices he had made. A quick search of his pockets turned up a few gold coins, an assassination contract and what appeared to be a small pendant that had a few words inscribed on it that he wasn't able to translate. Probably in his native tongue, thought Velieros. Gathering up the effects and placing them in a small satchel he had also scrounged, he said a quick prayer to the Light for the night elf's soul and left to find the Armoury, leaving behind the sanctum of Baron Rivendare and never looking back for a second.


	7. Chapter 7 - Acceptance

_Chapter VII_

_**A**_mmet stared ahead in a strange combination of fear and awe as she eyed the being that floated about a foot off the ground while it stared out at the gathered candidates with its icy, unblinking gaze. She remembered the tales her Ana had told her about the war and she knew instantly that what she was looking at was a lich. Its flowing robes covered in a sort of permafrost and indifferent demeanour coupled with the cold, unholy chains that were wrapped around its torso erased all doubt in her mind that it could be little else. Liches were powerful necromancers and sorcerers that possessed a direct telepathic link to their namesake, the Lich King – ruler of the entire Scourge. Arrogant and confident in their abilities, her husband had once said, they commanded the Scourge from the rear lines, using their dangerous frost magic and necromantic powers to bolster the undead forces. All entire aside, Ammet still had to get accepted by this lich here and now if she had any chance of getting into Stratholme and saving her Ana.

The lich surveyed the gathered candidates as it floated silently. The majority of them were just sheep following the herd and would likely just end up as cannon fodder, but it sensed there was a couple promising volunteers within the group. Suddenly, the lich pointed an icy, fleshless finger at a random human that was a few meters away from Ammet.

"You. Step forward." The lich's voice sounded deep and harsh as it grated against Ammet's ears.

The selected applicant stepped forward out of the crowd and looked up at the horned skeletal head of the lich with a slight fanatical twinkle in his eyes.

Unblinking, the lich spoke. "Why do you wish to join the Cult of the Damned, mortal?"

The human swallowed before answering. "To serve the Lich King and destroy his enemies." He said, shifting his weight slightly from foot to foot whilst awaiting the lich's response.

"A standard answer." The lich replied, slowly gliding forward, coming nearly waist to face with the human. Extending his bony hand as the human looked up, the lich created a hazy purple mist around him, lifting the surprised human off the ground and up to eye level with the lich. The human whimpered ever so softly as the lich's gaze bore into him with its unnatural glowing blue orbs that replaced organic eyes in the hollow sockets of the skull.

"Hmmmm." The lich tilted his head almost imperceptibly as it examined the subject in its unholy grip. "Almost no arcane affinity, muscle structure just under average, intelligence..." The lich hesitated and it went so quiet, one could hear the chains wrapped around its skeletal torso rattle minutely. "...sub-par. You do not meet the requirements to join the Cult, but rest assured, I have no doubt that you will excel in your new position that I have designated for you within the Scourge."

The mist dissipated and the human fell hard onto the ground. "Please, I beg of you, great one, I can learn, I can become better! I swear it!"

The lich floated back over to the small circular platform and positioned himself in the middle then looked down upon the kneeling human.

"Well, I had intended to use you for abomination parts, but as you seem so insistent, I will spare you from that fate."

"Oh, thank you master, I will prove you right, I won't let you down!"

The lich let out a cold, frosty chuckle before answering. "Guards, this one is to be spared from the abomination labs." The human smiled at hearing this. "Instead, kill him and have necromancers raise him as a ghoul." The human's smile vanished.

"But, but master, I thought..."

"Think about it, my servant, what better way to serve the Lich King, than to become a soldier in his armies, bringing glory to his name by killing his enemies. Isn't that what you yourself asked to do and what you wanted? In addition to that, you still gain our promise of being granted immortality though undeath." The lich waved its bony hand dismissively. "Take him away." Two burly Cultist guards moved in and dragged the conscripted human away to his new life of servitude in the Scourge.

Ammet stared as the guards, both living she noticed, removed the man and she quickly turned her attention back to the lich on the dais that had started address the remainder of the prospective members.

"As for the rest of you, Instructor Malicia will oversee the rest of the proceedings and determine which among you are viable enough to join the Cult of the Damned."

Ammet then watched as the lich teleported away with a surge of frost magic and small snowflakes drifted lazily through the air where he was not but a few seconds ago. Realising that she no longer had to be under the scrutiny of a Scourge lich to be accepted, a smile formed on her face, although it wouldn't be there for long.

Malicia, a fair haired woman of medium height and a nasty disposition, moved up to the platform where the lich previously was and rapt the base of her staff on the dais twice, silencing the murmurs of the crowd and drawing all attention to her.

"There will be three groups. If you are told you are number one, move to the left. If you are a two, go to the right. If you are a three, stay in the middle. Once everyone has been sorted, you will begin your new lives in the service to the Lich King."

She nodded to one of the guards off to her side. The guard then turned to the group of waiting Cultists and motioned for them to follow him. As they did, they waved a hand over the midnight black orbs each one of them carried and a faint glow started to radiate from very centre of the orbs. The orb-carriers dispersed throughout the crowd and began categorising out the supplicants. Standing in front of a test subject, they raised the orbs and muttered a few words with the orb reacting in turn.

Ammet saw several people near her have the orb test them and have it turn a dark brown colour with the carrier telling them they were now number three. As the carriers worked their way through the crowd, one approached the woman to Ammet's immediate right. As the carrier raised his orb and spoke the words, a few silent seconds passed and the orb changed colour to a deep blue. Raising an eyebrow, another few silent seconds passed before the orb-carrier finally branded her as a 'one' and she moved off to join the other group of 'ones' that had slowly accumulated.

Ammet mentally braced herself as the orb-carrier stopped in front of her and held up his iridescent black orb.

This is it, she thought, its make or break time. Summoning all her willpower to keep a straight face and hold her emotions in check, Ammet stood there rigid and stared at the orb that would decide her fate. Initially, it made no change, making her fear that she would be rejected, but slowly, the cloudy orb roiled within and turned a dark blue. The carrier grumbled at the orb's change of colour.

Letting out a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding, Ammet relaxed unintentionally let her defences down at the same time, unused to keep the mental barriers in place at all, much less an extended period of time. Almost on cue, the cloudy orb roiled again, more furiously this time, and the deep blue faded to black before turning into a bright turquoise.

This time, the orb carrier raised both eyebrows, the look of disbelief on his face appearing almost comical in contrast to his dark robes and unnatural surroundings. Lowering the orb, he told Ammet that she was definitely a 'one' and slowly shuffled off to another waiting candidate. Taking the actions of the cultist and the orb as a good omen, she joined the other group of 'ones' and looked back over to the few remaining untested applicants.

When the rest had been tested, the majority of which were 'threes', Malicia once again spoke to the groups.

"Now that everyone has been sorted, group one shall follow me, group two will accompany Marduk Blackpool and group three will remain here..." A sinister smile ever so briefly played upon her lips before she continued. "...with the Ravenian, who will assist you in beginning your new life in the Scourge." With that said, Malicia turned and headed up the hill towards the ruined building that sat decrepitly at the top. Group two likewise followed Blackpool as he too headed towards the sorry excuse for a structure.

Ammet did not like Malicia's smile one bit and knew when people like her smiled, good things never happened. Seconds later, her suspicions were confirmed when the screaming started form the bottom of the hill. A huge, bestial and unnatural roar momentarily drowned out the agonised shouts of pain and terror before subsiding and the screaming could be heard again. It was then that Ammet realised the Ravenian was slaughtering the failed candidates, one by one so that they may be raised as ghouls or used for abomination parts and who-knows-what other undead horrors.

Still following Malicia, Ammet willed herself not to turn around and witness the carnage, taking every bit of mental courage to put one foot in front of the other and ignore the scene behind her. As they reached the front of the looming building, it didn't look quite as unstable up close. Malicia lead the soon-to-be-cultists through a heavy wooden door off to the side and down a flight of stairs that seemed to descend forever into the shadows.

As Ammet walked down the staircase, she could still faintly hear the dying throes of the Ravenian's victims outside and she suppressed a shudder as she continued down the stairs and finally wondered what she had gotten herself into.


	8. Chapter 8 - Depression

_Chapter VIII_

_**T**_ he bartender stood behind the bar, cleaning the glass stein with his not-quite-so-clean chequered rag. Whilst cleaning, he eyed the crowd that was in the tavern tonight. A few regulars, a travelling merchant, two off duty guards and some guy by himself in a corner. Well, as long as he paid for his drinks and didn't cause trouble, he could sprout horns for all he cared. He finished cleaning the stein and held it up to inspect it. In the low light of the tavern, it would pass for clean. Satisfied with the results, he placed it under the bar next to the other steins and begun to slowly wipe down the not-quite-so-clean bar with the chequered rag. As his beady eyes surveyed the crowd again, he saw the lone guy in the corner raise his empty stein, signalling he wanted another. The bartender took a stein from under the bar, filled it with another dwarven ale and took it over to the table.

"That'll be ten silver." The bartender muttered.

In response, the man at the table rummaged through a pouch at his waist and deposited the required amount onto the table.

The bartender greedily scooped up the silver pieces and went back to the bar, leaving the man alone again.

The man's thick hand unhurriedly took the handle of the stein and drew it closer to himself. Even in the dim light of the tavern, one could see that he was heavily muscled and wore piecemeal chainmail armour and not a person to pick a fight with, especially if the hammer that rested near his chair was anything to go by.

Raising the drink, he took a long swig before putting it back down with a heavy sigh.

_I'm a failure. I can't keep a promise, I can't find one man, I can't do anything right. Look at me – just another lowlife drunk in a tavern, just another failure that can't do anything right. They used to call me a 'hero'. Hah! If they saw me now, they would probably spit on me and laugh. I wouldn't blame them, no point stopping them; I'd probably fail at that as well. _

He let out another deep sigh and drank more of his ale as he submerged back into his thoughts.

_I can't even face her anymore either. It was hard enough the first time, breaking it to her, now to go back again and tell her that I've failed for a second time? Yeah right, like that's going to happen. I'm not even man enough to go back there, let alone talk to her. What would she say? "Oh Gavrin, I trusted you, you said you would bring my Ana back!" Poor Elencia, having me as a friend, she deserves better. I couldn't even save her husband - my best friend for Light's sake! Anadelias, old friend, I'm glad you can't see me now, see what I failure I am. I looked and I looked, but there were no tracks, no clues, no trace of you, it's like you just fell off the face of Azeroth. I tried for so long friend, but I failed. I've got no excuse. I know if we were in different shoes, you would never give up, never stop looking for me, but...I'm nowhere near the man you are. I looked so hard – but I failed and gave up. What's the point anymore? _

A cross between a groan and a sigh escaped Gavrin's lips as he lifted his stein again and finished what was left in it. Raising it above his head, he signalled the bartender to bring him a fresh one.

Suddenly, a flash of bright light filled the tavern. It was so golden and vivid, it practically blinded Gavrin. He had to hold up an arm to block his eyes, and only when two black blotches appeared in the golden light, fouling it's magnificence with their presence, was he able to lower his arm as his eyes adjusted to what was going on.

It was...almost like... Oh. It was just the tavern door open. The two black shapes were just new patrons entering They closed the door behind them, plunging the place back into its dim state once again, and found themselves a table a few meters away from him, in another corner.

As the bartender came over with Gavrin's drink he stopped by newcomer's table. He held the filled stein in one hand and started pointing to a blunderbuss just above the bar shelves with the other. Both of the men seated were clad in dark clothes that looked like they would provide mild protection, yet not hinder flexibility. Judging by the bartender's reaction and by their clothes, Gavrin deduced that had probably caused some trouble or something similar in this tavern before.

The bartender finished his 'conversation' with the two suspect patrons and came over to Gavrin's table and put down the drink.

"You're not a regular here, so I'll give you a word of advice. Stay away from those two. They're trouble." He said in a gruff voice.

Gavrin lifted his head to look up at the bartender. "What kind of trouble?"

"The bad kind." He answered.

"So why don't you kick them out?" Gavrin inquired as he pulled out the change for the drink.

"Because they pay for their drinks and they know not to cause any problems in here."

"Oh really?" Gavrin questioned.

"Yes. And the fact that this is the only tavern that sells cherry grog for miles around helpstoo." The bartender replied, with a touch of pride in his voice.

'Ahhh' was all Gavrin said as he nodded slightly and turned his attention back to his drink.

_Trouble. Huh. They probably get some sucker drunk and then offer to take him home and then rob him blind on the way. Or get really drunk themselves and start fights with random people or something. Or maybe even..._

As he thought about the different possibilities, Gavrin could have sworn he caught one of them staring at him before his gaze quickly flicked back to his friend.

_Oh, what's the point? They probably know I'm a failure just by looking at me. Some guy, alone in a dank bar slowly drinking himself to death because he couldn't even find his friend. Yeah, that's me, Gavrin the Stout, reduced to a tavern drunk. Let them laugh, it doesn't matter. Maybe if I'm really lucky, they're assassins come to put me out of my misery. Yeah, like that'll happen, I can't get out of it that easily. I have to live every day knowing I'm a failure. Serves me right. Can't even find Ana. What a joke I am. _

It was then that he noticed that now they were both staring intently at him.

_Oh great, they can tell I'm a failure. Probably going to come over here and taunt me or leer. Well, if they want a fight, I won't disappoint them. Better not waste my drink then._

As Gavrin gulped down his drink, his suspicions were confirmed as he saw that both the dark-clothed men were indeed getting up and coming over to his table. They got to his table just as he thumped down the empty stein.

"Good afternoon friend." The first one said, who Gavrin noticed was the taller of the two. Tall's voice was silky smooth and was quite well spoken.

"We noticed that you looked rather down and we thought we could help you." The second, shorter one said, his voice like honey. Gavrin said nothing to either; he just kept staring up at them.

"Allow us to buy you a drink." Tall said, gesturing towards Gavrin's empty stein.

Gavrin let the offer hang in the air for a few seconds before answering with a 'sure'.

Short waved to the bartender for another drink before sitting down at the table with Tall.

"We have seen this sort of thing before." Short started. "People down on their luck, drinking their sorrows away at a tavern."

"We believe we can help you, as we have helped others in the past." Tall finished.

Gavrin scoffed at them, just as the bartender arrived with fresh drink.

As he put it down, the bartender warily eyed Tall and Short before he turned back to the bar, chequered rag over his shoulder.

"As we were saying, we think we can help you." Tall proposed.

"And just how are ya gunna be doin' that?" Gavrin asked, sceptical.

Short cocked his head slightly. "You've lost something. Someone. Your friend, he is gone."

_How did he know? Is he reading my thoughts?_

"What's going on here?" Gavrin growled.

Short merely gave him a placating smile.

"As I said, we have helped others in the past and we can help you, if you allow us." Tall proffered.

Gavrin leaned back in his seat, consternation plastered on his face as he contemplated their offer.

_Who knows, they might actually be able to help. Hah! When the Searing Gorge freezes over. No one can help me. The failure is mine alone and nothing can change that._

Gavrin started to decline before Short interrupted. "You do want to help your friend, yes?"

"We can give you the power to find him. Save him." Tall said with his smooth voice, making the offer sound more tempting than it should have been.

_But, what if they're right, and they can help?_

"Either way, friend, what do you have to lose? If we cannot help you, we shall compensate you monetarily for your troubles. But if we can help you, you will have the power to find your friend." Short purred.

_Well, it does sound very tempting...it wouldn't hurt to see what they're offering I guess. For all I know, maybe they can help me. _

"Alright, I'm interested, what do I have to do?"

"Just simply come with us and we will do the rest." Short answered.

"Our camp is not far from here, just under a day's walk." Tall said.

Gavrin raised a hand and wiped some of the grime away on the window near him, letting it cast a dark orange light onto the table. "Bah, the sun is nearly gone and I don't feel like walking around blindly in the dark." Gavrin complained.

"Do not worry, friend, we have our horses around the back. They will get us there quickly." Short countered.

"Fine. But ya better pay me if this doesn't work."

"Don't worry, we will." Tall said.

"Rest assured friend, when we help you, you won't need to take the money." Short stated.

Gavrin grunted in response and stood up with Tall and Short, collecting his hammer as he went.

As Tall and Short left with Gavrin, the bartender watched them leave with his beady eyes, cleaning a glass stein with his not-quite-so-clean chequered rag.


	9. Chapter 9 - Desertion

_Chapter IX_

_**W**_ith one arm raised in the air, the half crouching ghoul looked rather silly, Ammet thought. But that said the fact that she had managed to get it animated this much so far was good. Her current supervisor, Malicia, was also extremely impressed with her progress so far, telling Ammet as much. 'Thank you ma'am' she had replied, drawing a surprisingly sincere smile from Malicia.

"Now, remember, you only have to raise it and when that is done, the Lich King's will shall take care of the rest. The hardest part of being a necromancer is the strain raising the dead brings. But, as they say, practice makes perfect. The more you do it, the easier it will get and you will be able to raise more at a time." As if to prove her point she turned to face a mound of dead bodies piled up in the corner. Gesturing with both hands whilst they emanated dark, necromantic energies, she thrust them up into the air without a single sound and almost instantly the heaped bodies started to twitch and scrambled to get themselves up.

Satisfied, Malicia turned back to Ammet and gave another eerie smile. "Give it a few years, and you will be able to do the same."

Ammet simply nodded in agreement.

The example now over, Malicia made a horizontal chopping motion and the freshly raised undead fell back down to the ground in a pile as if they were marionettes whose strings had just been cut.

"Now," Malicia began, "I want you to practice as much as you can between now and noon tomorrow. That is when my next class will be and you, my dear Ammet, shall be its star pupil."

Ammet bowed and thanked Malicia for her graciousness.

"Just be careful not to burn yourself out – I need you in perfect form."

"Do not worry, I will be fine." Ammet replied.

With that, Malicia left her alone and Ammet headed back to her quarters, deep in her thoughts.

_I have come so far this past week and still they suspect nothing. So far so good, everything is working and soon I will have my Ana back. All this necromantic energy though, it cannot be good for me long term. Hopefully it won't be too much longer before I find some kind of sign to my Ana's whereabouts. But still, I never thought something like raising the dead would be so...so easy! I always pictured it involving some type of long lost ritual with candles and – _

Her thoughts were disrupted by a cultist passing her and shouldering his way past.

"Hey..." Ammet started before being cut off.

"Watch where you're going, student." He said with a sneer and putting emphasis on her lower rank and highlighting the scar running down his entire right cheek.

"I am sorry. I'll be more careful in the future."

"See that you are." The cultist snapped as he stalked off.

Ammet shook her head at his rudeness and continued on towards her quarters. Along the way, she peered through the open doors in the hallway as she strolled past. There was a storeroom for abomination parts, another held shelf upon shelf of huge jars filled with an unidentifiable liquid. There was even one with several skeletons milling about, doing nothing in particular. It was the last room however, that really caught her attention.

It was a simple room with a miscellaneous smattering of furniture, but in the middle of the room, atop an ornamented pedestal, was one of the largest scrying orbs she had ever seen. Stopping and outright staring into the room, she could see that this orb could easily pinpoint the whereabouts of her beloved down to a millimetre. As much as she wished to just race over and use it now, she held herself in check and started walking back to the student quarters again.

Using that orb would certainly cut down on the time she had to spend in this tainted and malevolent place, but catch was, if someone trained in the arts of the orb caught her in the act or checked to see what the last thing scryed was, her charade would be up and if that happened, not a disguise in the world would save her.

Getting back her communal quarters and dragging her lethargic body into the rough bed she started to think up ways to use the powerful scrying orb without the dark masters of this place catching her. It wasn't long before sleep took over her tired mind and she surrendered to its seductive trance.

* * *

><p>The next day - or at least Ammet assumed it was day as there were no windows in the student quarters - Ammet mentally prepared herself for the coming class in which she was to be the star. What that meant, she herself had no idea but she would not ask another student, for that would seem like a weakness and she would have none of that. Whatever it was, she would just have to do her best and hope that it was enough.<p>

When she had finally made it to the room where Malicia normally taught, it was empty, not a single soul in sight. As she wondered where everyone was or even if she was too early, a noise behind her made Ammet whip around.

"Hello?" she asked cautiously.

No one answered. Frowning, she spun back around and let out a startled yelp as an incorporeal black skull materialised mere centimetres in front of her.

"Boo". It stated, expressionless.

Ammet frowned and put her hands on her hips. "Very funny. I bet you get a kick out of doing that."

The shade slowly wafted backwards as the rest of his form materialised in a billow of magical black smoke. "Scaring initiates is how I make the day go faster. It never fails to amuse me..." the shades voiced echoed slightly and trailed off.

"Where is Malicia's class?"

"Ahhh, so you are the star pupil. Hmmm." The shade appraised her with its empty eye sockets. "Yes, indeed. They have moved."

Ammet frowned at the shade's lack of helpfulness. "But _where_?"

The shade started to fade away, the black smoke that shrouded its body dissipating.

"To the viewing room..." it said before fading away completely.

Sighing with exasperation at the shade's behaviour, Ammet left the classroom and headed to the viewing room.

When she reached it she found, Malicia standing in the doorway, waiting for her.

"Ammet, I'm glad you found your way here, I was beginning to think you might have lost your way." The strange playfulness of her tone suggested that she might have known about the shade, or even sent him herself.

"Just getting in some more practice while I could." Ammet replied neutrally.

"Hmm, good, good. I have something that should help with your performance today." From a hidden pocket in her robe, she produced a small sliver of a purple tinted crystal and pushed it into Ammet open hand. "Keep it close, keep it hidden and tell no one of it."

As Ammet stared down at the tiny crystal, she could feel her consciousness expand considerably and her unholy powers being bolstered by the almost insignificant purple crystal in her hand. As she hid it in the fold of her own robe, Malicia explained to her that is was a shard from an Ash'tari crystal and it would help her immensely.

Ammet thanked Malicia, but the Instructor waved her praise away.

"It serves both our purposes for you to do well here today. Just go in there and do what they ask of you."

"I will." Ammet replied obediently.

Malicia gave Ammet a once over with her steel hard eyes. "I have plans for you, my star pupil and you and I will go far working together. Now go, do me proud."

With a nod, Ammet took a deep breath and proceeded into the viewing room to face whatever challenges the masters of the dark school had prepared for her.

* * *

><p>After several hours of tests and challenges, Ammet was utterly exhausted. Her focus and abilities had been pushed to the brink but she had persevered and made it through. Fatigue was now starting to set in, slowing her movements and dulling her senses.<p>

Before she could escape to her dorm and embrace the bed like a long lost friend and enter a blissful deep sleep, Malicia appeared next to her.

"I just wanted you to know that you have done extremely well. I have not seen another student do so well in the trials before."

Tired as she was, Ammet still remembered the proper etiquette; bowing shallowly and thanking her Instructor.

"It's really taken a lot out of me - even with the Ash'tari crystal helping me."

Malicia's long elven ears bobbed up and down as she nodded in agreement. "Yes, the trials are one of a student's hardest feats. But should they manage to pass they are assured a place in the Cult."

Ammet could only smile at Malicia's words, too fatigued to respond.

"And should they do particularly well, as you have done," Malicia said with a smile creeping on to her face, "they are often assigned to a large Scourge stronghold as place to learn quickly and put their new powers to good use. In this case, the closest one to here would be Stratholme."

That caught Ammet's attention. Her fatigue, which plagued her only a second ago, was now forgotten, replaced by a keen sense of alertness upon hearing the words she could only dream of.

"I would be transferred to Stratholme?"

"Oh, indeed – especially with a student of your calibre." Malicia responded.

Thoughts darted around in Ammet's mind like wildfire in a dust devil.

_Is it really possible? Am I dreaming? Are they really planning to send me to where I need to go? Amazing, this is actually turning out better than expected. Hah, it looks like Ammet was the right path to take. Poor weak Elencia could never have gotten this far. _

"Get a good night's rest and then see me in the morning. We shall start the paperwork to fully induct you as a member of the Cult and transfer you to Stratholme." Malicia ordered.

"Yes, right away mistress." Ammet quickly answered, big smile beaming on her face.

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_What do you mean, dead?!" _

"Killed m'lady, at least two days ago." The courier had answered.

Ammet had been on her way to the Vault to meet Malicia who in turn was meeting with the lich, Ras Frostwhisper. Just before she had entered the Vault however, the screams of Malicia's rage had stayed her feet. As she listened from just around the doorway, she could hear the anger in the Instructor's voice.

"Who would dare strike against the might of the Scourge in our own stronghold? Who would dare such a brazen act without fear of our wrath?"

"A paladin m'lady. He had been captured but escaped."

"And managed to kill Baron Rivendare in the process too, no less." Came the deep, grating voice of the lich, Ras. Ammet recognised voice as the same one from the lich that had been present the day she was chosen to enter Scholomance.

"Do the fools have a name? Surely they know that much." Malicia asked, referring to the Stratholme guards.

"Yes, m'lady. They say that a man named Anadelias was responsible."

Ammet nearly fell over at the mention of her husband's name._ My beloved! He lives – I knew it! They did capture him, but he escaped and killed his captors. I knew he wasn't dead; he would not leave me like that._

"Anadelias? He sounds familiar. I believe Rivendare had plans for him...but if the message this courier bears is true, then it seems that the Baron's arrogance finally got the better of him, underestimating a paladin." Ras thought out aloud.

"You!" Malicia's sharp voice made Ammet jump, thinking she had been discovered. "What is your name?" She asked.

"Velieros, m'lady." The courier answered.

Letting out the breath she had been holding, Ammet regained her composure and continued to listen in.

"Listen closely Velieros, when you leave this room, you are to tell no one of what has happened. Go straight back to Stratholme and tell the highest ranking person you find that we will be sending an envoy soon and to expect their arrival. Now go."

"Right away m'lady." Ammet could hear the courier turn and head for the door.

Straightening up and taking a few steps back, she waited until Velieros' footsteps sounded like they were right at the door and then she started walking forward.

Velieros rounded the corner and stopped short just before he collided with Ammet.

"You again!" He said, eyes widening.

Ammet saw the scar on the right of his face and instantly recognised Velieros from her previous encounter with him.

"We really should stop meeting like this." She said coyly.

"No doubt." Velieros commented as he pushed past Ammet.

"Wait." Ammet turned with him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Is it true what you said, that a paladin named Anadelias killed the Baron?"

Velieros was about to tell he to mind her own business, but when he looked into her eyes, there was something there that told him she needed to know.

"Yes, it was. Look, I'd stay and talk, but I really have to go."

"I understand. You don't want to be on Malicia's bad side." Ammet managed a smile.

With nothing further to say, Velieros nodded and hurried off to carry out the Instructor's orders.

Ammet took a deep breath, exhaled and then entered the Vault to meet with her mistress.

As she entered, Malicia was already striding towards Ammet purposefully with a devious smile on her face.

"Good news Ammet, you are now an official member of the Cult of the Damned." Malicia clasped her hands in front of her. "We can begin preparations immediately."

As Ammet looked around the Vault, she noticed that the lich had disappeared, telling Malicia as much.

"He's gone to take care of some other Scourge business for the time being. What happens here between us stays between us."

Malicia motioned for Ammet to take a seat at a nearby table and they both sat down, on opposite sides.

"Now, as I'm sure you overheard," Malicia started, "Baron Rivendare is dead. That means there will be a power vacuum until someone rises to take his place, whether through violence or political manoeuvring, it doesn't matter. The fact of the matter is we, as in Scholomance, need to send an emissary to oversee our interests and declare whoever takes the Baron's place to be acknowledged by Scholomance. This is where you come in. As the school's newest and most promising Cultist, and the only one whom I trust as well, I will be sending you to Stratholme in my stead."

Ammet put on her best smile for Malicia. "I am honoured to be given such an esteemed role, Instructor." Ammet replied diplomatically, even using Malicia's correct honorific.

"This also brings me to my other reasons for choosing you. As I said before, you are the only one I trust and because of that you will be my eyes and ears within Stratholme, reporting to me directly and telling me all that transpires. To stay in power and ascend the ranks of the Cult, one must have knowledge. Together, we will go far, I know it." Malicia's eyes sparkled with visions of grandeur.

Suddenly, an amazingly crazy idea formed in Ammet's mind. It was very daring and risky, but if it worked, there would be everything to gain. Leaning back in her chair, Ammet folded her arms and allowed a genuine smile to cross her face.

"Tell me, have they caught the paladin who murdered the Baron?"

"Not as of yet, no. Somehow he has eluded capture." Malicia answered.

"Then I have the perfect 'tribute' of sorts from Scholomance for whoever ends up as the new leader of Stratholme."

Malicia's eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly, meaning she was clearly interested. "Please, continue."

"Just think, what better tribute from the renowned Scholomance than to present the new leader of Stratholme with than none other than the location of the paladin who murdered their predecessor? That way," Ammet explained, "we present one of the most valuable tributes under the circumstances, the new leader saves face and gains his political powerbase by hunting down Rivendare's killer and I stay in Stratholme as an esteemed emissary all the while providing you with the knowledge you need."

For a long while, Malicia said nothing. Before the silence grew awkward however, a devious smile formed on her lips. "Amazing. Simply amazing. I knew I choose you for a good reason. But," Malicia hesitated, "there is only one problem."

"The location of the paladin?" Ammet suggested.

"Exactly. He escaped and no one has any leads on his whereabouts."

Now it was Ammet's turn to smile deviously. "Let's just say that if I were to be left unattended in a certain room with a certain scrying orb, that problem would be rendered moot."

One of Malicia's long ears twitched gently. "Not only can she raise the dead, but she can scry as well! I have chosen well."

"I will have the location of the...paladin within the hour." Ammet could not bring herself to say her beloved's name for she was not sure if she could control her emotions if she did.

"Excellent. Come to me straight away when you do and I'll prepare you for your journey to Stratholme. I will be waiting in my quarters."

"Very well Instructor." Ammet bowed slightly as she got up from the table and left Malicia in the Vault to her own thoughts.

* * *

><p>The massive scrying orb sat atop its ornate pedestal, an inky dark cloud roiling around within, indicating its inactive state. As Ammet approached the orb, her hands slowly crept forward, eager to the magical surface, yet hesitant at the same time. With great care, she gently placed the tips of her fingers upon the crystalline orb and almost instantly, she felt the tingle of arcane magic as it ran up her arms and through the rest of her body. It coursed through Ammet and made her feel like she could see the length and breadth of Azeroth all though this orb in front of her. Quickly, she shook her head and dissuaded such notions. To do so was weak and folly. The orb only provided to those with the power to use it. The weak would be lost forever in the false feeling of omniscience it provided. But she would have none of that, finding her beloved was more important.<p>

_Right. I only have to find my Ana and then I can finally leave this place. The only problem is I don't have Ana's candle to help scry for him. Or anything of his on me actually. Hmmmm. Ah ha!_

Quickly, Ammet withdrew a hand from the orb and slipped into the folds of her robe, and brought out her small sliver of Ash'tari crystal Malicia had let her keep.

_Her mistake is my gain._ Ammet thought with great satisfaction.

Pressing her other hand fully against the orb's surface and tightly clutching the crystal in the other, she concentrated hard on the image of her husband, her mind going back to the day he surprised her with the carved tree. The way the light shone down through the trees and the twinkle in his deep blue eyes.

All of these thoughts she poured into the Ash'tari crystals, using it as a focus for the scrying orb to find her husband. The orb itself reacted with the odd combination and use of magics with surprisingly little resistance. The gray, cloudy interior continually expanded then collapsed in on itself, almost like it was a beating heart, it such a thing were possible. Then, when it expanded next, colour suddenly burst from within, revealing a scene to Ammet's eyes.

It was a building, two stories, but low set with sparse windows. There was a sign on the front, hanging down above the door that read_'The High Brow.'_ And underneath that in smaller letters: _'Last cherry grog for 100 miles'__. _There was a cloaked figure near the entrance, roughly the same height and build of her Ana.

_It's him! It's really him! I've found him! _

Diving deeper past the image the orb had conjured, she mentally recorded the location the orb had shown her and then withdrew from the orb entirely, and removed her hand, crudely cutting the connection. The image within disappeared, swallowed by the roiling gray cloud, thereby wiping clean any record she was here and ensuring the orb kept its secrets undisclosed.

* * *

><p>As the first rays of sunlight crept over the mountains from the sunrise, Ammet was on her way to Stratholme, mounted upon a skeletal horse with an escort of four ghouls and two banshees, graciously provided by Malicia.<p>

_It's now or never, I have to make my move or by the time I reach the tavern I will have lost my Ana's trail – and I won't be able to use the Cult scrying orb to find him again._

She pulled on the reins of the undead horse, letting it know to stop. When it did, she dismounted and curtly told her escorts she needed to answer the call of nature and to wait there before disappearing into woods. After about a minute, she suddenly called out for the help of the two banshees.

When they reached Ammet however, whatever they were expecting was not the sight they saw. Before them, an intricately drawn circle with interwoven runes was on the ground with Ammet right in the middle. The magic circle was already thrumming with power and the runes glowed dark green.

Ammet lifted her head, which was covered by her cloak, and looked at the two bewildered banshees.

"I'm sorry, but your magical bodies are necessary to fuel the ritual to get me out of here."

With that, she lifted her arm and outstretched her hand towards the banshees and revealed that she was holding the Ash'tari crystal. One blink of an eye later, the foremost banshee was being siphoned into the crystal; its entire body being compressed into a thin strand of magical essence before the crystal consumed it whole like a human would suck up a strand of spaghetti. The second banshee managed to start wailing before being silenced and also consumed by the ravenous crystal – which was now swollen with arcane energy.

Now that the two banshees were consumed and empowering the Ash'tari crystal, Ammet held it above her head and uttered a string of dark, vulgar Scourge-speak words and then threw the crystal to the ground with all her might. It shattered instantly and a dark green flash of energy lit up the entire area for a second before subsiding entirely.

As the dust settled, the runes that had been drawn up were now gone, the shards of the shattered crystal had disappeared and Ammet herself was nowhere to be seen.


	10. Chapter 10 - Pursuit

_Chapter X_

_**F**_ather Malroy had been a priest of the Light for as long as anyone could remember. It was through his service to the Light that he had met and befriended a young Anadelias and helped nurture his talents with the Light and set him on the path to becoming a paladin. This was why upon hearing the news of Anadelias' death, he had broken down and not spoken for days. It was also because of this life-long friendship that he had gone to a secluded farmhouse in the middle of nowhere on a whim upon receiving a note from the supposedly dead paladin, asking him to meet here. He had found the meeting spot, an old barn around the back, and had been waiting for nearly an hour, wondering to himself what he expected to get out of this clandestine meeting.

Before he could dwell anymore on the matter, Malroy heard the old barn door creak open and waited for the newcomer to find their way to him. Rounding the corner was a male in non-descript simple clothes and a travelling cloak that also had a hood, which was conveniently obscuring their face at present.

"Father Malroy, I'm glad you came." Came the deep, foreboding voice from within the hood.

Malroy instantly fell into a defensive stance with his staff in front of him, ready to parry any attacks. "Come no closer – I can sense your undeath from here!"

"I do not intend to harm you Father, merely talk." He replied.

"I will not listen to any lies you spout."

"Would you accuse Leonid Barthalomew of spouting lies just because he is undead as well?"

Malroy visibly relaxed a little. "I suppose you have a point."

The hooded man nodded. "And I have also come unarmed and with no hostile intent." He lifted his arms away from his sides and turned around once to prove that he was in fact, unarmed.

Father Malroy nodded in the direction of an upturned feed trough. "Let us talk then."

Both men sat down on the rusted makeshift bench, although Malroy still kept a respectable distance from the hooded figure.

"Well, as I'm sure you're well aware; I'm Father Malroy. And you are?"

The other man let out a heavy sigh. "I suppose we might as well get this out of the way now."

He lifted both his hands to the hem of his hood and drew it back, revealing his pale-gray face, dark grey hair and his eyes that glowed with an unnatural light blue hue.

"I am Dreadsorrow, Death Knight and free of the Scourge's grasp." He hesitated. "But you would remember me better as...Anadelias."

Malroy nearly fell off his 'seat' at the revelation. Visibly shocked, his hand trembled slightly as he held onto his staff for support.

"Ana..." Malroy's voice broke momentarily "Anadelias, is that really you?"

Dreadsorrow grumbled noisily. "No, Anadelias is dead, physically at least. Mentally, I still have memories of a past life, but that's it. No pity or guilt or emotion." Dreadsorrow knew the last part was a lie, but he did not need anyone else to believe anything except the status quo for now.

Malroy eyed the plain-clothed death knight opposite him warily. "If you really were Anadelias, then you should know the answer to this: How did we first meet?"

Surprisingly, the question drew a smile from the undead man sitting on the other end of the trough.

"I was young, twelve I think, my parents were visiting Lordaeron and I was chasing my best friend – Gavrin – through the alleys when I turned a corner and slammed into someone and knocked them over. I later found out it was you whom I had run into. It was not long after that that you helped me onto the path of becoming a paladin."

"Oh, Anadelias, my boy, what have they done to you?" Father Malroy said, his voice choked with emotion.

Dreadsorrow used his hand to indicate the state of his body. "I thought it was obvious. But my current condition is of no consequence. There is another reason I asked you here."

"You still tricked me into coming here, using the name of a dead friend to guarantee my coming."

Dreadsorrow scoffed. "Technically, I am still Anadelias, from a certain point of view. So it wasn't a lie."

Malroy rolled his eyes. "Of course it wasn't. So tell me then, my boy, why did you ask me here, in the middle of nowhere, away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears?"

Dreadsorrow's mood shifted noticeably from ever-so-slightly jovial back to serious and blunt. "Gavrin. What happened to him?"

Like an unconscious reciprocation, Malroy's mood changed as well. His shoulders sagged at the mention of Anadelias' lifelong friend.

"Ahhh, my boy, it's a sad state of affairs. By some sliver of a miracle of the Light he survived the encounter where you fell and not long after Anadelias – you, disappeared, he vowed he'd find you, much like you would do if Gavrin went missing. For weeks he searched high and low for you, but he found nothing. Not long after, he slipped into a depression and began to spend more and more time at taverns, drinking his time and problems away." Malroy shook his head. "I've seen more death and destruction than most, but when a man dies within himself, it's always a tragedy."

Dreadsorrow frowned. "But where is he now, Father?"

A weary sigh escaped Malroy lips. "Last I heard he was at a tavern way down south, on the outskirts of a tiny village. _The High Brow_ I believe it was called. It's a damn shame about that man. He always had so much faith."

Dreadsorrow stood up and brushed away some vagrant oats that had stuck to his cloak from the upended trough. "I will find him, no matter how long it takes, I will find him."

Father Malory chuckled to himself. "You've got more determination that quite a few living people I know, my boy."

Dreadsorrow grunted in apparent agreement before drawing the hood back over his head.

"Tell no one of our meeting – for all intents and purposes, Anadelias is dead and I do not exist."

Malroy simply nodded his head. "Yes, my boy, I can keep a secret. I already have quite a few I will be carrying to my grave."

Satisfied, Dreadsorrow moved to leave. "Suffer well, Father."

Malroy rose with help from his staff. "May the Light be with you, my boy." He said to the death knight's back as he left.

"More than you know." Dreadsorrow added under his breath, just quietly enough that Malroy would not hear him.

As the Father of the Church of the Holy Light watched the death knight leave the barn, he smiled and recited a small prayer for Dreadsorrow's safety_. __Although I really should be saying a prayer for the safety of anyone who gets in his way_ Malory mused.

* * *

><p>Dreadsorrow stood out the front of the tavern, making sure the last of his disguise was in place before entering. He had not come this far only to fail because some drunk saw what he really was. Just as he was about to enter, a tingling sensation went up his spine and he felt that someone was watching him. He hesitated for a second while he quickly looked around but he could see no one. Satisfied that there was no immediate threat, he walked over to the tavern and entered.<p>

Thankfully it was already evening, so there were no giant rays of sunlight pouring through the open door to announce his arrival and draw anymore unwanted attention than necessary. He quickly scanned the tavern's patrons and saw only harmless peasants. No soldiers or mercenaries to question his presence or scrutinise his disguise with a sharp military eye. Weaving between the tables and reaching the bar, he sat himself down onto one of the wooden stools and made sure his cowl was still hiding his face.

The bartender, a plump man in a severely stained shirt and a chequered rag draped over his shoulder, meandered over to Dreadsorrow to take his order.

"What'll ya have?"

Dreadsorrow did not look up, but instead turned his head in the bartender's direction. "Information."

The beady eyes of the bartender narrowed at Dreadsorrow's answer. "What kinda information?" He asked suspiciously.

"A man. He came though here not too long ago. Medium height, short black hair, muscled."

"Hmmm" The bartender scratched at the stubble on his double chin. "Ere, I'd like to help ya, but my memories aren't what they used to be, filled with 'oles they are."

Dreadsorrow let out an annoyed sigh of displeasure. "Of course it is." He reached into his travel cloak and pulled a small brown bag out before casually tossing it on the counter.

"Try harder." He said bluntly.

Beady eyes fixated upon the bulging coin bag and stubby fingers clamoured for it. The bartender opened it up and saw the glitter of gold before he quickly whisked it away and stashed the bag in his back pocket.

"Well, now that you mention it, there was a fella who looked kinda like that 'bout a week ago. Had one of 'em fancy warhammers with 'im too. All truesilver and gold like, it was."

Beneath the hood that obscured his face, Dreadsorrow narrowed his eyes. "And?"

The bartender sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "Yeah, I was gettin' there.' He then leaned against the bar on one arm and beckoned Dreadsorrow closer with the other. The death knight did not move. After a few seconds when it was clear the death knight was not going to move closer, the bartender repositioned himself closer to Dreadsorrow.

"When he left 'ere, he was with two guys. Nasty fellas, but they don't cause trouble in here and they pay for their grog, so who am I to complain?"

"Get on with it." Dreadsorrow complained.

"Right, yeah. Anyway, these fellas, they're no good, heard rumours and the like. Folks reckon they're really them looney cultists. Twilight's Hammer they call 'em. Bloody doomsday cults. Good for business though, mind you. Everyone tries to drink their lives away before the world ends." The bartender chuckled to himself.

"Where are they now?"

"They got a camp, 'bout a day's travel east of 'ere. Give or take a few."

"I was never here." Dreadsorrow told the bartender, who nodded in response, as he got off his stool and headed for the exit.

As the bartender watched the cloaked man leave, he picked up another dirty stein in need of a decent clean and started to give it a once over with his chequered rag, keeping a close eye on the stranger until he left.


	11. Chapter 11 - Devotion

_Chapter XI_

_**A**_fter a full day of nonstop travel, an easy feat for someone who did not get tired or have to rest, Dreadsorrow finally came upon a massive clearing that was quite clearly an established Twilight's Hammer encampment. There were several medium sized tents and one massive tent that commanded a view of the entire camp. All were dark purple in colour and decorated with hammer motifs.

The camp itself was abuzz with activity; there were Twilight cultists everywhere, some scurrying from one tent to another, some discussing things in hushed whispers in huddled circles, quite a few kneeling on the ground, praying to some unseen entity and there was even a blacksmith hammering away at a forge.

As Dreadsorrow edged closer to the camp, two cultists peeled away from stacking crates to intercept him. One wore dark leather garments, the other a purple robe.

"Greetings stranger, what brings you out this way?" The one in the robe asked.

"I wish to see Gavrin, now." Dreadsorrow bluntly said, straight to the point.

If one blinked, they would have missed the glance the two cultists shared when Gavrin's name was mentioned.

"Ahhh, the new recruit. He is not here right now. You could stay and wait for him until he returns though." The leather-clad cultist suggested.

Dreadsorrow, never one to sit idly around, growled in annoyance. "No. Tell me where he has gone and I will find him myself."

Both cultists shifted uneasily on the spot. "I think you would prefer to wait." Robe said.

"Would you like a drink while you wait?" Leather offered.

Dreadsorrow closed his eyes for a second before answering. "No. Just tell me where Gavrin is so I can leave this place!"

Robe folded his arms. "You do know the end of the world is coming, right?

Leather nodded. "Yes, you should prepare for the coming apocalypse."

"ENOUGH!" Shouted Dreadsorrow, fed up with the cultists constantly dodging his questions. He drew back his hood, revealing his face and his true nature. "Tell me where he is now before I kill both of you and raze this entire camp!"

Although they looked unperturbed on the outside, Dreadsorrow doubted they were unfazed as they seemed to be.

Robe's mouth twitched slightly before he unfolded his arms and pointed to a rather wild looking section of the surrounding forest. "Firewood."

"What?" Dreadsorrow spat the word out and leaned forward slightly.

Leather seemed to recover better than his friend. "We sent him to gather some firewood in the forest."

Dreadsorrow cracked his neck in response. "You had better hope for your sakes I find him. Or I will come back and kill you." Slowly, he turned and pulled the hood back over his head and started off in the direction the cultist had pointed.

As the death knight disappeared into the shadowed forest, Leather smacked Robe on the back of the head. "Firewood. Really?"

"Shut up. I didn't hear you giving him a better answer." Robe snarled.

"That's because you already gave him the best answer possible." Leather answered sarcastically.

"Yeah, yeah. Do you think he'll be back before we are ready?"

Leather scoffed. "Doubt it. He'll probably get lost in the forest. Why, are you scared?"

"No, it's just these disguises are itchy, I miss my armour." Robe complained.

Leather rolled his eyes. "Just help me with the damn crates." He said wearily as he hefted another crate onto the growing stack.

* * *

><p>With a noiseless flash of green lightning, Ammet suddenly appeared in a cloud of dark green smoke. It quickly settled, leaving Ammet to take in her surroundings. Trees, ferns, noisy birds. A forest then, she decided. Not a tavern, where she was supposed to be. Frowning at her location, which appeared to be rather off course, she took her bag from her shoulder and put it gently on the ground.<p>

From it, she took out her scrying set she had wisely kept hidden whilst at Scholomance and began to unfold the detailed map of Azeroth. Quickly, as to not linger here for too long, she scryed for herself, to find out where she was and how far away from the tavern it was.

Unsurprisingly, the small crystal needle almost immediately found her location and its point went straight to a heavily forested area near a small town – where the tavern was located and where she was meant to be.

_Ok, I'm not that far off course. But what if Ana has already moved on? Going to the tavern will only waste more time. That won't do at all. But how can I scry for him without anything to scry with?_

As Ammet pondered her situation, she didn't notice the small, inquisitive bird that had been gradually hopping towards her bag. In search of some extra food, it had seen enough travellers to know that that bags contained food – very good tasting food.

It cocked its head as it eyed the human to make sure that it wasn't watching before making a small jump onto the top of the bag. Waiting patiently for a few seconds to see if it had been detected before moving again, the bird then started to peck enquiringly at the bag itself, trying to find a way in.

It was then that Ammet noticed it. "Shoo!" she shouted as her arm lashed out to get rid of the bird. Alerted by the noise, the bird has already started to take flight before her arm was even halfway there. As such, she missed the bird completely and instead ended up backhanding her bag, knocking it over and spilling its contents over the forest floor.

Ammet cursed as the bird flew into the safety of the tree tops. She sighed and shook her head as she picked up the bag's contents, methodically picking them up one by one. Her attention was caught however; when the sun reflected off the particular item she was holding, making it stand out. When she looked down, she found herself holding a large silver coin. When she saw it, she realised that it wasn't just any coin, but in fact the lucky one Ana had given her when she had accepted his proposal - she could use this to help find her beloved!

Turning back to her map in a rush, she clutched the coin in her left hand while the right held the spellthread.

After a few twitches and spins, the needle finally started to show signs of coherence and it began to sway in a clockwise spiral. With each pass, the spiral got smaller and smaller, eventually coming to a stop and pointing to a place on the map that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. It was part of the same forested area that Ammet was currently in, but it looked to be about a day's travel, give or take, south-east of where she was now.

_So be it. A day's walk is hardly a price to pay to find my beloved Ana. _

With that, Ammet packed up her things back into the bag and then set off to find her husband.

* * *

><p>To her surprise, the walk had only taken half a day, but where she ended up, Ammet never could have guessed. It was a Twilight Hammer encampment. Smiling to herself, she approached the camp and went up to the nearest male she could find.<p>

"Excuse me," Ammet started, batting her eyelashes, "could you please take me to whoever is in charge here?"

The man, clad in dark purple leather garments akin to an assassin, frowned, but did not make any threatening moves.

"Who are you? What business do you have here?"

Ammet slid forward and slowly ran one of her hands gently down his chest whilst she spoke. "I just want to have a private chat with whoever is in charge." She said in a sultry tone, the smile on her face belying the fact that she was using some very subtle magical charms on the man.

For a long second, the man just stood there with a blank look on his face. Then, like someone had snapped their fingers, he fell out of the trance. "Uhh, sure, just...come with me." He sounded unsure, but Ammet knew her charms had successfully worked.

Following the charm-struck man, she entered the camp and prepared herself for the next part of the plan to find her Ana.

* * *

><p>After the better part of an hour of finding no other tracks or even signs of recent travel, Dreadsorrow knew he had been duped. It was in that moment that something finally snapped inside the death knight - all the times he had been annoyed, lied to, attacked, all the anger bottled up, all the rage he had never released, it had finally reached breaking point. He rumbled deeply and let loose an enraged howl of fury and unconsciously released his anger in the form of an explosive cloud of glacial frost, flash freezing everything nearby and turning the ground beneath him into an icy slick.<p>

His hands clenched into fists, Dreadsorrow started to head back to the Twilight camp with a vengeance and his anger rolled off him in waves. So powerful was it that the grass beneath his feet was frozen instantly and even plants that were more than an arm's length away wilted and turned black with frostbite. Even the trees themselves looked like they were trying their best to avoid him as they seemed to lean away and they creaked whenever he was near them, almost like they were wailing out in anguish caused by his passing frozen presence.

_They will pay for this treachery with their lives _Dreadsorrow thought coldly to himself as he advanced back to the doomed camp.

* * *

><p>As she sat outside the command tent, waiting for an audience, Ammet started to become increasingly bored. She splayed one of her hands in front of her and inspected her nails. Turning her hand around she looked it over with a critical eye, but could see nothing wrong and put her hand back into her lap and continued to wait.<p>

Letting out a small huff of exasperation, Ammet looked over the camp and wondered if her Ana really did come here and why. It was while she was going over the possibilities in her head that Ammet noticed someone coming out of the tree line and making their way towards the camp. Whoever they were, they strode with purpose.

Two cultists, one in leather garb and one in a robe, peeled away from the camp outskirts to stop whoever it was. They approached with placating gestures and tried to stop the man from going further. The man merely pointed at them and said something she could not hear. The two cultists started to shake their heads vigorously and one even took a step backwards.

It was what happened next that really caught her attention. Purple energy started to pool in the man's hands. Then, it began to creep up his arms and spread all over his body, completely encasing him in the pulsing magic. But it did not disappear, rather, it stayed where it was and began to quiver.

Ammet raised an eyebrow at this and focused all of her attention at the spectacle. The quivering magic covering the man's body then started to form into shapes and from what she could tell, the outline of armour. It glowed brightly for a second before it hardened and transformed into a fearsome set of plate armour. In the blink of an eye, this stranger had gone from unknown traveller to...to what exactly?

From what she could tell, he looked like a – and then it hit her like a lightning rod in an electrical storm. He looked just like a death knight she belatedly realised! The revelation unsettled her. She had covered her tracks well, no one from the Cult of the Damned should be able to find her, let alone trace her to this location. Perhaps she had left something behind, some tiny clue or shred of evidence, but no. She was certain – certain enough to risk her chances by staying here. At any rate, should she flee now, it would only draw undue attention to herself. Indeed, she would sit here and wait and not before long the death knight, whoever he was, would deal with these pathetic Twilight lunatics and after that? Well, she would cross that bridge soon enough.

Almost right on cue with her mental revelation, the death knight drew a pair of ferocious looking axes seemingly from nowhere and dispatched the two cultists before him. Now the whole camp was now alerted to his presence and intent. Several cries of alarm went up and even a few shout to some dark masters were heard and they all rushed towards the lone attacker.

"Fools." Ammet said softly to herself._ One does not simply rush a death knight with brute force._

The first wave of Twilight Hammer berserkers were closing in and were nearly to the death knight before they stopped dead in their tracks. A barricade of dagger sharp icicles had sprung from the frosted ground beneath the death knight, creating a glacial barrier of death. The berserkers, impaled on the frozen lances, tried in vain to free themselves before they perished, but fingers of permafrost were already spreading fast from their wounds, ensuring their deaths.

The death knight then braced himself and readied more unholy magic in his hands before shouting a proclamation so loud; Ammet could hear it from the other side of the camp.

"Twilight's Hammer! Your end has come and you will all feel my WRATH!"

When the last word was spoken, he thrust his arms upward and dark tendrils of what looked like purple lightning, which Ammet knew was necromantic energy, flew into the air before arcing around and slamming into the ground, seemingly to little effect.

At first, nothing happened. An uneasy silence fell over the camp with cultists looking around for signs of Dreadsorrow's attack, but when nothing materialised and no one died, a slight ripple of laughter started to spread.

It was during this relatively calm period that the High Cultist in charge appeared from his command tent flanked by his entourage of bodyguards and advisors. Ammet turned her head to regard the High Cultist who was no more than three meters away and saw the look of surprise on his face.

_Hah! The fool has no idea how to –_

An advisor screamed and fell to the ground, face first, quickly followed by a bodyguard who, to his credit, did not utter a single noise. They were not dead, but something had tripped them. When Ammet saw what is was, she could not help but let a callous smile spread across her face.

Dirty, gnarled hands tipped with black claws were wrapped around the ankles of the fallen fanatics. Then, like a waterfall composed of dirt, the ground started to fall away, revealing blackened and decomposing bodies, some with shreds of cloth still clinging to them, other with swathes of yellowed bandages still stuck to them. The rest of the dirt around them fell away and the broken, rotted forms of undead ghouls burst forth, still gripping the cultist's ankles. Similar holes were appearing all over the camp as more and more ghouls clawed their way out of the ground, eager to rip their master's enemies to shreds.

With claw and tooth they tore into the defending cultists and the following battle was short, but bloody and brutal. Some cultists threw corrupting bolts of twilight energy at the ghouls, causing them to explode in a shower of rotting flesh and putrefied organs. Others were launching volleys of arrows into the marauding ghouls, turning them into a grotesque parody of a pincushion.

Elsewhere, melee combatants were not fairing as well. As easy as it was to slice off a fetid arm or leg, it in no way deterred the ghoul's frenzy to kill. Soon, there was but one sword wielding cultist left and he was quickly swarmed by the ghouls, who were now free to move onward to devour the remaining ranged cultists.

A few more ghouls were felled by bolts of shadow energy, ripping through them like a fireball through paper, but they still advanced en masse. The archers, seeing how quickly the undead horde was closing, threw aside their bows and drew their shortswords and formed a loose perimeter around the casters. Unfortunately for the archers, not only did their skill lay with the bow, but they were severely outnumbered. The ravenous ghouls quickly overpowered them and quickly set upon the casters like a pack of wolves upon a flock of sheep.

Although, Ammet – still seated patiently on the crate next to command tent - did have to admire last cultist alive, the High Cultist no less, who refused to go down with the rest of his followers. He kept his ground with a longer-than-average dagger, taking swipes at any ghoul that got close enough to claw at him. One ghoul behind him managed to get close enough to rake its splintered claws across his upper left shoulder, prompting the High Cultist to whirl around and bring the dagger down into the ghoul's skull. The necrotic energies animating the ghoul bled away and it fell backwards, taking the firmly embedded dagger with it, relieving the High Cultist of his weapon. Determined to fight until the end, the High Cultist now dropped into a boxing stance and started to punch at any ghoul he could reach. Surprising, it seemed to be unorthodox enough a tactic to keep them at bay for a few seconds before one of the ghouls caught on.

As he went to punch another ghoul, it leaned back enough so that his fist was just short of connecting. Before he could pull his arm back for another punch, the ghoul made its move. Opening its reeking maw wide, it clamped down onto the fist, all the way down to the wrist and sunk its vicious, jagged teeth into the soft flesh. As rotted as the teeth were, they were still sufficiently sharp enough to pierce skin and muscle.

Then, just as realisation dawned on the High Cultist of what just happened and shock crossed is features, the ghoul started to violently shake its head from side to side, like a dog would rip apart a piece of large meat. The hand tore free, wretched off by the ghoul, leaving the bewildered High Cultist to hold his bloody stump. Before Ammet could see what happened next, the rest of the ghouls that were gathered around the High Cultist leapt forward, enclosing him and sealing his fate.

The scene reminded her of Scholomance, where the strong would thrive and the weak would be either consumed or destroyed. She turned away, no longer interested in the ghoul's grisly actions. It was then that she saw the rotted soldiers' master approaching her. He made a casual wave with his hand, as if he were shooing away an annoying insect and then, as quickly as they had risen out of the ground, the ghouls stopped moving and transformed from animated corpse into thick black dust. A wind that apparently only affected them swept through the camp, whisking most of the corpsedust away.

Brushing away a few stray particles of former ghoul that had fallen on her dress, Ammet drew back her shoulders, raised her chin and placed her hands together in her lap and patiently watched as the chilling death knight came to a stop in front of her.

"You," came the chilling voice from behind the plate helm, "are not from here."

Ammet regarded this death knight and decided that he would not attack her...not just yet at any rate.

"No, I am not. I am just passing through." She answered.

"You are most fortunate. Had you lifted even a finger, my ghouls would have torn you to shreds." Dreadsorrow's voice did not contain humour or malice; he was just simply stating fact.

"Indeed, I thought as much. Hence why we are able to have this enthralling conversation." Ammet gave him another smile.

In response, the death knight just grunted.

"So, what brings you to this pleasant place?" She asked, genuinely inquisitive.

For a long while, Dreadsorrow just stared down at her though his helm. When he did speak, it was slow, deliberate and revealed nothing.

"I am looking for someone. My search led me here and the cultists lied to me about his whereabouts. They will not do so again." A hint of humour crept into his voice with the last sentence.

Despite herself, Ammet chuckled. "No, no they won't."

Ammet also noticed Dreadsorrow's choice of words. He had said 'his whereabouts', not 'hers' meaning whoever this death knight was looking for, it thankfully wasn't her.

What she said next surprised even her, for she had no idea what subconscious force compelled her to say it, only that the words were out of her mouth before she even knew what she was saying.

"May I see your face?"

Almost imperceptibly, Dreadsorrow's head jerked back, as if he was shocked by the audacity of her request. But, much to Ammet's astonishment he replied evenly before he reached up and put his hands to his helm.

"I see no reason to decline your request."

For some unfathomable reason, Ammet's stomach began to turn on itself. It was as if a thousand butterflies had materialised inside her, all flying around at the same time. Her breath quickened and the world slowed to a crawl. She saw his claw shaped gloves grip the helm and begin to lift. Leisurely, Dreadsorrow lifted the helm off his head and her eyes were glued to it as he placed it in the crook of his arm. Tentatively, her eyes crept up his body, making their way to Dreadsorrow's face. When she saw it, something in her made her gasp. She was not sure why she did it, or what the death knight would do to her, but gasp she did.

His skin was paled, his long hair a dark gray, and his eyes – those unnatural eyes that glowed with a faint blue hue – bore into her own. They looked at each other, neither moving, neither saying a word, neither breathing. Ammet realised she had been holding her breath and quickly let it go. It did not help much as she was close to hyperventilating for reasons still unknown to her.

_Why do I feel this way? What is wrong with me? Does my subconscious know something I don't? Is it that he is about to attack? Why is he looking at me like that? What the __hell__ is going on here?_

It was Dreadsorrow that moved to break the stalemate first. He cocked his head ever so slightly and narrowed his eyes.

"You seem...familiar somehow. Have we met before?"

Ammet, her breathing now mostly back under control, wordlessly worked her mouth before gathering her words.

"Umm, I...do not think so. I...once was in the Cult of the Damned."

"Ahh, perhaps that is where I have seen you."

"So, you are not hunting down deserters?"

This drew a harsh bark - part scoff, part laugh - from the death knight. "No, I am not. I am here own my own business, not some menial errand for the Cult like a mindless lackey. I am free of the grip the Scourge once held over me and answer to no one now."

Knowing that he had no reason or intent to attack her, Ammet relaxed. Her stomach eased up and her breathing was back to normal. Before she could say anything more, Dreadsorrow spoke up.

"I must thank you though; it does feel good to have the wind through my hair again." He said as he ran his spare hand through his dark gray hair. A light wind picked up at the same time, fluttering wispy strands of the death knight's hair.

It was an insignificant action, but it managed to remind her of Anadelias. Without realising it, she slipped back in her memories.

She could see Ana's red hair and saw herself running a hand through it. He was clad in his golden armour, ready to leave her again to patrol through the Plaguelands. She was saying goodbye to him on the steps of their cottage. She kissed him passionately, one hand in his hair, the other over his shoulder. His kiss was sweet; she could taste the tea he had had with breakfast with her earlier. After their long embrace, she hugged him as they looked into each other's eyes, her green ones and his deep brown ones, before he smiled, showing his brilliant white teeth and said goodbye one more time. He reluctantly left her arms and turned and headed down the pebbled path, leaving her for what would only seem like a fraction of a moment later on. She remembered the sun shining down, catching his armour and giving him a golden aura. And then, just before the memory ended, she could remember the wind catching his auburn hair as he ran a hand through it.

Blinking several times, she came back to reality and with it, the pale, undead face of Dreadsorrow starting back at her. One of his dirty gray eyebrows was raised, whilst he looked at her with curiosity mingled with annoyance.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his rotted, yellow teeth showing.

Ammet suppressed a shudder, thinking to herself how very unlike her beloved Ana this death knight was; in fact, he was pretty much the antithesis of her husband.

"Yes, I was just...remembering, is all."

Dreadsorrow made a noise in the back of his throat that she assumed was an agreement.

"Anyway, I know my business here is concluded and I can only assume yours is as well." She casually said, changing the topic.

Dreadsorrow regarded her for a moment before answering, as if trying to see any hidden angles.

"Indeed. The sun is setting and it will be dark soon. I suggest you stay the night in one of the tents, it will be better than travelling in the forest at night."

"I...you're right, of course." Truth be told, Ammet was rather taken aback by the death knight's suggestion, it was very unlike a death knight to care for another's welfare.

_Perhaps being free of the Scourge has unforseen benefits apart from the obvious _Ammet thought to herself.

"And what about you?" She asked.

"I have my own transport and I require no sleep. The things that dwell in the forest pose no threat to me."

With that said, unholy magic thrummed around his hand and he thrust it in the direction of the ground a few meters away. The earth rumbled for a second before a massive undead warhorse burst forth, as if the earth itself had spat it out like a bad meal. Strangely graceful for such a creature, it landed on its front hooves and then the back two immediately followed after and it wheeled around to present its flank to Ammet and Dreadsorrow, as if to show off its unnatural majesty.

"My charger has no need for rest either." Was all Dreadsorrow offered as he saw Ammet stare openly at the mount. It let out a ghostly whiney and stamped one of its front hooves.

Dreadsorrow frowned as he looked over at his mount. "Nor does it have much patience." He turned back to Ammet.

"May your business be good..." He paused, waiting for her to answer his unspoken question.

"Ammet" She answered.

"Suffer well, Ammet." Dreadsorrow said, giving a very shallow bow, just enough to be polite.

She thanked him and wished him luck finding whoever he was looking for. With the pleasantries exchanged, Dreadsorrow slid his helm back over his head, completing his terrifying visage again, and walked over to the impatient warhorse and mounted up. Giving one last nod to the woman he had just met, and probably would never see again, he flicked the reins of his mount and it reared up before galloping off into the shadowy tree line, the darkness of the forest quickly enveloping rider and horse both and disappearing from sight.

As Ammet watched him leave, she pondered what she would do next. Her scrying had brought her here, but all possible leads to her husband were lying in ravaged and bloodied parts all over the camp. Letting out a sigh of vexation, she stood up and went over to one of the less ragged-looking tents and drew the flap back. A small bed with plush pillows and thick sheets greeted her invitingly.

_Well, at least I'll spend the night in comfort. For all their lunacy, these cultists sure know how to treat a lady _Ammet thought with mirth.

Closing the flap and putting her bag down beside the bed, she collapsed onto the bed with a weariness she did not know she had accrued. The sun had since gone down and she begrudgingly peeled herself away from the bed to light a few nearby candles before gleefully returning to the bed. Letting her thoughts drift to that of her beloved husband Anadelias, she quickly fell asleep and dreams of their reunion filled her slumbering mind.


	12. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

_One Week Later..._

_**D**_readsorrow drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for his contact to arrive. He was in a long abandoned house on the outskirts of the Western Plaguelands. It was partially burnt down from one of hundreds of skirmishes between the Scourge and the Scarlet Crusade and not much apart from the walls was left of it.

Letting out another disgruntled sigh for what seemed like the hundredth time to him, Dreadsorrow stood up to leave after having gotten fed up of waiting for someone who was quite clearly not showing up.

Just as he strode through the charred door frame, a rich, deep voice from behind him spoke up.

"Going somewhere?" His voice had all the haughtiness someone would expect from a nobleman.

In the blink of an eye, Dreadsorrow had spun around and summoned his twin axes to his hands and held them at the ready. When he saw the man sitting in the chair he had just vacated, he turned them back into their innocuous stone forms and put them back on his belt. His clothes were simple, yet carried an unspoken air of elegance about them, from the golden trim to the multilayered tunic and travel pants. His leather boots were of a deceptively high quality too.

"I'll admit I did not expect you to show up." The death knight said, with a vague tone of surprise in his voice.

The man simply shrugged slightly and motioned for Dreadsorrow to take the seat opposite his. When he was seated, the man spoke again.

"And I did not expect to ever hear from someone like you."

Dreadsorrow removed his helm and placed in on the table before eyeing the man up and down.

"Then it seems we have managed to surprise each other." He countered gruffly.

The man unfolded his arms and placed his hands on the table and interlaced his fingers.

"So tell me, why have I teleported all the way from Stormwind to meet you..." he looked around at what was left of the surrounding house "...here?"

Dreadsorrow's armour creaked as he leaned forward conspiratorially.

"I need your help to find someone."

The man seated across from him gave him a predatory smile.

"You must know that my services come with a price. What do you offer in return for them?"

"Information..." Dreadsorrow replied.

The man raised his eyebrows in a silent gesture for Dreadsorrow to continue.

"On Anadelias." He finished.

The look of surprise on the man's face was priceless, but he quickly composed himself.

"I see. Well then, let us get down to business."

* * *

><p><em>Two Weeks Later...<em>

_**T**_he messenger quietly made his way through the large open passageways of the Hall of Reflection, his padded soles not making a sound to disturb the peace – such was practically law, one would never willingly cause undue noise in the Hall of Reflection without severe repercussions. He turned down another spacious hallway and then quickly down another before he was confronted by two guards posted in front of a lush purple curtain.

Without say one word or making a single audible noise, they lowered their wicked, but still graceful looking pikes towards the messenger, who was now mere centimetres from their razor sharp tips.

Quickly, he inclined his head in acknowledgment and quietly whispered his position and need to the person whom they were guarding.

Silently, their pikes withdrew and went back to a guard stance, allowing the messenger to pass and wipe away a bead of sweat that had formed on his brow. He gently pulled aside the heavy curtain and went inside.

It was a circular room, with most of the opposite wall consisting of tall, arching windows which commanded a grand view of the land below.

Bending down on one knee, the anxious messenger waited until he was acknowledged before saying a word.

A finely manicured hand leisurely placed an extraordinary detailed wine glass onto a nearby table with a 'tink' of glass on glass. She did not turn around, but instead kept facing out the windows, looking out at the waterfalls and rivers that dotted the landscape.

"Yes?" Came a musical feminie voice that carried both command and grace, yet at the same time allowed a hint of arrogance to seep through. It was the voice of an authoritative and influential woman who was used to having power. The sort of voice one expected a queen to have.

The messenger swallowed before answering. "Your Grace, I bring news of your nephew."

The only indication that she had heard was the slightest turn of her head towards the man. "And?"

A few more beads of sweat started to trickle down his brow. "I...regret to enlighten you that he has been reported missing. He was last seen in a skirmish with the Scourge." Squeezing his eyes shut and preparing for the worst, he waited for her response as his words hung in the air like a heavy mist lingering in the morning sun, refusing to go away.

"This is the revered Hall of Reflection; I will not be raising my voice in here." She stated curtly at a moderate volume. "So he is missing. Do we have any confirmation?"

"My Lady, our scouts and spies, both without knowledge of the other, corroborate each other's reports." The messenger verified.

Her head lowered a touch upon hearing this. "So it is true then. My nephew is lost.

She turned back to the windows, presenting the messenger with the back of her head again. When she spoke next, it was with sadness, not anger or fury.

"Get one of my aides to fetch Lord Alevious and have him meet me in the Hall of Prosperity within the hour. Then, tell General Whills he will be joining the Grand Duchess of Glyhorn for dinner and to bring the reports with him."

The messenger stood up and put a fist to his chest and bowed. "Yes your Grace, it will be done right away." With that, he quietly slipped out of the room, leaving the Grand Duchess alone again.

Looking out at the landscape below, the Grand Duchess held her composure and would do so until she was in her personal quarters. She did however, utter a single word, so quietly, that even she barely heard it; 'Anadelias'.


	13. Part 2 Chapter 1 - Madness

_Chapter I_

**H**e had been stuck in this cell for over a week now, trapped and alone. The only reason he knew how long it had been was because the guards in red would feed him once a day. If it was not for that, he would have lost all sense of time. There were no other prisoners, no other sounds save one. The laughter, it never ceased. Continuous, never-ending laughter. The guards never heard it; he was the only one who could hear the maddening laughter. He prayed that it would stop, to the Light, to anything, to anyone that would hear his pleas, but they were never answered. The only sound that answered him was the laughter echoing in his cell, never stopping.

"Please, just stop, leave me alone." He begged out aloud.

**_THEY CRAWL AROUND, BITING AND SCRATCHING, THEY ITCH AS THEIR LEGS CRAWL UPON YOUR SKIN, FOREVER CRAWLING AND ITCHING AND BITING AND SCRATCHING_**

The man whimpered.

**_THE TERRIBLE THINGS THAT LURK IN THE DARK LIVE IN YOUR DREAMS AND WHEN YOU SLEEP THEY COME OUT TO FEED AND FEED AND FEED UNTIL NOTHING IS LEFT BUT DUST_**

More laughter followed the voices. He had not slept for days, partly because of the un-ceasing laughter and partly from fear that the things the voice said will come true.

**_YOU ARE WEAK, YOU CANNOT OPPOSE US. COUNTLESS GODS HAVE FALLEN BEFORE OUR POWER FROM JUST A MERE THOUGHT. YOU ARE WEAK, GIVE IN AND YOUR TORMENT WILL END. YOU ARE WEAK, YOU MUST SURRENDER YOURSELF LEST YOUR SOUL IS DEVOURED FOR ALL ETERNITY BY THE DEPRAVED THINGS THAT DWELL IN THE VOID_**

Again, the laughter started and this time there was more than one voice laughing. He was close to breaking point, he couldn't suffer much more. "Get out of my head, go away, go away, go away, go away..." He kept repeating the last two words over and over again whilst the laughter continued.

**_SERVE US AND THE TORMENT WILL END. SERVE US AND THE MADNESS OF THE CITY OF NY'ALOTHA WILL SPARE YOU WHEN THEIR SUNKEN GATES OPEN AND THE WAVE OF UNSTOPPABLE DARKNESS SPREADS OVER WORLD. SERVE US AND THE LEERING FACES OF THE DAMNED WILL TURN AWAY FROM YOU_**

"NO! Just leave me alone!" The man was now curled up on the cold stone floor, his hands over his ears, trying in vain to block out the laughter and the voices in his head. He mewled and wept as they continued to laugh.

**_SERVE US, DO OUR BIDDING, KNEEL BEFORE THE DARKENED CITY OF NY'ALOTHA AND THE LAUGHTER WILL STOP_**

The man had stopped moving, his eyes wide with surprise and shock. "Really? You will really leave me alone? Please, please? Oh by the Light, please." He wept as he begged to the voices in his head.

**_ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS SERVE US AND THE TORMET WILL CEASE, YOUR SOUL WILL BE SAVED AND THE SUNKERN CITY OF NY'ALOTHA WILL WELCOME YOU WITH OPEN ARMS_**

"Yes, please, I'll serve you, I'll do your bidding, I don't care, just make it stop, I can't take it anymore, I want to sleep; I can't stand the laughter!"

**_GOOOOOD, VERY GOOD. SLEEP NOW_**

Before he could say another word, the man blacked out and went limp upon the chilling stone floor.

* * *

><p>It was several hours before the man awoke. He felt groggy, like he had just awoken from a long night of heavy drinking...or like he had been drugged. Blinking several times to help clear his eyes, he found that this was not the same place where he had fallen asleep. It was dark, pitch black; he could not see a thing. It was also cold, not freezing, but enough to be unpleasant. The floor was uneven and rough, perhaps it was a hewn cellar or basement - that would also explain the lack of light. A low growl behind him changed his mind. Then, before he could turn around, a green flame burst into life to his left. He turned and looked and saw a brazier there, now burning. Like a chain reaction, another one next to it burst into life, then another and another, all around the edge of the room, his eyes following them as each new one sputtered into life. It was in the moment, that his eyes fell upon what had growled and what he now understood had lit the magical torches.<p>

It was massive, easily twice the height of a man and as wide as several. It had pale purple skin and it looked unlike anything he had ever seen before. Two stumpy legs supported an immense torso that appeared to be all muscle. Attached to the torso, where a human's arms would be, were slithering tentacles. There was one on each side, yet the right one was easily three times the size of its counterpart on the opposite side. But its head, if it could truly be called that, was what really drew his attention. It had a trunk-like appendage that ran down from the top of its body and tapered off halfway down its torso, coming to a sharp point at the end. Two very small slits on either side of the uppermost part of the trunk functioned as eyes as far as he could tell. There were no ears or nose or mouth, but somehow the thing was talking out aloud, a harsh and unknowable language, but in his head, the man could hear the thing speak, in Common no less.

_**You are now a servant of the Old Ones. You will serve faithfully or your soul will be flayed. This is what you must do.** _

Before the man could say a word or breathe or even blink, the creature's smaller tentacle shot forward, seemingly stretching beyond its normal length and wrapped itself like a coil around his head. Before a scream could be uttered, images started to flash before his eyes, tens, hundreds of them, all in rapid succession, every single one of them burning into his memory, unable to be forgotten. They came faster and faster, coming to a crescendo, but before they could reach an epitome, they stopped and everything went black. A single vision came out of the darkness, and this, the man realised, is what he must do.

**_Yes, this is what must be done. He must die for the Old Ones to be pleased. You will kill the death knight._**


	14. Part 2 Chapter 2 - Beginnings

_Chapter II_

**W**e have been isolated for too long. We need to expand!" The councillor shouted, his voice straining to be heard over the raucous going on around him.

Almost instantly, another councillor rebuked him. "The only reason we have survived this long is _because_ we are isolated!" The vehemence in his voice matched the angry expression plastered across his face.

"But our resources are not infinite, hence the need to expand." Another counted.

This particular debate had raged within the Senate of Glyhorn for many decades but only recently.

The original Old Families of Glyhorn had been exiled from Kul Tiras for trying to start a revolution. Sent away from the island kingdom with whatever possessions they could store on their ships, they eventually came upon the northern rocky coast of the Eastern Kingdoms. For two days they travelled along the bleak, uninviting cliffs, trying to find a place to land, when finally a small cove appeared in between two massive bluffs. Too small to sail their tall ships into, but big enough to allow several longboats through at once, exploration was carried out and the cove led to a series of interconnected honeycombing caves that opened up into a massive mountain range with plenty of open ground and fresh water. It was unanimously decided that this would become their new home.

Thus began the long process of ferrying supplies and people from the ships to the cove and through the cave system and finally reaching mountain plains. Even the ships themselves were broken up for lumber to use in construction, citing that they would no longer sail the seas and forsaking their Kul Tiras roots. Vowing to be independent and stay out of the larger world, the nation of Glyhorn was formed. To help keep others away and isolate themselves, the tiny cove in the sea cliffs that had initially led them to their new home was filled in and the cave exits sealed. A massive gate was built in the only mountain pass that allowed passage to Glyhorn and the treacherous mountain air currents kept all manner of flying things away; even mighty dragons still had to bow to the mercy of the wind's whims.

One family would rule at one time, and carry that rule on for three generations before the Senate voted another family into power. Eventually, after many families had come and gone, a rift formed within the Senate. Councillors who wanted Glyhorn to become part of the larger world, expansionists, arguing that the need to expand outweighed the desire to stay isolated. The opposing councillors, isolationists, arguing that there was simply no need to expand and it would only bring misfortune and drain their economy. Unfortunately for the isolationists however, the debate was slowly but surely favouring the expansionists. Simply put, the longer the argument went on, the more Glyhorn's resources dwindled and the more supporters the expansionists would garner. For the moment, the numbers were roughly even, though in the past it had fluctuated substantially depending on who was in power and what was happening in Glyhorn at the time. A partial stalemate currently filled the Senate with neither side having a strong platform from which to justify their arguments, but today the debate had boiled down to a shouting match, as it most often did. The Senate was filled with expansionist councillors shouting down to their isolationist counterparts and vice versa. Words flew back and forth, thinly veiled threats were dispensed and many a fist was shaken.

"ENOUGH!" A regal voice, amplified by the Senate's acoustics, silenced the vociferous councillors. "I will not have this session reduced to a childish shouting match. You are all meant to be examples of intelligence and wisdom, not some peasant rabble out on the farmlands. We will have a small recess and whilst we are adjourned, I do hope you will all come to your collective senses and return with some decorum." The Grand Duchess of Glyhorn rose from her desk of office at the front of the Senate and looked over the semi circle of councillors arrayed in ascending tiers before her with an icy stare then took her leave.

As soon as the Grand Duchess left through the heavy door opened by the Senate guards, an extremely well dressed middle-aged man peeled himself away from the wall he was leaning against and fell into step behind her.

"Lord Alevious, these councillors are starting to annoy me. The Senate has gone from being a body for the people to a fractured, squabbling host. Something must be done." The Grand Duchess stated, not needing to turn around and see who was following her.

"Your Grace, I sympathise with you. Even when I did my two terms within the Senate, there was already a line in the sand that had been there for many years. I fear it will take more than one ruler of Glyhorn to erase it, if at all it is even possible." Lord Alevious, the Grand Duchess' greatest supporter, grimaced at the prospect of it.

"Since the news of my nephew's disappearance, there has been a flurry of activity from within my opposition's parties. I know they are up to something, but as to what exactly, my agents are unsure."

Lord Alevious inclined his head slightly in offer of his respect "I'm positive they will find Anadelias, they are some of the best. Before you know it, he'll be back here, becoming the next Grand Duke."

"You and I both know I am the last of this family to be in power. When I am gone, another family will take over the Grand Duchy."

Alevious smirked. "Unless one of your other two heirs decides to invoke the right of rule clause."

The Grand Duchess looked pointedly at Alevious. "That has been done only once in the entire history of Glyhorn and it was for good reason too. Now speak no more of it lest the wrong people overhear you."

"If that is your wish, your Grace." Lord Alevious interlocked his hands.

"It is. Now, tell me, has General Whills assembled the men I asked for?" Inquired the Grand Duchess.

"He has indeed, your Grace. They are ready for your personal inspection before they leave." Replied Alevious as he produced a wax-sealed scroll from the satchel on his belt and handed it over to the Grand Duchess.

She took it, ran one of her long fingernails from left to right, broke the seal and unfurled the scroll. Looking over it in silence for the next few footsteps, she rolled it back up and then handed it back to Alevious.

"Let's hope they are as good as General Whills makes them out to be."

Alevious nodded in agreement. "Indeed, your Grace, indeed."

They both continued on through the Garden of Serenity, making their way to the Keep of Glyhorn to inspect General Whills' troops.

When they arrived, the portcullis was already retracted with two guards flanking the entrance, standing at attention. Between them, a portly man in full military dress with greying mutton chops and a thick handlebar moustache greeted the two nobles.

"Your Grace, Lord Alevious, good to see both of you," he gestured to a passage off to the right, "my men are this way." With that said, he turned and led the way.

Alevious motioned for the Grand Duchess to go first and followed her in. After a few twists and turns then a mostly straight hallway they came upon a reinforced door. General Whills opened it and proceeded to hold it open for his two guests. When they were inside he closed it behind them with a deep thud. Seven men dressed in civilian clothes stood at perfect attention in a line staring straight ahead, looking at the wall opposite them.

The Grand Duchess' eyes narrowed as she studied them, giving each of them a critical once over. "They certainly look the part General, but do they know what is asked of them?"

Whills, with his hands clasped at the small of his back, rocked slightly on his heels as he answered. "I have left the specifics for you to explain, your Grace. I thought it would emphasise just how important this mission is if they were to be briefed by you personally."

The Grand Duchess seemed to consider this before speaking. "An excellent point General." She allowed him a smile as he nodded in thanks before turning her attention to the soldiers still at attention. "You may relax."

In perfect synchronisation, each one of them shifted to a parade rest.

The Grand Duchess started walking along the line of men as she spoke; looking at each one as she passed. "This mission is not only of importance to Glyhorn, but it is also, for me, very personal. My nephew and third heir, Anadelias, is missing."

To their credit, not one of the soldiers made a single sound or the slightest of movements. It was as if she had said nothing at all.

Unperturbed, the Grand Duchess continued. "As I'm sure you are all aware, this is not public knowledge, but I fear that the rumours have already started and it will not be long before all of Glyhorn rife with this information. That, however, is not relative to your mission, merely context. What you will be doing for me, is leaving Glyhorn and finding out where my Anadelias has gone and bring him back to me so that he may be safe in the borders of Glyhorn." She looked down the line of men again. "Are there any questions?"

A single hand was raised by the first man in the line up. The Grand Duchess walked over to him and asked him what it was.

"Once we do find him your Grace, how are we to get back without being noticed? As this is a covert mission, transport may become an issue."

"An excellent point. To facilitate your swift return and remain undiscovered, you will be provided with a rather special hearthstone. Once activated, our sorcerers will be able to open a gateway that you can travel through, thereby return to Glyhorn almost instantly."

The man thanked her and returned to silence.

"Anything else?"

Again, not a single noise or movement was made by the operatives.

"Very well then." Turning her attention back to Whills, she proffered her hand to him. "I'll leave the rest to you General."

Whills took the hand and bowed respectfully, kissing the signet ring of the Grand Duchy on her ring finger at the same time. "I will not let you down, your Grace."

She smiled briefly and moved towards the door, which Alevious was holding open for her. "I have every faith in you and your men that you will bring back my Anadelias."

"And I must bring you back to the Senate, your Grace, lest the councillors think I have whisked you away for some nefarious purpose." Lord Alevious added.

"Quite, Lord Alevious." She gave Whills a perfunctory nod of her head and wished him luck before leaving with Alevious and returning to the Senate.

* * *

><p>"If the rumours are to be believed, then the Grand Duchess has lost one of her heirs, the favoured one no less, weakening their family's influence even further. They are lucky this is their last generation." A councillor in a burgundy robe exclaimed.<p>

Another councillor in a muted green robe put her thoughts into words. "This is the best opportunity we have had for quite some time. There is a strong chance we can get a family of our choice into power when their time is up."

A third councillor who was conversing with them spoke up, this one wearing a deep red robe with gold trim. "The rumours are false. He is not missing."

"And how do you know this?" Green asked.

"He is dead, not missing. Killed by a death knight. The undead brute even had a trophy for his kill, a necklace or some such."

The other two councillors gawked at Red, their mouths hanging open.

"But...how is it you come to know this?" Green asked, recovering first.

"A mere coincidence really. The death knight in question happened to contact my agent and used that information to barter his services with. Of course, upon hearing the truth, he came straight to me and I told him not to worry about helping the death knight."

"You are fortunate indeed that you have such good people working for you." Burgundy complemented.

"Well, as enlightening as that is to know, we still have to deal with the here and now. More to the point, which family will ascend to the Grand Duchy next?"

Burgundy nodded profusely. "Indeed we must, but the families that support us are many, to choose one of them now will take longer than I'd like to admit."

Green piqued in, "You won't have to admit anything. We have been planning for this for a long time."

Burgundy's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened in surprise. "You mean to say –"

He was interrupt by Red's haughty voice. "Yes, we have our candidate chosen already. We also have the proverbial ace up the sleeve as well."

Green frowned and her eyes glared at Red. 'What do you mean 'we'? There was no vote taken. If you have taken it upon yourself again without telling anyone else, the Old Families help you!"

Red brushed aside her angry statement with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It was such a trifle matter, a mere footnote really, nothing to concern yourself over. Due to recent political developments and certain information that had been uncovered, a new candidate was chosen."

"So who is it?" Burgundy asked excitedly, caught up in the moment.

"They have chosen to put forth my family as the next one to rule, and as the current patriarch, I will be the first on the throne." Red answered with a hint of pride sneaking through.

"Of course they have. How lucky for you then, hmm?" Green said sarcastically with only minor resentment.

Red gave her an unsympathetic smile. "Come now my dear, certain parties of influence made the decision and the least I could do was go along with it, lest I anger or disrespect them by going against their wishes. Besides, even now as we speak, one of my best men is preparing the proverbial ace for our use, after a long search finally uncovered it. After a week, we will be ready."

Burgundy blinked in rapid succession. "So soon?"

"An opportunity like this waits for no one, we must be prepared." Red answered. "Ever since he brought me the initial information, I have been organising this."

"Let us just hope that the isolationists are not as on the ball as we are, or we shall all be under the yoke of an isolationist family for another three generations, if not more." Green input grimly.

This brought silence to all three councillors just as they heard the Senate bell ring softly, signalling the end of the recess. All three started to head back, ready to debate Glyhorn's politics for another several hours.

* * *

><p>Saidan Dathrohan, a veteran paladin, man of honour, pursuer of justice and Grand Crusader of the Scarlet Crusade, stepped up to the simple wooden lectern that was emblazed with the emblem of the Scarlet Crusade and put a hand on each side and gripped tightly. He looked out at the gathered crusaders who had heeded his call. Understandably, not everyone was able to come, patrols still had to be run, outposts still had to be watched over, guards still had to be posted but with all things considered, the turnout was better than he had expected. Smiling, he waited patiently until the murmurs of the crowd died down and silence hung throughout the air. When he spoke, his deep voice boomed across the open square, heard by all.<p>

"Brothers! Sisters! You humble me with presence." He inclined his head slightly to show his respect. "Yesterday was the most glorious day in my entire life. For a while now I have been secluded, meditating on the mysteries of the Light and how I can better serve it and help cleanse the taint of undeath from this world. And yesterday, I was finally rewarded for my patience, for I have had a vision - but not just any vision, no. This vision was given to me by a manifestation of Holy Light itself!"

Dathrohan paused as a small cheer erupted from the crowd.

"A being of the Light came to me, one that was so beautiful, so perfect in creation that when I first saw it, my eyes began to weep, so great was its magnificence. And that being of the Light spoke to me and granted me a gift. A gift that was not meant for me alone, but for every man woman and child of the Scarlet Crusade. And that gift, my brothers and sisters, was victory. Not just for us, but for all of Azeroth. Victory for us means that the taint of undeath will finally be cleansed from Azeroth."

Dathrohan paused as the crowd shouted in joy and it took nearly a full minute before it had died down.

"Long have we toiled in our righteous cause, while others have scoffed at us, ignored us and even met us with hostility, but we have always known we are the faithful ones, doing the work that no one else could or would. Now, we finally have the means to complete our holy mission of the Light! The gift of victory that has been promised to me, to us, will be delivered by none other than an avatar of the Light. I have been shown the way to a consecrated place where the Light is strong, strong enough, that with our help, we will summon the Light's champion. It is this champion, my brothers and sisters that will march besides us in our sanctified crusade and smite our enemies, striking them down for their blasphemy and their sacrilege to the Light!"

With his oratorical skills, Dathrohan had managed to work the gathered crusaders into a fearsome zeal and they now cheered and shouted praises to the Light and their Grand Crusader.

"The time for struggle is over, we can now finally bring about our vision of a world to live in free of the undead, but we must rise from our trenches, our forts, our strongholds and all partake in a pilgrimage. One pilgrimage, one last crusade and then victory will be ours. Today the sun rises on a new Scarlet Crusade, a Scarlet Onslaught, and a new, magnificent chapter in our history, one that marks the turning point in our fight. The end of the undead is a new beginning for Azeroth and together we will make it happen!"

The zealous crusaders cheered without restraint, almost hysterical in their behaviour, such was the power of the Grand Crusader's speech.

Dathrohan radiated in the frenzied crusaders before him and allowed the swell of emotion to wash over him as he stepped back from the lectern and pandered to the crowd. When his ego was sated enough for the moment, he made a quiet exit back into the Scarlet Bastion. Soon they would be on their way, starting on their journey as the Scarlet Onslaught and a brand new beginning for Azeroth. Saidan Dathrohan could not help but wear a broad smile as he thought about the future.


	15. Part 2 Chapter 3 - Offers

_Chapter III_

_**I**_t was getting closer now, definitely heading towards him - no question about it. Whoever or whatever it was knew where he was and had made no attempt to disguise their presence. He couldn't sense the exact direction, but it was close, extremely close. Close enough to reach out and touch. Instinctively, he whipped around and thrust out his armour-clad fist and clamped it around the throat of the intruder, which turned out to be nothing but shadow and air. He gazed curiously and frowned as his fingers passed right through the shadowy apparition. He waved his hand vigorously back and forth, as if he was clearing away smoke and the gesture rippled the black, gaseous-like visage.

"Greetings."

In one fluid motion, Dreadsorrow jumped back, summoned his axes to his hands and fell into a defensive stance. "Who are you?" he bit out.

As Dreadsorrow spoke, the black cloud started to coalesce into a recognisable form. It had a head, two arms and a torso with nothing below the waist. Its body looked emancipated, borderline skeletal. One could clearly see the bones in its arms and the ribcage protruded quite conspicuously. The head resembled a human skull with no discernible muscles or flesh. The only thing that stood out were the round orbs that passed as eyes in the empty sockets, pupil-less and emitting a soft purple glow. To top it all off, it was made entirely of shadow and surrounded by a constantly shifting black haze. A shade, Dreadsorrow realised when it had finished materialising. A undead servant capable of turning invisible that, possibly, was still bound to the Lich King's will. It wasn't unheard of a powerful mage or warlock summoning one for their own purposes however.

"I am an observer." It replied, offering nothing more than the simple answer.

Dreadsorrow watched the shade it as it began to move around his makeshift camp with a fluid grace, cocking its head at things, running its fingers across others. "Are you quite alright there?" Dreadsorrow asked with a tone that implied it certainly wasn't.

The shade looked over to him. "Oh yes, just looking around. I hope you don't mind. Observing is one of the few things I can still do that keeps me from being bored." It went back to poking around the camp.

"Observing? I think you meant to say spying, shade. It's all your type is good for. " Dreadsorrow snarled.

"And all your type is good for is killing and dying." The shade retorted without even looking at Dreadsorrow.

The death knight sighed heavily and reverted his axes back to their stone form and placed them back on his belt. He moved over to the fallen log that served as his seat by the campfire and sat down. "So what is your name then shade? That is, if you have one."

The shade turned its head to stare at Dreadsorrow for a few silent seconds before it wafted over. "My name? There is power is names, great power. To know one's name is to know everything, Dreadsorrow."

Dreadsorrow leaned forward closer to the shade. "So how do you know mine?"

An unearthly chuckle escaped from the shade's mouth. "Why, because I have been observing you for quite some time now."

Dreadsorrow seemed a bit taken aback at the answer. "Yet you have not brought the wrath of the Scourge down upon me for killing Rivendare and deserting."

"Now why would I do that? They would only try to enslave you or destroy you if they failed, neither of which is particularly useful," the shade shook its head, "no, no, no, not at all. My benefactor would not like that one bit."

"Your benefactor?" Dreadsorrow asked, moderately surprised.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the shade gave a small bow and continued, "I am Nilas, shade and soul-bound servant to...well, my master, who wants to keep his name secret for now. But what I can tell you is that he is not the Lich King as you suspect, but is actually from Glyhorn."

Now that last sentence had really gotten Dreadsorrow's attention. "Glyhorn?" he asked hesitantly.

"Oh yes indeed. And he has possession of some very valuable information that I believe you will find rather fascinating."

Dreadsorrow narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "And what is it?"

Nilas chuckled as he waggled a skeletal finger at Dreadsorrow made a noise that sounded like a tongue click, though how it made it with no tongue was beyond Dreadsorrow. "And you didn't even say please.

"Please..." Dreadsorrow said through gritted teeth.

"Ahh, there's the magic word." Once again, the shade started to flit around the camp. "To put it succinctly, there is growing unrest in Glyhorn. I was dispatched to find Anadelias and bring him home, but then reports of your death started to come in. The spies said that you went on patrol and didn't return and the scouts said that they saw you killed by Rivendare. I too saw you die. But I stayed around to see you get raised into undeath. I alone know the truth. You, Dreadsorrow, death knight, are Anadelias, paladin of the Light and one of three heirs to the Glyhorn throne."

Silence followed Nilas' statement. Dreadsorrow sat there, unable to say anything. The shade had seen it all and followed him around and knew everything.

"That's interesting, but not fascinating. Is that all he knows?" Dreadsorrow asked dryly.

Nilas seemed taken aback. "Of course not! How very doubtful of you." Now, Nilas floated over to Dreadsorrow and became suddenly very serious. "Come back to Glyhorn."

Dreadsorrow snorted. "Hah, now why would I do that? I have no obligations to Glyhorn. I left there when I was _alive_ to get away, why would I go back now?"

Again, Nilas chuckled. It was more mocking than humorous. "Because I know something you don't knooowww..." He said in a playful sing-song voice.

Dreadsorrow narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "And what is that?"

It was those next few words that captured Dreadsorrow's attention and shifted his perception of this unannounced visitor. "We can restore your memories."

His memories. The ones Rivendare had spitefully destroyed before he had been killed. Dreadsorrow chose his next words carefully before he spoke. "Speak your offer, but do not dare to dangle my lost memories in front of me like a carrot on a stick."

Nilas floated on the spot and gave a small shrug. "Very well then. Come back to Glyhorn and become the Grand Duke of Glyhorn. In return, my master will give you the means to restore your memories."

"And how would your master do that exactly?"

The shade hesitated before he answered. "It is...complicated. But it involves you taking the Grand Duchy of Glyhorn. I cannot say anymore on the matter."

"Because of your loyalty to him?" Dreadsorrow enquired.

"Because I do not know." The shade countered. "Only my master knows the full details and he has only divulged enough to me so that I can present you with said offer."

"And what has he told you to persuade me with?"

In the blink of an eye Nilas had moved next to him and spoke softly into Dreadsorrow's ear.

"Haven't you ever wondered why you seek Gavrin so badly?"

Dreadsorrow frowned. "I was trying to find him so that he could help me with my memories."

"Oh really?" Nilas said, sounding astonished.

Whether he actually was surprised or just feigning it, Dreadsorrow could not tell. "Yes, I believe that if I could just sit down and talk with him, he could fill in the blanks, so to speak."

"Ahh," Nilas nodded in understanding, "so that is why. But what if there was more to it? Something deeper, more personal. I mean, all this effort to find one simple man who shouldn't even be that hard to find. It's almost like he doesn't _want_ to be found..." He floated behind Dreadsorrow's back and then spoke into his other ear. "But what if you weren't actually searching for him, instead you were _hunting_ for him? What if you couldn't find him because he was running _away_ from you?"

Dreadsorrow stood up and whirled on Nilas. "Why would I be hunting someone who was my closest friend? That makes no sense! Do you even have any proof?" He shouted at the shade.

In response, Nilas just simply floated slowly over to him and lifted a shadowy finger to Dreadsorrow's chest. "Are you sure you want to know? Once you know the truth of it, it will destroy what humanity you have left."

"Just TELL ME!"

Nilas raised his hands in a placation. "Alright, alright. Gavrin, your closest '_friend_', was jealous of you. Your strength, your life and most of all, your wife."

The frown on Dreadsorrow's face faltered. "My...wife?"

Nilas nodded. "Yes, Anadelias had a wife, one of the most beautiful women in all of Glyhorn. From the very first time Gavrin saw her, he was smitten. He believed she should be with him as he loved her more than you. Over time, his love only deepened. Seeing her with you, it ate away at him, every hour of every day."

Dreadsorrow was just simply stunned. He stood there, frozen by the revelation. His mouth refused to work; he couldn't get a single word out.

Nilas must have taken Dreadsorrow's silence as a prompt to continue and did just that, slowly circling Dreadsorrow. "It all came to a culmination when you two were ambushed by Rivendare. Everyone thought you were dead, so he took the news to your wife. Naturally, she was overcome with grief and it was then that he finally confessed his feelings for her and proposed that they could finally be together. Her grief turned to anger at his words and she slapped him." The shade paused briefly, as if he was letting Dreadsorrow digest what he had already heard. "It was then that Gavrin's jealous anger turned to blind rage." Nilas stopped in front of Dreadsorrow and put a bony, ethereal hand on his shoulder. "I am truly sorry to say that your wife was killed by Gavrin's hand that night."

Dreadsorrow stood still for a moment, processing what the shade had told him. He murmured to himself and dropped to his knees. "I remember...she was...beautiful." An image of her flashed through his mind and he committed it to memory. Her long brown hair falling down over her shoulders, her deep green eyes looking right at him, to the depths of his very being, her round face and silky-smooth skin that he could remember running his fingers across, almost able to feel her skin on his fingertips...and now, all gone. Taken from him by a jealous man who was supposed to be his friend, one he trusted and loved as a brother. Anger built up in him and it quickly turned to rage as he remembered more and more of his wife, which only fuelled his anger at Gavrin. Then, a scene dredged up from the depths of this mind, like the power of his emotional rage had been a trigger for it to bubble to surface.

_I was leading her through a forest, her eyes closed. There was a big smile on my face as I came towards a large oak tree. I stopped in front of it and admired my handiwork for a second before I told her to open her eyes. She did and her gaze fell upon the carved figures in the trunk and the two candles on either side. She stood in amazement of the shrine and I explained to her that the candle would always burn, just like our love for each other. We turned to face each other and we embraced in a long kiss. She pulled back when we finished and looked me right in the eye. 'I love you Anadelias' she said. 'I love you too Elencia' I replied._

"ELENCIA" Dreadsorrow shouted to the sky in a mix of rage and grief as he finally remembered the name of his wife.

Nilas watched him the whole time and now floated down and put an arm over Dreadsorrow's back and whispered comforting words in his ear. "She is in a better place now. One with the Light." He paused and slipped around to face Dreadsorrow. "But her murderer is still out there," he gestured expansively with his free hand, "still living in spite of his vile crime."

Dreadsorrow screamed with rage and stood up, kicking a nearby log, as thick as his torso, with his plate boot, splintering it into thousands of tiny wooden slivers. Nilas watched, completely unfazed, as a few of them passed right through him.

Dreadsorrow focused on the shade. "WHERE IS HE?"

Nilas turned both his palms upwards. "I do not know."

Dreadsorrow took a swing at the shade, momentarily forgetting his incorporeal nature. The fist passed straight through and hit nothing. Letting out a shout of frustration, Dreadsorrow let his arms fall limply to his sides.

"Just tell me how to find him, shade."

Nilas clasped his hands before answering. "Take the throne. Become the Grand Duke of Glyhorn. All will be made clear after that."

Dreadsorrow did not answer right away. In fact he was quiet for nearly a full minute. "If I do this, if I become the Grand Duke, can you guarantee that my full memories will return and I will find that traitorous bastard, Gavrin?"

Nilas nodded. "All that and more."

"Fine." Dreadsorrow answered wearily. He summoned his skeletal death charger and mounted it. "Tell your master that I accept his offer and to prepare for my arrival, I will be there within a week."

"Excellent. He will be pleased to hear the news." Nilas raised his hand and gave a lazy goodbye.

"Suffer well" was all Dreadsorrow said as his steed reared up and then charged off at a gallop on his command.

Nilas the shade watched Dreadsorrow leave on his skeletal steed, heading towards Glyhorn. He kept watching until he could no longer see the death knight through the trees. Talking to no one but himself he spoke with a voice that was nothing like it was mere moments ago. "And so it begins, little death knight." It was deep and dripping with arrogance, yet hinted at a greater intelligence.

* * *

><p>He had come just after breakfast, appearing on the outskirts of her camp in a flash of blue. If he knew what guarded the camp however, he would not have been so quick to make a grand entrance so close. It was either that, or he just didn't care. Regardless, Ammet knew he was coming before she saw any visible indicators of a teleporting mage.<p>

What seemed like so long ago, after she had been left all alone in the massacred Twilight's Hammer camp, she had carried out a thorough search of what remained after that death knight had departed. There had been plenty of supplies, so she didn't have to worry about sustenance. Going tent by tent and leaving the largest one for last – which also happened to be the leader's tent – Ammet had managed to find many useful items, such as a mirror, reagents for spells, extra clothing and a sturdy travel bag that was even better than what she was already using. It wasn't until she had rummaged through the leader's belongings that some of the more interesting things started to turn up. Almost right off the bat, she had found a flesh-bound grimorie that upon further - and tentative - inspection contained various spells utilising fel magic and the summoning of demonic beings. Finding this to be incredibly useful, she had sequestered it to her travel bag, wrapped in a light cloth lest it come into physical contact with anything else in the bag. Continuing her search, she found some higher quality rations and some pink hued magical crystals, which were sure to come in handy for spells. Opening a footlocker and rifling through it, she even turned up a Scarlet Crusade prayer book, which she assumed to be a trophy or some such. It was the grimorie though that turned out to be the best find as she was able to successfully – albeit through some trial and error and at least one pile of inside-out horribly disfigured mass of flesh and bone – summon a fel hound. A common sight on the battlefields during the Burning Legion's invasion of Azeroth, the fel hound was used to attack and hunt down those who would utilise magic. When it found them, it would use its two whip-like, sucker-tipped tentacles that sprouted from just behind its head and literally suck the life from its prey and use the magical energy to feed itself.

The demon that looked more like a cross between a huge red dog and an armadillo than a demonic entity, tentacles notwithstanding, was now bound to Ammet. It was this demon that was now guarding the makeshift camp that Ammet had erected. Like a tracking dog that had picked up on a scent, the fel hound had been placidly sitting nearby, but all of a sudden, its magic-draining tentacles perked up and swivelled around, facing an open patch of ground near the camp.

"Easy." Ammet commanded, noticing her demon's behaviour. Normally, she used telepathic commands to control her demon as it was quicker and did not reveal her intentions out aloud, but in some cases, such as this, a verbal command was useful to emphasise her wishes.

Then, just as the fel hound had predicted, a haze of azure blue started to spear in the place the demon was now gazing, waiting for its would-be prey to appear. The azure light resolved into a humanoid shape and solidified in a flash of arcane magic. Ammet had to momentarily shield her eyes the spell was that bright. That meant he had travelled a great distance to teleport to this spot, reinforcing her idea that this individual was simply powerful enough to make the jump unaided and also powerful enough not to care that a fel hound was within striking distance, ready to pounce.

When the light had faded, Ammet was able to get a good look at her unexpected visitor. Male, middle-aged, with a slight regal look about him and most definitely a mage - the glowing arcane runes on his hands were a dead giveaway. Unlike most magi however, he did not wear a robe. His clothes were simple, yet carried an unspoken air of elegance about them, from the golden trim to the multilayered tunic and travel pants. His leather boots were of a deceptively high quality too.

"Good morning Elencia." He had a slightly haughty voice, like someone who has spend a lot of time around nobles and picked up some of their tone and mannerisms through osmosis. . "I see you travel in strange company these days." He continued, gesturing to the fel hound. Ammet saw that the arcane runes on his hands had now faded away. The fel hound, in response, seemed quite content to growl menacingly as it advanced towards him.

"Sit." Ammet commanded.

The fel hound plopped down on its haunches. It still emitted a low growl now and then, as if it was the one token of defiance it could put up.

"Impressive," the man complimented, "Not many people can master a fel hound in such a short amount of time."

Ammet sauntered over to the fel hound and stroked the ragged mane on its back and in response it made a gurgling, choking kind of noise that the man belatedly realised was the fel hound version of purring. "Sometimes all that is needed is a woman's touch." Ammet said with a coy smile.

The man smiled in false appreciation, but made it seem genuine enough that Ammet did not notice.

"Well then, let me get down to business. Elencia, I –"

"Ammet" She interrupted sharply, balling her fists. The fel hound at her side howled and its two tentacles snapped forward, threateningly, not drawing back until Ammet gently laid a hand on its head.

"Elencia was weak; she wasn't strong enough to do what must be done." Ammet explained.

"Very well then...Ammet. As I was saying, I have been instructed," he reached into his tunic and, with a well-timed dramatic pause that would be the envy of actors everywhere, pulled out a sealed envelope, "to give you this."

He extended his arm towards Ammet, envelope held at the end. She made no move to take it.

Instead, a claw-like appendage clamped onto it and wretched it from his grasp. The fel hound's black tentacle stretched back to its normal length and then reversed direction towards Ammet. It gently released its prize as Ammet took hold of the now slightly slimy envelope. She flicked her wrist once, jolting most of the muck off before turning it over and inspecting it.

"I assure you, it is just a simple letter, nothing deadly or poisonous." The messenger-man spoke up, sounding almost as if he was disappointed with its normalcy.

As Ammet looked it over, she noticed the seal that held the flap down. She frowned.

'Is this a joke?"

The man shook his head slowly. "It is most definitely serious."

"This is the seal of Glyhorn. I want nothing to do with them. I left long ago and for good reason."

"Yes you did and now you have a choice: read the letter or destroy it. If you read it, the opportunity it can provide is unbelievably incredible but if you destroy it, the regret you'll feel will stay with you forever." He paused and then added "I know you'll make the right choice."

Ammet scoffed. "Well, when you put it like that." She put the letter in the travel bag that hung at her side. "Now, was there anything else?" She inquired.

"No, I was just to deliver the letter to you. I really do hope you'll accept our offer." He gave a smile that looked to Ammet like a predatory smile. Before she could say anything in response, the arcane runes on his hands flared up again and he was once again enshrouded in an azure light. Within a few seconds he was gone in a blue flash and had teleported back to wherever he came from. Presumably Glyhorn, if the letter was any indicator, Ammet mused.

She peered down into her open travel bag at the letter, sitting innocently on top. Taking it out, she regarded it. The envelope was plain enough, but the intricate wax seal that was stamped with the seal of Glyhorn belied any pretence of simplicity contained within. She took a deep breath. Throwing pride and uncertainty to the wind, she broke the seal, removed the letter and gently unfolded it.

_Elencia,_

_I know this is rather out of the ordinary, but sometimes drastic times call for drastic actions. I shall endeavour to keep this as short as possible. The Grand Duchess of Glyhorn is on the way out and the time is ripe for our family to ascend to the Grand Duchy. In order to make this happen I will need your help with this. If you help me become Grand Duke, I can use my power to help you find your husband. Please make all due haste to Glyhorn and see me at once._

_Your father,_

_Duke Silvestor_

_Councillor of Glyhorn_

_ps - your mothers bluebirds love their new aviary._

Her father. It was a letter from her farther. It was definitely him; no one else knew the code phrase at the bottom of the letter, it was exclusive to her family. He was the reason she had left Glyhorn in the first place and yet, the letter was from him, imploring her to come back. Not just come back, but help him become the next Grand Duke as well. She realised, of course, that there were probably many ulterior motives and plans in motion that would benefit him apart from being the ultimate voice of authority in Glyhorn, but it paled in comparison to the offer he was extending to her. Glyhorn at her disposal to find Ana. With her father on the throne, finding Ana would be as simple as him giving a command. The enigmatic messenger-man was right – it really was unbelievably incredible. But in order to have her family elevated to the Grand Duchy, the people would need a symbol, a person to look up to and believe in and rally behind. She suspected what her father had in mind for that to work. It would seem for the time being, she would have to be Elencia again until such time that she was no longer needed, able to be cast aside like the weakling she was.

_So be it _she thought. _A small price to pay to help my father and get my Ana back_.

Her mind now made up, Ammet dismissed her fel-hound back to the Twisting Nether, that great dark place between worlds, until it was needed again and walked over to the bare patch of ground the messenger-man had been on. The recent use of magic on this spot helped her to concentrate and focus on her own spell of teleportation. Whereas his had been artistic and graceful, like a master crafted rapier, hers was more brutal and forceful, like a crude stone mace. Ammet spoke the guttural demonic words and the smell of sulphur filled her nostrils as an intricate green rune appeared on the ground beneath her feet. She finished the chant and in a flash of green fel magic, she was gone, teleported to wherever she visualised and summoned the egress rune. All that was left was a pile of ash in the shape of the rune that was quickly blown away by the forest wind.


	16. Part 2 Chapter 4 - Arrival

_Chapter IV_

_**I**_t was quite a sight to behold; the entirety of the Scarlet Onslaught in a single, mobile column of red and white and at its head, Saidan Dathrohan, leading the entire convey. On his steed of pure white and in his red battle plate, he rode, confident and assured. For two days the entire Scarlet Onslaught, formerly the Scarlet Crusade, had travelled slowly but surely advancing to their future, their destiny, as laid out by their Grand Crusader. Normally, if a force this large was on the move, there would be panic and suspicion on the part of the surrounding kingdoms when it passed through their lands, more than likely even attacks, but a tense period of 'good riddance' was currently being adopted, allowing the Onslaught to move without hindrance whilst the lands they once occupied were being reclaimed by the Scourge and Forsaken alike. How this would tip the balance in the troubled region was difficult to tell, but none of it concerned Dathrohan, because when the Onslaught reached the end of their journey, it would herald the beginning of a new dawn and all of Azeroth would be theirs.

After several treacherous hours of weaving their way through mountain passes and valleys, the convoy at last came to a caldera of a rough circular shape, at least a couple of kilometres in diameter. Directly opposite them, on the other side of the caldera was a massive set of heavily fortified gates. In between the Onslaught and the gates, there was nothing but rock. The ground was more or less flat with only a few raised outcroppings here and there and a noticeable lack of anything green was evident. Not one plant grew in the region – not a tree, bush, weed, or even a single blade of grass, it was completely barren and lifeless.

Dathrohan held up a mailed fist as he entered the desolate caldera and stopped. Behind him, the rest of the convoy would be coming to a slow halt. He turned slightly in his saddle and called for his general to come over.

High General Abbendis, one of the few people just below Dathrohan on the hierarchy and had helped to run the Scarlet Crusade whilst Dathrohan had sequestered himself away, trotted over on her horse and came to a stop next to the Grand Crusader.

"So this is the entrance to Glyhorn? That gate is massive, even bigger than the one at Gilneas. There is no way we can storm it, we did not bring any siege weapons with us and we cannot even build any; there are no trees anywhere around here, just rock and more rock."

Dathrohan nodded slowly as Abbendis spoke, agreeing with her.

"Aye, it does block our way, but it is more of a metaphorical hurdle than a psychical one. Beyond that gate lies the path to our future. Once there, we can finally cleanse Azeroth of all undeath and any who carry their infection." Looking to his right he saw Abbendis staring at him with a zeal burning in her eyes. "We will make camp here in this open area." He made a broad, all encompassing gesture. "The Onslaught must not show any hostile intentions or all will be for naught. Bring up the rest of the convoy and set up camp. No fortifications. We are here on a peaceful pilgrimage."

Abbendis nodded, saluted and rode off to carry out the orders. Dathrohan turned back to massive gate on the other side of the caldera.

_Soon. So very soon, Azeroth shall be ours again. _

* * *

><p>After several hours, once the convoy had been converted from mobile assemblage to provisional camp, Abbendis met with Dathrohan in his personal pavilion.<p>

"Have all the magi report to Mataus over the next few days. I have given him the requirements for the summoning and the magi need to prepare themselves and make sure they know the spell like the back of their hand." said the Grand Crusader.

Abbendis took mental note. "Very good sir. I also have some good news to report. Isillien says he has routed out and killed the last of the Twilight's Hammer infiltrators. They caught the last one talking to that special prisoner of yours."

Dathrohan's head jerked up. "Is the prisoner still alive and locked up?" Dathrohan asked immediately.

"Yes sir, he is." Abbendis answered.

"Excellent. Did he say when we picked them up?"

"I believe he said it was when we had several outposts disguised as Twilight's Hammer camps. That special operation you headed sir. Those devious bastards probably just walked in as themselves with our guards none the wiser."

"Thankfully, that was the last of them then. Pass my compliments onto Isillien, he has done well."

"I shall. And your travel plans, sir?" inquired Abbendis, a clear tone of worry in her voice.

Dathrohan sighed. "I will still be going ahead with them. At the crack of dawn, myself and two diplomatic envoys will enter Glyhorn and secure our passage."

"But sir, any number of assassins or violent –" she was cut off by Dathrohan raising a hand.

"I understand your concern, Brigitte, but this is the way it must be. It is a mission of diplomacy, not a holy war. Not yet, anyway." He let a mischievous smirk slip through his serious exterior. "Last I checked, I was _still_ the Grand Crusader."

Brigitte Abbendis smiled at the remark and relaxed. "Yes sir, you are. I will be praying for your success and safe return."

"My thanks. There is but one small favour I will ask of you though."

"Name it, anything my lord."

"While I am in Glyhorn, I need you to lead the Onslaught in my absence Brigitte; I trust you and I know you will do me proud – your zeal and valour is unmatched."

"Now? In our most important hour?"

"Yes, especially now. What I am to do is of the utmost importance and will be a deciding factor in the Onslaught's future, but even I cannot be in two places at once. You have the orders I gave you, trust my judgment, now more than ever. I believe in you."

Abbendis gripped the sealed scroll Dathrohan had given her previously even tighter. "Thank you sir. I will not let you down."

"I know you won't Brigitte." Dathrohan smiled and nodded, signifying that the meeting was over and watched his High General leave. He beckoned one of his attendants over once she had left.

"Find Commander Giles and Corporal Beckins and bring them to me; we have much to discuss."

The attendant dutifully bowed and left the Grand Crusader's pavilion. Several minutes later he reappeared with two others at his heels. He opened the pavilion's door flap and then closed it behind them.

"Ahh gentlemen, so glad you could join me." Dathrohan looked between them and nodded at the attendant who promptly scurried outside. Turning his attention back to the crusaders, he appraised both of them before speaking.

"I know both of you have your own specific talents that you excel at and in the coming days these talents will be put to use." He handed them a scroll each from a nearby table. "Those are your orders for the mission you are about to undertake. To surmise, I will be taking both of you with me into Glyhorn as my diplomatic escort."

The visible effect on both men when they learnt they will be on a mission working literally right beside the Grand Crusader was intense. The look of surprise of their faces followed by the awe and zeal of being able to work with the Scarlet Onslaught's leader was profound. Corporal Beckins' eyes had even begun to water as he dropped to one knee in veneration.

"My lord, I am not worthy of this honour, I am only a humble..." Dathrohan laid a hand on the corporal's shoulder, making his words waver and his head rise.

"There is no one else in the entire Onslaught that can do what you do as well as you, Kaiden. That means you are completely worthy of the honour. Now, rise." Dathrohan moved over to Commander Giles. "What say you Xavier?"

Xavier Giles was a veteran commander of the Scarlet Crusade, personally directing and winning many battles with the Scourge and other various enemies the Crusade had made. He stiffened his back and puffed out his chest in respect. "My life and talents are yours to command, Grand Crusader."

Dathrohan smiled and thumped Giles' breastplate once in satisfaction. "Well said."

Clasping his hands at the small of his back and turning away from the two men, he started to explain what was needed of them. "When you go back to your tents, I want to make sure you are alone. Then, you may read your orders. Within them are the finer details of this holy mission. Read it, memorise the words then burn the scrolls so that the three of us in here are the only ones with the knowledge of what was written upon them." He turned back around to face them. "It is vital that we secure passage through Glyhorn to the holy ground where we will summon the wrath of the Light incarnate. You two are instrumental to this plan. Go now, learn your parts and be ready when I give the call. Do the Onslaught proud."

The two men saluted smartly and exited the pavilion with fervour in their eyes and determination on their faces.


	17. Part 2 Chapter 5 - Campaigns

_Chapter V_

_**Y**_our presence is quite punctual; I had anticipated you would be here much later than this. Not to mention the maid you scared out of her wits when you...arrived."

Elencia gave a mock smile. "Nice to see you as well, father."

Duke Silvestor looked her up and down. "My dear Elencia, what in the world are you wearing?" he asked, referring to her tattered and worn robes that she was attired in. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "And what is that awful smell?"

"Oh, that. It's nothing, just a side effect of the teleportation. I had to use some...unsavoury means to get here on such short notice is all. And this," Elencia picked a loose thread from her robe, "is just wear and tear from travelling."

"I see. No matter, I will organise some new clothes for you, now that you're here."

"Thank you father."

"So I take it you've accepted my offer then?"

Elencia nodded in agreement. "I thought about it for a bit and I came to the conclusion that should the people want you to become Grand Duke, I will help you do it for them."

Silvestor frowned. "You do realise that it isn't the people who vote, but in fact the councillors?"

"Yes, but the councillors are the voice of the people and should the people wish for you to become Grand Duke, the councillors will accept that for that is their role."

Silvestor said nothing, but the incredulous look on his face spoke volumes.

"I know you are sceptical father, but trust me, I am a priestess of the Light, the people's priestess." She took his hands into hers. "Organise a rally, get the people to come, introduce me and you will see, the people will find their faith in me and from them, the councillors will heed their people and from them, you will be elected."

Silvestor sighed, in a fashion that only a father exasperated with his daughter could manage. "Very well then my dear, I know there is no point arguing when you have your mind set on something, we all know what happened last time." He noticed Elencia had no reaction to him mentioning her eloping with Anadelias. "I will do it, if only to hurry the process along and get it out of your system, so that the real work can begin."

Elencia patted her father's hand. "You always were one of little faith father. Trust me, after the rally; you will see that the power of the people will make you Grand Duke, I promise you that."

"And if it doesn't, then we go back to doing it my way." Silvestor hastily added.

Elencia smiled sweetly and fluttered her eyelashes. "Yes, father."

A sad smile cracked Silvestor's carefully maintained exterior. "Your mother used to do the exact same thing. I think it was the main reason I fell for her, I just couldn't resist those eyes."

Elencia hugged her father. "Don't worry father, I'm staying here for a while I will be here with you to see this through. And your offer to help find Ana is very touching; I know you didn't approve of him."

"At the end of the day, you're still my daughter and I still love you and will do whatever I can to make sure you're happy, even if it is finding a man I don't approve of."

"Thank you father." She kissed him on the cheek as she broke away from the hug.

Elencia put a fake serious face on. "Now, about these new clothes..." She started as both father and daughter walked together in unison.

* * *

><p>Lord Alevious briskly approached the Grand Duchess with a soldier in tow. The grand Duchess had noted that the two had been conversing rather animatedly and must have reached a conclusion or an impasse for them to come to her.<p>

"Your Grace," Lord Alevious started, "there is an urgent matter that needs to be brought to your immediate attention."

The Grand Duchess asked what is was and caught the glance between Alevious and the soldier.

Alevious cleared his throat. "Our sentries have reported that a massive..." Alevious struggled to find the right word. "...congregation has made camp just outside of the Gates of Glyhorn. They are at least several thousand strong and armed, but have made no hostile actions thus far. What would appear to be their leader and two guards approached the Gates and demanded to speak to the current head of the Grand Duchy."

The Grand Duchess took all of this in stride and looked to the soldier. "Tell General Whills to have a battalion of archers with cavalry support ready just in case." The soldier saluted and hurried off as the Grand Duchess turned her attention back to Alevious. "Travellers appearing at the Gates are not unprecedented, but that many of them at once is rather strange. If their leader wishes to meet me, then so be it. The very least he can do is explain why they are here and in such numbers. Go fetch him Lord Alevious and bring him before me."

"It will be done, your Grace." Alevious replied as he bowed and left.

After an hour of searches, questions and being escorted around, the Grand Crusader, Commander Giles and Corporal Beckins and their guard escort came before the huge gilded doors that lead to the Hall of Receiving where the Grand Duchess waited. The one in charge, a stiff-backed, firm-jawed grizzled captain, brought the group to a stop and turned around. His beady black eyes flicked between Giles and Beckins before finally settling on Dathrohan.

"When you enter the Hall of Receiving, you will only go as far as my men deem necessary. From there you will present your case to the Grand Duchess. Do not rise until told to do so and most of all; do not speak until spoken to by her Grace. Should you speak out of turn, the amount of disrespect caused would be," the captain sucked air through his teeth, "most unforgivable."

Spinning back around on his heel, he nodded to the guards posted next to the doors, which were dressed in a different livery and had a massive tower shield strapped to their left arm. They turned and each pushed open one of the heavy doors, allowing the party to advance.

The squire near the door announced their entry. "Grand Crusader Saidan Dathrohan of the Scarlet Onslaught. Commander Xavier Giles of the Scarlet Onslaught. Corporal Kaiden Beckins of the Scarlet Onslaught."

Dathrohan was in the lead with a guard on his left and right flank, with Giles and Beckins behind him and one guard to the left and right and two more taking up the rear, making it a rough hexagon shape. When they were about two thirds across the chamber, which, Dathrohan noticed, had guards in the same livery as the ones who opened the doors lined along it at regular intervals, the two to either side of him stopped and crossed their pikes, stopping any further progress. Taking this as his cue, Dathrohan slowly dropped to one knee, head hung down, waiting for his permission to rise. Giles did the same but Corporal Beckins was not as quick as the other two and got a pike haft across the back on his legs for his troubles, forcing him to his knees. All went silent. After several heavy, tense seconds a regal voice told them to rise.

The three men did as they were told, Beckins a touch slower than the other owing to his throbbing legs. Dathrohan saw now who was holding the power of life and death over them. The Grand Duchess of Glyhorn. She was an older woman, with auburn hair that was starting to turn silver and done up in an elaborate but effective bun. Her deep green eyes that were set to either side of a strong, straight nose studied the three men; taking in all the details she cast her critical eye over. She was wearing a gown that would not look out of place on a Queen of Stormwind or Lordaeron. Perched atop her head was a truesilver tiara inlaid with several precious stones, all of them larger than any Dathrohan had seen before. Her finely manicured hands sat on armrests to either side of the throne, which was also gilded in ornate gold patterns like the doors.

When she spoke, she had a mellifluous voice that carried both command and grace, yet at the same time allowed a hint of arrogance to seep through. It was the voice of an authoritative and influential woman who was used to having power. The sort of voice one expected a Grand Duchess to have. "So you have come to Glyhorn in force. Why?"

Dathrohan composed himself and took a calming breath before answering. "Not in force, Grand Duchess, it -"

"Your Grace." Came the interrupting words from the man who was positioned directly to the Grand Duchess' right. A nobleman in finely tailored clothes with a small, pointed goatee on his chin. "You will address the Grand Duchess as 'your Grace'."

Dathrohan forced a smile and nodded.

"As I was saying, _your Grace_, we did not come in force, but in pilgrimage. I come before you to secure passage to a site within your lands."

The Grand Duchess regarded the Grand Crusader with a single raised eyebrow, executed perfectly. "Our lands? How did you even know we were here?"

"I did not, your Grace. I had a vision, granted to me by the Light that showed me a site sacred to us here."

A slight frown creased the brow of the Grand Duchess. "You did not know we were here, yet you were able to ask specifically for the head of the Grand Duchy."

"It was simply an educated guess based upon the common theme from the rumours and myths of a hidden mountain nation." Dathrohan answered.

"So you are a wise and knowledgeable leader then?" The Grand Duchess baited.

Dathrohan gave a genuine smile. "Knowledge is power, your Grace."

"Indeed it is Grand Crusader."

The nobleman next to the Grand Duchess leaned over and whispered in her ear and after a few seconds, she nodded.

"Tell me if you please, Grand Crusader, what exactly is the Scarlet Onslaught for?" The Grand Duchess asked.

Dathrohan did not hesitate "To explain the full history of the Scarlet Onslaught and its history would take quite a while and I know that your time is quite valuable, your Grace, and I do not wish to waste it. As such, I think the best course of action is that after this audience is concluded I sit down with your nobleman," Dathrohan gestured to Alevious, "and enlighten him of our history and then he may relay to you whatever he deems necessary and relevant to our request of passage."

Silence followed Dathrohan's spiel. No one spoke, no one moved and the Grand Duchess narrowed her eyes.

"You would dictate to me?" She asked, her voice turning icy.

Again, Dathrohan gave a winning smile. "No, your Grace, just merely offer you an option for your consideration."

Again, another deathly silence descended over the Hall of Receiving as all waited for the Grand Duchess' response. She turned her head and spoke quietly to Alevious. He nodded and left and the Grand Duchess turned her attention back to the Grand Crusader.

"I find your proposition to be acceptable. When you leave, Lord Alevious shall meet you and over the next three days you will accompany him and tell him whatever he wishes to know. Be aware, he carries my authority in this matter so it would be in your best interests to cooperate."

Dathrohan bowed deeply and Giles and Beckins followed suit. "Thank you for your kind and just decision, your Grace."

"I think you will find that we are more cultured than your myths and rumours would have you believe, Grand Crusader." The Grand Duchess said, with the hint of a smile on her lips.

The audience now over, the three crusaders were escorted out, the heavy doors closing behind them. True to her word, Lord Alevious was waiting for the three of them in the adjoining hallway.

"Gentlemen. A pleasure." He gave a small nod to each of them before continuing. "I will be your chaperone these next three days, showing you around Glyhorn as I inquire into your motives and history, determining whether or not you receive passage. Before we begin, have you had breakfast yet? We have many fine dishes here in Glyhorn and even all the way out here, we still have quite a few traditional ones that I think you will find familiar."

"I always say that there isn't much that can't be solved over a good meal." Dathrohan answered.

Alevious brought his hands together. "Excellent! I shall have the cooks prepare something at once. Captain, I will take it from here, you and your men have been admirable."

The gruff captain stared at Dathrohan for a second longer than necessary before departing with his men. When he was certain the soldiers had left, Alevious apologised for the captain's behaviour, but Dathrohan brushed the concern aside, stating that 'any captain who does not take his duty seriously should not be a captain'. Alevious agreed and the group set off.

* * *

><p>Alevious had been showing his three quests around one of Glyhorn's larger marketplaces when several people had rushed past, obviously in a hurry to be somewhere. It wasn't until other people, all heading towards the same place, that Alevious' curiosity was sparked. Deciding to investigate, he steered the group to where a huge thong of people were gathering in front of a podium where a middle aged man in a deep red councillors robe with gold trim was addressing the crowd.<p>

As soon as he saw him, a sour look crossed Alevious' face. Commander Giles, always aware of his surroundings, picked up on it immediately.

"Someone you know, Lord Alevious?"

Alevious scoffed in response. "Quite. That is Duke Silvestor, one of the most vocal councillors in support of expansion in Glyhorn's Senate."

"So he wants Glyhorn to expand beyond its borders?" Giles asked.

"Yes, and he has the support to make it happen." Alevious answered. "If the court gossip is also to be believed, apparently his family will be the next ones to ascend to the Grand Duchy, making his wish a reality."

"But there are still those that oppose him?" Corporal Beckins asked innocently.

Alevious sighed. "Yes, of course, but they are fewer in number than their counterparts. Before too long, I fear Glyhorn's seclusion will come to an end."

Up until that point, Dathrohan had been keeping quiet, but now he spoke up. "And if these expansionists were to lose support, Glyhorn would stay in its secluded state?"

"Yes, life would go on and everything would be as it should." Alevious said.

"Who is that?" Dathrohan asked, now gazing intently at the woman dressed in robes of pure white with golden filigree interwoven in it standing next to the Duke.

Alevious turned to face where Dathrohan was looking. A small grimace betrayed his emotions. "Ahh, that would be Glyhorn's prodigal daughter, Elencia Silvestor, daughter to Duke Silvestor and a priestess of the Light. She has only recently returned to Glyhorn after eloping with a man from a rival family many years ago, but it would seem she has wasted no time fitting back in. Her father is the family patriarch, hence the public appearance."

Surprised was on Dathrohan's face as he spoke. "A priestess of the Light you say? That is odd indeed."

Alevious took the obvious bait. "Odd?"

"Yes, odd. Normally, a priest or priestess of the Light would have a holy aura about them, an indicator, if you will, from one user of the Light to another. Yet with this 'priestess', I cannot sense it." Dathrohan considered his words. "That said, not all who serve the Light may wield it, but what really troubles me is her aura."

Alevious frowned at the Grand Crusader's response. "I thought you just said she did not have one."

"I said she didn't have a holy one." Dathrohan corrected. "Her aura...is dark indeed. One who serves the Light should never be that dark. A wolf in sheep's clothing perhaps. I'd keep my eye on her if I were you, Lord Alevious."

"Indeed, I think you're right Grand Crusader." When Alevious looked at Elencia now, he saw her in a different fashion, as though his eyes had been opened. Though he was not trained or proficient in such arts as the sorcerers of Glyhorn or the clerics and their Light, he did now see something...different, something _unsettling_ about Elencia. "Well, anyway, we have business elsewhere to attend to. Come; let us proceed back to the Keep."

Saidan Dathrohan returned his attention back to Elencia as they walked past the crowd. There was something indeed dark about her, but just what exactly, he couldn't place just yet. Sooner or later, this 'priestess' would slip up and then, he vowed, he'd be there waiting to strike.

* * *

><p>After several long discussions and a large dinner feast, the three members of the Scarlet Onslaught retired to their quarters and met in Beckins' room. When the door was closed, a chair was placed under the handle to make sure no one entered without warning. Then, once it was secure, did the meeting begin.<p>

"So Kaiden," asked Dathrohan, "how have you been coming along with your objective?"

"Well," Kaiden began, "From where we have been and what I've seen, I have been able to replicate it to a rather accurate degree, or in some cases, enough that it would suffice for battlefield use." As he spoke, he began to remove several large rolled up parchments from his journeyman bag and place them on the table.

Xavier unfurled them for the Grand Crusader and put a glass on each end so that they would not roll back up.

"As you can see sir, the majority of the important civil buildings, such as the Senate, Hall of Commerce and the banks only have one main entrance and can easily be held by a handful of men. Once we are in the city in force, it will be a simple matter to occupy them and create strongholds out of them while also denying their use to the enemy. This is also similar for the barracks and Keep, where I believe the strongest resistance will be."

Dathrohan stroked his beard as his best urban combat commander surmised the detailed maps that had been created by an expert cartographer. "Storming the barracks and Keep is a secondary objective. The primary one is to gain as much of a foothold within the city as quickly as possible." He said, pointing to several key buildings on the map as he spoke. "Once established, the bulk of the Glyhorn army will be bogged down in brutal urban combat. They can hold their barracks and Keep for it will mean little difference in the end. We will have the city by a stranglehold and will have to clear us out building by building, buying us plenty of time. While our crusader brothers and sisters hold the city in a vice grip, a special contingent of magi and elite guards led by myself will head to the holy site and summon our glorious avatar of the Light while High General Abbendis and the bulk of the Onslaught take up position between the holy site and city."

Xavier thumped his chest once. "When the combat starts, I will be ready Grand Crusader."

Dathrohan gave a brisk smile and thanked him as Kaiden started to pack his maps back into his bag.

"When our three days are up and we are being escorted through the Gates, it is then we will make our move and open the Gates for our waiting brothers and sisters. This is what we are going to do..."

* * *

><p>It was ironic really, if one stopped and thought about it. For years, there had been nothing, no visitors, no travellers, not even birds – the hazardous mountain air currents kept them away – and then from nowhere, there were thousands of people outside the gates of Glyhorn. Literally, overnight, everything had changed. What this meant for Glyhorn, the sentry wasn't exactly sure, but he was no politician and got paid to guard the councillor's residence, not to debate foreign policies. <em>The gossip makes for better conversation though<em> the guard thought. _It beats talking about_ – a nearby sound broke his train of thought. Drawing his sword from the scabbard and bringing his shield up to a defensive position, he took a step forward.

"Who is there?" He demanded. "Name yourself!" His eyes swept back and forth across the night landscape and with scant lamps to light it up, it was mostly dark and hard to make out. He heard the noise again, a bat squeak, and saw the creature fly past. The guard shook his head and let out an exasperation sigh at being so jumpy.

"Fleeting are the moments, these days, in which I may truly be myself."

The voice, completely unexpected and utterly not human, came from behind him and he whirled around to face it. There was nothing there but the wall bathed in shadow.

"That I may rend flesh, shed blood and shiver bone." Came the voice again, this time from his side.

The guard turned to face the voice again, but as before, there was nothing there.

"You should consider yourself honoured being killed by me in my true form."

The voice came from a different direction every time it spoke, but when he guard faced where he thought it was coming from, there was never anything there. Was his lack sleep making him hear things?

The next time he voice spoke however, it sounded like it was no more than a hands length away from his head.

"And now, you will die."

The guard turned around one last time and his eyes widened as he watched part of the shadowed wall detached itself and lunged at him. Before he even had time to register that the shadow was moving, let alone towards him, large, scythe-like claws lashed out and ripped through his throat. It was akin to a sword slicing through a sheet of parchment; the guard never had a chance. Two purples eyes floating in the clump of shadow looked out at the dead, unblinking stare of the guard, his face frozen in horror. His head was only attached by a thin flap of skin and muscle at the back of his neck as the dead guard collapsed to the ground in a still-twitching heap.

The guard dealt with, the mass of shadow slunk its way into the councillor's house to complete its true objective.


	18. Part 2 Chapter 6 - Awareness

_Chapter VI_

_**S**_he was exhausted. Dealing with the throngs of plebeian people and dispensing false prayers and blessings to them had pushed her to the point of fatigue that still lingered after a decent night's sleep. But it was done for now. Later, yes, there would be another gathering to cement the people's choice, to bolster their pathetic faith and get her father elected. Until then however, she had the opportunity to relax and relax she would. But before she even had the chance to change out of her sleepwear, there was a knock at the door to her room. Composing herself as to not break her facade, she bid them to enter. It was one of the house staff.

"Your father requests that you join him for breakfast, m'lady."

"Tell him I will be there soon," Elencia replied, "and to make sure there is cinnamon toast."

The maid acknowledged and left.

Elencia changed into her white and gold robe and headed downstairs to meet her father for breakfast. He was already seated at the thick dining table, cutting up a side of bacon. He stopped and looked up when he saw her enter.

"Ahh, good morning Elencia," Silvestor started, "please, join me." He said, motioning to one of the heavy chairs opposite him.

As Elencia sat down, the same maid from before brought out a plate of food and placed it in front of Elencia. Eggs, bacon, sausages, tomato, and as requested, cinnamon toast on the side. Elencia thanked the maid and picked up the knife and fork, beginning to tuck into the hearty breakfast.

The pair ate together, discussing things ranging from the weather to what had been happening while Elencia was away. It was when they had both finished eating that Silvestor brought up the more serious topic.

"So, last night, one of the Senate councillors was murdered. Even their guard was killed, brutally I might add."

The look of surprise was one Elencia did not have to have to fake.

"Oh my, by the Light, that is terrible news. Did you know them?"

Silvestor interlocked his fingers as a maid took his empty plate away. "I know all the councillors in the Senate, some more so than others and some I have known all my life. Regrettably, I knew Councillor Tembar very well. She was a close friend and loyal supporter of an expanded Glyhorn. Her loss will be mourned greatly."

"That poor woman." Elencia shook her head in sympathy. "Do they have any idea who might have committed such a heinous act?"

Silvestor sighed heavily. "None I am afraid. Whoever did this was very good at hiding their tracks. I also can't help but think it is my fault."

Elencia was taken aback. "How on Azeroth could it ever be your fault?"

"Because I want to expand Glyhorn beyond her current borders. Someone is so virulently opposed to that that they would kill for it. They cannot kill me, so they instead kill a dear friend of mine to make a point."

Elencia did not want to speak about presumptions on her father's security, but she had seen it for herself and it was formidable enough. Instead, she leaned over the table and touched her father's hand. "Do not fear father, she is with the Light now. Once the next congregation is over and I have finished spreading the good word to the people, there won't be a thing that can stop you."

Silvestor looked at his daughter and smiled. "Your enthusiasm is infectious. You are right; I mustn't be cowled by this terrible act. If anything, Councillor Tembar has now become a martyr for our cause, may she rest in peace. I know you will do well tomorrow."

Elencia smiled back. "I look forward to meeting more of the people. Seeing the smiles on their faces when they receive their little slice of hope makes it all worth it. I know you will be a fantastic Grand Duke and do mother proud."

"Thank you." Silvestor said, taking Elencia's hand into his. "I wouldn't be able to do this without your help."

"You are most welcome, father." She withdrew her hands and stood up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must go and prepare for tomorrow's congregation."

Silvestor watched her leave the table and head upstairs to her room. Certain she was gone, he spoke out aloud, not even turning around. "Follow her when she leaves. Make sure no harm befalls my daughter."

A man stepped out from a nearby archway and bowed. "Yes sir." If Elencia was still at the table, she would have recognised him as the same man who had delivered the letter to her. He retreated back into the archway before disappearing from view again.

* * *

><p>Lord Alevious was taking a calming midday stroll through one of the many parks in Glyhorn. He had taken a small break from the discussions with the three crusaders. He thought about the past day and the tireless nature of the Grand Crusader Apart from his secluded and singular meditative sessions, he seemed to be always out and about and full of energy. That aside, Dathrohan had answered all of the questions put to him but Alevious felt like he was purposely withholding small but crucial bits of information here and there. Yes, he had no material proof and only what his gut was telling him, but he didn't become the Grand Duchess' right hand man by not listening to his instincts. He was positive the Grand Crusader was hiding something important that would be a major influence on whether passage was granted or not for this so-called 'pilgrimage'. Frustrating as it was, on the whole the crusaders were fully cooperating and doing nothing wrong.<p>

Just as he was about to start heading back to the Keep, he noticed a rather conspicuously large gathering of people. His assumption that it was another politically-motivated rally proved to be correct when he saw a glimpse of a woman in white and gold robes that turned out to be none other than Elencia Silvestor. Seeing an opportunity to perhaps learn more about her motivations, he changed direction and headed over to the plethora of people.

Weaving his way through the crowd of people as subtly as he could, Alevious was now as close to Elencia as he could get without making it obvious he was trying to get closer to her. From here however, he could only see her profile and not much else but that would suffice for observational purposes until he decided to approach and talk to her. Abruptly, as if she could tell he was looking at her, she pivoted and locked eyes with him through the throng of people surrounding her. It was then, in that moment when he looked right into her eyes, almost as if they were a window into her soul, that he knew that who or whatever she was, this so called 'priestess of the Light' was not to be trusted. A deviousness that many nobles would kill their own mother to possess was inside those deep green eyes. Under her pious exterior was a killer, a murderer, someone who would do anything to get what they wanted and destroy anyone who got in their way.

_So Dathrohan was right after all_ he thought. _And now she is aware that I know the truth, that I have seen who she really is._

It was in that moment that Alevious knew that his own life had just become forfeit, as she knew that he had seen past her carefully constructed facade and thus, had to be eliminated to maintain the charade. Before anything else, even his own safety, the Grand Duchess would have to be informed. Alevious took several steps backward, allowing the swarm of people to brush past him, eager in their effort to get closer to the priestess. Hoping his face was now lost in the crowd, he turned around and walked away, trying his best not to draw undue attention to himself and mentally crossed his fingers that a dagger would not plunge into his back at any moment.

* * *

><p>It was late afternoon and the sun was casting a strong orange light over the caldera where the Scarlet Onslaught was currently camped. It was hard to believe that with so many crusaders in the one place, it would take so long for someone to notice his approach, yet that was the case. Most of their attention seemed to be focused on the other end of the caldera where the Gates of Glyhorn stood. They were smaller than he remembered.<p>

Dreadsorrow was no more than a few meters away from the main encampment before two of the guards who were talking realised they had an unannounced visitor. He slowed his skeletal mount to a trot and meandered towards the guards. They in turn had their shields raised high and swords drawn, wary of the mounted traveller.

The first one shouted for him to halt as the second one began to move around to flank him. Humouring them, Dreadsorrow brought his mount to a stop and leaned forward in the saddle.

"Let me pass, _crusader_," he spoke the word bitterly, "and there will be no trouble."

The first guard pointed at Dreadsorrow with his sword tip. "There's already trouble, just by you being here. Give me a reason why you should live, _tainted one._" The vehemence in the guard's words matched the expression on his face, and that of his companion.

Just as Dreadsorrow was about to utter a threat, a spark of recognition ignited in his mind. It wasn't because the guard had 'one of those faces' that everybody thought looked familiar, but it was because Dreadsorrow actually had seen his face before.

"I have seen you before. You were there in the Twilight's Hammer camp," he turned to look at the guard on his flank and stared at him, "and you were there as well."

The two guards did not have to speak to confirm Dreadsorrow's suspicions as the look of surprise and then realisation on their faces said it all.

"I distinctly remember saying," Dreadsorrow swung his leg over the saddle and dismounted from his charger, "that I would come back and kill you if you lied to me."

"That wasn't... It...it..." Fear gripped the crusader and he seemed to forget that he had a shield and sword in his hands as Dreadsorrow advanced towards him.

There was a flash of steel and a sharp metal-on-metal screech was heard briefly just as Dreadsorrow leaned out of the way, purely on instinctual reflex. Dreadsorrow looked down at his breastplate, which now sported a finger-sized scratch, and back up at the second crusader who was just recovering from his wild and ineffectual swing. In the blink of an eye, Dreadsorrow lashed out with his left hand, landing a plated fist in the face of the first crusader before ducking around the guard of the second crusader and clamping his hand around the man's throat. The first crusader went to his knees, his hands flying to his broken nose, trying to stop the blood from gushing out. The second crusader was making incoherent noises and starting to turn a slight shade of blue as Dreadsorrow slowly crushed his trachea.

"ENOUGH!" Before Dreadsorrow could kill his victim, a booming voice interrupted the act. "Unhand my men now!"

Dreadsorrow turned his head ninety degrees to the left and saw who was addressing him. He released his grip and the crusader gasped for breath as he fell to the ground.

"If it's a fight you want," Dreadsorrow stated, his hands going for the magical stones at his waist, ready to turn them into their axe form, "I will not shy from it."

High General Abbendis helped the first crusader to his feet and frowned at his broken nose. "Go and see a medic." He hurried away, slipping between the elite guards that escorted Abbendis and now surrounded Dreadsorrow.

"What is your name, death knight?"

Dreadsorrow briefly glanced at the men surrounding him. "What is it to you? Do you want to name your trophy after you kill me?"

A heavy sigh escaped Abbendis' mouth as she rolled her eyes. "Always the pessimistic fatalists, you death knights."

"It's much easier to know what's coming," Dreadsorrow replied, "than be a deluded optimist."

"My patience wears thin death knight, just answer the question." Abbendis snapped at him.

"I have a question of my own; if you answer it I will answer yours."

"Fine, speak it, if it'll hurry you up."

"You." Dreadsorrow looked to the near-asphyxiated crusader. "How are you here, now? I killed everyone in that camp, slaughtered them all, yet you and your pathetic friend still live."

The crusader in question had a hand to his throat, massaging it gently. "We were...on...patrol." He managed to croak out.

"How very fortunate for you." Dreadsorrow shifted his attention back to Abbendis. "I am Dreadsorrow."

"Was that so hard?" Abbendis shook her head, clearly disappointed and gestured with her hand, prompting the guards to lower their weapons.

Dreadsorrow narrowed his eyes, instantly suspicious. "What trick is this?"

"Trust me, this is no trick. I would very much like to kill you right here, right now, but," Abbendis hesitated, something obviously leaving a sour taste in her mouth, "I have my orders. 'Let the death knight who calls himself Dreadsorrow pass into Glyhorn unharmed'." She quoted.

A sadistic smile slowly crept across Dreadsorrow's face. "Oh, I bet it is just killing you inside right now, having one such as me standing before you and unable to lift a finger, lest you disobey your Grand Crusader." Dreadsorrow cocked his head, "That is who issued the order, is it not? There is no one else above the great High General Abbendis besides him..."

"Stay your tongue, filth, lest I cut it out myself!" Abbendis shouted angrily.

Dreadsorrow wagged a finger at Abbendis as if she was a small child being chided. "Now now, you wouldn't want to do anything rash and anger your master."

Abbendis thrust a finger at him. "I'm warning you..."

Dreadsorrow mounted his skeletal steed. "Do not fear High General, I will keep my mouth shut," he gave a cruel laugh as he started to trot away, "because the relish I will get from knowing you are watching me ride away with my back to you will be more than enough."

Abbendis silently fumed as she watched the death knight slowly ride off towards Glyhorn, more because of the pleasure he would derive from it than the fact he was right. It would be so easy to order a volley of arrows into his exposed back, but alas, the Grand Crusader had ordered otherwise. Although, he had never said anything about when the death knight would leave Glyhorn, perhaps then she would have the chance to avenge her dignity.

* * *

><p>It was after Dreadsorrow had passed through the Gates of Glyhorn but before he reached the capital that Nilas had decided to show up. He heard him before he saw him, the shade speaking but staying invisible for the moment.<p>

"You took longer than I thought you would to get here. Where have you been?"

Dreadsorrow made an angry noise in the back of his throat. "That is none of your business, shade. I took a minor detour along the way and that is all. I am here, now, that is all that matters."

Nilas sniffed. "Fine, fine. Anyway, now that you're here, I will guide you to a safe house for the time being until tomorrow, when the work begins."

"You are not going to take me to your master?" Dreadsorrow queried. "I am here in Glyhorn yet he does not show himself, he only sends you. Could it be perhaps that he is afraid of me?"

"Hardly," Nilas chuckled, "he is just away at the moment, but he will be back very shortly, that I can promise you. Besides, it would do no good for either of you if you were spotted at his residence, too many questions, too little time."

Dreadsorrow considered this before he spoke. "Very well then."

The sun, although not fully set, had passed below the threshold of the mountains, ending the bright orange glow cast over the valleys and replacing it with an early dusk. Dreadsorrow thought the timing was convenient as by the time he reached the capital, it would be fully dark and less people would be able to spot him. He rode on, the transition between rural farmland dotted with the occasional cottage and the more built up residential areas becoming increasingly evident while Nilas told Dreadsorrow to turn here or there.

"Why do you not show yourself, why only guide me by voice?"

Dreadsorrow heard a distinct scoff before Nilas answered "Because I know what people would think if they saw a death knight being led around by a shade." Two purple eyes materialised in front of Dreadsorrow. "And besides, if you get caught, what are you going to say? 'An invisible shade told me to do it.'"

Dreadsorrow scowled. "You make it sound worse than it is."

Nilas gave a short burst of laughter as his purple eyes disappeared again. "Do not worry death knight, I will make sure you are not caught."

A mere grunt was all Dreadsorrow offered in return.

* * *

><p>An hour later, after some careful manoeuvring, Nilas had brought Dreadsorrow, undetected as promised, to a safe house just on the outskirts of the capital city's inner suburbs. It was a double storey building, with the apartments situated above the businesses downstairs. The far right room at the end was now Dreadsorrow's for the night, until Nilas came back in the morning.<p>

He sat down on the end of the bed and placed his armoured helmet on the bed to his right. Taking off his gauntlets, he placed them on the bed to his left and stared at his hands. The scar on his left hand was still there, reminding him of his first encounter with the Holy Light as a death knight. It felt like so long ago now, like a lifetime had passed. He was no longer able to call upon the Light like a paladin anymore, but it did not matter, he had left that life behind, he had been born anew, given a second chance and with that, he had adapted. He now had his own methods for dealing with the Light and any who dared to wield it against him would soon find that out that the hard way.

He let out a heavy sigh as he cupped his chin in his palms and rubbed his sore eyes with his fingers. If all went as Nilas promised tomorrow, he would get his revenge on that bastard Gavrin and have the rest of his memories restored, but...what then? Where would he go, he had no home. Who would he see, he had no friends. What would he do, he had no aim. He was just...Dreadsorrow. Empty. Alone. No, that was a lie, he wasn't empty, he was filled with hate and rage and yearned for revenge. Revenge, yes, but then what? Closing his eyes, he fell back upon the bed and tried in vain to sleep. Being undead, he had no use and was unable to sleep, but the sensation of having his eyes closed and being on a bed, brought back weak memories of what should be happening. Seeing black, thinking of nothing, losing consciousness and then maybe, dreaming. But it was not so.

Images danced before his eyes, some from his past life and some from his current one. There were the recognisable ones, distinct ones that he remembered perfectly and there was some that were murky, like the memory was covered by a light fog or was slightly out of sync with the rest of them. There was even some that he could not remember at all, no matter how hard he tried, it was like he was watching someone else's life flash before him. He could see things happening but could not recall them or feel anything. Death knights were not meant to feel emotion, but as sure as Dreadsorrow knew the sun would rise every morning, he knew that was a lie. Sadness, melancholy, sorrow, he felt all these things and more. Whether it was because he was freed from the Scourge's grasp or it was just him and he was uniquely alone in world, he did not know for sure, but he wasn't particularly inclined to care enough to find out either. So he would lay here instead, for the rest of the night, watching more images flit in and out of focus, some lingering, others flashing up for only a second before disappearing.

* * *

><p>The Grand Crusader had asked not to be disturbed for any reason whatsoever that night as he was going to mediate and try to contact the Light's champion again for guidance. Beckins and Giles acknowledged this and brought two chairs out and sat in front on Dathrohan's room to make sure no one walked in on his meditations. The guards did not like the unorthodox situation, but they could do little about it as they weren't breaking any rules in carrying out the Grand Crusader's wishes.<p>

As Dathrohan sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor in his room, he listened and waited for the right moment. When it came, he spoke so softly even someone sitting next to him would be hard pressed to hear what had been uttered.

"It begins..." His eyelids flew open, revealing solid purple eyes, glowing bright with unnatural magics. After a split second, his whole body had transformed into a transparent shadow and he stood up, whirled around and dived towards the ornate double windows of his room. But rather than smashing into them he simply flew through them as if there were no windows there at all. He did all without making a single sound. For all intents and purposes to those outside of his room, he was still there, sitting silently and meditating further upon the Holy Light and its ways.

His glowing purple eyes would be seen multiple times that night and all of them would be deliberate. It fact, those glowing purple eyes would be the last thing five more influential expansionist councillors would ever see before they were murdered. When confronted with the unknown, most people would turn and flee. It was in that moment that Dathrohan would strike. In the morning it would be discovered that they were all killed uniformly; multiple stab wounds to the back from the same weapon.

With the five councillors disposed, there was but one last task left to do and it was that task that took him to the opulent Silvestor mansion. Entering the grounds was easy, for all the guards and security, they could not stop what they could not see. Finding the specific room he was looking for was easy and entering it was indeed, also easy.

Dathrohan took a deep breath of air through his nose and inhaled all the smells of the room. Yes, it was definitely here. When all the other smells were filtered out, the familiar, well-known scent remained. In fact, to one so trained, it would reek; overpowering all other senses until it was the only thing that remained. He looked down upon the sleeping figure in the bed and smiled. It was a smile that looked out of place on his face, like it was stretched too big and from a face that was not his own.

Moving away from the bed, Dathrohan walked over to the slumped travel bag on the floor in the corner of the room. He crouched down and gently lifted the top flap, revealing the contents within. Turning his right palm upwards and concentrating, a very faint glow of purple light started to shine in his palm and after a few seconds a dagger materialised in his hand. Dathrohan closed his fingers around its handle. The blade was a dark red, almost black, and was still glistening with fresh blood. He put it onto a folded up cloak in the bag and closed the flap. Standing up, he silently moved over to the massive hardwood wardrobe on the other side of the room. Opening the double doors, he was presented with a range of feminine clothes hanging within. The one that Dathrohan was interested in however, was a white robe with golden filigree woven into it, the same one in fact, that she had been wearing when he first saw her. With one hand he pulled it out of the wardrobe and held it in front of him and his other hand was again encased in a low purple glow as he concentrated. He then proceeded to flick all of his fingers on his spare hand, as if he had just washed it with water, but they were bone dry. On the robe however, little red dots began to appear, some large and blotchy, some small and splattered, but all appearing on the robe nonetheless. After quite a few finger flicks, the robe now looked like someone had squashed a tomato near it and it had splattered all down the front. The only difference was that it was not tomato juice that now stained the robe, but blood. To complete the look, Dathrohan ran his hand on the midriff of the stained robe. Wherever his hand touched, it left a trail of blood like some type of disgusting mutated snail. He dismissed the magic from around his hand and placed the soiled robe back where he found it. Dathrohan closed the wardrobe and gave the sleeping figure one last much-too-big smile before exiting the bedroom as silently as he had entered it.

Returning to his room in the Keep the same way he had left it, he took the same cross-legged posture as before. The colour returned to his body as the shadows dissolved and his eyes returned to their normal sharp blue. Composing himself, Dathrohan remembered his rehearsed lines as he got into character of the Grand Crusader.

Beckins was slowly but inevitably falling asleep. Every few seconds, his head would gradually drop so that his chin touched his chest and his eyes would close before he snapped his head back up, eyes wide as he realised he was nodding off. Giles on the other hand, had quite a few years on Beckins and was easily able to stay awake, treating it more like a night watch and staying alert.

Both of them heard the low moan that originated from the Grand Crusader's room and they were instantly on their feet, awake and alert. Beckins was about to knock on the door when Giles held up a hand, palm outward, indicating he should wait. In the silence that ensured, the Grand Crusader asking for Giles and Beckins could be clearly heard through the door. Giles nodded to Beckins who opened the door and then followed his commander in.

They were presented with the Grand Crusader on the floor, sitting cross-legged, his elbows on his knees, hands hanging down in front. His brow was covered in beads of sweat and his silver hair was ruffled. Breathing heavily through his mouth, he wearily raised a hand, beckoning them to come closer.

"Are you alright sir?" Giles asked, clear and present worry in his voice.

"Do you need anything sir?" Beckins asked, trying to be helpful.

The Grand Crusader shook his head and opened his eyes, revealing their bloodshot state. "I'm fine, really, but I've had a terrible vision. I was trying to contact the Light's champion, but I was shown something else entirely and I'm not sure why."

Beckins' eyes grew wide. "What did you see sir?"

Dathrohan raised his head, looking between the two men and his eyes adopted a glazed look, like he was remembering a distant memory. "There was a woman. She was in a white and gold robe. I never saw her face; her hair was down, obscuring it. She had a dagger in her hand and she looked like she was laughing. The dagger was covered in blood and there were bodies at her feet. Five bodies, all face down, with wounds to the back. Her hands and robe were covered in blood but she did not care, it was almost like she took pleasure in it. I am not sure why I was shown this, but I am positive it has something to do with why we're here. Alert the guards, I must warn them before this tragedy is allowed to happen."

Beckins nodded once and rushed out of the room to find the guards.

"I've got a bad, sinking feeling that I'm too late to stop what I saw, Xavier." Dathrohan revealed.

"Do not worry sir, even if it has already happened, I'm sure with your help they will catch whoever did this." Giles answered.

Dathrohan nodded once. 'Yes, I think you're right." He raised one of his hands towards Giles and the commander took it and helped Dathrohan to his feet.

The next hour was spent explaining to the guards what had happened and then trying to get them to rouse Lord Alevious to pass the dire warning onto him. Little did any of them know that no matter how quick they were, it would already be too late.


	19. Part 2 Chapter 7 - Revealed

Chapter VII

_**C**_ome morning, the golden rays of sunlight were peeking through the heavy curtains that were drawn across the glass patio doors at the Silvestor estate. The Duke pulled them opened and let the full spectrum of the sun thought the glass doors. Opening the doors, he walked outside and took a deep breath of the fresh morning air. He heard a distant door close, but paid no heed to it, this was a beautiful morning and there was nothing that would stop him from enjoying it.

Leaning on the stone railing, Silvestor looked out and over the capital city, Glyhorn. Just like Stormwind and Lordaeron, the kingdoms were named for their capitals and the two were interchangeable when in conversation.

As he saw the early birds out and about around the city, there was a soft cough at his side that interrupted his peaceful morning vista. The Duke turned to see a messenger from the Hall of Justice just off to his side with one of his servants behind him.

Silvestor raised one of his eyebrows in curiosity. "Rather early for you lot isn't it? Never mind, what is your message?"

As the messenger stepped forward and read aloud the contents of the scroll he was carrying, Duke Silvestor's face paled and he had to get a solid grip on the railing lest he collapse. When the messenger had finished, the servant, taking initiative, led him out and palmed him off to another servant before coming back to help support the Duke and help him back inside to a nearby divan.

As Silvestor sat down heavily, his eyes began to tear up and he asked that the servant bring his daughter to him in a voice choked with emotion.

Several minutes later, after rousing his master's daughter and escorting her downstairs, he brought Elencia to her father and then backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"Elencia..." Silvestor started, "there has been..." His voice trailed off as his eyes glazed over.

Almost immediately, Elencia sat down beside her father and put a hand to his shoulder in a comforting gesture. "What is it father? What has happened?"

Still staring ahead at nothing, Silvestor spoke slowly and with great trepidation. "Last night, five more councillors were...murdered. I knew them all. They were proud and strong expansion supporters. Without them..." Again his voice trailed off.

Almost imperceptibly, there was a shift in Elencia's mood. "That is horrible, but you will still be striving for the Grand Duchy will you not?"

Now Silvestor turned his head and looked at his daughter. "The Grand Duchy? Six of my closest friends have been murdered in cold blood and you act like they were ants that have been stepped on by a child. I will not be running for the Grand Duchy, for it is clear that should I continue down that path, more people will be killed and I will not have that – I will not become Grand Duke with the blood of innocents on my hands."

He watched his daughter's face turn in to a scowl and heard her speak as if she was someone else.

"But you must become Grand Duke, you promised me. I help you and you help me find Ana. You cannot renege on that deal now just because a few people are dead."

Silvestor was wordless. His daughter, Elencia, was sitting next to him, saying things that he never thought he would hear from her mouth. He slipped his shoulder out from under her hand and stood up, looking down at her. "What has come over you Elencia? Ever have you been a polite, quiet girl, but I think your time away from Glyhorn has changed you. Have you -"

"I have lost my husband, my soul mate, the man I love! That's what's come over me." Elencia interrupted. "You have the power to help me find him and yet you do nothing! You promise to help me if you become Grand Duke and now that has become an empty and promise like all your other ones."

"Elencia, I -" Silvestor started.

"No! I have had enough of this!"

With that, she got and stormed out of the room, leaving a bewildered and confused Duke to stand there, alone and wondering what had just played out before him.

* * *

><p>Nilas was floating at the foot of the bed, patiently waiting for Dreadsorrow to get up.<p>

"You're here earlier than I thought you would be." Dreadsorrow said without opening his eyes or even moving.

"I didn't think death knights slept." Nilas replied, ignoring Dreadsorrow's observation.

"We don't." Dreadsorrow answered. He sat up and opened his eyes, focusing on Nilas. "I was just merely resting my eyes."

"I see." Nilas said, not sounding fully convinced. "Anyway, down to business." He floated around to the other side of the room, away from the window where the first rays of the morning sun had started to pierce through.

"Which is?" Dreadsorrow prompted.

"Revenge is a powerful motivator," Nilas nodded as he answered, "that it alone sufficed to bring you here should be evidence enough." A pause. "But there is one emotion stronger than revenge and that is love. Love will drive almost any being to great lengths beyond their normal capacity and it is this reason that I want you to listen to me very carefully." Nilas floated closer to Dreadsorrow. "What if I told you there was a way to bring back Elencia? A way to restore her as she was - a living...breathing..._loving_ wife?"

Dreadsorrow narrowed his eyes. "Be careful not to make promises you cannot keep, shade."

"Oh I assure you, this isn't a promise. It is a guarantee. You can bring your wife back, but first you must become Grand Duke. Think of it as an added incentive just in case you may have been getting cold feet."

"I am undead. My feet are always cold." Dreadsorrow replied, completely deadpan. "What I want to know is, what does becoming Grand Duke have to do with it?"

"Because," Nilas drifted a little closer to Dreadsorrow, almost conspiratorially, "only the current Grand Duke or Duchess of Glyhorn has access to the Vault in the mountains."

"And what is the significance of this purported _vault_?"

Nilas got even closer. "It contains an artefact of immense power, one that the Old Families stole when the originally left Kul Tiras. It has sat in the Vault even since, waiting to be used."

"So why hasn't it been used before?" Dreadsorrow asked suspiciously.

"Because Glyhorn wants to stay out of the greater world, to be left alone and remain isolated. To use the artefact would bring undue attention to their little nation and they do not want that. But you would have no compunction about using such an item because you care nothing for Glyhorn or its fate."

Dreadsorrow sat on the bed, mulling it over. He wouldn't admit it out aloud, but Nilas was right, he did care nothing for Glyhorn, only bringing back Elencia and finding that bastard, Gavrin. Everything else was moot.

Dreadsorrow blew a breath of foetid air into Nilas' face, as if he could blow the shade away from himself. "What happens now then?"

Nilas clapped his hands together once and drifted back out of Dreadsorrow's personal space. "Well," he started, "we need to get you to the Grand Duchess and then you must convince her to abdicate so that you can become Grand Duke and open the Vault."

Dreadsorrow grunted. "You make it sound so easy."

Nilas gave one of his signature chuckles before replying. "Ahh, but it is that easy. All I have to do is open a portal to an unoccupied room near the Grand Duchess and then you go and _persuade_ her and then go find the Vault. There isn't much more to it than that."

Dreadsorrow rubbed his chin thoughtfully before speaking. "And what happens, shade, after I get my wife and memories back and kill Gavrin? What then of the Grand Duchy and the artefact?"

"I doubt very much you will remain Grand Duke after you have gotten what you wanted out of it." Nilas gave a small shrug. "As for the artefact, my master will ensure that it is returned to the Vault and sealed away again – much like it is now. Then, he sweeps in and saves the day and becomes the next Grand Duke of Glyhorn. Everyone gets what they want."

"That's all well and good, but if you try to ensnare me into one of your schemes in the future..." Dreadsorrow jabbed a finger at Nilas, emphasising his point and leaving the threat unspoken.

Nilas placated the death knight with a soothing tone. "Do not worry; after you have done your bit and leave, you will never hear from me or my master or Glyhorn again, you have my most sincere promise of that."

"Let us hope so for you and your master's sake, shade."

"Always with the pessimism and threats, death knight." Nilas floated over to the wall of the room that was bare. "Now, about this portal..."

* * *

><p>"The Grand Crusader was quite adamant as to what he saw. Specific, too. And now with the discovery of the slain councillors, there can be no questions as to the validity of his claims. Even now he is meditating further to see if he can obtain any more information for us. All that is left now is to find whoever did this terrible deed."<p>

The Grand Duchess' brow creased slightly as she absorbed Lord Alevious' words. "Do you have any leads as to who it might be?"

Alevious tried his best to keep a neutral expression and for the most part succeeded, save for a small muscle twitch of his cheek, which the Grand Duchess noticed.

"You may speak your mind with me, Lord Alevious; we have known each other long enough for you to be frank."

Even with the blessing of the Grand Duchess, Alevious hesitated before answering. "There are a couple of things that I am tentative to bring up because of the implication they might have, but you have asked me to be frank and so I shall."

The Grand Duchess gave a small nod to prompt him to continue.

"Firstly, these murders only started happening since a certain person has been in Glyhorn. Before that, not a single councillor has been murdered for over fifty years. Second, the description of the culprit in Grand Crusader Dathrohan's vision is almost identical to one I have seen before. After our run in at the gardens and coupled with the rest of the information, this leads me to propose Elencia Silvestor as the killer."

Taking it in, the Grand Duchess clasped her hands together in her lap. A heavy silence hung in the air before the Grand Duchess spoke next.

"As unfathomable as it may be, it would seem that Elencia is the one who has been murdering the councillors. It is odd though that they would all be councillors who supported expansion when it was her family that stood the most to gain, but I do not profuse to have an insight into the mind of a murderer. Lord Alevious, go to the Silvestor estate, take several of the Royal Guard with you and search it top to bottom. If there is even the slightest shred of evidence against Elencia, you are to arrest her and bring her to me. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, your Grace. I will leave immediately." Alevious bowed, turned on his heel and left.

* * *

><p>The Royal Guard pounded on the estate's main door as the midday sun blazed away overhead. Several seconds later they opened a crack and a thin faced servant asked them what they wanted, his eyes widening as he noticed the soldier's livery.<p>

Alevious stated it was official business of the Grand Duchy and the servant allowed them in.

His hand rested on the rapier at his side, indicating he meant business.

"Show these men to Elencia's quarters," Alevious motioned towards to two Royal Guards with his free hand, "then find your master and bring him to me."

The servant bowed then scuttled off with the guards in tow, leaving Alevious with the remainder.

"Guard the exits of this place, I do not want anyone leaving until this business is concluded." Wordlessly, the men carried out his orders, leaving him alone.

He looked around at the opulent receiving room, just off to the right and wandered over, inspecting it. The thick carpet was of a muted ruby colour and the furniture was rich mahogany and exquisitely carved, a lot of it containing sea and naval motifs. Landlocked they may be, the Kul Tiras roots of Glyhorn still came out no matter how deep they were buried, mused Alevious. The heads of several game animals hung on the walls, testament to the Duke Silvestor's hunting ability. All in all, it was a room designed to show off the highlights of the family; to impress and inspire awe yet still manage to gloat and show dominance at the same time, typical of most noble families. Caught up in his thoughts, Alevious did not notice the return of the servant. A slight clearing of the throat brought Alevious' attention to him.

Turning, Alevious saw that the servant had returned alone. "Well, where is he?" He demanded.

A ghost of a frown appeared before the servant quickly suppressed it. "I have shown your men to the lady's room but I cannot fetch my master as he is currently at a Senate session."

Annoyed, Alevious crossed the room and came up to the servant. "You might have said something the first time. How long before he returns?"

The servant squirmed under the Lord's attention. "I am unsure milord, he did not say before he left and some sessions can go on for quite some time."

Alevious sighed heavily. "Very well then. When we are done here, I will leave a guard behind until his return. I am sure the presence of a Royal Guard will press the importance upon him of just how serious this matter is."

As if mentioning them had somehow been a catalyst, one of the Royal Guards materialised from around the corner.

"Milord, you're going to want to see this for yourself." He nodded his head in the direction of the stairs.

Alevious followed him without a word.

The second Royal Guard was standing out the front of Elencia's room and moved aside to let the both of them through, but stopped the servant from entering by placing a hand on his chest and shaking his head.

When Alevious entered the room, he saw that the guards had been fervent in their search, with draws opened, clothes stacked on the bed, furniture moved around. The wardrobe doors had been flung open and all of its contents were in a pile on the bed save one. It was a white robe with golden filigree and Alevious remembered Elencia wearing it before. It had several new additions however, that being the streak of a bloody hand down the middle and multiple blood splatters.

Alevious unhooked the robe and brought close to his face, studying it, yet careful not to touch the bloodied area. It didn't even look a day old – damning evidence to be sure, but that was not all. The Royal Guard with him in the room had lifted the flap on a travel bag and motioned for him to look inside. Sitting on top of various miscellaneous items in the bag was a dagger, drenched in blood, some of it not even fully dry yet.

"By the Old Families..." Was all Alevious could manage before he quickly recovered. "Both of you – go straight to the Keep and tell the Grand Duchess of this, she must know the truth. I will stay here and wait for this murderous wench to return."

Both the Royal Guards saluted and they hurried off to carry out the orders, leaving Alevious with the house servant, who by this point had paled remarkably.

"Go brew me a tea and make it strong, I will be down shortly." Alevious commanded.

The servant nodded and backed away, seemingly relieved to be ordered away from the room. Alevious sat down on the end of the bed, just to give himself a moment to mentally process the new information. Elencia was the killer. Six councillors were dead by her hand, not to mention the guards and servants in the wrong place at the wrong time. As ludicrous as it may seem, Dathrohan's vision was right and the evidence was as plain for all to see – the bloody robe and the dagger covered with congealed blood, it all pointed to her.

_She may be a Silvestor, _Alevious thought,_ but her head will roll for this, not a shadow of a doubt. If the Duke is found to have any hand in this whatsoever, the Gran- _

Alevious' thoughts were cut short as he heard shouting followed by the front door slamming shut downstairs; Elencia had returned. He stood up and placed a hand on the hilt of his rapier and left the room, closed the door and waiting around a corner for Elencia to come upstairs. He did not have to wait long.

Elencia made her way up the stairs and went to her room, opening the door and gasping at the sight in front of her. It was like a mini tornado had swept through her room. Furniture was moved around, clothes and other items were strewn about - almost nothing was where it was before when she had been in there last.

"What on Azeroth has happened here?" She asked aloud, bewilderment clear in her voice.

"I think you already know." A voice said from behind her. She whirled around to find a frowning Lord Alevious standing there, his hand resting on a rapier.

"Lord Alevious," she started, "what are you -"

"Be silent! I am here to take you back to the Keep." Alevious stated.

"The Keep? Why -"

Again, Alevious cut her off. "Elencia Silvestor, by the power of the Grand Duchy, you are under arrest for the multiple murders of Senate councillors."

Elencia's face twisted into a mask of horror. "What?! Murder? I have done no such thing! As a priestess of the Light, I could never kill anyone."

Alevious snorted. "Don't try and worm your way out of this. The evidence speaks for itself," he waved a hand at the bag on the floor near Elencia's feet, "and it screams your guilt."

Elencia looked down at the bag. It was hers, yes, but the bloodied dagger that was in it she had never seen before. How it had gotten there she had no idea, but it was obvious she would not be talking her way out of this one. She had been framed. Perfectly, flawlessly framed. Oh, they would pay, when she found out who had done this, they would pay dearly.

"Now, if you are quite done with your ineffectual protests, we are leaving." Alevious said, breaking her train of through.

Elencia looked back up at Alevious and her expression was different. She was smiling, a dark, sinister smile and her demeanour had subtly changed as well. Gone was the innocent and lovely Elencia. Ammet had returned, ominous and menacing.

"No." Ammet said firmly, savouring the look of incredulity on Alevious' face.

"It was not an offer, it was an order. You are coming with me back to the Keep whether you like it or not."

"I do not think so Lord Alevious. I will leave on my own accord, but you will stay here though, because you'll be dead."

"You would threaten me?" Alevious drew his rapier from its thin scabbard at his side. "Very well then. The Grand Duchess never said I had to specifically bring you back alive."

Ammet gave a mirthless chuckle before shouting a single word at the top of her lungs.

"HAADHUM!"

At first nothing happened. Alevious took a step forward and then halted as the noise began. An unearthly howl came from down the hallway. He turned just in time to watch as a red creature bounded down the hallway and skidded to a stop just outside the doorway. The two whip-like tentacles that sprouted from the back of its head swung around towards Alevious and the creature's body reorientated a second later.

"Say hello to my fel hunter. Goodbye Lord Alevious." Ammet said faintly behind him.

He could feel the thrum of magic behind him, but he dare not spare a glance and take his attention away from the nightmarish beast before him. Alevious could see the foul thing's legs tense and the black tentacles quiver in anticipation of the kill. The stance briefly reminded him of one of Glyhorn's mountain lions, right before they strike. A second later the beast pounced. Lunging toward Alevious with its reeking maw wide open, ready to clamp down at a milliseconds notice, it came towards him.

Waiting until the last possible second, Alevious pivoted to the side and watched the huge red beast land right where he had been standing a second ago and in the blink of an eye and a flash of steel, slashed with his rapier to devastating effect.

It was a perfect arc slash and it sliced right through both of the fel hunter's outstretched tentacles, the bloody stumps squirting dirty black ichor. The beast howled in pain as the cut stumps flicked around wildly, squirts of black ichor going everywhere. Before the demon could recover from the pain, Alevious expertly thrust the rapier into the side of the demon's head, the tip of the rapier going straight through the demon's tiny eye socket and into its brain, abruptly ending the pained howls as it collapsed to floor in pool of its own foul black blood.

Ammet had watched it happen as she cast her dark teleportation spell, intent on getting away, but watching Alevious kill her fel hound like some stray dog angered her and destroyed her focus. Stopping the cast, she snatched up the dagger from the bag near her and plunged it into Alevious' back in an outburst of rage.

It was a pain unlike anything he had felt before. The dagger bit deep and scraped against his shoulder blade, but it was the glacier-cold sensation that ripped through his that drove him to his knees. Ammet released her grip on the enchanted weapon as Alevious went down.

Ammet moved in front of Alevious and bent down so she was at eye level with him and placed her hand on Alevious' shoulder. "You know, all this could have been avoided if you had of just kept out of it."

Ammet's hand moved over to the dagger and her slender fingers curled slowly around the hilt. "But now, you will not live to see another day."

A smile crept across Ammet's face as she twisted the dagger and elicited a pained scream from Alevious. With a final spiteful act, Ammet pulled the dagger from Alevious, leaving him to fall face down onto the floor, his precious life fluids slowly spreading in a pool around him.

Wiping the dagger on the nearby bed sheet, Ammet then stashed it into the folds of her robe.

"Have a slow death!" Ammet called happily over her shoulder to Alevious as she exited her room, not even looking back for a second.

* * *

><p>Cecil had been waiting downstairs ever since Elencia had returned to the estate. His hands were shaking and beads of nervous sweat were forming on his brow. The sounds he had been hearing upstairs were...unsettling to say the least. The shouting, the unearthly howls and a strange sickly feeling that emanated from upstairs. Footsteps! He could hear footsteps creaking on the stairs. Quickly wiping his brow with his pocket handkerchief and smoothing over his shirt, he waited for whoever was coming down.<p>

Relief flooded him when he saw it was Elencia, even if she did look a little...off.

"I am glad to see you, milady. But where is Lord Alevious? What has happened?"

"Alevious! How dare he try and arrest me! I told him _no_ so then he tries to kill me. _ME_!" Ammet spluttered in a fit of rage, not noticing Cecil's questions, or even seemingly even his presence. "The sheer nerve of it! The audacity that he would try and stop me from finding my Ana, it's insulting."

Cecil noticed her hands were tightly balled into fists.

"First my weak father no longer wants to become Grand Duke and backs out, then Alevious accuses me of killing councillors and then tries to kill me. Right - that settles it!" Ammet exclaimed, stamping a foot on the floor. "You," she trilled, finally noticing Cecil and jabbing a finger into his chest, "come with me!" She started towards the enclosed courtyard.

Cecil started to sweat again. "B-b-but..."

Ammet whirled around and fixed him with an angry, withering glare. "But what?"

Rubbing his hands nervously together, Cecil answered, telling her about the two Royal Guards that Alevious had ordered to the Keep.

Ammet shook her head. "No. NO! Damn him. Even now he forces my hand. If you want something done, you have to do it yourself!" Ammet muttered to no one in particular and set off for the courtyard again with Cecil in tow.

As soon as they reached the courtyard, Ammet ordered Cecil to move the large potted plants off to the side so that the centre of the courtyard was clear. Once this was done Ammet pulled a stick of chalk from one of the folds in her robe and began to draw on the courtyard floor.

Concentric circles filled with runes that hurt the eyes to look upon began to take shape around her.

Taking a step forward, Cecil opened his mouth and got one word of a question out before Ammet cut him off.

"Silence!" She shrieked, not even looking up. Cecil shut his mouth.

After what felt like several minutes, Ammet finally finished the design on the floor. She looked over to him.

"You are still loyal to this family, yes?" Ammet queried, an unrecognisable look on her face, her eyes looking right at him with an unnerving stare.

Slowly, Cecil nodded. "Of course, just like my father and my father's father and his father."

"Excellent." Ammet pointed to one of the smaller circles filled with dizzying runes that cut into the path of two of the larger circles. "Stand over there."

Cecil hesitantly walked over and stood inside the circle, a wave of nausea washing over him the second he crossed the chalk line.

Voicing his unease at what was happening, Ammet looked at him with glazed eyes,

"Shhhh. Shh shh shh, everything will be okay." Ammet said in a tone that sounded like the way a mother might soothe a child who had just woken from a nightmare.

It hardly soothed Cecil at all, who thought it somehow sounded like it was more for her benefit than his.

Ammet started to chant words that sounded like they were from a nightmare and hurt to listen to them. The longer she went on, the more the tingling sensation all over his body turned to outright pain and increased. Just as the pain reached a crescendo and Cecil let out a scream, his body sloughed off his bones, dissolving into a fine green mist. His bones however, still remained upright, as if they were held in place by an invisible puppeteer. Ammet's chanting took on a higher pitch and an almost frenzied timbre. The bones themselves then started to bulge and expand beyond their normal human size, turning into a set of otherworldly bones with a completely different set of proportions. Some grew thicker, some grew longer, others shrunk into nothingness and there were some that sprouted extra growths and formed completely different sets of bones.

When the bones finished expanding and growing, the fine green mist which had been loitering around started to gravitate towards the bones, as if the process was reversing itself. The mist started to sink into the bones themselves and soon the bones began to radiate a sickly green glow which gradually increased the closer Ammet got to the apex of the spell. Upon reaching the climax of the incantation, the glow became so bright that Ammet had to close and avert her eyes. When it had subsided, she looked back over to where fruits of her labour was now standing.

The demon stood on two solid elephantine-like legs that were fully armoured in razor-sharp layered plate that came up to its waist. From there on up, the massive barrel-chested torso was rippling with muscles that probably wouldn't fit in armour even if it chose to wear it. The only armour it did wear on its torso was a pauldron on the left shoulder. A plate helm with a massive horn at the front protected the demons head, from which a pair of pupil-less yellow eyes glowed with a malevolent rage, already looking around, trying to find things to kill.

Clutched in its right gauntleted hand with thick fingers was a massive gnarled axe, almost the size of Ammet. The axe head looked like there were several amalgamations of different metals melted together to form an ugly and jagged but vicious looking weapon.

All in all, Ammet was rather pleased with her new thrall. She walked around the demon once, looking the felguard up and down, nodded and smiling.

"My my, you are a remarkable specimen. I think you'll do nicely."

A deep grating noise assaulted Ammet's ears before she realised it was the felguard laughing.

"I have lived for longer than you could imagine," it began, the voice deep and rough, "and killed more than you could possibly count. I will kill when you tell me to kill, I will slaughter when you tell me to slaughter, but do not seek to exchange pleasantries with me."

Ammet threw back her head and laughed. "I had no idea felguards came summoned with a sense of humour." Her face turned serious and dark. "Now follow me, we have a Grand Duchess to kill."

She started off with the felguard in tow, grunting in acknowledgment and his great axe scraping along the ground behind him.

* * *

><p>It struck him like someone had smacked him in the face with a large fish. His eyes flew open in recognition of what had happened. He stretched out with his senses, confirming it for himself. Yes, it was true.<p>

"Ahh, so you are what I suspected you to be." Dathrohan said to himself. He took a deep breath though his nose. "And now I have your scent."

He stood up and stretched his arms and legs. "Let the hunt begin."


	20. Part 2 Chapter 8 - Capture

_Chapter VIII_

_**T**_here was a trail of magic-blasted bodies and corpses turned asunder by the felguard's great axe on their trek to the throne room but now Ammet's progress had stalled.

Duke Silvestor, her own father, was standing in her path, between her and the throne room.

"I cannot let you go in there Elencia, that is a path I will not let you tread, for your own sake."

His agent stood behind him, off to the side between two of the marble columns that lined the hall, waiting to strike should his master command it.

Ammet stopped walking and gave them both a studious look. "I thought you wanted our family on the throne, to become the next Grand Duchy, yet you baulk at the last minute?"

"Not like this, your hands covered in the blood of others, it is not the right way!" He glanced momentarily at the felguard escorting his daughter, a flash of fear on his face, but he overcame it to approach his daughter.

Ammet raised her eyebrows slightly as she motioned for her felguard to stand down. "My hands or yours? We are the same, father, we would kill others to help ourselves, destroy them to further us."

"But this is madness Elencia, what you are doing is wrong!"

"Stop it!" Ammet shrieked. "Stop calling me that! My name is Ammet! Elencia is no more, she is dead, gone."

"Elencia, Ammet, I don't care what you call yourself anymore, you're still my daughter. You were meant to be a force of good for Glyhorn, to help me lead it into a new golden age, but not like this – you must stop." Silvestor pleaded.

"I care nothing for Glyhorn or its golden age." Ammet said with a sneer. "I love only Ana and Glyhorn is but a means to an end."

A confused frown furrowed the Duke's brow. "But, he is dead, my daughter. Has no one told you what –" Silvestor was interrupted before he could finish.

"Ana? My Ana? Dead?" She let out a loud laugh that bounced off the surrounding marble columns, giving it an eerie echo. "Anadelias is not dead, he is alive! Did you think I would just abandon my husband at the first sign of trouble? Did you think I would not look for him? He is out there somewhere and _that_ is why I am becoming the Grand Duchess! _I_ will find him and _I_ will bring him back and we _will_ be together again." A mock sadness came over her face. "But you, dear father, will not be around to see it."

With that, she took out the dagger she had been hiding in her robe and thrust it into Silvestor's stomach, puncturing it deeply. Sadistic glee swept over Ammet as she twisted the blade and watched her father writhe in agony. Normally a stomach wound was painful enough, but when the blade was enchanted as well, one would rather be dead than feel the full effects. There was no struggle as the Duke feebly reached upwards, trying to grab his daughter's shoulder to hold himself up, but the crippling cold spreading from the wound was already taking a hold of his body, sapping his strength and stopping his heart from pumping. Ammet took a step back and let him collapse to the marble floor in a crumpled heap, like he was nothing more than used tissue paper. She left the dagger in his broken body, having no more need for it and stepped over him, continuing onwards without so much as a cursory glance behind her.

That just left her father's agent to deal with before she ascended to the throne. But before she could make a move and take care of him however, he teleported away in a blaze of blue magic. It was a cowardly and vain act, but ultimately of little consequence; she was almost to the gilded doors now, she was so close to become Grand Duchess. And yet, something was amiss. Ammet realised it was quiet - the constant scrape of the felguard's gnarled axe dragging along the floor had stopped.

"My little warlock, patricide is hardly your forte; it is rather unbecoming of you." A deep voice commented from behind Ammet.

She spun around, seeking the owner of the voice who would dare call her out.

"Attack!" She shouted, pointing at the stranger and commanding her felguard, but it made no move. It stood there, immobile and unmoving like a statue. "I said attack!" She screeched again.

"Your felguard knows its place, it will not attack me." The man stated. He looked over to the felguard itself. "Now, be gone." With a flick of his wrist, he made a dismissive gesture and the felguard disappeared in a flash of green and the stink of sulphur.

"Fine, I'll do it myself then!" Ammet stated, fel magic already crackling in her palms; ready to be unleashed at a moment's whim.

"There will be no need for that." The man before her waved one of his hands and suddenly Ammet felt the built up magic drain away in an instant.

Dumbfounded, Ammet stood there, her jaw open and a scowl on her face. "What are you? You're obviously not human; we don't have glowing purple eyes." She said, commenting on his strange ocular disposition.

"I am more than you could ever dream to be, mortal." The man replied in a deep and otherworldly voice that had no place coming from a human mouth.

"You know nothing of my dreams." Ammet retorted.

Instead of answering with words, the man grinned as his skin started to ripple. Sensing something powerful was building, Ammet took several steps back, but she could not look away at the sight in front of her.

The man's flesh had started to bulge, blowing out of proportion and continually getting larger and more bloated by the second. Just when it looked like he could take no more and might explode, huge claws sprouted from the tips of his swollen fingers and two cloven hooves burst from his distended feet. A ripping sound, like thick linen being torn could be heard as a pair of wings - bigger than a gryphon's - burst forth from the man's inflated back. With a final shout, the rest of the man's flesh fell away, revealing what lurked beneath his flesh. Gone was the white haired man dressed in red, replaced by a huge horned humanoid with intricate armour that looked more ornamental than practical. Leathery wings rose from its back and a pair of horns, as black as midnight, curled upwards from a bald head. Satyr-like cloven hooves with backward jointed legs supported the frame and the claws on the end of its fingers looked like they could shear through armour with ease.

"Demon." Ammet spat out.

"A crude, but correct classification, _meatsack_. I am Balnazzar, dreadlord of the Burning Legion and I tire you of mortals and your tedious ways. Few and far between are the times that I may be free of that flesh puppet I have to hide inside of."

"So you are a coward, hiding behind the shell of a man, scared of revealing yourself."

"You are nothing but a mere child trifling with things beyond your scope!" Balnazzar snapped back. "You stumble in the dark, flailing around and breaking things that I have carefully constructed over many years."

"Speak plainly demon, your riddles annoy me."

A snarl escaped Balnazzar's lips. "You are a thorn in my plans that is about to be removed from the equation."

In the blink of an eye, Ammet unleashed a bolt of unnatural green energy at the demon, which in response, simply raised a palm and appeared to absorb the attack, completely unharmed.

"You pathetic, contemptible excuse for a mortal. Did you really think you could attack, let alone kill me with my own magic?" Balnazzar asked rhetorically. "You will pay dearly for your temerity."

Gesturing with the other hand, a small green crystal appeared just above his hand, hovering in the air. Delicately plucking it from the air with two claws, the crystal began to hum softly.

Before Ammet could witness what he intended to do with, the demon cocked his head. Seconds later, she could hear shouts of the pursuing Royal Guards coming from down the hall. This obviously did not sit well with the demon, which sent the crystal back to wherever it was summoned from.

"You are most fortunate, mortal. For now, _sleep_." Powerful magic coursed through Balnazzar's voice as he spoke the last word, forcing Ammet to obey his command.

Try as she might, Ammet could already feel her eyelids drooping, her mind starting to shut down and sleep overcoming her.

Resisting was pointless...she was tired...a small rest wouldn't hurt...just a...quick...nap...

* * *

><p>The throng of Royal Guards rounded the corner, swords drawn and halberds lowered, but instead of a fight, they found a man in red armour kneeling over a prone woman, his hand on her neck. He looked up at them, a serious expression on his face.<p>

"Don't worry, she's unconscious. She attacked me and I was forced to defend myself. She's subdued for now, but for how long I cannot say." Dathrohan explained, standing up.

The lead guard, a captain, came to a stop at the foot of Ammet's sleeping form. He looked down at her, then over to Dathrohan, who was smoothing out the tabard worn over his armour.

"And just how did you subdue the witch with no weapons? Bore her to sleep with words?" The captain asked suspiciously.

Dathrohan merely smiled at him. "With the Holy Light as my ally, I am never truly defenceless. I was able to exorcise the demon from this plane and hit her with a blast of Light powerful enough to knock her out, but leave her unharmed."

The captain looked back down to Ammet. "I see." He signalled for his men to take Ammet away. "We'll take the traitor to the Keep dungeons." Turning his attention back to Dathrohan, he sheathed his sword back into its scabbard. "Glyhorn thanks you for your...assistance in this matter." The captain stated curtly with mild irritation, more at being unable to claim that he apprehended the traitor than annoyance at Dathrohan for being in the right place at the right time.

Dathrohan bowed deeply. "You are most welcome. I will be in my quarters meditating if you have any further need of me."

The guard captain nodded at Dathrohan once as his men dragged Ammet away before he turned and left as well.

* * *

><p>Just as Ammet was facing off against Balnazzar, an azure hue filled the throne room with its light, grabbing attention and turning all heads in the room. It was like looking at a pool of blue water, but in a rough upright oval. Every now and then a vague shape would spear for a second before collapsing back into the blue light. The Royal Guards in the room had already surrounded it, halberds and swords levelled, ready for anything.<p>

One voice spoke over the hushed murmurs and whispers. "It's a spell, arcane. Someone is trying to...teleport in." The voice came from the sorcerer that stood near the Grand Duchess. Landril had been a sorcerer in the retinue of the Grand Duchess ever since he was selected for the duty more than forty years ago. A practiced and competent spellcaster, he looked flustered as he explained the situation. Beads of sweat ran down his head and matted his thinning brown hair.

"Who is it? Who would be foolish to force their way in?" The Grand Duchess asked from her throne to Landril's right.

His cheeks red, hands shaking whilst he made magical gestures in the air, Landril answered as best he could. "Not sure...but, arghh, they are powerful. I cannot hold the...w-w-wards for long! He..." Landril's words trailed off into a groan as blood began to flow freely from his nose.

"I'm sorry...your Grace..." These were Landril's last words as he collapsed, dead, onto the marble floor of the throne room, blood still trickling from his nose as his brain haemorrhaged.

With no one to deny access and empower the wards, the blue light grew brighter and the spell completed in a flash of a crescendo. The man who materialised wore clothes akin to a nobleman but the look on his face did not match his clothes at all. It was of horror, yet not from the halberd tips poking his chest.

"Your Grace..." The intruder stammered.

With infinite poise, the Grand Duchess leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. After a few seconds of scrutiny, she returned to her normal posture.

"I recognise you; you are part of Duke Silvestor's staff."

The man nodded his head with great relief. "Yes, I am...I was, the Duke's right hand man. He is dead now. Murdered by his own daughter, Elencia, who has now taken the name Ammet. I know not how or when, but she has become a heartless witch with foul powers at her disposal." As he spoke, a Royal Guard had surreptitiously entered the throne room and spoke to the Grand Duchess in a hushed voice that only she could hear. Silvestor's agent ignored this and continued with his warning. "All precautions must be taken to stop her - she seeks to claim your life and then the Grand Duchy itself. She is outside right now, just down the hall!"

There were gasps and nervous mutters from the gathered nobles and more than a few anxious glances to gilded double doors.

"Yes, I have just been informed that she has indeed been subdued and apprehended so you may now all relax." The Grand Duchess stated, glancing pointedly at the nobles before continuing. "In light of the circumstances however, I will be retiring for the day." The Grand Duchess turned to the retainer nearest her and ordered the Duke's agent to be brought to the Hall of Reflection where she could speak to him further. The retainer bowed his head in compliance and moved off to carry out the order.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure no one will detect the portal? This is one of the most heavily guarded places in the Keep. The sorcerers -"<p>

"Will not be able to detect it," Nilas said, interrupting Dreadsorrow's concerns, "nor will the magic wards interfere. As I said, you will be able to make your case and then leave when you need to unmolested."

Dreadsorrow reluctantly stepped through the portal Nilas had created, his surroundings instantly transitioning from that of the plain and modest safe house to the luxurious and stately personal quarters of the Grand Duchess.

Nilas stuck his transparent head through the portal, his purple eyes sparkling. "Now, find someplace to hide before she gets here. When you are ready to leave, use the stone like I showed you."

"Yes, yes." Dreadsorrow replied by rote, fingering the small gray stone in his pocket reflexively. Instead of his black and purple plate armour, which he figured would not exactly be appropriate for the reason he was here, he wore simple garments, not unlike those that would be worn by the commoners of Glyhorn. He left his axe-stones on his belt; just as a precaution should the meeting turn bad. A travel cloak with a raised hood completed the outfit, shrouding most of his face so at the very least he could speak to the Grand Duchess before she screamed for the guards by laying eyes upon his pallid, ghastly visage.

"Best of luck to you, death knight. I'd stay and watch, but I have places to go and people to see."

Dreadsorrow's only reply was an acknowledging grunt as he turned away from the shrinking portal. Surveying the room, he took in all the details accordingly.

Large bed, possibly underneath that? No, not enough room. A dresser next to the balcony doors. On the balcony? No, he might be spotted from the outside or the doors may lock behind him. At the foot of the bed there was a large, ornate trunk, but Dreadsorrow dismissed the idea of hiding in that when he opened it and saw it was full of clothes. A large tapestry hung on the wall behind him, taking up almost the entire wall. It looked like it was only halfway complete, judging by the loom at the end of it. Pulling the finished half aside, he saw that there was just enough space between it and the wall for him to stand behind.

Sighing at the feeling that he was playing a childish game of hide and seek, he nevertheless pulled the cloak tight around himself and huddled behind the tapestry, and began the long wait for the Grand Duchess.


	21. Part 2 Chapter 9 - Heartbreak

Chapter IX

_**I**_t was night, the sun had retreated and allowed the moon to dominate the dark sky and let the stars shine their far off light and the Grand Duchess of Glyhorn had retired to her personal chambers. Gone was her overly elaborate gown and jewellery, she was dressed in a simple night gown and she had undone the bun in her hair and let it hang down around her shoulders and back. Even in the room's low light her auburn hair, a trademark of her family, still shone. Her family. Thinking about it now brought a sigh to her lips. First her children, then her husband, now her eldest nephew, Anadelias. It almost seemed as if her family was cursed, to be torn away from the world of the living so young or in the prime of their lives. Steeling herself and pushing aside the bleak thoughts, the Grand Duchess sat down at her dressing table and started to brush her hair. Normally she would have one of her handmaidens help her or even do it, but tonight she just wanted to be alone, especially after the recent events of the past two days.

Looking into the mirror, the lines on her face seemed deeper and she could have sworn they had multiplied since last time. The stress of being the Grand Duchess was taking its toll. Soon, she told herself, soon she would...

Something in the corner of her eye caught her attention in the mirror - a slight movement in her tapestry. In one swift motion, she grabbed the small stiletto from her dresser and whirled around to see what had caught her eye.

She watched as a man emerged from behind the tapestry, dressed in dark clothes and a cloak, his face obscured by a hood.

"Name yourself, you who would dare violate my chambers!" The Grand Duchess demanded.

She heard a sigh come from the man before he answered her question.

"It does not matter as much who I am now, but more who I was before." He replied cryptically.

The Grand Duchess gestured with her stiletto. "That does not answer my question. You have one more chance before I summon the guards, who are not as lenient as I am."

There was a few seconds of silence before the man answered. "Once, you had a large family. But over time, fate whittled their number down. Your favourite nephew and heir, Anadelias, was one of the few left alive. But recently, even he went missing. With the information you have been provided you assume him to be dead. In a way, you are correct," the man paused and brought his hands up in plain view and slowly as to not provoke a reaction, and placed them on the hem of his hood, "but in another way, you are also wrong." He pulled back his hood, revealing his face to the candlelight.

Even in the low light of the candles and the fact that half of Dreadsorrow's face was in shadow did not detract from the Grand Duchess recognising him as he crossed the chamber to her. The stiletto fell from her hand and thumped on the floor, her now free hand shook ever so slightly as it reached for Dreadsorrow.

He did not move as her hand crept towards his face, he simply looked her in the eye and waited. Gingerly, her fingers brushed against his cold cheek and the Grand Duchess held them there for what felt like an eternity to Dreadsorrow. He closed his eyes and let his mind take him away. Having dead nerves meant he could not feel her touch on his skin, but his imagination made up for it. Her fingers would be soft and delicate, fingers that would belong to a caring mother cradling an infant or loving wife holding her husband's hand.

Her hand ran down his cheek, feeling his cold skin all the way down and she then placed her hand on the side of his head. Dreadsorrow opened his eyes as her other hand joined the first on the opposite side of his face. He saw the tears run down her cheeks and the expression that one would expect on a mother whose newborn baby had just passed away.

When she spoke his name, his old name, her voice was chocked up with emotion and she barely got the single word out.

Dreadsorrow reached up and gently placed his hands over her wrists and lowered them before taking her hands in his.

"What have they done to you? Who has done this?" She asked, almost not wanting to hear the answers.

Dreadsorrow did not answer straight away. He wanted to tell his aunt the whole story, explain it all and confide his feelings to her, but he could not bring himself to do it. He was at war within himself, of two minds. Ultimately, he chose not to tell her because somehow, deep inside, the time did not feel right. If she truly still cared for him, then she would understand. If not, then he was not averse to doing things the hard way.

"My name is Dreadsorrow now and it would take more time than I have to spare to explain everything." His reply came out slight gruffer than he had wanted.

The Grand Duchess took a step back and withdrew her hand from his. "First you fall in love with the eldest daughter from a rival family and then you run away with her, leaving Glyhorn and your family behind. You grow up, become a paladin and master the ways of the Light and yet never once send me a letter. Then my spies find out you have gone missing, presumed dead. Weeks pass with no trace of you and then you show up here, as a death knight, telling me you have no time to talk. What am I to think, my dear Anadelias?" Her distraught voice stirred something within Dreadsorrow.

"I..." He started, trying his hardest to dampen down whatever was brewing deep within him.

The Grand Duchess did not relent or give him a chance to answer. "And your wife my poor Anadelias, do you know what Elencia -"

"Yes I know about Elencia. Now speak no more of it, I do not wish to dwell on it." Dreadsorrow was curtly reminded of the conversation with Nilas in which he found out that his alleged best friend had killed Elencia. Far from weakening his position, the memory steeled Dreadsorrow and he steered the conversation back on topic.

"I have come to you not to reminisce but for your help. Suffice to say only you can help me, but should you decline I will not hesitate to take what I need by force."

"Then my nephew is truly dead then. Never would he threaten me like you have just done." The Grand Duchess let the tears freely roll down her face again as she fondly remembered Anadelias in his youth. "I will help you if I am able, if only to honour the memory of my dead nephew and to speed along your departure of Glyhorn."

As Dreadsorrow looked at the tear-streaked face of the Grand Duchess, he went through the motions of taking a deep breath, even though his body no longer needed to breathe and muscle memory alone made it happen.

"I need to become the Grand Duke of Glyhorn."

Dreadsorrow had half assumed an outright no and a possible slap to the face, but the Grand Duchess' response was fairly tame compared to his expectations. She covered her right hand with her left and pressed it close to her chest, slowly shaking her head.

"You?" she asked, completely astonished, "You're not even alive, not really. Why would you even..."

Dreadsorrow recalled one of the conversations he had had with Nilas in the safe house while he waited for his chance talk with the Grand Duchess.

"There is a chamber, one that can only be opened by whoever is the current ruler of the Grand Duchy of Glyhorn. Within that chamber is an artefact of great power. If I was able to use it, I could be Anadelias again _and_ have my wife by my side, just like I used to."

Dreadsorrow could see the indecision wrought on the Grand Duchess' face. Her fears for her people at letting him, this _monster_, become Grand Duke and the love for her nephew Anadelias and her desire to have him back.

"I...do not think that you..."

"Adelle!" Dreadsorrow hissed sharply, but not loud enough that the guards would hear him and come running.

She glared at him with veritable anger. "You would dare?"

"Yes, I would." Dreadsorrow knew that upon becoming the head of the Grand Duchy the new Grand Duke or Duchess would forfeit their own personal name and be known only by their title and what number in line they were. They did this to show the people of Glyhorn they were not motivated by personal power or glory as their birth and family name would not be recorded, only which consecutive number was assigned to their Grand Duchy. To call the Grand Duke or Duchess by their birth name was a major faux pas of court etiquette and borderline treasonous in the eyes of a native of Glyhorn and Dreadsorrow was aware of this, but it was a chance he was willing to take to make her listen.

Dreadsorrow hung his head slightly and shut his eyes.

"Listen, no one has to know, it will only be temporary, a few days at the most. Just pretend to take ill or something, you will then have an excuse for not seeing anyone and they will be none the wiser, still seeing you as the Grand Duchess for all intents and purposes. When I am done I will return and you will once again be Grand Duchess and you will never see me again."

He lifted his head back up and looked the Grand Duchess right in the eye.

"If the artefact can truly do what it is claimed it can, then perhaps there is even a chance for me to become what I was before. Alive, feeling and able to love again. Would you deny me that chance?"

The Grand Duchess looked back right at Dreadsorrow, her emotions playing quite clearly across her face. She lowered her hands and clasped them in front of her.

"Your name is quite apt. You fill me with a sense of dread, knowing that you could kill me on a mere whim at the slightest grievance or provocation and yet, when I look at you, I feel sorrow within me at the loss of my nephew, Anadelias." As she spoke, she loosened the ornate golden ring from the ring finger of her right hand. "It is for this reason and this one alone that I will help you. For if this artefact actually does what you say it can do, I will have my nephew back."

Taking Dreadsorrow's hand she placed the signet ring into his palm then closed his fingers around it and clasped her hands around his.

"Please, return to me as you were. Even if you choose not to speak to me again, just knowing you are alive and well will be enough."

Dreadsorrow nodded solemnly once and gently withdrew his hand. Taking the small gray stone from his pocket, his used his thumb to rub the blue rune set in the centre, activating the stone. The blue rune flared and then Dreadsorrow disappeared in a wave of light blue energy that cascaded from his head to toes.

Just like that, he was gone, leaving the Grand Duchess alone in her room to ponder what she had just done.

* * *

><p>As she lay on the cold stone floor in one of the many cells of the Keep's dungeon, he could not help but remark at how helpless she looked. Her clothes were now ragged and torn from the guards' rough handling and soiled from the dirty cell floor. She stirred as a freezing cold breeze swept down from the mountains and howled through the slit in the wall that served as a window. Trying her hardest to pull her clothes tighter around her and gain some semblance of warmth, she looked pitiful to him and yet, she was still a threat to his plans and would need to be dealt with accordingly.<p>

"Finally, you wake."

Ammet whirled around to see the man in red again. He was in her cell, wearing his flesh disguise, yet he spoke with the demon's voice. It was unsettling to say the least.

"Of all the people to be put in here with me they chose you. Fantastic." She said, heavy on the sarcasm.

Balnazzar gave an unearthly chuckle before answering her. "The fact that you think I am here not by my own choice is rather amusing. No, my little warlock, I am here because I have unfinished business with you, not because some lowly guards put me here."

Ammet narrowed her eyes. "What business?"

A smile grew on the man's face that was much larger than what it should be on a normal human. The needle-like fangs that grew down from his teeth didn't help either. "The business where I trap you in my little prison for all eternity so that you bother me no more, of course."

"Oh, that." Ammet looked perplexed. "So why let me sleep? Why wait until I woke up? Wouldn't it be easier to do it while I was out cold?"

"Questions, questions, questions. You humans are so full of curiosity; it will be the death of you all one day."

Ammet just stood silently, staring at the fleshy puppet having its strings pulled by the demon, refusing to look away.

Balnazzar narrowed his eyes. "If you really must know human, I let you sleep as a concession. There is no day or night in the crystal prison, it simply is. As such, there is no sleep and I thought you would like to get the most of it whilst you were still able."

"And the catch is?"

"The transference from the corporeal to the prison is incredibly painful. I wanted you to be fully awake and conscious for it. Otherwise, what's the point?" The demon gave Ammet a malicious smile, revealing his vestigial fangs again.

"Of course it is." Ammet sighed, rolling her eyes. "You wouldn't be a demon if it wasn't."

Balnazzar raised his hand and summoned the fel crystal prison. It hovered in front his hand, glowing a sickly dull green as it waited for the command to entrap its next victim. Balnazzar spoke the demonic words to activate it and watched as it flew towards Ammet. It hit her in the chest and stuck steadfast to her sternum.

The screams of pain and woe that came from her mouth were nothing unusual in the Keep dungeon and they went unnoticed, even as they reached a crescendo then stopped altogether.

Balnazzar held out his hand and the tiny prison flew into his palm. It was now glowing significantly brighter than when first summoned. He dismissed it back to the void where it would wait until summoned by him again.

* * *

><p>It was jarring to say the least. One second he was in the private chambers of the Grand Duchess, then the next he was somewhere else in the blink of an eye. It took Dreadsorrow a few seconds to recover from the disorientating experience and assess his surroundings.<p>

"Ahh, you are back quicker than I thought you would be – and not covered in blood either. I suspect things went well then?" Nilas inquired.

"It was...productive." Dreadsorrow replied to Nilas' question as he looked around.

He appeared to be at the edge of a large field, some type of wheat or something. Definitely one of the outlying farms, as he could see the capital in the distant, shining like a Sin'dorei flame-gem in the darkness. The small stone-built farming cottage was completely unremarkable and looked like any other building one would expect to see in a small rural farming community. Yet this one obviously had some type of significance, otherwise he and Nilas would not be here. Nilas too seemed different, Dreadsorrow thought, but he could not place what was different. A darker shade of black or brighter orb-eyes maybe. Or it could just be the low lighting. Dreadsorrow dismissed it and brought his mind back to the here and now.

"Good." The shade said in an oily voice, more so than usual, "Time is of the essence, let us proceed." He turned and pointed at one of the stones that made up the door frame of the cottage. "Place the hearthstone there."

Dreadsorrow looked at the stonework Nilas had pointed out, finding a small depression that turned out to be a perfect fit for the small rune-etched hearthstone he carried. As he slid the hearthstone into place, Nilas gestured towards the door.

"After you, your Grace." He said with mild amusement.

Dreadsorrow ignored the shade's quip as he opened the door and preceded into the stone cottage with Nilas following close behind him. The inside was empty save for an old table and two chairs in one corner that had collected a significant amount of dust and cobwebs.

Dreadsorrow frowned. "No one has been here for years, decades even."

"You were expecting a grand announcement of this place? Royal Guards out the front and crystal chandeliers inside?" Nilas floated over to the table and ran a ghostly finger along the top. If his finger were corporeal, it would have accumulated a thick dollop of dust on the end. "No, death knight, the best way to hide a place such as this is in plain sight."

Dreadsorrow grunted. "Well, it seems to have worked so far. What now?"

Nilas floated over and thrust a finger at him. "If we are to go any further, you must put on the ring of the Grand Duchy and become the Grand Duke of Glyhorn. Only then can you open the way."

Dreadsorrow took the ornate gold ring from his pocket and held it up so he could get a clear look at it. Even in the dank, almost non-existent light of the cottage, it still gleamed with a brilliance almost unmatched.

Tentatively he placed the ring between his index finger and thumb on his left hand and slowly placed it over his right hand's ring finger. Sliding the ring on fully, Dreadsorrow felt no different than he did before. Apparently becoming Grand Duke didn't bestow any feelings of grandeur in him or cause lightning to suddenly break forth from the heavens. He was the same death knight as before, but now with a fancy ring on one of his fingers.

"Your Grace." Nilas intoned, somewhere between genuine and mocking, as he gave a bow. As he came back up, he continued. "Now, all you have to do is speak the following words; '_I, the Grand Duke of Glyhorn, demand the way be open!_'"

Dreadsorrow raised an eyebrow, but nonetheless cleared his throat and put as much command into his voice as he could muster and repeated what Nilas had said.

As soon as he had finished the sentence, a section of the cottage wall began to shimmer. It stayed like that for a couple of seconds before vanishing entirely, leaving a gaping black maw in its wake.

"Most interesting indeed." After staring into the black nothingness, Nilas concluded that it must be a portal of some description, probably two-way.

"_Probably_ two-way?" Dreadsorrow asked, more than a little incredulous.

"Well, we'll find out when we reach the other side, won't we?" Nilas replied with a hint of amusement.

Frowning, Dreadsorrow walked up the blackness and gave it a quick once over before stepping through.

Nilas let out a small chuckle before following the death knight into the black abyss.


	22. Part 2 Chapter 10 - Betrayal

_(Author's Note: Just wanted to say thanks for the reviews guys, really means a lot to me! I hope the rest of the story lives up to your expectations!)_

_Chapter X_

_**T**_hey had gone through the portal, which indeed turned out to be two-way as Nilas had suspected for the simple fact there was no other way out of the chamber they currently found themselves in. The rough, bare walls of the chamber looked like they had been chiselled out straight from the rock. There were several torches placed intermittently around the chamber, burning away with a magical fire, never to be extinguished.

"May I present the new Grand Duke with a coronation present?"

The question caught Dreadsorrow off guard. "What?"

"A small gift on the behalf of my master to congratulate you on taking the Grand Duchy."

"But it is only temporary; I have no wish to rule." Dreadsorrow retorted.

Nilas nodded. "True, but the sentiment behind it is still sincere."

"Fine, just make it quick."

Nilas clasped his shadowy hands together. "Excellent! Now, take a few steps back."

Dreadsorrow did as he was told and watched as Nilas began to gesture in mid air and speak the words necessary for his spell to work. A sliver of a purple line began to form in the space in front of the shade, a vertical slit in the fabric of space. Nilas reached out with his hands and put his fingers into the purple slit then spread it apart as if he was opening a pair of sliding doors. The purple slit was now a purple doorway.

As Nilas turned to look back at him, Dreadsorrow could almost picture a smile on the shade's face.

"I'll just be a moment." The shade stated before floating through the portal and disappearing.

As he watched the portal swallow Nilas, Dreadsorrow was left looking at the swirling eddies of purple energy inside the portal. It was unnerving, almost as if something was looking back at him from the abyss. Closing his eyes and folding his arms, he leant back against the cold rock wall and waited for the shade to return.

About a minute later, Dreadsorrow opened his eyes as he heard a distinctive metal on metal clinking sound, like chains rattling. He pushed off from the wall and took several steps towards the portal, intent on seeing what was coming through.

A man suddenly came through the portal, stumbling forward like he had been shoved through from the other side. He fell to his knees on the chamber floor in front of Dreadsorrow, a thick chain hanging between his manacled wrists. Nilas came back through after the prisoner, looking down at the man and leisurely floated over to where Dreadsorrow stood.

The man looked like he had been a prisoner for a while; his dirty black hair had grown long and covered most of his face as he hung his head. From what wasn't covered, Dreadsorrow could see a stubby beard covering his jaw and numerous scratches covering the rest of his face. His clothes were little more than filthy rags, barely hiding his dignity and mostly splotched with dry blood and mud. All in all he was a sorry sight, a dishevelled man, kneeling in the dirt, broken and bloody.

"Is this some kind of joke? What would I want with that?" Dreadsorrow said with scorn.

Nilas let out a low chuckle. "Why, I do believe you know him actually."

Dreadsorrow looked back down at the prisoner. "Know him? What makes you think I would..." The death knight's voice trailed off as he looked closer at the man's face. It had an almost familiar shape to it; then again he could just have one of those faces that everyone found vaguely familiar to them. He was about to dismiss the prisoner entirely when he noticed his raggedy shirt, if it could still be called that, was covering a wound.

Squatting down on his haunches, Dreadsorrow gently shifted the loosely hanging fabric to one side to reveal a mass of scar tissue in the centre of the man's chest. It was about the size of a large fist, or even a claw. It was a wound just like...

"Gavrin?"

The prisoner went deathly still. He started to mutter to himself, at first inaudible, but slowly gaining in pitch. "AnadeliasDreadsorrowAnadeliasDreadsorrowAnadeliasDreadsorrow..."

"It is you!" Dreadsorrow whirled around to look at Nilas. "How is this possible?"

"I have many connections and know many people, death knight. Almost anything is possible for my master and I."

"But why? Why now?"

"Look at it like this; better you clear up this loose end now as an irreproachable murderous death knight than as a paladin of the Light who could no more murder in cold blood than stop the sun from rising."

Dreadsorrow considered this. "You make a good point." He turned back to Gavrin. "I've been searching for you and waiting for this day, _friend_." The vehemence in Dreadsorrow's voice was clearly evident.

"Anadelias." Gavrin mumbled.

"Not quite."

"Dreadsorrow."

"Yes. You will pay for what you have done you bastard." Dreadsorrow answered with a sneer.

Dreadsorrow started to reach for his belt where his twin axes waited in their inert stone forms on his belt ,which he thankfully had the foresight to keep on, but Gavrin's head snapped up to look at him. Dreadsorrow looked right into his bloodshot eyes and saw the madness that they contained. The madness that had drove him to murder his wife. It was in this miniscule hesitation that Gavrin let out an inhuman feral cry and exploded towards Dreadsorrow.

Gavrin caught Dreadsorrow square in the chest and they both fell to the floor with Gavrin pinning down the death knight. Before the ex-paladin could take advantage of his position, he received a massive headbutt from Dreadsorrow which disorientated Gavrin long enough to allow Dreadsorrow to unleash a right hook with the force of a piledriver into Gavrin's midsection, knocking him back to the floor.

Scrabbling to his feet just as quickly as he had been knocked off them, Gavrin got back to find Dreadsorrow had used the momentary advantage to get up as well.

"You would dare strike me?" Dreadsorrow raged at Gavrin.

"I must kill you!" Gavrin shouted, spittle flying from his mouth and his maddened eyes bulging. He came at Dreadsorrow, arms extended, ready to trade blows.

As Nilas watched the fight unfold, he could not help but wonder where this broken, bloody shell of a man was getting all his strength from. Before he went though the portal he could barely stand and walk, he was practically a dead man walking. The death knight could have sneezed on him and he would have keeled over and died, and yet...here he was, fighting like a man possessed. In that train of thought, something clicked into place. That was it! Some outside influence must have interfered in some way, but who or what? Subtly reaching, he skimmed across the surface of Gavrin's mind. What he found there surprised even him.

There was nothing there but darkness, madness and an overriding urge to kill the death knight. Whoever had tampered with the man's mind had done a good job. Gavrin had been turned into the perfect sleeper, ready to kill Dreadsorrow the second he encountered him. Coupled with this unnatural strength he was granted, Gavrin had the potential to kill Dreadsorrow. That must not happen – everything hinged on Dreadsorrow, he was the key to his entire plan and with him dead, the entire plan would be broken and everything he had worked for would be but for naught. But to intervene and help Dreadsorrow would deny the death knight his victory and render him unpliable and possibly uncooperative. Unless it looked dire enough, he would just have to watch and wait and hope for the death knight to prevail.

After having landed numerous punches on each other, Dreadsorrow lashed out with a kick to Gavrin's torso, knocking him back slightly. Gavrin shook the blow off and charged at Dreadsorrow who blocked Gavrin's maddened rain of blows as best he could. Gavrin stopped to let out a cry of rage and Dreadsorrow took the opportunity to punch Gavrin in the face, sending him backwards to the floor. Gavrin rolled out from under Dreadsorrow every time he tried to land a heel in him before rolling far enough to get back to his feet. The two opponents circled one another before trading punches again. This time Dreadsorrow was prepared. By taking a small jump backwards and letting Gavrin overreach one of his punches, Dreadsorrow grabbed hold of his arm and wrenched it, flinging Gavrin forward and delivering a vicious kick to his side, sending him to the chamber floor. As he was standing over the prone form of Gavrin and about to give him a brutal kick, Gavrin flipped over and kicked out Dreadsorrow's legs from under him and the death knight slammed into the ground hard. In no time at all, Gavrin had snatched a torch from the wall and was looming over Dreadsorrow with the torch in a two handed grip above his head, backlighting Gavrin's face in an almost hellish way and emphasising his madness.

He brought the torch down and Dreadsorrow narrowly rolled out of the way for the first blow and the second and third but on the fourth he was clipped on the shoulder by the ever burning torch. Dreadsorrow shouted in anger rather than pain and kicked up at Gavrin, knocking the torch from his hand and sending him back.

Dreadsorrow got to his feet and vented his anger at Gavrin. "ENOUGH!" Roared Dreadsorrow. Harnessing the unholy powers at his command, Dreadsorrow reached out with dark tendrils of foul magic and lifted Gavrin from the ground and flung him into the nearest wall. An audible crack could be heard as Gavrin connected and he slumped straight to the ground. Using the dark magic to propel himself forward, he jumped forward and landed next to Gavrin's motionless body. Reaching down and grabbing the back of Gavrin's head and turning it so that he was again looking into the eyes of the madman, he spoke his last words to his once best friend.

"This is for Elencia."

Gavrin's left eye opened, the right already purple and swollen, and looked up at Dreadsorrow, the madness wavering. "...Elencia?"

In his fury, Dreadsorrow did not notice the change, but Nilas did. Rather than alert the death knight to the change, he simply let Dreadsorrow carry on and watched as he put his other hand to the front of Gavrin's head and then twist it until an audible crack was heard, extinguishing the broken man's life. For several long seconds the only sound in the chamber was Dreadsorrow's anger slowly bleeding from him in growls.

"It is done then." Nilas said solemnly, breaking the partial silence.

Dreadsorrow said nothing as he stood over the broken remains of Gavrin.

"Do you feel justice has been done?"

"I feel nothing. Nothing but anger. Just open this damn door and let's get this over with already."

Nilas nodded. "Very well then."

The shade floated over to the far wall at the end of the chamber that was completely bare save for two torches flicking on the wall and a small circular disc at waist height with a round niche in the middle of it. After a brisk inspection Nilas voiced his evaluation.

"The lock is magic, old magic, ancient even. _Dragon_ magic. Which flight, I cannot say for sure, perhaps the Bronze, but it is definitely the work of the giant lizards." The inflection in Nilas' statement clearly showed his disdain for the dragons. "What they would be doing helping them seal the vault, I'm not sure, but I digress. You have the key that fits the lock and that's all that matters. Shall we proceed?" Nilas asked, waving a hand at the wall.

Dreadsorrow stepped forward and looked at the lock himself. The circular niche was just barely larger than a man's fist and the hole in the middle seemed to look like it was filled with sand. Making a fist, he lined the ornate ring up with the hole and gradually pushed it into the lock under Nilas' ever present and watchful gaze.

At first nothing happened, but just as Dreadsorrow was about to remove his fist and complain to the shade, a faint click was heard from within the wall to the left of the lock. Both Dreadsorrow and Nilas turned to look at was supposedly a solid wall, to find that the crest of Glyhorn had appeared, matching the one on Dreadsorrow's ring. This crest however, was not painted or carved, but made of sand, sand with a golden hue that was continually moving around, as if it was alive, but still holding the shape of the Glyhorn crest.

A deep bass voice boomed from all around the chamber, coming from everywhere at once. "_The Grand Duke arrives, the vault has been discovered, what will your choice be?_"

Behind him, Nilas scoffed. "Dragons and their tiresome penchant for theatrics." The shade shook its skull in disdain.

Dreadsorrow looked over his shoulder at the shade and silenced him with a glare. Turning his attention to the sand crest, he answered the voice. "I seek the artefact contained within this vault, as my right as Grand Duke of Glyhorn."

A deep rumble filled the chamber and a plume of dirt cascaded from the roof, giving rise to the questionable stability of the entire chamber. "_Hiding in plain sight, known only to a few, do you dare take it?_"

Dreadsorrow narrowed his eyes. "Yes. I dare."

There was a prolonged, deathly silence before the deep voice answered Dreadsorrow's claim. Eventually the voice boomed once again through the chamber. "_The vault is unlocked, mercy on your soul Grand Duke, your fate is your own_."

With the exchange seemingly over, Dreadsorrow glanced over to Nilas, who gave a very helpful shrug of ignorance.

Dreadsorrow gave the wall one last look, his eyes lingering on the sand crest, before ordering it to '_Open_' in his most commanding voice.

At first nothing happened and he was about to try again when the sand crest flared with a golden brilliance and then slowly dwindled. Dreadsorrow watched as the sand crest completely lost its distinctive golden hue and fall to the floor in a messy heap over his boots.

Yet it wasn't the sand falling to the ground that was causing the rumble throughout the chamber.

Plumes of dust and dirt started to fall from the roof, streaming down like rock waterfalls as Dreadsorrow found himself taking an involuntary step from the wall before him. Looking down, he saw that the wall that was moving upwards and into the roof, causing the chamber to rumble like the stomach of a hungry storm giant that hasn't eaten in days. A rather large chunk of rock broke away from the roof and fell to the ground, passing right through Nilas, who was evidently unfazed by the errant rock.

The chamber wall had moved all the way to the room when it came to a halt and revealed the path to the vault it protected. At the front of the square passage, there was a stone carved arch, just larger than Dreadsorrow and sufficient enough to allow him to pass through into whatever was beyond.

Dreadsorrow stepped forward, walking through where the massive block of stone sat a minute ago, nervously glancing upwards at the huge stone block suspended there. Quelling any uneasiness, he passed under the stone arch and stared down the passage towards what hopefully was the vault that contained the artefact. The passage itself was completely dark and no light whatsoever shone into it, almost as if it was afraid to be trapped for all eternity. Dreadsorrow could not tell how long the passage was or where it ended, but nevertheless he advanced down it and through the gloom towards the vault's inner chamber. Walking slowly down the passageway, mainly by touch, a faint silvery glow was visible in the darkness and Dreadsorrow headed towards it. Whatever it was, it seemed to react to his presence as the closer he got, the more illuminating the glow became. Not as strong as a torch or a lamp, but bright enough that he could see where the passage stopped. Reaching the end, he found that it opened up into a concave dome with huge warding runes carved into the curving walls and into the floor of the room as well. In the middle of the room there was a block of stone that came up to his waist, covered in a multitude of runes , making it look like a sort of altar, upon which sat a cushion that the artefact itself sat on, rather innocuously, just waiting to be picked up. Dreadsorrow mused that for something hidden for so long and protected by so many wards, it was a rather simple looking artefact.

It was a glass vial the length of a hand span with an enlarged, rounded base giving it a teardrop shape. A metal screw cap at the top kept the contents airtight and contained within.

As Dreadsorrow approached the altar and bent over to get a closer look at the vials contents, he could almost feel as if it was calling to him, whispering in his mind, willing him to come closer to look at it. The silvery glow that emanated from the vial and lit up the room was a liquid as far as Dreadsorrow could tell, but it sparkled with an inner light, like the moon reflected off water at night or the tears of a goddess captured by mortals and placed inside the vial. The silvery water captured and held his attention, making him unable to look away or focus on anything else. Time felt as if it had stopped, Dreadsorrow couldn't tell if it he had been staring at the amazing silver liquid for seconds or hours but it he did not care, all that mattered was that he kept looking at it.

_Dreadsorrow_

He thought he heard his name, but no, it was not important.

_Dreadsorrow_

Again, someone was trying to call to him, but it was a minor distraction. The silver liquid was more important.

"Dreadsorrow!"

Slowly, reluctantly, Dreadsorrow turned away from the glowing vial and focused his attention elsewhere.

Nilas was floating just beyond the entry of the room, looking at him. "You have to be careful, the waters can be rather alluring to the uninitiated. Almost mesmerising, one could say."

Dreadsorrow blinked rapidly as his normal focus returned. As it did, he realised his hand was curled around an object. Looking down, he saw that he was holding the vial. He didn't remember picking it up at all and yet, here it was, in his hand. It was heavier than he thought it would have been; the glass must be thicker than its appearance belied. Dreadsorrow looked back up at Nilas before the waters hold over him came back, he answered the shade. "Yes, I know what you mean. Time became meaningless and there was only the water." He shook his head to try and clear his thoughts. "It was like nothing I have ever experienced."

"Nor will you again. Repeated exposure in its undiluted form is not recommended. Bring it here and I will apply a small masking spell to it so that it won't ensnare you again."

Dreadsorrow stepped over to where Nilas floated just outside the room and held out the vial, the bottom of it resting in his palm. Within the blink of an eye it was gone, snatched away from his open palm by a shadowy hand.

At first, Dreadsorrow said nothing, the shock of it overwhelming him. When he did finally manage to speak, he looked up at Nilas who was clutching the vial with both hands.

"But...how? You're a shade - you cannot interact with the physical world!"

In response, Nilas tore his glowing purple eyes away from his new prize and looked Dreadsorrow right in the eye.

"Yes, you are correct. A shade cannot touch or manipulate anything on this plane, it is purely ethereal. But, unfortunately for you, I am not a shade."

Nilas' purple eyes flared brightly, forcing Dreadsorrow to close his own and turn his head away. Even though they were closed, he could still see bright flashes behind his dead eyelids. What sounded like a plethora of bats screeching filled his ears and drowned out any other noise. The light lessened and Dreadsorrow felt a wave of raw power wash over him, making him take an involuntary step backwards. Opening his eyes what he saw before him was no longer a mere shade.

"Dreadlord!" Growled Dreadsorrow with a vehemence that would be the envy of many a Forsaken.

"Quite correct. I am Balnazzar and you have my most sincere gratitude, death knight. Without you, I never would have been able to acquire this." Balnazzar held the small vial between two long nails and shook it gently.

The realisation that he had been played and used right from the beginning swept over Dreadsorrow. This whole time, he was nothing more than a means to an end for this demon, his own personal puppet with no knowledge of being such. His anger boiled within him, bubbling and frothing, reaching a head and exploding out of him in a bellow of rage, charging towards the demon.

Smiling at the display, Balnazzar made no move to get out of the way of Dreadsorrow's attack or even defend himself.

Red filled his vision and Dreadsorrow barrelled towards Balnazzar, his rage controlling him. He would rip the demon to pieces with his bare hands if need be. Just as he was about to reach the demon however, Dreadsorrow found himself flying backwards, impacting against the stone altar and dislodging it slightly.

Balnazzar lowered the arm that he had used to backhand Dreadsorrow and let a deep, menacing laugh fill the chamber.

"Did you really think that would work? A lone mortal, unarmed and unaided, thinking he could assault a nathrezim and win? Contemptible in the least."

Dreadsorrow sat upright and painfully got to his feet, using the stone altar for support and wearing a smile and laughing to himself in spite of his current predicament, which did not go unnoticed by Balnazzar.

"What is so funny human?" Balnazzar snarled.

Dreadsorrow looked up into the demon's glowing purple eyes and laughed in his face.

"Because not only can you not enter the room, but your magic doesn't work in here either. You could have set me on fire or melted me into a puddle or turned me inside-out, but you didn't, this entire room prevents you from doing anything!"

"Ignorant whelp, if I wanted to kill you I could have just as easily ripped your head from your shoulders as a child takes the wings off a fly. No, I have a much better fate for you. After all, what is the point of killing someone when you can trap them in a room that no one can detect magically and the only people who can open it will all be dead soon?"

Balnazzar gave a malicious grin as he watched Dreadsorrow's smug satisfaction fade. The demon took a step back with his cloven hooves.

"And now, little death knight, I will leave you to your fate, that is, to die here. Maybe someday in the far future they will stumble upon this place and find your bones." Balnazzar began to turn away.

"You bastard! If I ever get out of here, I will rip your horns from your head and use them to cut off your own wings you cowardly demon scum!" Dreadsorrow shouted vehemently.

Balnazzar paused in his turn and regarded the angry little death knight before him. A slow, malevolent look grew on the demon's face. He raised a clawed palm towards Dreadsorrow and with an emerald glow a small green crystal materialised and Balnazzar used his claws to perform a precise flick and send it flying towards Dreadsorrow.

The crystal was flying at his head, but Dreadsorrow caught it before it hit him. Opening his hand, he peered at the green crystal and the faint, sickly emerald glow it gave off.

"I'm sure you will delight in the irony when you discover it." Balnazzar left Dreadsorrow with a malicious laugh that echoed around the vault walls before finally subsiding several terse seconds later as his entire form dissipated into a huge swarm of black bats.

The rumbling had started even before the dreadlord had left the passage. Now, the massive stone blocks that were sealing Dreadsorrow to his fate were halfway down. The crunch when they hit rock bottom was one of the harshest sounds Dreadsorrow had ever heard. There was something about being sealed off to the outside with no one knowing or caring where he had gone that rankled the death knight to his core. Letting out an almost bestial scream of rage, Dreadsorrow smashed his fists against the stone, doing no damage whatsoever to the massive block, but the need to vent his anger on something overrode any logic. He punched the block again and again and finally stopped when he felt something sharp digging into his palm and fingers. He opened them and saw the crystal Balnazzar had given him. With a shout of anger, he flung the crystal across the room where it hit the far wall and fell to the ground, with no apparent damage, save for a tiny hairline crack. With a final shout and punch to the wall, Dreadsorrow's anger bled out of him and he turned and slumped against the wall, sliding down it and sat on the dusty floor in a cloud of sand, his head hung.


	23. Part 2 Chapter 11 - Release

_Chapter XI_

_**A**_s she lay inside her prison, Ammet woke with a start. Unsure how long she had been out, but still fuming at being trapped by the demon, Balnazzar, her logical side kicked in and she took in her surroundings. It was basically a jade box the size of a large wardrobe. There were six walls that were all exactly the same - jade and featureless. After several attempts to cast spells of ranging power and difficulty, she found out the hard way that any attempted use of magic would not work in here and she would be punished with a painful feedback that was more intense the more powerful the attempted spell was.

As if being trapped in a featureless green wardrobe wasn't bad enough, there was a thick, oppressive shroud that she felt but couldn't see, that clung to her like a cloying mist that made it just that little bit worse. Although Ammet suspected that it was the reason she could not properly cast a spell or conjure something, she had to have real proof to substantiate that claim.

For the next few hours, Ammet tried to pass the time by trying to find a crack or a seam or something that she could use to help her get out, but there was nothing. Ammet let out an exasperated sigh and sat on the floor, defeated.

Soon though, her thoughts turned from desperation and hopelessness to anger and rage. Ranting to herself and occasionally slapping a palm against the smooth floor, her not-quite-so-corporal body quivered with anger. Her tirade however, was interrupted when all of a sudden her prison shook violently and felt as if a giant hand was shaking her around like a snow globe. As quickly as it had started, it stopped. Ammet looked around to see if there was any damage she could exploit or any indication of what had just happened, but neither proved fruitful. She did however; notice that the oppressive shroud that had been suffocating her before the _quake_, for lack of a better word she thought, was now gone. Be that as it may, she was still trapped in here for who knows how lo...

Ammet's train of thought was cut off when yet again the quake struck except this time what made it worse was the massive crash at the end that violently threw her against the wall and then back down to the floor in a rumpled heap.

Slowly coming to her senses and rubbing her forehead where it had unceremoniously made contact with what she at least though was the floor, Ammet's eyes fluttered open and she saw her salvation. At first she didn't believe it; she thought it might be the minor concussion playing tricks with her, or if the prison itself was somehow messing with her mind, trying to break her will. When she got to her feet and reached out and touched the crack in the wall, Ammet instantly knew it was real. Whatever had happened to her prison that had made it crack, she did not care, but was just thankful that it did happen. It was then that Ammet also noticed that the possible magic-cancelling-shroud was no longer suffocating her with its presence. But even with it gone, Ammet decided that using a spell in such a small space probably wouldn't be a good idea, especially if the walls of this cell were magic resistant or warded somehow, that wouldn't be pretty. So, resorting to good old fashioned techniques, Ammet hitched up her robe and kicked the crack in the wall with all her might and…nothing happened. Disappointed but undeterred, Ammet resolved to keep at it until she got some results, which she didn't have to wait long for.

On the fourth kick, her prison vibrated ever so lightly, drawing a grin from the warlock and spurring her on. On the seventh kick, she could see visible cracks spreading out from the original, making it look like a disjointed spider's web. A huge crack shot upwards, snaking its way up the wall and sending out other smaller cracks in its wake. Soon enough, almost the entire prison was covered in the cracks, just waiting for a tipping point. Ammet was more than happy to oblige. Mustering as much strength as she could, Ammet lashed out with one final kick and was rewarded with the sound of shattering glass. As the prison collapsed around her, a flash of sickly green fel energy engulfed her, disorientating her senses and everything went black as Ammet fell unconscious.

* * *

><p>Looking back on it now, Dreadsorrow realised how foolish he had been in, not trusting, but listening to and going along with the shade 'Nilas'. Had he really been that easily blinded by the promise of a new life, to be alive again and have his life back that he had been led by the nose by a dreadlord in disguise? Apparently so, Dreadsorrow decided, but, a dreadlord was also a master of subterfuge and manipulation he conceded to himself, in a bid to help salve the anger he felt at himself. Try as he might, it still boiled down to being his fault. His fault he had listened to and let himself believe Balnazzar's lies. His fault he had followed the demon back to Glyhorn. His fault he was now trapped in here with no way out. His fault that... A sound from the other side of the chamber grabbed his attention.<p>

As Dreadsorrow got up and walked over to investigate, he could see a small green haze coming from behind the stone altar. Moving past the altar he saw that the glow was coming from the crystal he had flung away in a fit of anger. Had he inadvertently broken it somehow or triggered some hidden function? Had Balnazzar predicted that he would try to destroy it in a fit of rage and used that against him? Dreadsorrow thought about the many possibilities and watched in mild surprise as a small arc of green lightning sprung from the crystal and discharged into the floor, making a noise like a burst of static electricity only louder. The crystal then jumped. Like a cricket with only legs on one side of its body, it didn't go anywhere, but the crystal distinctly hopped up into the air. While Dreadsorrow crouched down to get a better look, another arc of green lighting spat out and the crystal bounced into the air again. Then a third spark and a hop followed by several more; all with increasing frequency. Just as it looked like the crystal would reach a crescendo, it stopped moving. The small arcs of lighting were still discharging like crazy, but the crystal made not one bounce, skip or hop. Cautiously, Dreadsorrow reached out to touch crystal, but just as he was about to prod it with his finger, it jumped into the air, higher than before, and exploded in a flash of dark green energy.

As the dirty fel magic washed over him, Dreadsorrow felt sick, disgusted and filthy all at once. His body shivered slightly in protest at the proximity of the tainted magic. Even though the taste buds on his tongue no longer worked, he imagined that he could almost taste the foul wave of energy as it passed him over. He put a hand to his head as a dull throb began to manifest and make itself known. When he eventually looked up and steadied himself, Dreadsorrow thought at first he was delirious, still suffering the effects of the fel energy, but once the headache started to clear, he knew that what was before him was no hallucination or side effect. It was a person. A female, he noticed. She looked harrowed and worn down, but not aged. Her robes had seen better days and small rips and tears were present throughout its fabric. He saw that she was already examining her surroundings and him, much like he was her. The mysterious woman seemed unperturbed by his state of undeath and Dreadsorrow felt her icy gaze as she stared at him. It was short lived however as both of them saw that the green haze from the broken fel crystal, currently providing the only illumination in the pseudo-tomb, was rapidly fading in brightness.

A look of horror spread itself across the woman's face. Whether it was from a fear of the dark or her resolve had faltered about being stuck with him, Dreadsorrow couldn't tell. A strangled 'No' escaped from her lips as the fel crystal lost all of its light and plunged the room into darkness.

Dreadsorrow was the first to break the awkward silence that followed.

"Not afraid of the dark I hope." He spoke it as a statement, not a question.

"Of course not!" She snapped back. Dreadsorrow couldn't see her face, but he could easily imagine the venomous glare she must be giving him. "Don't you have a torch or a light or something?" Ammet asked, with only a minor amount of sarcasm.

"No, I don't have a torch or a light or..." Dreadsorrow's growled reply died off when a startling realisation made itself clear in his mind.

"I do have a light. Stand back and be silent." Dreadsorrow ordered. Thankfully, the woman did as she was told.

This was going to hurt, but it would be worth it should it work, Dreadsorrow told himself. Closing his eyes and concentrating, Dreadsorrow called upon the etheric, warm energy that was everywhere at once and lifted his hand to waist height, palm up, and began to channel it. The pain was intense as it flowed through his body and formed in his hand. Two opposites that should never be working together, light and dark, day and night, forced together for Dreadsorrow's own ends. Soon, the bright light formed a sphere in his hand, constantly shifting and getting brighter by the second. Dreadsorrow clenched his teeth and strained against the pain and finished the summoning. Should he falter even for a second, the warm energy flowing through him would burn him to cinders in a second. Sensing the globe was complete; he stopped channelling and sealed off the ball of energy in his hand. Completely exhausted, Dreadsorrow lowered his hand but the globe of illumination did not move - it stayed exactly where Dreadsorrow had created it. Easing himself to a sitting position on the sandy floor and his back to the stone altar, he leaned against it and closed his eyes. He was drained and too weak to even see the look that must be on the woman's face, but he could certainly hear it in her voice when she spoke.

Ammet stood there, waiting quietly as the walking corpse had told her to. Normally, she would not take orders from one such abomination, but these were hardly normal circumstances and who knew how long she would be stuck in here with it. Self preservation dictated caution and that meant doing what she was told...for now.

Slowly, a faint light began to come into existence opposite her. She gave it her full attention as this must be what the undead was talking about. The more she looked at it, the stronger the light became and it started to take on a golden hue. Before long, the ball of light was as large as her head and the entire vault was bathed in its golden illumination. She could quite clearly see the undead that was creating the light and immense concentration and strain on his face. Suddenly her eyes widened in disbelief and Ammet took an involuntary step back as she recognised the undead man that was in front of her. And what exactly he was doing, or to put it more accurately, what he shouldn't be able to do yet was doing anyway.

She watched in equal parts horror and morbid fascination as he completed the spell and then sat resting against the stone altar. The thought of how unlike her beloved Anadelias he was wormed its way back into her thoughts, like when they first met. His pallid, dead face and gray hair, the converse of Ana's beautiful features and golden red hair. She quickly dismissed the thought and tried to focus on the matter at hand.

She managed to stammer out a 'you...' before she regained her composure. "You're undead!"

"Thank you for the observation." Dreadsorrow replied dryly without opening his eyes.

"But you...summoned...the Light! It should not be possible!"

"And yet I did." Dreadsorrow replied again without looking at her.

Ammet frowned. "But you are a death knight. There is no possible way you should be able to command the light."

Now Dreadsorrow opened his eyes and brought his full attention to woman standing over him.

"You speak of impossibility and yet here I sit, undead and sentient. Do not tell me things are not possible when you have witnessed them yourself."

Ammet shook her head. "Fine, whatever, but how on Azeroth did you manage to create that globe?"

Dreadsorrow held her gaze for several long seconds before making up his mind and grimacing.

"We are both stuck in here so I guess there is no harm in explaining it to you, if you even understand." He let out a sigh. "Two things. Firstly, I do not _command_ the Light. It resists me, for obvious reasons. I guess you could say I coax it towards me and before it realises what I really am, I grab it and force it to obey my will. It does not help that should I lose focus for even a second the Light would naturally burn me to ash, being what I am, thus I use it sparingly."

Ammet looked strangely curious, almost like a child that has picked the wings off a fly and watches what it will do next.

"Surely it would be painful, having the Light course through your undead body?" She asked, with a callous, yet controlled tone.

Dreadsorrow grunted at her. "Yes, it is quite painful," he allowed a rare smile to grace his lips, "but I have found ways to utilise the Light that are nowhere near as painful for me."

Ammet straightened up. "I see. And the second thing?"

Dreadsorrow narrowed his eyes. "I should have not even been able to do it in the first place."

"Well obviously, you're a walking corpse." Ammet responded by laughing at him.

"No you fool! Look at the walls! I should not have been able to summon a spell at all!"

Ammet finally did take in her surroundings and saw the runes covering every square centimetre of the walls, roof, floor and altar. Some huge, some small, some basic and some intricate beyond imagination, all for the same purpose - negating magic and hiding this vault from the outside world. With a start, she realised that was the change she felt in her prison, crossing into this place, and how she was able to break out of the weakened fel crystal.

"Whoever or whatever designed this place either didn't factor in the Light or think it a threat," Dreadsorrow continued, "or, judging by how old this place looks, didn't know of its existence." He kept his suspicion that it was merely the simplicity of the spell, creating some illumination, that allowed it to work to himself. It could be useful to have this woman think he could smite her with the Holy Light.

Ammet simmered with annoyance, but said nothing. She tried to glare at the death knight, but it had no effect on him so she stuck her chin out, turned around and went to sit against the wall opposite him. The stone was cold and uncomfortable, but she allowed none of it to show, lest the death knight gain some satisfaction from it.

* * *

><p>Several tense minutes passed where neither one of them said anything. Having cooled down somewhat, Ammet brought her gaze back to the death knight. He was still looking at her, studying her, she supposed, when she finally decided to speak.<p>

"So how did you manage to end up here of all places? Quite the distance from the cultist camp I saw you in last, Dreadsorrow."

She watched as his eyes narrowed at her, his studious face turning to a predatory look in an instant.

Ammet thought she may have crossed a line due to his uneasy silence, but after holding his stare he answered. "Yes, the cultist camp. I remember you. Ammit?"

She corrected his error.

"Ahh, Ammet. Quite the distance for you too, hmm? It would seem we have both come a long way, literally, since we first met." Dreadsorrow mused, slightly raising his eyebrows.

"Indeed we have." Ammet answered, not giving anything away.

"You seem to have taken the path less travelled though." Dreadsorrow said, eyeing her up and down.

"You are correct." Ammet stated evenly, not rising to the bait.

Dreadsorrow sensed her reluctance to talk - which he found ironic as normally it was he who did the least amount of talking - and did not press the issue. Fate had a wry sense of humour he knew. If he was meant to be stuck in here with this Ammet woman, then so be it, he would find out why sooner or later.

"Your transportation to this place was most unusual, to say the least." Dreadsorrow probed, wondering if she would divulge just how she had come to be dumped here with him by Balnazzar.

"Not my preferred method or by choice, let me assure you." Ammet answered sharply, her eyes flaring with anger.

Evidently not. Perhaps in a few months he would ask again.

Dreadsorrow stood up and cracked his back with a rather loud snap which elicited a minor cringe from Ammet to Dreadsorrow's satisfaction.

As he started to slowly pace around the circular vault's floor, Dreadsorrow found himself talking again, more for the sake of doing something rather than the need for a heartfelt conversation.

"Chances are you will die long before I succumb to another death in this place. If you like, I could give you a quick and painless end now."

Ammet gave him an odd look. "No, I think I will be fine for now. But your offer is...noted."

Dreadsorrow nodded once and kept pacing.

"I may as well enjoy the company while I can. Before you go insane or starve to death or something else..."

The death knight paused in his sentence for what seemed an inordinate amount of time. Just as Ammet was about to say something, he spoke again.

For several hours the two trapped souls conversed, mostly about mundane, superficial things to help pass the time with Ammet doing most of the talking. It was Dreadsorrow who turned the conversation to a more personal tone, when out of the blue he started talking about his life before undeath.

"Did you know before I was a death knight, I had a home. A wife, friends, a life. A real life with hopes and dreams. After our encounter at the cultist camp I went back to the place that used to be my home."

For a second, it seemed to Ammet that the death knight was almost melancholy. How it was possible for him to feel so, she had no idea, but noted it nonetheless.

"It was deserted, abandoned," Dreadsorrow continued, "my wife had left a while ago. I had thought that maybe if she was there, I could show myself to her, just to prove that she wasn't alone and we could talk about what had happened and maybe at least part on good terms, if nothing else."

Dreadsorrow unconsciously let out a sigh as some immeasurably small shred of humanity left in him exerted itself through force of habit.

For a second, it seemed to Ammet that the death knight was almost melancholy. How it was possible for him to feel so, she had no idea, but noted it nonetheless.

"It was deserted, abandoned," Dreadsorrow continued, "my wife had left a while ago. I had thought that maybe if she was there, I could show myself to her, just to prove that she wasn't alone and we could talk about what had happened and maybe at least part on good terms, if nothing else."

Dreadsorrow unconsciously let out a sigh as some immeasurably small shred of humanity left in him exerted itself through force of habit. "But she wasn't there. Just dust and cobwebs and a garden full of weeds."

Ammet looked over to Dreadsorrow from where she sat. "Perhaps she saw your face and ran away." She said rather brusquely.

Dreadsorrow stopped his pacing and stared at Ammet. The woman blinked but held his stare. "You would do well to not earn my ire, especially since you are going to be stuck in here with me for a long, long time." Dreadsorrow growled.

Ammet simply sniffed at him and turned her head away, seemingly blasé about his statement.

Dreadsorrow's anger ebbed slightly. "You could at least be thankful I'm not a ravenous ghoul, only wanting to eat your flesh. You're quite lucky in fact; by death knight standards, I'm extremely sociable."

Still no response from the difficult woman. There was no way he was going to be stuck in here for who-knows-how-long with the woman bloody pouting. Walking over to her, he reached down and touched her shoulder and was about to attempt to apologise before her scream interrupted.

"_DON'T TOUCH ME_!" A near-hysterical Ammet shrieked at the top of her vocal range. She scrabbled backwards, kicking up dust as she sought to get away from the death knight in front of her. Unconsciously, more by reflex than thought, Ammet thrust out her palm towards Dreadsorrow and hissed dirty, guttural syllables.

The death knight recoiled from her as well, not from emotions or surprise, but rather from the psychical sickness he felt upon hearing her uttered words. Disbelief took hold of his features as he processed what had just happened.

"You just tried to attack me with fel magic." Yes, the vault had stopped the attack itself from manifesting, but the intent was still there and the uttered words still hurt his head. Dreadsorrow stood and thought to himself that this probably had something to do with why she was imprisoned within the crystal. Perhaps she was unstable or deranged? As he looked over to Ammet her eyes narrowed and a sneer formed on her lips.

"Because you would dare touch a daughter of Glyhorn with your filthy, dead hands. You are disgusting and devoid of life and warmth." Ammet began to rise as she continued her hate-fuelled tirade. "When I look at you all I see is a disease than needs to be wiped from the face of Azeroth!"

Without missing a beat, Dreadsorrow retorted with as much spite as he could muster. "And you are nothing more than a malicious, degenerate witch. I am glad you did not accept my earlier offer of a quick death because it will be so much more satisfying to kill you slowly."

Ammet watched him with her pitiless glare, the scowl on her face never wavering. Dreadsorrow didn't know it, but the rebuke had hit her hard. She was not a degenerate witch; she was just doing what needed to be done to find her beloved. The pain and hurt she felt quickly solidified into hate and anger and added more fuel to her rage.

"Just because this place prevents magic from being used doesn't mean I cannot kill you." Ammet stated, slipping a hand into one of the tattered folds of her robe at the same time. She brought forth a small knife clutched in her hand, gleeful that the guards had missed it when they searched her.

She lunged at him and was satisfied to see that she caught him a little off guard, as if she was quicker than he estimated her to be. She thrust at his stomach and he jumped backwards, the knife stabbing empty air.

Ammet moved with unnatural speed, but with the clumsiness of someone not used to wielding a weapon. This meant Dreadsorrow could easily dodge her attacks, but because of her speed he would constantly be on the defensive. Another swing and a miss. He could keep this up forever, but his patience would not allow for it.

"Do you really think you can best me in hand-to-hand combat?" Dreadsorrow asked in between several more jabs and slices, none of which connected with his body, infuriating Ammet further.

The ploy seemed to work as Ammet overreached her last stab and as Dreadsorrow spun to the side to avoid it, his left hand shot out like a snake striking and locked Ammet's wrist in his iron grip.

He demanded Ammet drop the knife and in response her other arm swung around and Dreadsorrow leaned his head backwards and narrowly missed a savage swipe aimed at his eyes. Still gripping her wrist like a vice, Dreadsorrow pulled Ammet towards him and threw his head forward, headbutting her hard. The blade fell from her grip as she collapsed to the floor from the blow. Dreadsorrow bent down to pick up the dagger and as he did, Ammet lunged toward him, a necklace in hand and looped it over his head, clearly intending to garrotte him. Inwardly, Dreadsorrow rolled his eyes at the futile attack. Being undead meant he no longer had to breathe, which meant it was no longer possible to be strangled or suffocated. Dreadsorrow reasoned her anger must have been immense indeed if it was overriding her common sense. As Ammet tightened the leather loop as hard as she could, it was obvious she was at least half expecting Dreadsorrow to raise his hands to his throat to release the garrotte. She didn't expect his fist to bury itself deep into her side, partially winding her and staggering her. Enough, in fact, that Dreadsorrow was able to step back and unleash a vicious kick to her abdomen, spinning Ammet backwards and into the stone altar in the middle of the vault. Ammet's impact appeared to knock the altar from its perch, tilting it slightly before gravity brought it back down to the floor with a heavy thud. Silence descended over the vault as Dreadsorrow stared at the body of the woman draped over the stone altar, her limp arms hanging over the sides.

The death knight cautiously approached the altar, unsure as to whether Ammet was dead, dying or playing possum. He gently nudged one of her legs with the tip of his boot but got no response. Moving a step closer Dreadsorrow poked her back with his finger, which still elicited no response. Seeing this, he moved to turn Ammet over onto her back and it was then that she made her move. Ammet flipped over and lashed out at Dreadsorrow, sharpened nails clawed at Dreadsorrow's cheek, leaving three deep gouges. Dreadsorrow was thankful he had managed to turn his head with the swipe and negate most of the damage, but the wound was still a significant one.

Releasing a shout of anger, Dreadsorrow answered Ammet's attack with a backhand that sent her sprawling to the floor, a cry of pain mixed with defeat following her down.

With clearly no fight left in her, Dreadsorrow knelt on one knee beside Ammet and turned her over, not worrying about another attack. He noted the blood trickling down the corner of her mouth showed no sign of stopping.

"You are bleeding internally and will die soon." Dreadsorrow stated in a neutral tone, neither mocking nor superior, just simply stating the fact.

Ammet lay there, looking up at the stone roof covered in its many runes and wards, wondering where she had gone wrong. All she had tried to do was find her beloved Anadelias and hold him and love him. Why was the world so against her? She thought she heard a voice, but she couldn't tell if it was right next to her or a kilometre away. There was a light, it was so bright now. Looking at it, she felt a change in her, like a massive weight lifted from her shoulders and a dark part of her had gone away. Relief. She felt relief. The near-far voice spoke again. With an effort, she turned her head and saw the last thing she expected to see. It was her beloved. Her Ana! Here! Joy filled her as he looked down at her and smiled that beautiful smile of his.

"I am here my love." He said, still smiling.

Her throat hurt and her whole body tingled with pain, but she managed to croak out his name, marred by the soreness, but still said with love.

"Shh my love, I know you hurt, but soon you will sleep and there will be no more pain, just us, together."

She smiled as best she could, receiving a warm smile in return from her beloved. A lock of his red hair hung down the side of his face. She tried to reach up to brush it back into place, but her hand would not reach. Meeting her halfway instead, her beloved took up her hand and held it with interlocking fingers as his other hand gently caressed her cheek.

"I love you my dear and beautiful Elencia." It was the most beautiful sentence she has ever heard.

"...I...love you...too..." Ammet managed to say before the pain became too much. But it did not matter, she had said what she needed to say and nothing else mattered now.

Her eyelids heavy beyond measure, Elencia slowly closed her eyes for the last time, her last sight that of her beloved Anadelias looking down at her with a loving smile and bright eyes.

Dreadsorrow looked down at the broken woman as he held her head. She was starting at the roof, looking at something that wasn't there, possibly even hallucinating. It wasn't unheard of during death.

"I cannot help you. Do you have any kin, anyone who will mourn you?"

Ammet did not answer right away, but coughed up more blood before she rasped out 'my beloved'. Dreadsorrow tried to find out who she was talking about, a name or place, anything, but all he got was some fragmented words made unintelligible by the pooling blood. Soon, her eyes finally glazed over and become lifeless, signalling her passing.

Dreadsorrow let out a sigh, gently put her head to the floor and stood up. Unable to do anything else for the dead woman, he turned away. What he would do in the days, months, years ahead he didn't know, but he didn't feel like thinking about it at the moment. Distractedly, he ran his eyes over the vault, eyeing the various runes and wards, the massive stone block that trapped him in here, the dislodged altar. The same surroundings that he would see for the next who knew how long. Something drew his attention back to the altar in the middle of the room however. Dreadsorrow moved over to inspect it and noted that nothing had changed about it other than its position. From top to bottom it looked no diff - that was it, he suddenly realised – the ground beneath the altar was different. Shifted to the side slightly from when...the earlier unpleasantness had happened, it revealed that the ground that the altar had stood upon was a different shade of stone than the rest of the floor around it.

With a shout of exertion, Dreadsorrow delivered a brutal flat-footed kick to the altar. It toppled over to the floor with a resonating, heavy crash and sent little stone chips flying outwards. After the dust had settled, Dreadsorrow crouched down and inspected the area that had been concealed under the heavy altar. It was a perfect square of stone, almost like a tile, lighter in colour than the surrounding stone floor and about half the size of the base of the altar, meaning it was hidden perfectly underneath it, for whatever reason, Dreadsorrow did not know, but he intended to find out.

He started out by pushing the toppled stone altar further away to give himself more room. With that done, he brushed away the chips of stone from the immediate area as well. Cleared of debris, Dreadsorrow got down on one knee and placed one palm flat on the normal vault floor and one palm flat on the revealed stone square before him. Both felt the same. Same stone, same temperature and same coarseness. Except for the colour, they were identical. He withdrew his hands and then ran a finger along the seam that separated the square. It was almost touching, but there was a slight gap between the square and the floor. Not enough to fit a finger or even a sword into, but enough that the square and the surrounding stone did not touch one another. Perhaps a pin would fit neatly between the two, but Dreadsorrow did not posses anything of the sort. Instead, he tried to reason why there would be a gap. To separate them? To stop the stones from rubbing against one another? If that were the case, it would mean that the square was able to move. The was no give or take to go from side to side and no way to grasp it and pull it up, so the only place for it to go would be down.

Dreadsorrow put his theory into practise as he splayed his fingers and touched the centre of the stone square. Gently pushing down as if he were simply opening a door yielded nothing, the stone did not move one iota. Putting his palm flat on the stone he pushed again, with more pressure. Still nothing. Putting both palms flush on the stone, Dreadsorrow pushed down with a sudden exertion. The stone made a heavy grinding sound and moved downwards ever so slightly. Seeing that it just need more downward pressure, Dreadsorrow stood up and brushed his hands of the stone dust. He then took a step forward onto the square and slowly sank down as the stone relented under his weight. After a couple seconds of very slow movement, he stopped moving down. The grinding noise had ceased as well. A small tremor shook the vault and some sand rained briefly from the roof. A louder, deeper stone-on-stone grinding noise erupted form the chamber. Dreadsorrow turned towards it and saw that the massive hewn stone block obstructing the exit was receding into the roof. Watching it rise all the way to the top, a small flicker of hope ignited itself somewhere deep inside Dreadsorrow, but it was like a cat mewling to a hurricane as a burning desire for revenge overwhelmed his mentality. Before he left the vault for good however, he experimentally stepped off the stone trigger to make sure the huge block didn't come crashing down on him once the weight was released. Stepping back onto the solid vault floor, nothing happened. The stone trigger stayed depressed and the door stone did not come crashing back down. It was either timed or stuck like that, but Dreadsorrow didn't care either way, both suited his immediate need - escape.

* * *

><p>Now that he was free, Dreadsorrow had only two things on his mind. Revenge and Balnazzar. He had been played and duped and betrayed. Of course, the demon thought he was safe in the knowledge that Dreadsorrow was sealed away forever, but no more. He was going to hunt down this demon and make him suffer. Oh, how he would suffer indeed.<p> 


	24. Part 2 Chapter 12 - Invasion

_Chapter XII_

_**I**_t was early morning as the watchman stationed on the Gate of Glyhorn looked out over the camped Scarlet Onslaught. He was still wary of the outsiders and made sure to keep a close eye on them, running his gaze over tents, caravans, campfires and everything in between. The only problem was he never thought to look behind him. If he did, he would have seen the approaching shadow and might have had a chance to defend himself. As it stood however, he died with naught but silent scream as the pitch black claws plunged through his chest. The watchmen only managed to look down and see them slowly retract from his chest before his life slipped away.

Behind him, Dathrohan removed the blood from his claw with a contemptuous flick of the wrist before it morphed back into a recognisable human hand. Moving silently to the nearby guardhouse, Dathrohan dispatched another Gate watchman and gave the bell two quicks strikes. In response, a bell rang out twice from the counterpart guardhouse, signalling that Commander Giles had successfully infiltrated it and taken control. The venerable Gate of Glyhorn that had stood barring the way into Glyhorn was now under the control of the Scarlet Onslaught. Signalling the changing of hands, a war-horn blew twice in quick succession from the guardhouse that Giles occupied. When Dathrohan heard it, he made his way to the crenellations and looked out over his thralls. It was the signal they had been waiting for.

The changes in the encampment were instant. All pretence of inaction and passiveness was put aside as fully armed and armoured crusaders spilled from tents and makeshift buildings, forming up into battle lines on the open ground between the Gate and the camp. In the space of a few minutes, the Scarlet Onslaught had gone from a peaceful pilgrimage to an invasion force and very soon they would march upon an unsuspecting Glyhorn and her inhabitants. A self-satisfied smile formed on Dathrohan's face as he gripped the massive lever holding the gates closed. Normally taking two men to effectively use it, Dathrohan effortlessly pulled it down and with it, sealed Glyhorn's fate. The huge wooden and bronze edged doors creaked and moaned as if they were crying out over their broken duty to safeguard Glyhorn, but it mattered little, nothing would stop the Scarlet Onslaught now. A thunder-like crash signalled that the gates had reached their stop and were now fully open. The orders to march could be heard upon the breeze as the red-clad crusaders surged forward. It was as if the Gate was a giant mouth, vomiting a constant stream of blood. But soon enough, it would be literal blood coating the ground. Dathrohan knew this, he expected this, he wanted this and he relished the thought. Dathrohan look up at the sky and saw it overcast with clouds, not a single ray of sunlight could be seen. It was almost as if the sun itself knew what was coming and did not want to look down upon the slaughter that would ensue. Allowing himself a smile, Grand Crusader Saidan Dathrohan made his way down from the battlements to meet with his red host and continue the march with himself at the head.

* * *

><p>A distant peal of thunder made General Whills glance out the window and up at the sky. He could see a huge storm front rolling in over the mountains, sped along by the fastidious mountains winds. Another long rumble of thunder from the heavens announced the storm's arrival like heralds trumpeting the entrance of a king. To Whills, it sounded like the gods themselves were clashing in glorious battle up in the dark, ominous clouds.<p>

He turned back to the other occupant in the room and grimaced. "I still think allowing the outsiders to go freely was a mistake, your Grace."

The Grand Duchess smiled at the general politely. "I know you do general, but we are not an aggressive people, nor are we trying to provoke them by making them think we hold their leader captive. They are, after all, an organised fighting force camped on our doorstep, peaceful pilgrimage notwithstanding. The last thing I wish is an attack on our secluded nation," the Grand Duchess moved her arm around to indicate the breadth of the room as if it was the entirely of Azeroth, "we have no one to reach out to should the need arise. We came here to be ourselves away from everyone else."

Whills bobbed his head in agreement. "I understand our position your Grace and I am not advocating a battle between us, just merely some assurances that would have gone back to their own lands. But the matter is over now. I can just only hope that –"

A quick succession of hard knocks on the door cut his sentence short. The Grand Duchess called for them to enter and a harried-looking soldier burst in. His eyes widened when he saw the Grand Duchess as he was clearly expecting to only find the General and he went down to one knee to show his respects. She motioned for him to rise and speak.

As the soldier gave his report, The Grand Duchess, being the able statesman she was, was able to control her face, but General Whills' on the other hand displayed exactly what she was feeling. Disbelief at first, then shock and realisation of just what they were hearing.

"All of the them?" Whills asked, some of the disbelief creeping into his voice.

"Yes, sir," the soldier replied, "but the bulk of their army has headed north."

General Whills narrowed his eyes at the response. "So then where are the rest of them, lad?"

The soldier swallowed. "Right here in the capital, sir. They've taken most of our major buildings and barricaded themselves inside. It will be quite an effort to get them out."

Whills lip twitched. "By the Old Families, what are they playing at?"

It was a rhetorical question, but the Grand Duchess answered it anyway. "I would imagine it is because I denied them passage for their pilgrimage. It would seem they have decided to do it anyway, by force."

"Pilgrimage or not, they have committed an act of war," Whills' left hand drifted down to rest on the hilt of his sabre, "and I intend to give them a lesson they'll soon as not forget." He looked over questioningly at the Grand Duchess. "Your Grace?"

The Glyhorn military was a meritocracy, with only the skilled and competent being promoted, family ties having no sway or influence. General Whills, porcine as he may be, was no exception and had earned his place as head of the military. As such, the Grand Duchess had no compunction in telling him what he wanted – and needed - to hear. "You may precede General, with my blessing."

Whills nodded once and then immediately gave orders for his commanders to assemble and the Keep bell to be rung five times, signalling a war footing.

* * *

><p>From atop her steed, General Abbendis could see down the hill and all around the battlefield with impunity. Seeing the ordered ranks of red crusaders filled her with a sense of pride, like a mother watching her children grow up and become successful. Not even the light rain that had begun to fall from the swollen gray storm clouds looming overhead, plinking off armour and shields, soaking uniforms and tabards, could ruin her excellent mood. She dismissed the thoughts as a shout went up from her front line, drawing her attention. Glyhorn infantry were attacking – the battle for Glyhorn had begun!<p>

The Glyhorn military had not taken long to attack the Scarlet Onslaught lines. Abbendis suspected, and rightly so, that the trickle of Glyhorn infantry assaulting her front ranks was nothing more than a diversion to keep her occupied and paying attention to one particular spot. Yes, the attack would intensify as more of the military responded and gathered its momentum, but it was a delaying tactic and nothing else.

Abbendis watched the skirmish play out, neither side really inflicting more damage than the other. Her own crusaders would defend themselves, but would not break from their lines to press any advantage. The Glyhorn infantry were well trained and disciplined, albeit inexperienced and it showed. Their front was sloppy and loose and, should she give the order, could be broken and shattered before her. She let it play out however, as her orders were not to attack, but to hold her ground and defend the lake behind her and the summoning taking place there.

"Tell the left flank to prepare for an attack." She ordered, one of the nearby mounted messengers riding off to relay it.

She saw the messenger relay her order and then, like it was choreographed, Abbendis watched as the Glyhorn heavy cavalry emerged from the city and began to form into a triangle, with the tip pointed directly at her left flank, all whilst at full gallop. Abbendis allowed herself a smile and watched the horses get closer and closer to her front lines.

* * *

><p>They were getting ever closer by the second. The distance between them and the invaders was rapidly falling away under the massive strides of their war horses. The Glyhorn heavy cavalry captain drew his sabre and waved it in the air before levelling it at the Scarlet Onslaught, rousing his men. At first he thought that the line of crusaders were backing away, quailing before his charge, but in fact they were stepping back to allow the ranks behind them to the fore. Too late the captain saw what they had done. The front two ranks of infantry were now replaced with pike-bearing soldiers, their deadly anti-cavalry weapons pointed right at the oncoming charge.<p>

Charging into an infantry line was one thing, charging headlong into a visible wall of spiked death was something else. The charge faltered. A few extremely lucky men, the captain included, managed to stop their horse in time or turn aside. The rest however, with so little time to react, kept charging, only to end up skewered and dashed against the wall of pikes.

It had gone from a charge almost assured of victory to a bloody melee with the infantry having the advantage. By numbers alone the heavy cavalry was outnumbered, not usually an issue, but with the pikemen thrown into the mix it was an untenable situation. The battle was short, but vicious before the cavalry captain called for a retreat. Beaten and bloody, the survivors of the trap galloped back to the safety of their own lines, which had formed during their charge. A cheer went up from the Scarlet lines as they watched the Glyhorn heavy cavalry run away with their tail between their legs. It was going to be a long battle, but it was off to a great start for them, spirits were high and morale was up. Their zeal and righteousness would not be denied.

* * *

><p>Looking out over the battlefield, General Abbendis noted what was left of the Glyhorn cavalry retreated to their now present front. Upon seeing this, she sent the order for her own heavy cavalry to press the advantage and smash the Glyhorn front lines head on. Yes, technically she had to hold her ground, but if she took out the Glyhorn lines now, it'll make for an easier defence later, she convinced herself.<p>

Abbendis watched carefully as her cavalry organised themselves into a wedge formation and began to charge down the hill, churning the muddy grass as they went. She looked over to the Glyhorn lines to see their response; nothing yet. Abbendis doubted she had caught them off guard, but something was not right, surely there should be some movement, some kind of – there, finally, they began to organise themselves. With her cavalry getting closer by the second, the Glyhorn infantry would have to act fast or be run down. They did act, in a way, but not in the way Abbendis thought they would. Instead of forming a defensive line or square as most would when facing a cavalry charge, the enemy infantry just stood there. What madness was this? They had not even drawn any weapons! Any second now her cavalry would be in range and trample them flat, why on Azeroth would they not stand and fight? Abbendis' thoughts were interrupted by the sudden roar of cannon fire. She watched in horror as the wedge of her charging cavalry exploded, men and horses being tossed aside like an angry child might throw aside his toys. The charge was broken to say the least. More cannon fire fell amongst the Scarlet cavalry, with bodies and limbs flying in all directions. The Glyhorn infantry took advantage of the sown confusion and disorder and charged the disarrayed mounted crusaders.

_So the Keep isn't entirely just for show_, Abbendis though to herself, _their infantry were waiting for the cannon fire before attacking._

"Send a battalion to assist the cavalry in a fighting withdrawal." Abbendis ordered angrily. _With any luck, there will still be some cavalry left to command. _

* * *

><p>On the other side of the battlefield, the far left, the Scarlet Onslaught had taken over and occupied a tiny farming village, nothing more than a few farmhouses and a couple of barns, which they were using to protect their rear positions. Normally such a place would not play a pivotal role, but the woods surrounding the village were extremely dense, prohibiting mass infantry formations, cavalry charges and even accurate artillery fire. It was because of these factors that the fighting here would be the hardest and bloodiest, should an attack take place.<p>

Crusaders had secured the village early on and did not anticipate much fighting would take place here, but nevertheless they sent one of their companies that had a fair amount of urban warfare experience, which proved to be a saving grace when they actually were assaulted by nothing less than Glyhorn Royal Guards, the men dedicated to the protection of the Grand Duchess and the security of the Keep. Stoic warriors with a fierce determination and equipped with the best weapons and armour in Glyhorn, easily identified by their distinctive tower shields. Though the Royal Guards of Glyhorn had a longsword of superior make, it was their tower shields that are the real weapons they wield. Almost as tall as them and studded with rows of razor-sharp spikes that could, with a single thrust, rend a man from head to toe. They attacked in small numbers, no more than five men to a group, appearing from the tree line like materialising spectres and moved with unerring proficiency and coordination – there was no doubt these men were the best of the best and would not go down without one hell of a fight. For better or worse, this was exactly what the crusaders had in mind. With their fanaticism at an all time high, many of them would fight on through terrible wounds that would fell lesser men. It was a brutal house to house, room to room battle with several crusaders dead for every Royal Guard killed, but with their determination and superior armament, the Royal Guards managed to take the village back, exposing the Scarlet Onslaught's flank and possibly rear to attack.

Abbendis had fortunately received a messenger just before the battle for the village stared and dispatched a battalion to reinforce the village. They would arrive too late to help their brothers and sisters unfortunately. Instead of finding a friendly village to reinforce, they would encounter a hostile garrison. This mattered little however; as a successful counter attack would still keep the rear secure from the Glyhorn military. The crusaders found the Royal Guards had created makeshift barricades, tables, chairs, wardrobes, even a tree had been hacked down, anything that could be use to make a defensive wall had been used. Scarlet archers used the time while the infantry advanced to take pot-shots at any Royal Guard they could see, forcing them to keep their heads down lest they unnecessarily take an arrow, the crusader infantry was allowed to advance mostly unmolested. The infantry ran right up to the makeshift barricades and scrabbled up and over them as quickly as they could, hoping to rush the Royal Guards. Though they were not caught by surprise, the sheer number of crusaders coming over the barricades pushed the Royal Guards back temporarily, the lull allowing the Scarlet archers to advance right to the top of the barricade and fire down into the fray, catching more than a few Royal Guards off guard. With their ranged support behind them, the Scarlet infantry was slowly but surely pushing the Royal Guards back out of the village. Too well trained to let it turn into a rout, the Royal Guards kept their shields facing forwards and walked backwards, fighting all the way, preventing it from turning into a bloody and costly withdrawal.

* * *

><p>Abbendis assessed the greater battle and directed troop movements and point to where attacks needed to be pushed or lines that needed to be reinforced. Another messenger galloped up to where she and her advisors were gathered. He quickly saluted and gave his report. Fresh Royal Guards were arriving in greater numbers on the right flank, reinforcing Glyhorn lines and supplementing losses.<p>

"They must have secured the capital and moved on to the battle." Abbendis said aloud to no one in particular.

Just as she was about reply to the messenger, another one rode up, battered and bleeding, with what appeared to be the broken shaft of an arrow jutting from his left arm, which hung uselessly at his side.

"General, the village on the left flank has been lost. Just as we pushed out the Royal Guards, a fresh bunch arrived and they successfully counter attacked. They control the village now and have archers with them." The messenger, his report delivered, looked at Abbendis expectantly as a nearby healer tried to coax him off his horse to tend his wounds.

A hard frown creased Abbendis' face as she replied. "That village cannot be allowed to be in control of the enemy, we need it protecting out flank. Order a reserve company to link up with what's left of the original and take back that village. Just to make sure it's done, get a shock troop platoon to accompany them."

The messenger's eyes widened slightly at her orders, but he carried them out immediately. Scarlet Onslaught shock troops were paladins. They did not give up ground and did not fear any foe. Their command of the Light as an offensive weapon was terrifying to behold and there weren't many foes that could stand against it. For Abbendis, this is what she counted on and her decision would prove to be a good one. The paladins would go on to retake the village and hold it until the end of the battle.

With that done, Abbendis turned her attention to one of her commanders who had been standing away from the throng of advisors, silently assessing the battlefield himself.

"It is time for the Crimson Legion to show their faith and zeal. Let their enemies be cleansed in the fires of the Holy Light."

Without even turning around, the commander simply replied "It will be done" and took his helmet he had been holding in the crook of his arm and placed it on his head, heading off to carry out his orders.

* * *

><p>To the men on the front lines, it was hard fighting and it was the thickest in the centre of the battle. It was precisely this reason that the Crimson Legion chose to launch their attack there. The regular infantry parted to let the spearhead formation of red, heavily armoured crusaders through, led by none other than Crusader Lord Valdelmar. Where their allies parted and allowed them to pass with ease, they smashed into the enemy lines like a hammer going through a drywall. Few were able to stand against their onslaught and for a time it looked like their spear might pierce all the way through the Glyhorn lines, but it was not to be. The fertile mountain soil that had already been softened by the constant rain also greedily absorbed the blood of the fallen and wounded, turning the battlefield into a sodden, muddy mess. It was the ground itself that slowed the Crimson Legion's charge, grinding it almost to a halt. They had made good ground, but were in danger of being surrounded if their allies behind them did not fill the void they had created. Thankfully, at least some of the Scarlet captains were on the ball and had ordered their companies into the breach, linking up with the bogged Crimson Legion. However, they still had to contend with enemy infantry on all sides, heavy cavalry on the left flank and Royal Guards pushing on the right flank. Crusader Lord Valdelmar would be hard pressed to lead his men to victory, but the Crimson Legion was not composed of ordinary men. They were the elite veterans chosen for their bravery, zeal, and determination. Coupled with Crusader Lord Valdelmar leading them from the thick of battle, standing shoulder to shoulder with his men and shouting curses to the enemy and rousing words to his men, the Crimson Legion was a force to contend with and if anyone would bring the Scarlet Onslaught victory, it would be them.<p>

* * *

><p>Dathrohan looked at the lake which would serve them as the focus of their ritual. It wasn't round as most people would believe a lake to be, but more of a slightly flattened oval, compressed between the mountain range behind it and the hill before it which served as a natural dam of sorts. He was so close now. Once the ritual was underway and the lake was ready, he would tip the vial of water he carried protectively into the lake, thereby transforming it into a massive portal, ready to be traversed. Of course, it would be what was coming here that was important. Not a champion of the Light, or any such nonsense, but a true being, a god, one of incomprehensible power. Then he would finally be able to shed this tiresome human facade once and for all and exult in his true form. A dreadlord had near infinite patience, but playing the part of the Light-serving Grand Crusader wore his patience dangerously thin.<p>

Bringing his attention back to the here and now, he consulted with one of his Crimson Legion bodyguards nearby. "Where is Mataus? " He asked sharply.

"I am here." A voice interrupted before the bodyguard could answer. Both turned around to see Mataus the Wrathcaster walking up to the Grand Crusader.

Dathrohan frowned. "Why have you not started the ritual yet?"

If Mataus was affected by the Grand Crusader's attitude, he did not show it. "The lake is oddly shaped, I had to reposition the rest of the magi to best attune them for the ritual. If I had not, there would be a cascading discordance and the ritual would not work." Even when he was talking to the highest authority in the Scarlet Onslaught, Mataus still sounded arrogant. Thankfully, Dathrohan choose to ignore it in lieu of the Wrathcaster's talents. For now.

"Good. Begin the ritual then. We've come this far and I don't feel like waiting any longer than necessary." Mataus bowed and moved away to begin the ritual that would prepare the lake for its intended purpose.

"Send a messenger to Abbendis, I want to know how the battle is going." Dathrohan said to one of his bodyguards who complied and went to find a messenger.

Looking back over the lake, Dathrohan could now start to see the spell focus form over the rough centre of it and the surrounding magi channel their energy into it. The ritual had begun.


	25. Part 2 Chapter 13 - Ascension

_Chapter XIII_

_**A**_s Dreadsorrow crested the small hill in the rain, he had a commanding view of the terrain below and of the capital further down. He also saw the battle playing out between the Scarlet Onslaught and the Glyhorn military, but he did not pay any attention to it. His current and only focus was finding Balnazzar. The dreadlord would not be in the middle of a melee that he would consider beneath him, no, he would be far in the rear, commanding the forces or carrying out whatever foul plot he had been conducting. Since escaping the vault, Dreadsorrow's mind had since been closed to higher thoughts, his rage and vengeance fuelling him now. Not far from him, through the trees, he could see a mage near the edge of a lake. Whatever he was doing seemed to take all of his attention and the guards near him did not look like ordinary cannon fodder. That meant the mage was important. If he was important, then Balnazzar would not like it if he was dead. Even in Dreadsorrow's rage-fuelled state, he was still able to grin at the prospect of causing problems for the dreadlord. Dreadsorrow began to stalk down the hill towards his prey.

* * *

><p>The ritual was slowly gaining power from all the magi pouring their effort into the spell focus. It continually pulsed with a purple light, getting ever brighter and bigger. Dathrohan paced back and forth near the lake edge, watching his plans finally come to fruition. Just a little more time and he would be able to add the contents of the vial to the lake and then...then no one would be able to do anything to stop him. It was inevitable, nothing stood in the way of the Legion. Not a patchwork army, not a measly planet and certainly not a broken death knight. Just as he was pondering what he would do once this planet was ash under his master's foot, the mage nearest him let out a yelp and dropped to one knee.<p>

In an instant Dathrohan gestured for his bodyguard to help the mage up. "Get up, keep going, we are so close now, do not fail me!"

The mage grunted as the bodyguard hauled him up. "I-I'm sorry, my lord. The ritual, it links us, we all feel what the others -"

"Yes I know how it works, I am familiar with it." Dathrohan snapped, interrupting the mage.

Still channelling the spell, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration, the mage did not look at Dathrohan, when he spoke. "One of us...is dead."

Dathrohan grimaced. "Yes, I was worried some might not have the strength to see the ritual through to the end. But do fear, he is in a better place and soon his death will not be in vain."

Through sheer will, the mage opened his eyes to look at Dathrohan. "You misunderstand me. It was not the ritual that claimed him, he was killed, cut down from behind."

Dathrohan eyes widened at the revelation. "You're sure?"

"Yes, positive. I – arrggghh!" The mage closed his eyes in pain and collapsed again, the bodyguard catching him just before he toppled over.

"Another?" Dathrohan asked in a strange tone.

Unable to speak, the mage merely nodded in reply, all the while, still channelling the spell. The focus floating over the lake wavered slightly, its colour fading briefly before flaring back to life. Dathrohan let out a noise of frustration and ordered his bodyguards to find whoever was loose out there. They helped the mage back to his feet and hurried in the direction the mage had pointed out where his fellow magi had been killed.

Since the ritual had begun, strange noises could be heard coming from the spell focus. Squeals of something that sounded like two bolts of lightning being rubbed together and deep growls that sounded like they came from nothing that lived on Azeroth. Occasionally incoherent whispering could be heard, but never understood. In amongst it all, the scream of a man crying out in sheer terror could be heard. Dathrohan swung around to the rest of his personal guard. "Find out who is killing my magi! And tell Mataus to double his efforts! NOW!" Instantly they raced off, half to one side of the lake, half to the other. Whether or not they found anyone or killed them was irrelevant, the focus was nearing completion. Throwing caution to the wind, Dathrohan began to chant and pour energy into the spell focus. Slipping into the spellwork, he could feel the minds of the remaining magi and Mataus. Their minds were working hard to help complete the ritual and at first they did not notice the presence of the new mind amongst them. Very quickly though, Mataus caught onto the fact that Dathrohan had joined, or rather, Balnazzar had joined. Already confusion and panic was spreading through the spellwork, threatening to rip apart the focus and undo all the hard wrought work. Mentally, Balnazzar slapped them and forced them to concentrate on the ritual. Obediently, they returned their attention to it and the focus started to stabilise again. Mataus however, was still teetering on the brink of withdrawing from the spellwork, possibly bringing it down if he left. Balnazzar would have none of it.

Physically, there are quite a few would be a match for a dreadlord, but mentally, there are almost none who could match intellects with a nathrezim for as fearsome as their appearance is, their true strength lies with their mind. If Mataus had been as powerful as he actually thought he was, he might have stood a chance or in the very least possessed the intelligence to do what was commanded of him. But, such as it was, when the end came, he quivered before the mental onslaught Balnazzar unleashed and the lifeless body that had once been Mataus the Wrathcaster fell limply to the ground, the dead, opaque eyes of the husk staring out at nothing. Taking what lifeforce he could salvage from Mataus' now broken form, Balnazzar poured it into the focus and the spellwork around him flared with power. Nothing more was being channelled into the focus. It was complete and ready to be used. Smiling with a mouth too big for a human, Dathrohan looked almost lovingly out at the focus floating serenely above the lake, its appearance belying its intended purpose. Raising an arm, Dathrohan gestured downward slowly, the focus following his command and slipping quietly into the lake before being fully submerged under the blue water. His palm clenching into a fist, the water in the lake began to turn a shade of purple and even someone without the command of the arcane would be able to feel the power now emanating from the lake.

"Balnazzar!"

Dathrohan spun around at the mention of his nathrezim name, glaring at whoever was audacious enough to use it openly and, for a second, he was caught off guard.

"You...how is it possible?

"Doesn't matter." Dreadsorrow snarled in response. His magical armour once again equipped and his twin axes in hand, Dreadsorrow was the image of vengeance. Raindrops ran down his armour and matted his hair as Dreadsorrow stalked slowly along the lake's edge towards Dathrohan.

Dathrohan did the last thing Dreadsorrow expected and laughed. "You really do have a propensity to be an annoyance, don't you? Regardless, little death knight, you are too late. The ritual is already done and with it, my need for this pathetic shell is at an end." With that said, Balnazzar shed Dathrohan's possessed corpse like a snake would slough off an old skin. With Balnazzar's necromantic energies no longer sustaining the body, it crumpled to the ground and decayed into dust within seconds as the natural decomposition was finally allowed to take its course. The act was symbolic as much as it was relieving for the dreadlord. With the Grand Crusader's body gone, the Scarlet Onslaught would not be under his control anymore, which meant whatever was about to happen, Balnazzar would no longer be using them for his own ends and had nothing to lose. This was it then.

"Do you see now the futility of it all? Even you being here cannot change what is to come. No, you shall just be a mere witness," Balnazzar let a sadistic smile free, "but at least you will have a front row seat to the coming of the Burning Legion."

Balnazzar reached down and picked something up from the now wet dust that remained of Dathrohan. "I must thank you again for retrieving this, without you none of this would have been possible."

As Dreadsorrow looked at what Balnazzar was holding, a sudden clarity came over him. He knew what he must do.

"I challenge you to combat!" Dreadsorrow shouted, making sure he had the dreadlord's attention.

"Combat? I think not. You seek to delay the inevitable, but I have waited long enough." Balnazzar pulled the stopper from the vial with the tips of his claws, the delicate action somewhat at odds with the claws' vicious appearance. "Did you really expect to be able to stop me?" Balnazzar let an evil laugh loose as he almost casually tossed the vial towards the magic-infused lake.

"No," Dreadsorrow replied, "I expected you to do that."

As confusion spread across Balnazzar's face, Dreadsorrow unleashed the unholy magic he has been slowly building in his hand and thrust his palm outwards, purple tendrils flying through the air, racing towards the tumbling vial. Reaching it, they wrapped around the vial and yanked it out of mid-air, the vial now suddenly speeding towards Dreadsorrow, who caught it in his waiting hand.

Dreadsorrow stood there, clutching the vial in one hand, savouring the utterly horrified expression plastered on Balnazzar's face.

Dreadsorrow looked at the vial he held in his hand. "To think your entire plan hinged on this tiny little thing."

"Give me that vial death knight, or I will inflict a thousand different deaths upon you, each more terrible than the last!" Balnazzar threatened.

Dreadsorrow regarded Balnazzar then looked at the vial again. "Your threats are meaningless at this point, so no. I think for once you will do as I say." In the blink of an eye, Dreadsorrow had put the vial to his mouth and drank the contents of the vial.

"You fool! Do you have any idea... There's no way you..." He trailed off as a silver aura began to develop around the death knight in front of him.

Dreadsorrow looked at his hands and the silver aura grew stronger. It was encasing his whole body and he started to feel like his whole body was buzzing from standing too close to raw arcane magic but at the same time, it was nothing he had felt before. Then the heat started, spreading slowly from his very core outwards, the temperature increasing as it covered more and more of his body until it encompassed all of him and felt like he was aflame. Dreadsorrow fell to his knees, screaming in pain, just as beams of purest silver light burst from his eyes and mouth, beams so bright, even Balnazzar had to look away lest he be blinded. The screams eventually stopped and Balnazzar risked a look at what had become of Dreadsorrow. He was surprised. Instead of seeing a burnt-out husk or some horribly mutated aberration, the death knight seemed unscathed. The aura had subsided and the death knight was on his knees still, slumped down and motionless, more than likely dead. A waste. All of it wasted. Years of planning and manipulation and setting things into motion, gone. As the dreadlord's anger swelled, he failed to notice the twitch of Dreadsorrow's hand. Slowly the twitch turned into a proper movement, the hand planted on the ground as Dreadsorrow sluggishly brought himself up onto one knee.

Balnazzar did notice that however and at the sight of the death knight that should be dead bringing himself to his feet gave him pause. "It's not possible." He began as Dreadsorrow finally stood up, finally opening his eyes. Gone was the light blue glow that characterised death knights, instead they were pure black and glowed with faint silver around the edges. Balnazzar took an involuntary step back as the Dreadsorrow stared right at him. "You shouldn't be alive," Balnazzar shook his head, "None would be able to withstand...that was water from the original Well of Eternity! You should not be alive!" It almost sounded like fear had started to creep into the dreadlord's voice.

"No." Dreadsorrow answered, his voice otherworldly and with a slight echo accompanying it.

"No?" Balnazzar asked hesitantly.

"I am not alive. Nor am I dead." Dreadsorrow looked at his hands as raindrops landed on them and instantly sizzled and turned into steam. "I am something else. The waters were never intended to be directly ingested. Especially not by undead. I know that now. I know many things now. The least of which is your plan to bring the Burning Legion back to Azeroth. You were so close, nathrezim, so very close. But fate had a different plan for you."

Balnazzar snarled in spite of himself. "I make my own fate, you freakish undead atrocity!" Lunging at Dreadsorrow, Balnazzar gathered his fel magic around his claws and slashed outward in an attack that would have killed all but the most powerful of foes. By the time his arm had finished his movement, Balnazzar's mind had finally registered that his foe was no longer standing in front of him. The dreadlord looked down and not seeing the death knight there, spun around to find him, snarling in rage all the while. As he completed his turn, he spotted his prey; somehow the death knight had gotten behind him. Letting a curse loose in eredun, Balnazzar lunged again and stopped halfway towards his target, like he had hit an invisible barrier. Wondering what had brought his charge to a halt, Balnazzar glanced down and saw two axes had sliced right through his breastplate and buried themselves deep into his chest. As the pain finally registered with the dreadlord, an inhuman cry of anguish filled the air. Silvery magic pulsated around the axes' blades and mingled with the purple energy leaking from the dreadlord's wounds. Balnazzar's anguished cry reached a crescendo as his body started to swell and bloat, ruptures appearing across his skin and silver-purple magic streaming from the tears. Just as it looked like the demon's body could not take anymore, he erupted into a purple, silver-tinged explosion and was no more. The blast even vapourised the dreadlord's armour; nothing whatsoever remained of the demon Balnazzar.

Slowly and deliberately, Dreadsorrow was his way over to where his axes had been thrown from the explosion. He picked them up and reverted them to their stone forms, attaching them back to his belt. His gaze lingered on the charred spot of ground where the dreadlord had been killed before finally looking away and to the lake that still waited expectantly for something that would never happen. With a delicate series of motions with his hand, Dreadsorrow altered the spellwork that had transformed the lake and arcane bolts flew out from the water and struck down the remaining magi and guards around the lake, disintegrating them utterly and leave no traces that they had even been there. With that done, Dreadsorrow unravelled the remaining spellwork in the lake, changing it back to its normal placid blue hue, like nothing had happened at all.

* * *

><p>It was like a wave, spreading out among the Scarlet Onslaught. The second Balnazzar had perished, all the members of the Scarlet Onslaught felt his passing, though none would know the truth of it, that the demon had weaved his subtle magic among all the crusaders, making them susceptible to his machinations and corruption. The few that knew what had happened to them would assume that their Grand Crusader had fallen. Regardless of who knew what had happened, the effect was the same throughout – all faltered, some for a fraction of a second, some for a few seconds – the death of Balnazzar rode like wave across the Scarlet Onslaught. It was enough that the Glyhorn military pressed the advantage and began to hammer the Scarlet lines and push harder, crusaders falling in greater number to their blades. The Crimson Legion would be affected the most by this as the Scarlet infantry that supported their rear as they fought deep within the Glyhorn lines began to be overrun and trampled by Glyhorn heavy cavalry.<p>

By now, General Whills had been on the battlefield, directing things personally. Sensing the change in battlefield conditions and the opportunity it presented, he spurred his horse forward to the beleaguered Crimson Legion, his personal guard in tow.

* * *

><p>He hefted his shield and blocked an overhead blow that would have split his head in two and thrust his sword at this attacker, impaling them in the stomach before wrenching it out again, spilling the man's intestines.<p>

"Is that the best you got, you faithless wretches?" Valdelmar shouted as his latest victim fell into the mud. A mounted knight charged past, taking a swing at Valdelmar almost as an afterthought. Valdelmar made sure it would be his last thought. His won sword swung up and parried the knight's blow before swinging downward and into the horse's rear leg. The steed collapsed almost instantly and with it, the knight, whose legs were now trapped under his own steed's body. With a quick sword thrust to the throat, Valdelmar finished the knight off and shifted his attention to his next victim.

* * *

><p>Whills watched as the crusader brought down a knight and his horse, impressed despite himself. His tenacity and ability to lead was amazing, the fact that so many of his men were still alive and fighting was testament to that. Alevious had shared what knowledge that he was able to glean from Dathrohan and from that Whills knew that this man must be the Crusader Lord, Valdelmar.<p>

"Crusader Lord Valdelmar of the Crimson Legion!" Whills shouted over the cacophony of the battle around him.

Instantly, Valdelmar looked to who had called his name and saw Whills atop his steed with his personal heraldry flying behind him. "I have no words for you, faithless heathen!"

Unpetrurrbed, Whills presented his offer. "Look around you Crusader Lord, the battle is lost, you are surrounded and outnumbered. Surrender and we will spare you and your men and allow safe passage out of Glyhorn."

At first Valdelmar did not reply, but the frown on his head deepened and the corner of his mouth turned up in a sneer. "The Crimson Legion dies, it does not surrender!" Valdelmar shouted, his response clearly heard by Whills and his fellow crusaders around him. A shout went up from the Crimson Legion at their commander's response and the attack was renewed.

Disappointed, Whills shook his head and turned his steed around, heading back to the rear lines, doling out orders as he went.

Abbendis stared at the distant flash of cannon fire taking place at the village on the left flank. Somehow the Glyhorn bastards had managed to get artillery through the forest to the village to clear out her garrison. They wouldn't last long against that kind of firepower. In the beginning they had surprise, but once that wore off, it was only a matter of time. The enemy had the home field advantage as well as the numbers and firepower. Her orders were to give the magi as much time as she could, but she sorely missed their assistance in the battle and the nagging feeling at the back of her mind was telling her that no matter how much time she gave them, they wouldn't be coming to help. Everyone had felt the death of the Grand Crusader. Something had gone wrong at the lake with the ritual and none of the messengers she sent there had returned. She feared the worst. As far as she knew, she was the highest ranking crusader alive. Responsibility fell upon her to keep the Scarlet Onslaught coherent and together. As the battle raged on around her, it was looking more and more hopeless by the minute, but if she was able to rally what forces remained, it may just be enough.

"Tell all forces to rally to me. We will re-group and show the unfaithful what it is to defy the Light!"

Messengers raced off to spread the word. Soon enough, most crusaders began to withdraw from what fights they could and formed up on Abbendis and her Crimson Legion guard. What was left of the Scarlet cavalry was at the front, ready for a mass charge with the infantry following behind. Only two messengers did not return, one for the village on the left flank and one for the Crusader Lord Valdelmar. Abbendis could actually make out the small circle of red amongst the Glyhorn brown and green, a tiny island of faith in a sea of darkness. She said a small prayer to the Light for them before mounting her own warhorse and facing her brothers and sisters assembled behind her.

"This is it my fellow crusaders! Together we will ride forth and crush our faithless foes and bring the glory of the Light to this land!" A cheer went up among the red host and Abbendis drew her sword and shouted for them to charge before galloping off. Her personal guard followed her along with the huge line of heavy cavalry and the massed infantry behind them.

The ground thundered from the charging army and although the muddy ground slowed them somewhat, their determination never wavered. It only increased when it looked like the Glyhorn lines were falling back slightly in reaction to the Scarlet advance. The closer the crusaders got, the quicker the enemy retreated, further spurring the crusaders onward. It wasn't until they clashed with the enemy lines that the extent of the trap was revealed. As Abbendis looked back to see how far behind the infantry were she saw that she had been outmatched. As the main Glyhorn contingent fell back, goading the Scarlet Onslaught ever forward, the left and right Glyhorn flanks moved up and rotated, forming a giant triangle of sorts and surrounding what was left of the Onslaught in the middle. Their charge had been for naught. What was left of the Scarlet Onslaught was now trapped and outnumbered three to one. Abbendis swore to herself for getting into this predicament. Whatever else, they had to survive; the Scarlet Onslaught must go on. Regretting what she was about to do, but knowing it was necessary, she gave the order for the crusaders to cease hostile actions, the words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

Several minutes later, it was eerily quiet as all the fighting had stopped and the two armies regarded each other. Abbendis could see a wave of Glyhorn troops moving aside and a banner coming towards her. The men closest to her parted and Abbendis saw that it was a high ranking officer that had been the cause, probably their general, an armchair one from the looks of him, fat little fellow.

"High General Abbendis, am I to take it from the cease of hostilities, that you intend to surrender?" Whills asked, leaning forward in his saddle.

"Yes" Abbendis replied through clenched teeth.

A pained expression crossed Whills' face. "I am sorry it had to come to this. Such a tragic loss of life on both sides benefits no one. I tried to give your Crimson Legion the option of surrender as well, but they refused."

Abbendis nodded. "They do not surrender."

"They view surrender as defeat, whereas I view surrender as something more. Only a good leader can recognise a losing battle and chose the nobler option rather than throw the lives of the men under their command away needlessly. In doing so High General, you have proved to me that you are a good leader and as such, I will allow you and your men to leave Glyhorn unharmed."

Abbendis took in what Whills had said and her view of the man changed. Perhaps he wasn't the armchair general she thought him to be.

"Thank you for your offer General, I accept." Just saying it hurt her inside, but she knew it was the right course of action. This way, the Scarlet Crusade would live to fight another day. That was what mattered. The crusaders under her command may not like the decision, but at heart, they would know why she did it.

An officer rode up to Whills and spoke quietly and quickly to him. Whills listened to the man then nodded and brought his attention back to Abbendis.

"As a token of our goodwill, we will return to you the only prisoner our men captured." As Whills finished the sentence, the prisoner was brought forward with a Royal Guard escort no less. As soon as Abbendis saw him, she knew why. Even now, with manacles on his wrists, Crusader Lord Valdelmar still fought as best he could.

When he saw Abbendis before him, he dropped to his knees in the mud and his head fell forward. "Forgive me High General, I have failed. I was captured while my men died gloriously in battle. I have stained my honour and of the Onslaught."

Abbendis sighed as she took in Valdelmar's words. To him, dying in battle against his foes would be the perfect way to die. To be captured instead...unthinkable. "You may rise, Crusader Lord. And we are the Scarlet Onslaught no more. That duty is now done, but the crusade calls and we shall answer." Abbendis looked over to one of her nearby bodyguard and motioned for them to take Valdelmar from the Royal Guard. "One thing General, we had some forces stationed at a lake further up the mountain and they may not know what has transpired here. Please, allow me to ride there with some men and inform them of the current..." Abbendis hesitated as she thought for a word that would not decrease moral any further, "...circumstances. When I return, we will leave immediately."

General Whills considered the offer and allowed Abbendis and five of her bodyguard to go the lake and enlighten whoever was there of the situation.

* * *

><p>Dreadsorrow had remained standing where he was since he had reverted the lake to its natural state. Yes, he could have left, but where would he go? He had burned ties with his aunt, he had killed Gavrin...there was nothing left for him but death and emptiness. And now he was infused with the water from the Well of Eternity. There was no one he could talk to who would understand his plight. Perhaps he should just walk into the lake and never come out, do the world a favour and provide them with one less complication. Or maybe he could return to the vault where he was trapped and spend an eternity under the protection of the runes. Thinking of the vault reminded him that he still wore the signet ring of the Grand Duchy. Taking it off, he cast a simple teleportation spell that would send it to the Grand Duchess' chambers. He had promised to return it after all. But his problem still remained. The waters had greatly expanded his perception and powers but it had also removed other things. He could not feel anything other than the burning of the waters inside him. No love or compassion or empathy or even relief at finally killing Balnazzar. It was like he was detached from himself. It was in that moment that he truly wasn't human any more. A horse's whiney brought him out of his reverie.<p>

Expanding his awareness, he sensed six people, horses behind them. The Light swirled within them. Turning, he saw who it was and called out her name. To say she was surprised would be an understatement.

"You! What in the Light have -"

"I did only what needed to be done. What was happening here was not what your Grand Crusader had promised you."

"I will cut you down where you stand! Attack!" Abbendis cried. In unison they all moved towards Dreadsorrow, weapons drawing from scabbards. Before they could even pull them free, they nearly all fell down as they found out their feet had been encased in ice, frozen in place to the ground.

Dreadsorrow lowered his arm and eyed the crusaders he had stuck in place. One tried to hack at the ice with his sword, but every time the sword connected with the ice, it just slid harmlessly off.

"You will not break the ice. I do not wish to kill you, but instead I want you to listen to me. The Grand Crusader is dead; you are in charge now, High General Brigitte Abbendis. Take the Scarlet Crusade and lead them back to the Plaguelands. As much as no nation would admit it, the Scarlet Crusade plays an important part in holding the Scourge at bay within the Plaguelands and without you the Scourge would be free to run rampart, much like they are doing now. This is why many turn a blind eye to your actions, the lesser of two evils as it were. One more thing, while the Scarlet Crusade is a useful tool, your predilection for being corrupted is nigh infinite. I know you purge your lower echelons and your rank and file troops, but it would be prudent if you were to do the same with your upper echelon as well. The results may surprise you. Now, go, leave this place and return back to your sworn duty and rein in the Scourge."

As Abbendis was about to speak, the ice around her and her bodyguard's feet shattered, leaving them free to attack Dreadsorrow, yet Abbendis hesitated. Slowly, she returned her sword to its scabbard and the men around her lowered their weapons, but did not sheath them. "I do not trust you death knight and probably never will, but even if half of what you say is true, then we are needed more than ever." It was the closest thing to thanks that Abbendis would ever say to Dreadsorrow.

Impassively, Dreadsorrow watched as they mounted up their horses and left. Once again alone, his thoughts turned back to what he would do now. Perhaps he would start from scratch. His old cottage, back from when he was still Anadelias would be a good place. At the very least, fixing it up would give him something to do, give him some purpose. His mind made up, Dreadsorrow traced a vertical line in the air in front of him from his head to his feet. Where his finger passed, a silver line appeared behind it, like a magical snail's trail. He then put his fingers into the silver line and, like someone opening curtains, parted it. A rectangular portal glowing with silvery energy was now before Dreadsorrow. He stepped though the portal and it closed behind him, leaving no trace that he had ever been there.


	26. Part 2 Epilogue

_Epilogue_

_One Hour Later..._

_**L**_ord Alevious, Councillor of Glyhorn and right hand of the Grand Duchess lay in a pool of his own blood, dying on the floor of Elencia's room. The initial stabbing had not been fatal, but instead it was the loss of blood that was going to kill him. A damn shame too, he thought, to die on the floor like an insect. But he had no strength to call for help, let alone lift himself up. From what he could hear though, he doubted anyone would have the time to come save him. It had sounded like a war was being fought. The clash of armour and cannon fire, the distant screams of the dead and dying – what was his single life compared to theirs? It was better this way, to not be tying up help trying to save a single lord when they could be potentially saving many innocent civilians. Besides, he could feel that his end was very near; he could almost fancy seeing a light of sorts. Oddly enough, it was purple, but then again, who knew what was on the other side? No, he wasn't going crazy, there really was a purple light before him.

"Greetings, mortal. I'm going to be using your body now as you don't have much more use for it. Do not fear though, it will be going to a very good cause."

Alevious heard the disembodied voice in his head, deep and dripping arrogance. It was unfortunately the last thing Alevious heard before everything turned to black.

The purple light entered Alevious' now dead body and took up residence immediately. The wound on his back started to knit itself closed and Alevious began to bring himself to his feet. Opening his eyes, they revealed a brand new set of irises. Two, deep purple-hued irises.

* * *

><p><em>Two Hours Later...<em>

_**D**_readsorrow was on his knees, dressed in a simple woollen shirt and hardy linen pants, using a small trough to dig up weeds from the garden bed around him. Feeling the handle in his hand, the dirt and weed in the other, it was a good, wholesome feeling. Almost like he was living a normal life again. Apart from the ever-burning pain from the Water coursing through him of course. But the simple labour helped. Light knows there were plenty of weeds to be dug up and work to be done around the cottage, so hopefully it should suffice until the Water ran its course. What would happen when it did was anybody's guess but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. Another weed was uprooted and he placed it on the growing pile next to him. He took a handful of dirt in his palm and let it slowly fall though his fingers. As he did, the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. If one was so inclined, they might go so far as to call it a smile.

* * *

><p><em>One Day Later...<em>

_**I**_n the darkness of the vault, nothing stirred, it was as still as a tomb – which is what it was now. The Water was gone and in its place, Elencia's body remained. Dreadsorrow had left her where she had fallen and there she had stayed. When she had collapsed, the crystal in her pocket had come loose, but had not fallen all the way out. Slowly but surely, gravity and been trying its best to make itself feel felt and finally, the weight was enough that the stone fell the remaining way and landed on one of Elencia's fingers. The crystal flashed brightly when it came into contact with her skin and by the time it had fallen off and hit the floor, it had a crack in its exterior that was not there before and the colour had been drained from the stone, turning it a dull gray. The silence of the tomb was broken by the sound of a breath being taken and then slowly exhaled.


End file.

Warcraft, Adventure, Drama