The water flowed slowly,
the thick fluid oozing over the mold-covered rocks beneath it and
heading towards whatever depths the drainage canal lead it to. Once
filled with the pure, crystal-clear water of Lordamere Lake, the moat
area now had a toxic, bright green sludge that only barely passed for a
fluid. The liquid surrounded the central keep of Lordaeron's old
capital, seeping deep into the sewer system far below the surface.
Even so, the liquid continued to flow along its normal course, hardly a bubbling brook but still making the occasional splashing sound as it was drawn faster into the spaces between the aging stone fortifications. If not for the contamination, it might have simply been a peaceful, haunting reminder of a place that once was the shining jewel of one of the realms of men.
The almost natural flow of the water was interrupted as it surged upwards and a pale hand shot its way out of the slime, grasping the edge of one of the nearby stone ramps that were once used by laborers to service the canal and the inner workings of the drainage system. A head quickly followed the hand, dark black hair plastered to the ivory skin of the woman that slowly emerged from the foul fluids. As Kerryann's eyes cleared the slime their baleful blue glow allowed her to see that the service tunnels were empty and free of foes. With a smile her other hand came up, her runeblade trailing a wake of sludge as she pulled herself out of the canal's current.
Dirty, contaminated water flowed off of Kerryann's body in rivulets, flowing across her mostly bare upper torso and falling like rain from the cloak that was now stuck to her back. The water mixed with the brackish blood that begrudgingly flowed from several puncture holes in Kerryann's mid-section, creating a disgusting brown mixture that flowed down into the plate skirts that covered her lower body. She scowled as she watched the diseased blood ooze from the wounds, even as the flickering green glow of necromantic magic began to slowly knit the flesh back together; just one of the many boons of studying her dark arts.
"Ugh, Alaindia is going to throw a fit if she sees me like this. Fantastic. That'll end the day perfectly," Kerryann muttered as she stepped the rest of the way out of the muck and into the relatively dry, pitch black service tunnel. Beyond the confines of the stone around her the death knight could still make out the scattered sounds of steel crashing against steel and the despairing cries of the mortally wounded. She grinned, relishing in the noises.
The attack had gone more than well enough as far as she was concerned.
It was all a matter of numbers really. A game of sorts. The Forsaken could raise the dead, so any attack on them had to inflict more casualties than it left dead bodies if the attackers were to gain any ground on the Banshee Queen's people. Given the damage done to Tarren Mill and the additional damage they'd inflicted on the upper levels of the Undercity, it seemed like the math added up in Kerryann's favor.
She always liked it when the math worked out.
She smiled to herself in the darkness, setting her runeblade down for a moment and wringing out her filthy cloak. There was no help for it, she was going to have to wash it and the rest of her armor. She checked herself over carefully, seeing numerous new gashes in the scant plate pieces she wore; it had been a fierce fight indeed and it had taken much of her magic to keep her flesh safe from blades. Even so, it had been exhilarating to know that there were enough brave souls willing to penetrate the heart of Forsaken territory.
A particularly loud scream echoed down the hallway she was in and Kerryann paused, her glowing blue eyes scanning the entrance with care. She was still deep in enemy territory, and the Forsaken were even now hunting down the remnants of the attack force as it withdrew from the city. A running battle had ensued as ever-increasingly enraged Forsaken had gathered with their allies to repel the assault, and many had fallen or been cut off as the group withdrew. Even so, Kerryann had gleefully slaughtered quite a few more Forsaken before she'd been stabbed and pushed into the canal.
Besides, what was the pain of a flesh wound compared to holding her runeblade?
The woman smirked, reaching down to pick up the blade as she thought about it. As it always did, it sent a jolt of agony through her still partially living body; it was an agony she'd become quite used to over the many years she wielded such weapons. A quick glance at the blade's edge showed several chips and notches; it would be time to forge a new one soon. It wouldn't do to use a damaged weapon on her foes; the Forsaken deserved a clean edge to put an end to the misery that was their existence.
"Yes, there will be many more joining the peaceful dead soon enough," she murmured to the darkness around her. "The people of Lordaeron deserve their rest after all."
She sighed, picking at a particularly bad notch in the blade with her fingers. The weapon had been damaged when it connected with the stone floor of the Undercity's sewer system as Kerryann had dismembered one of her fallen allies. It wouldn't do to allow the Forsaken to raise too many of them, and they deserved a clean death rather than eternal enslavement in undeath. Fortunately she knew just what to do, and the right words to speak in order to prevent such a thing. She was sure her allies could go into battle much more confidently as a result. Either that or they would fear her, it didn't matter much, all that mattered was that they had finally struck a blow. And it would not be the last one, not by a long shot.
With a smile Kerryann sheathed her still-filthy blade on her back and began to chant in the language of death. A moment later a dark purple tear opened in the air before her; a death gate away from the Undercity. She'd return soon enough to put down any of her former allies that had been raised, and to kill more of the Forsaken.
The numbers never lied. The more of them that died, the sooner the plague of undeath would end forever. Time was forever on her side. Her smile widened and she stepped into the glowing portal, whisked away in a moment, leaving the dark tunnel and the echoing screams behind her.
Even so, the liquid continued to flow along its normal course, hardly a bubbling brook but still making the occasional splashing sound as it was drawn faster into the spaces between the aging stone fortifications. If not for the contamination, it might have simply been a peaceful, haunting reminder of a place that once was the shining jewel of one of the realms of men.
The almost natural flow of the water was interrupted as it surged upwards and a pale hand shot its way out of the slime, grasping the edge of one of the nearby stone ramps that were once used by laborers to service the canal and the inner workings of the drainage system. A head quickly followed the hand, dark black hair plastered to the ivory skin of the woman that slowly emerged from the foul fluids. As Kerryann's eyes cleared the slime their baleful blue glow allowed her to see that the service tunnels were empty and free of foes. With a smile her other hand came up, her runeblade trailing a wake of sludge as she pulled herself out of the canal's current.
Dirty, contaminated water flowed off of Kerryann's body in rivulets, flowing across her mostly bare upper torso and falling like rain from the cloak that was now stuck to her back. The water mixed with the brackish blood that begrudgingly flowed from several puncture holes in Kerryann's mid-section, creating a disgusting brown mixture that flowed down into the plate skirts that covered her lower body. She scowled as she watched the diseased blood ooze from the wounds, even as the flickering green glow of necromantic magic began to slowly knit the flesh back together; just one of the many boons of studying her dark arts.
"Ugh, Alaindia is going to throw a fit if she sees me like this. Fantastic. That'll end the day perfectly," Kerryann muttered as she stepped the rest of the way out of the muck and into the relatively dry, pitch black service tunnel. Beyond the confines of the stone around her the death knight could still make out the scattered sounds of steel crashing against steel and the despairing cries of the mortally wounded. She grinned, relishing in the noises.
The attack had gone more than well enough as far as she was concerned.
It was all a matter of numbers really. A game of sorts. The Forsaken could raise the dead, so any attack on them had to inflict more casualties than it left dead bodies if the attackers were to gain any ground on the Banshee Queen's people. Given the damage done to Tarren Mill and the additional damage they'd inflicted on the upper levels of the Undercity, it seemed like the math added up in Kerryann's favor.
She always liked it when the math worked out.
She smiled to herself in the darkness, setting her runeblade down for a moment and wringing out her filthy cloak. There was no help for it, she was going to have to wash it and the rest of her armor. She checked herself over carefully, seeing numerous new gashes in the scant plate pieces she wore; it had been a fierce fight indeed and it had taken much of her magic to keep her flesh safe from blades. Even so, it had been exhilarating to know that there were enough brave souls willing to penetrate the heart of Forsaken territory.
A particularly loud scream echoed down the hallway she was in and Kerryann paused, her glowing blue eyes scanning the entrance with care. She was still deep in enemy territory, and the Forsaken were even now hunting down the remnants of the attack force as it withdrew from the city. A running battle had ensued as ever-increasingly enraged Forsaken had gathered with their allies to repel the assault, and many had fallen or been cut off as the group withdrew. Even so, Kerryann had gleefully slaughtered quite a few more Forsaken before she'd been stabbed and pushed into the canal.
Besides, what was the pain of a flesh wound compared to holding her runeblade?
The woman smirked, reaching down to pick up the blade as she thought about it. As it always did, it sent a jolt of agony through her still partially living body; it was an agony she'd become quite used to over the many years she wielded such weapons. A quick glance at the blade's edge showed several chips and notches; it would be time to forge a new one soon. It wouldn't do to use a damaged weapon on her foes; the Forsaken deserved a clean edge to put an end to the misery that was their existence.
"Yes, there will be many more joining the peaceful dead soon enough," she murmured to the darkness around her. "The people of Lordaeron deserve their rest after all."
She sighed, picking at a particularly bad notch in the blade with her fingers. The weapon had been damaged when it connected with the stone floor of the Undercity's sewer system as Kerryann had dismembered one of her fallen allies. It wouldn't do to allow the Forsaken to raise too many of them, and they deserved a clean death rather than eternal enslavement in undeath. Fortunately she knew just what to do, and the right words to speak in order to prevent such a thing. She was sure her allies could go into battle much more confidently as a result. Either that or they would fear her, it didn't matter much, all that mattered was that they had finally struck a blow. And it would not be the last one, not by a long shot.
With a smile Kerryann sheathed her still-filthy blade on her back and began to chant in the language of death. A moment later a dark purple tear opened in the air before her; a death gate away from the Undercity. She'd return soon enough to put down any of her former allies that had been raised, and to kill more of the Forsaken.
The numbers never lied. The more of them that died, the sooner the plague of undeath would end forever. Time was forever on her side. Her smile widened and she stepped into the glowing portal, whisked away in a moment, leaving the dark tunnel and the echoing screams behind her.
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