Unfriends

The clomp of hooves and jingle of armor were the only sounds heard as the trio of Knights made their way along the cobblestone road in the Western Plaguelands. Leading the three person patrol, Beckyann sat sullenly in her saddle, her hands gripping the reins loosely and her mind lost in thought. With her dark armor and black cloak of the 1113^th trailing behind her, her blonde hair was the only shock of color present amongst the black Knights.

She had volunteered for the duty in order to get away from Acherus. After the events of the past several days, she had wanted to simply throw herself into combat or do SOMETHING to get her mind off of everything. Normally she would have spent her off time studying necromancy, writing in her journals, or perhaps engaging in hobbies such as looting tombs or shopping, but today she was simply not in the mood.

Why? Why did I agree to take her on a shopping trip? After everything that's happened, I should have just said no. Even so, it would greatly benefit the unit as a whole if more of them understood how to blend in with the living. I just hope it is not another disaster.

The brooding thoughts had been with her all day, circling over and over in her mind and replaying the events of the past week in harsh and vivid detail in her mind. Clinging to each was a hint of guilt at herself, at her own lack of self control. She had almost attacked a sister Knight, which went against the very principles of what she wished to accomplish. She had lost control of her temper, which could be detrimental at best to the unit and outright disastrous amongst the living.

As the thoughts continued to circle through her mind, Beckyann felt a nagging worry begin to rise. No stranger to battle, her baleful eyes scanned the surrounding woods, noting how the road curved slightly up ahead and the way the foliage seemed thicker right at that point. She blinked once, pure instinct guiding her actions.

“AMBUSH!” she yelled, kicking at her deathcharger and spurring the mount forward. The two Knights behind her were no initiates and were well-tested in battle. Each of them responded in kind, yanking on reins to guide their steeds off to either side and spurring them on, spreading the group out.

It was fortunate that they had done so. No sooner had the three lurched into action than the 'foliage' ahead of them dropped forward, the plants having been cleverly attached to a weave backing and used to camouflage three catapults. The war machines lurched as their crews, clearly Forsaken, pulled on the firing levers and sent canisters of poisonous blight flying down the road.

It was a clever trick, and had the Forsaken been attacking a normal Alliance patrol it would have slaughtered them to a man. But they weren't attacking living men and women, they were assaulting a patrol of Knights of the Ebon Blade. As the canisters fell and sent out clouds of deadly gases, the three Death Knights simply stopped breathing, ignoring the blight completely. They didn't need to communicate any further to do battle with the enemy; all three knew exactly what they were doing.

Hooves pounded away at the cobblestones as the three charged. Ahead of them, the Forsaken crews frantically began to reload, knowing they would only get one more chance to fire. Several footmen rushed forward, drawing blades to defend the war machines.

Beckyann smiled, her deathcharger moving swiftly towards her soon-to-be victims as three more canisters arced up into the air ahead. She was in her element now, her self-doubt and brooding forgotten in an instant as she fulfilled her ultimate purpose as she saw it; to make war.

The footmen had only a moment to realize they were outmatched as Beckyann's armored deathcharger slammed into those in the lead. Undead bodies spun away, shattered by the weight of the mount as Beckyann brought her runeblade up and down, beheading one of her enemies. Behind her, the canisters fell, exploding and sending out pools of acidic goo. One of the Knights behind Beckyann fell, splashed by the foul substance and loosing her balance as part of her steed dissolved.

It was far too late though. Within moments Beckyann and the remaining mounted Knight had cut their way through the Forsaken on foot, reaching the weapon crews before they could load a third round of canisters. With a smile Beckyann pointed, foul necromancy building around her and flying out as a death coil, slamming into one of the canisters and detonating it.

Her companion followed suit, and acidic chemical weapons splashed all over the war machines and their crews as they screamed and ran around attempting to remove the vile substance. Beckyann helped a few of them into the afterlife more quickly, her runeblade covered in foul ichor.

With the enemy destroyed, she dismounted, surveying the surrounding terrain to check for any remaining enemies. Seeing none, she nodded to herself, satisfied. She turned around and noted that one of her Knights was struggling on the ground, half laying in a pool of the acidic goo. Hurrying, she ran over to the undead woman, reaching out and grasping her gauntlet. The Knight's legs had partially dissolved, and Beckyann tugged to pull her to safety.

In that moment, a memory flashed through her mind like a slap to the face. A memory of her own hand being clasped by the gauntlets of another Knight, pulling HER to safety from the Cathedral in Stormwind. A memory of Daera Dalamora intentionally saving her from harm when the Light had burned Beckyann enough to begin causing serious damage.

Beckyann reeled back, loosing her grip on the other Knight who grunted as she fell on the soil, free from the acid. Thoughts reeled through Beckyann's mind, a confused blur.

Why would she help me one evening, and flay me with her tongue another evening? Why did she insistently protect me from damage if she wanted to hurt me? What does she WANT? I don't understand!

There was no answer forthcoming in her mind. The memory stood out, starkly contrasting with the damage that Daera had inflicted on Beckyann in previous days.

For a moment, she stood, recalling the event and trying to understand it, as if there were a hole somewhere in her mind that she could not fill. The more she poked and prodded at it, the less it made sense. Saving Beckyann, and later showing her a bit of her own life, were the acts of a friend and sister, not an enemy.

Unable to fully understand it or process the emotions that threatened to bubble up, Beckyann shook her head, pointing at her other patrol member, “Secure her to her saddle. We can repair her back at Acherus. We should report the Forsaken activity in this area to Command.”

The other Knight saluted Beckyann and proceeded to follow her instructions, leaving the blonde Knight to climb back into her own saddle. The ride back would be uneventful, and very very silent as Beckyann continued to think about a puzzle that had no clear answer.