Site Write 2, Entry 7- Dressed for Success!

Beckyann smiled, standing in the middle of her quarters. It was time to prepare herself for her patrol, and today was to be a 'special' day as it were. As it turned out, the patrol route that was scheduled for today would match a patrol being conducted by the Argents, and it was imperative that there were no issues between the two groups as they scouted the Plaguelands. As such, Beckyann had assigned her own name to this particular route and hand-picked some of the best of the initiates to accompany her; it wouldn't do to make a bad impression. The key would be to project might without frightening them, and Beckyann knew just how.

She snapped her fingers, the three ghouls she'd summoned and prepared bustling about the chambers as they began to prepare. Two of them brought a floor length mirror before her, setting it up on a stand so she could examine herself in it. She looked at her reflection, studying herself for imperfections.

She wore only two garments at the moment. The first was a tight fitting bra, designed not for comfort or style but to keep her flesh in place. One of the advantages of not having to breathe except to speak was that the material could be tighter, allowing her armor to be pressed close to her flesh and providing extra stability and mobility. Her second garment covered her from the tips of her toes to her waistline. It was thick stockings that would have been uncomfortably hot for a woman wearing a dress in the summer. For Beckyann, temperature was meaningless and the somewhat elastic material was designed to help anchor her armor pieces in place where necessary; she often wore either a half-stocking or full body stocking depending on the set of armor she'd be using for her patrols.

For today, she planned on wearing her favorite armor, and she nodded to the ghouls to signal that she was ready to begin. She stood with her legs apart, her hands planted on her hips as they began to fetch portions of the armor. Made of black saronite with highly polished, silvery looking portions, the armor was a work of art. Each piece had been specially crafted to Beckyann's specifications, fitted perfectly to her body and designed to reflect not only the power of what she was, but the very imagery of death. While she often pretended to be a living human when wandering amongst the living, when she was actually performing her true role as a Knight she wanted to present a completely different image. The armor was meant to be a warning and a mark of pride; it showed her strength and the power of the Ebon Blade.

Two ghouls approached her, one from either side and each carrying a cuisse. They knelt beside her, attaching the saronite plates to her upper thighs and tightening the buckles to keep them in place. A living woman would wish for more padding under such armor, as it could pinch the skin, but for Beckyann such concerns were irrelevant as she had very little feeling in her flesh anyway. After each piece was firmly in place, the ghouls turned to fetch each poleyn and greave, bending down beside her to begin affixing each of these parts in place over her knees and shins. Each piece fit perfectly against the next, allowing her legs a full range of motion and ensuring that the armor would not bind up or come loose during combat. Once all three pieces were in place on each leg, the bone and silver flame motif present on the armor was visible, and she smiled as she tapped one of her metal encased thighs.

“Very nice. Now the sabatons if you would,” she said pleasantly.

A ghoul knelt before her while another ghoul placed one of her sabatons on its back. She brought her foot up, slipping it within the armored boot and leaning on her minion as she began to tighten the many laces that held it in place. With this done, she repeated the process with her second sabaton, her body now half armored. The lower half of her armor was completed with the addition of a belt bearing a skull emblem to ensure that the armor on her legs and her stockings couldn't slide down if she took a good blow in melee.

“Excellent! My breastplate if you would,” she said, admiring herself in the mirror.

Two of the ghouls moved away again, returning with both halves of the breastplate. This particular piece of armor was Beckyann's favorite, and it consisted of two sections of saronite that fitted around her upper body perfectly. A deep black color, the front of the armor was polished to resemble a ribcage going up her body, with her bust highlighted in sparkling silver metal. The armor joined at the sides, tight buckles holding it in place.

Unlike a living person, Beckyann sacrificed protection of her belly by forgoing a large plackart or fauld to protect her lower abdomen. While this would be fatally unacceptable for a living person, Beckyann's belly had no vital, functioning organs within it that could cause her to die of a slash wound. Instead, the lack of these armored parts allowed her breastplate to move freely and independently of the armor on her lower body, giving her a much wider range of motion. Only if her spine was severed would the lack of armor really represent a serious problem for her, and she was willing to surrender some of the protection for the mobility. The tight-fitting breastplate was also molded to the contours of her body, which was less functional than a flat plate piece but more cosmetically appealing. Again she didn't consider this an overly dangerous flaw given that a stab or slash at a breast would not cause her to bleed to death as a living woman might. Besides, she thought it looked damn good!

While the breastplate had no gorget to protect her neck, the shoulder pauldrons she wore with the armor had curved saronite pieces that ringed her neck like a collar, serving much the same function. The silver and black metal fit over the top of her breastplate perfectly, the dark runes and death motifs inscribed on it going well with the overall look of her armor.

As with the protection for her stomach, Beckyann's armor on her arms was lacking a rerebrace and couter to protect her upper arm and elbow. This gave her more mobility with her weapon, although in this case it was a more dangerous flaw and one she addressed with magical wards to avoid having her arms severed by a lucky blow. Her ghouls brought her gauntlets to her as she held out her arms, slipping one onto each of her hands and all the way up to the end of her forearm. Each was affixed with tight laces, and she fastened these herself as her ghouls waited, ensuring she'd have a firm grip on her weapon.

After this was done, one of her minions carried her head protection over to her. Beckyann liked to have a full range of vision on the battlefield and she was much more difficult to knock unconscious than a living person, so she wore a thick saronite circlet that protected her temples, forehead, and flared up enough to catch a blade that was descending on her golden head. It required no straps, the metal having been forged to fit just so along her brow, and she smiled at herself in the mirror as it was set in place, reaching up to adjust her hair so it looked perfect.

The final touch of her armor was, of course, a cape bearing the colors of the 1113^th. It would not do to go out without emblems of her legion after all! Her ghouls brought it to her, clasping it to place along her pauldrons. She affixed the final catch herself, which bore her rank emblem and was placed near her throat. The rank pin contained her comm and allowed her to keep in touch with the rest of the unit. Beckyann smiled at herself in the mirror, turning this way and that to ensure that she looked exactly as she wished. With a grin she reached over and plucked a rose from a nearby vase; a rose she'd stolen from one of the graveyards in the plaguelands. She affixed it near her ear, admiring the dying beauty of the flower beside her own.

With a nod, she dismissed her ghouls, taking her runeblade up and sheathing it. It was time to go meet the Argents. She grinned, blowing herself a kiss in the mirror before turning and walking from her chambers.

Site Write 2, Entry 6- A Penny for your Thoughts

The countryside flew beneath Beckyann, the dead trees of the Eastern Plaguelands giving way to the partially regrown vegetation of the Western Plaguelands. She sighed, enjoying the sight of the ground rushing below her, her dress and black cape whipping about in the wind of her passage. Although she could not feel the rush of air on her skin, she still enjoyed flying. She enjoyed the solitude and the flap of skeletal wings as she began her evening.

There was just one problem however; she'd thrown her entire coin purse onto the streets of the Canal District in Stormwind a few days prior when she stopped an angry mob from hanging a thief that had been stealing bread. As a result, she now had only five golden coins left from her personal funds, and it was time to get more. With a smile, she yanked on the reins, guiding her undead gryphon in a slow spiral down towards the ground.

Below her was the town of Brill, as dead now as her nation itself was, with the eerie new structures of the Forsaken having overtaken the buildings she knew from life. In the center of the town she could see the giant statue of the Dark Lady and she shrugged as her beast flew past the outskirts of the town, not at all impressed with the undead Queen.

"Ah, there we are, just ahead," she murmured to her gryphon, leading it down beneath the treeline. On a hill that was now heavily overgrown stood the ruins of a house sticking up out of the dense foliage, the once proud Woodbury Estate having given way to the forces of undeath and nature as fate claimed the family and servants who lived there. It mattered little to Beckyann now; it was just a distant memory of her life, and perhaps a useful location to obtain more coin. With a smirk she had her gryphon land near the Woodbury family crypts, the ominous stone structures standing hollow and silent beyond the ruins of the estate.

Beckyann slid from the saddle, patting her undead gryphon as she began to wander towards the crypt entrance. The creature growled, and she turned her head to look at it, surprised to discover it was not actually growling at her this time. In the distance a pair of darkhounds played in the decaying vegetation, and their movement had attracted the attention of her mount. With a soft nod Beckyann gave it freedom to do as it pleased, watching as it happily bounded after the wolf-like animals. As she turned to head towards the crypt opening, she heard a distant howl and the sounds of bones being crushed.

She stepped into the dark opening of the crypt, her glowing eyes providing all the illumination she needed as she descended the winding steps down into the earth. The crypt had been one of the older Woodbury family tombs, and she could tell that it had not been disturbed in many hundreds of years. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, an iron gate blocked the way, the metal rusted into the floors and walls of the crypt. She smiled, reaching out to grasp the bars and slowly bending them out of the way, her unnatural strength aiding her in making the metal squeal as she removed the barrier.

Careful not to catch the hem of her dress on the bent bars, she ducked through the opening she'd made, walking into the dusty old crypt and looking about. There were many stone coffins lining the walls, with several larger and more elaborate ones free-standing in the middle of the stone chamber. Although she could see only dimly in the pitch blackness, she immediately was attracted to the central coffin, the ornate carvings on the side revealing that it was the resting place of Someone Important. Exactly what she was looking for.

With a smile on her black painted lips, Beckyann walked over to the coffin, reaching out to run her hands across the top. She leaned against it, pushing at the lid with her arms as stiff as possible, the stone beginning to slide ever so slowly as she continued with the effort. With a grating sound the coffin's lid began to slip off of the opening beneath, the weight of it eventually tipping it over and sending it tumbling to the rear of the coffin with a crash of shattered stones.

Beckyann peered into the inky blackness below, seeing the dim outline of the skeletal resident of the coffin. From the tattered remains of the dress on the skeleton she could tell that this particular person had been extremely wealthy; the cut of the cloth and the faint traces of precious metals in the threading showed just how much effort had been put into burying her. At her feet rested a golden coffer, gems encrusting the lid. Beckyann grinned, knowing she'd have to waste precious little time in obtaining what she wanted, reaching in and happily withdrawing the coffer before setting it on the stone floor beside her. It clinked with the merry sound of coins sliding against each other as she moved it.

With that task complete, Beckyann leaned over the coffin again, lifting the skeleton's arm and divesting it of several golden bracelets and a diamond studded ring. She also removed a jeweled circlet from the head of the deceased, holding it up and then whispering the words of a spell. Instantly an orb of scourge magic appeared in the air before her, the sickly blue light illuminating her find. She studied it closely, enjoying the way the gems on it sparkled before setting it on her own head.

"Your family owes me quite a bit anyway," she told the corpse in a 'matter-of-factly' tone. "I do believe you never forwarded my final payment to my next of kin, not that I had any...and not that any of your people lived through the plague. Even so, this will do nicely towards paying back the interest on that debt."

She really didn't feel bad. The gems and gold laying in the tomb were gifts for the dead, and as far as she was concerned that meant they might as well have been left for Beckyann herself. She was dead after all, wasn't she? And these were gifts for the dead, right? It wasn't like the skeleton needed them anyway, her spirit was happily in the hereafter enjoying whatever rewards or hells it had earned.

Before she turned away, Beckyann noted something odd in the coffin. Frowning, she moved the skeleton aside, not overly gentle with the old bones. Beneath the reposed dead she found a tome, and she pulled it up from the bottom of the coffin before blowing on it to get the dust off. With wide eyes she realized it was a history book of the older Woodbury family members, their deeds, and their wealth. The tome alone was a wonderful prize, but it might lead to even more interesting information or possible riches in the future. The night had just become so much more interesting suddenly!

With a smile Beckyann took the tome in her arm and settled herself on the floor of the crypt, leaning her back against the coffin. With only the glowing orb of the scourge magic to illuminate the area and a coffer full of golden coins to prop her feet up on, she opened the dusty old book and began to read the romanticized tales of the family that had employed her long ago in life.

Sometimes the best treasures were more than just coins or gems, for such riches could be expended quickly. Knowledge, however, lasted a lifetime, or in some cases an eternity.

Site Write 2, Entry 5- What Goes Around

"Misssssstresssssssss Easssssstberg!" the voice called out.

Beckyann rolled her eyes, pausing to glance over her shoulder. She was passing through the heart of Acherus and headed back towards her quarters after a long patrol in the plaguelands. The last thing she wanted to deal with at the moment was a conversation with a geist. She wanted to get back to her quarters and get all of the dust and dirt of the plaguelands off herself before curling up with a good necromantic tome and simply relaxing for a few minutes.

Although she was hoping it would simply forget what it was doing, to Beckyann's irritation the undead thing saw her looking at it and it began to wave her over frantically. With a long suffering sigh she signaled to her squad that they were dismissed and headed over to the table where the geist was standing, noting the large number of strange pots or urns sitting there. In her most waspish tone, she snapped at the creature, "What now?"

"Misssstresssss," the creature hissed at her. She rolled her eyes again as it continued its long-winded way of speaking. "I have ssssssssomething sssssssspecial for you! Dropped off jussssssst today. I wasssssss told to notify you immediately when it arrived!"

"What? What do you mean something 'special' for me?" Beckyann said, staring at the urns. "These are nice but they're nothing out of ordinary."

"They sssssssaid you needed them for sssssome sssssssssspellssssssss you are working on, Missssstressssss," the geist replied. "Thesssssssse are perfect. I wassssssssss told that thissssss one here isssssssss exactly what you need."

Beckyann looked at the urn that the geist was pointing at, shaking her head as she reached out to pick it up. She could tell by the weight that it was full, likely with the ashes of the deceased. She shot the geist a withering glare before examining the urn. She held it up in front of her, studying it. She saw that it had a dusty inscription on it, and she set it down to wipe the inscription clean, peering at it closely.

"Maxwell Potter," She murmured, still wiping at the urn. Something tickled the back of her mind, and she frowned, biting her lip as she picked up the next urn in the line. "Eliza Potter..."

Something began to burn in the back of her mind, and Beckyann grabbed the next urn and wiped the inscription clean on it. "Bethany Tanner...Kevin Tanner....Lisamarie Lefaire...Anna Smith...Timothy Smith..."

Beckyann reeled back away from the table, her eyes wide as the names stared up at her from the urns; the urns of the dead of Corin's Crossing. Urns that had been safely buried in a cemetery that had not been despoiled by the Scourge due to the lack of actual corpses. And now here they were, the men and women she had grown up with, their ashes sitting before her, dug up from their final rest and brought here as if to mock her.

"Who gave these to you..." Beckyann said, her voice a deadly whisper.

The geist was not intelligent enough to detect the potential threat in the words, and happily grinned at her with its broken teeth, "A Knight, Misssssssstresssssss. He ssssssssssaid you sssssssssshould have thessssssssse for your experimentsssssss!"

Her runeblade came out in one smooth motion, the deadly ring of the metal bringing the bartering in the area to an abrupt halt as silence descended amongst the undead in that part of the Ebon Hold. Beckyann's words would have cut through the chatter anyway, her tone unmistakably full of malice, "Who. Gave. These. To. You."

The geist blinked once, its runny yellow eyes looking confused. Unfortunately, it hesitated a fraction of a second longer than Beckyann's rather thin patience lasted, and her blade lashed out and down, destroying the table and shattering the urns. Ashes swirled in the air as cold winds began to rip around the infuriated Beckyann, ice and snow mixing with it to create a dirty maelstrom of magic. "WHO GAVE THESE TO YOU?!?! TELL ME THIS INSTANT!"

The other Knights and undead in the area stared at Beckyann as she raged, and the geist cowered before the ruined table, squealing and begging Beckyann not to hack him to pieces. With a shaking hand he pointed across the room, at a Death Knight that had been standing quietly back in the crowd. Other Knights standing near the man backed away a step as he was pointed out, and he smirked.

"Captain Pendagast of Central sends her regards, Sergeant Eastberg," the Knight said snidely before turning to walk away.

It was, of course, the absolute worst mistake he could have made. In an instant the swirling storm of necromantic magic around Beckyann dissipated as she focused all of her burning ire on the back of the retreating Knight. She pointed and tendrils of black magic wrapped around him, yanking him back towards her. When he landed, she immediately backhanded him across the face with her gauntlet, sending him reeling.

"Y-you can't touch me! I'm under orders from Captain Pendagast!" the Knight yelled at Beckyann. She merely shrugged, wading into combat with him without the slightest concern for the onlookers, several of whom had begun to grin and one or two of whom had actually began to place bets. The prone Knight attempted to rise and Beckyann brought the flat of her runeblade down on his spine hard enough to dent his plate armor, driving him to the floor again before she delivered a devastating kick to the side of his head.

"You like delivering packages, do you?" Beckyann snarled. The Knight on the ground brought an arm up to ward off another blow and she brought her runeblade down again, this time blade first and hard enough to bury the weapon in the bones of his forearm. He snarled and she merely kicked him a second time, sending him sprawling. "Don't worry, I've got a package for you to deliver as well you miserable little bastard!"

The Knight was only able to mewl out an incoherent response as Beckyann kicked him again and then brought the flat of her blade down on his chestplate, denting the metal there as well. She stalked past him, reaching down to grab him by the hair as she began to drag him across the floor. He shouted the words of a necromantic spell, but wards lit up on her runeblade and the energy was harmlessly absorbed into her armor. She was, after all, still in full combat gear and prepared for Scourge attacks using necromancy.

Two of the Ebon Hold's guards stepped forward as she dragged him along, looking at her harshly for a moment. She stared them down and after a tense stand off one of them shrugged and stepped back; as long as they weren't wrecking the entire Hold it didn't really matter if one or two of the Knights was getting a bit of revenge here and there. They'd let their commanders work it out later. Beckyann abruptly brushed past the second guard, actually shouldering him over a bit and earning a snarl from him as she continued to drag her now kicking victim behind her.

She reached the edge of the observation deck that Red often enjoyed, pausing for a minute to turn and deliver a brutal beating to the prone Knight with the flat of her blade. After he'd become a bloody mess on the ground, she bent down and whispered into his ear, her voice a sensuous whisper now, "When they reanimate you, tell Captain Pendagast that I will fill every single one of the holes she dug with her bones. I never forget, and a brother or sister that would betray me like this would betray any one of us. You're too blind and ambitious to see that though, so be a good, loyal little dog and deliver my message."

The man moaned something that Beckyann really couldn't make out, not that she cared to hear it anyway. She dropped her runeblade with a clatter and reached down to hook her fingers in his armor straps. Using her unnatural strength, she heaved the ragdoll-like corpse up and over the observation deck's railing, sending the Knight plummeting into the Eastern Plaguelands like so many others had who could not stand the curse of undeath any longer.

As Beckyann retrieved her runeblade and stared down the crowd of onlookers until they went about their business again, she smiled to herself as an errant thought passed through her mind. She'd need to go and clean up the ashes and ensure they were properly returned to the ground of course, but at least Captain Pendagast was down one in the scorebook.

"And it really is such a nice view from here too," Beckyann murmured. She began walking back towards the bizarre, humming an old tune from Lordaeron to herself as she got to work.

In the distance, the sound of something heavy and metal colliding with the ground echoed up into the Hold.

Site Write 2, Entry 4- Irritation

Beckyann smiled, brushing an errant strand of blonde hair back over her shoulder as she leaned over the table of supplies. She looked up to the Death Knight that had summoned her to the supply room, nodding her approval. “It appears everything is just as I ordered it. Excellent work.”

The Private nodded, turning to head towards the door. The room they were in was filled to the brim with crates and sacks of materials that had been newly delivered. Beckyann had gone through the arduous process of requisitioning most of the materials from Central, and she had pulled out all of the stops with ensuring that the paperwork was in proper order. She would need many of the materials if she wanted to further her necromantic research after all, and it never hurt to be prepared.

Also, who really wanted to fill out the requisition forms more than once anyway?

Beckyann had been summoned to the supply room just as she was about to leave for one of her outings. She smiled, reaching up to carefully arrange her hair as the other Death Knight opened the door to leave. Much to the surprise of both of them, another Death Knight stood silently in the doorway as the door swung open.

“Oh good, you are here,” the undead woman in the doorway said, her tone filled with malice. “This will save me the trouble of hunting you down.”

Beckyann tilted her head, studying the other woman closely. She wore the typical garb of the Ebon Blade, her body encased in dark saronite armor and a runeblade strapped to her back. Like many of the fallen Knights, she wore a thick saronite helmet that completely obscured the sight of her face and left only the twin glowing orbs of her cursed eyes glowing from within. Her voice had echoed with a hollow sound from the helmet, but such things were of no concern to Beckyann given the people she regularly came into contact with. She put her sweetest tone into her response, “Can I help you with something, miss?”

The other Death Knight ignored the question, stepping into the room and pulling a small notepad and pencil from her belt. She practically stalked up to the nearest supply-laden table, her tongue making an echoing clicking noise from within her helmet as she began to check off the supplies in the room, “You are Sergeant Eastberg, correct? You are the one who submitted the requisition.”

It was not actually a question, and Beckyann's eyes narrowed at the tone, “Yes. What business is that of yours?”

The woman didn't even look at Beckyann, one hand diving down to her belt to pull out a badge. She thrust it in Beckyann's face as she continued her perusal of the supplies in the room, “Captain Pendagast, Central Supply Office. I'm here to audit the supplies you requisitioned.”

“W-what...” Beckyann stuttered. She was forced to move out of the way as the woman brushed past her, still clicking her tongue as she made notes in her pad. “I d-don't understand. I filed all of the appropriate forms and I-”

“You ordered four sacks of grave dust, but only a single crate of bat wings,” the woman murmured, cutting Beckyann off and still ignoring her questions. Beckyann could feel her ire rising as the woman began to nitpick. She absolutely detested people nitpicking her work.

“Well, I'm going to be performing a number of summoning spells that req-” she began.

“And you believe these femurs will be sufficient? Clearly you are either reading novice tomes or you've completely missed the mark on the spells you are attempting,” came the nasty response. “I'd have thought that someone of your rank would at least be aware of the basic principles of necromancy by now. I'm not sure what kind of operation the 1113^th is, but they should re-evaluate their promotion and reward structure if they are putting people like you in position to requisition supplies.”

“Now wait just a minute, I'm-” Beckyann stuttered.

“Have you even actually performed these spells before?” the woman continued, walking around Beckyann again and making more notes in her pad. “I'm going to have to closely monitor your requisitions going forward as you simply have no idea what you're doing. Look at this...you didn't even include any corpse-eyes amongst this batch of materials. It's like a child filled out this form.”

Beckyann's temper had reached its boiling point. There was nothing worse than someone trying to gainsay her work or worse, attempt to override her research with their own. She had suffered it for years as an apprentice in the Kirin Tor and had ended up with only a mediocre position as a result of her inability to handle the criticism. In undeath, absolutely no one was going to make her feel like this. Unfortunately, it would not be wise to outright slaughter a Death Knight from Central out of hand.

“Fortunately, I don't believe I asked you,” Beckyann replied, malice in her tone demonstrating her barely restrained fury. The Private that had originally lead her to the room actually blanched and backed out of the doorway, recognizing one of the blonde woman's temper tantrums brewing. “In fact, given that my requisitions were filled out properly, these materials are now the property of the 1113^th, and if you do not leave our store room this instant, I will assume you are attempting to steal them and deal with you...abruptly.”

The other woman whirled, her glowing blue eyes affixed on Beckyann, “You dare talk to me like that? You are nothing but a jumped up boot-licking private that doesn't know her unholy spells from her frost spells. Your idiotic research is amateurish at best, and dangerous at worst!”

Beckyann marched across the room, shoving her face inches from the darkness of the woman's helmet, her eyes boring into those blue orbs, “At least I know enough necromancy to make myself look acceptable enough to show my face. At least I'm not a hideous, rotting corpse hiding away behind metal because I'm so ugly that I couldn't be deployed anywhere near the living lest they slaughter me out of pity. At least I'm not STUPID ENOUGH TO RISK MY OWN UNLIFE BY MEDDLING IN THE AFFAIRS OF OTHER PEOPLE WHEN I SHOULD KNOW BETTER!”

Captain Pendagast drew her runeblade, the tip pressed against the soft cloth of Beckyann's dress, rage in her tone, “I should gut you where you stand, bitch.”

Beckyann smirked, necromantic energy flaring in the air around her as the runes on her hairpins activated. Unholy magic blanketed the two of them, the scourge-light in Beckyann's eyes glowing so brightly that it began to flow from her eye-sockets. While Beckyann might not be fully versed in summoning and spirit anchoring, there was suddenly not even the slightest question about her grasp of deadly necromantic curses and combat spells. The force of her magic was enough to set her foe's runeblade quivering as the magical fields collided.

“Please do. I mean that most sincerely,” Beckyann murmured, her tone the most murderous of threats.

With a snarl the Captain from Central stepped back, sheathing her runeblade and shooting a rude gesture at Beckyann. “This isn't over. See if your next requisition gets through. No one gets in my way, you understand me?”

Beckyann merely smirked, checking her nails as the other Death Knight stormed out of the room. Just as the Captain cleared the doorway, she lashed out with her magic, tendrils of dark energy hitting the door and slamming it hard against the retreating Death Knight's rear end.

Beckyann laughed aloud as she heard the woman's cursing echoing back into the room from the corridors beyond. She might not know everything about necromancy, but the things she did know were handy in their own right, at least if one needed something destroyed anyway.

She really really hated busybody nitpickers after all.

Site Write 2, Entry 3- Justice

Beckyann had just left the blacksmith's shop, her plate mail clinking lightly as she walked across the cobblestones of the Canal District in Stormwind. She'd been running errands all day, with the final stop at the blacksmith the last item on her 'to do' list. Although Acherus had many smiths and skilled craftsmen, it was just as easy to purchase menial supplies like horseshoe nails from the smiths in Stormwind, and it gave Beckyann an excuse to get out, even if she was in a more 'official' capacity.

As she made her way through one of the arches that curved over the pathway lining the canals, she turned a corner and nearly walked head-first into a man who was dashing the other way. Try as she might, Beckyann was unable to fully avoid collision with the frantically running man, and he bounced off of her saronite breastplate with the unpleasant sound of flesh meeting metal.

Beckyann rocked slightly from the impact, turning as the man fell into a heap beside her. Behind him a crowd of people dashed down the path further up, their angry shouts incoherent for a moment. Beckyann glared down at the man who was sprawled across the cobblestones, her baleful eyes blazing enough to bore holes in him.

“Watch it, buddy!” she growled.

The man groaned, shaking his head as he came to his senses and sat upright. He frantically clutched at a parcel wrapped in brown paper that he'd been carrying, trying to get back to his feet after the collision. As he started to rise, Beckyann could hear the sounds of the crowd finally catching up, their shouts now perfectly audible.

“Thief! Thief!”

“Stop that man! Don't let him get away!”

“He stole my wares!”

Beckyann grinned, her runeblade coming out in one smooth motion and leveled at the man in an instant. He froze, horrified as he saw the Death Knight looming over him, his body quivering in fear. He sputtered, his words almost incoherent, “P-please, miss! M-my family n-needs this. P-please just l-let me go okay? I-I promise I w-won't do it again. I didn't have no other c-choice!”

Beckyann frowned, her arm moving to dip the tip of her runeblade down. It carved into the side of the paper parcel the man was clutching, splitting the side neatly and exposing...a loaf of bread. Her eyes widened as the man looked up at her, begging her with his gaze, “Please...think of my family..I have children...”

Beckyann's world spun around her as the words hit her like a physical punch to the gut. She could feel something raging inside her as emotions and memories slammed into her mind. She gasped, and to the man's ever-lasting surprise the glow faded from her eyes for a moment as he stared into them, the green twinkle there something long lost from the world. With the fading of the magic came the resurgence of her spirit, and the memories it recalled...

********************************

Lordaeron, Pre-Plague, The Woodbury Estate

“Please...think of my family...I have children...” the condemned man said.

Beckyann shivered where she stood in the courtyard of the Woodbury Estate. It was cold this time of year, the winter's grip on Lordaeron still strong even this close to Brill. Although the chill in the air didn't help, Beckyann suspected that she would have shivered even in mid-summer given the situation and the man's pleas.

He lay across a stump, his hands tied behind his back and the crowd of servants and retainers crowded around the outskirts of the courtyard. Tears ran from his eyes, and Beckyann felt them welling up in her own. Although he had committed the heinous crime of stealing from his employers, she knew in her heart that what was about to happen did not match the nature of his trespasses, and she cringed as Lord Woodbury stalked around the prone prisoner, looking at the rest of his servants with a stern gaze.

“Let this be a lesson to those who would betray House Woodbury,” the aging Lord Woodbury said, his voice firm. “We cannot condone thieves and traitors amongst those who serve this House. There is tradition and honor here, and criminals like this tarnish the image of each one of you and each member of my family.”

Beckyann winced at this, looking down at the young children standing in front of her. Although she had pleaded with Lady Woodbury not to allow it, the family had insisted that their children witness this 'just' punishment for the crime. The children, ranging in ages from twelve all the way down to two, stood solemnly before her, shivering in the cold of the winter. One littler girl clutched Beckyann's leg, and she did all she could to soothe her with a gentle hand on her head.

The eldest Woodbury heir, a young man of fifteen, stood beside his father with pride in his stance as his father nodded at him. Although it had horrified Beckyann, Lord Woodbury had decided that his eldest son needed to learn how to rule over his lands and vassals, and the carrying out of this punishment would be done by his hand and in front of the entire family and staff. As a tutor to the children, Beckyann would be forced to watch along with the others, despite the disgust that threatened to make her gag.

The prone man was flanked on both sides by House Woodbury guards. Beckyann looked mournfully at one of them, her eyes meeting Frederick's gaze for a moment before breaking contact. In that space of time he had the chance to mouth the words, “I'm sorry.” to her before she'd looked away.

They'd fought over this the evening before. He'd argued that there was value in maintaining rule of law in the House and across House Woodbury's holdings. She'd told him it was barbaric and that she wanted no part of it. Part of her had even considered retiring from her position and returning to Dalaran, although she knew if she did so she'd never find such a prestigious position again. She'd decided to stay with great reluctance, but the bitter argument with her beloved Fred had left her feeling hollow and worn inside. His unspoken apology only slightly lessened the impact of what she was witnessing.

Lord Woodbury had finished his prancing about the courtyard, his gaze having passed over all of his cowed servants and vassals. Assured that they had taken the lesson to heart about the consequences of stealing from his estate, he marched back over to the prone prisoner, his words stern and final, “And so, by my hand and word, I do hereby condemn this man to death for his crimes. May the Light have mercy on his soul, and speed him to the hereafter.”

Lord Woodbury nodded to his son, and the boy hefted an ax that he was almost too small to lift. The execution would be done poorly at best, and would take several strokes at worst. Beckyann bit her lip, forcing herself to watch until the last moment, so she'd be ready.

As the ax began to fall, she managed to shoo the smallest of the children behind her skirts, shielding the little one from the sight. She had two free hands as well, which quickly wrapped around the heads and covered the eyes of the next youngest children. Lord Woodbury might consider his sentence just, but Beckyann had her own sense of justice, and she'd be damned if she let him traumatize his children in front of her.

For as long as she lived, Beckyann Eastberg never forgot the sound of the ax as it struck flesh.

****************************

Her runeblade fell from nerveless fingers, clattering on the cobblestones. Beckyann found herself actually gasping, the traumatizing experience of reliving the moment making her feel ragged and bruised emotionally. She shook her head, trying to regain a sense of her surroundings as she saw the man still on his knees before her, begging her not to kill him.

“N-no...” She murmured, her voice low. Behind her the crowd had finally arrived, all of them coming to a halt a foot from the two, their voices angry and their fists clenched.

“You've caught him!” one of them shouted. By the looks of him, he was likely the unfortunate baker that the man had stolen the bread from. The man surged forward, reaching to grab the thief as the others shouted encouragement.

An icy cold grip clenched around his wrist, holding his advance. He looked at the Death Knight in shock as she affixed her baleful gaze on him, her voice a whisper, “And what would you do to him, for stealing your bread?”

“I-I don't know...h-he's a bloody thief,” the man sputtered. “He deserves a short rope over a long drop if you know what I'm saying.”

Beckyann straightened, her unnaturally strong grip pushing the baker away from her. He stumbled backwards, his arms windmilling as he slammed into the wall of people behind him. He looked at her in shock, murmurs rising up in the crowd as she turned to face them.

Beckyann reached to her belt, and everyone took in a gasp of air as they tensed, awaiting an attack. Instead, she undid her coin-purse, tossing it onto the street before her. It hit the ground and burst open, old-fashioned coins from Lordaeron spilling out and rolling across the cobblestones. As the clinking sound of the coins quieted and the last one stopped rolling, there was a tense silence on the street.

“Now your wares are paid for,” Beckyann said. There was something in her voice, some hint of anguish that the people before her could not identify. Behind her, the man scrambled to his feet, clutching the bread to his chest.

The baker shook his head, pointing at the man, “He still needs to be brought to justice!”

Beckyann's gaze affixed on him, and this time there was no mistaking the malice in her words, “Your wares. Are. Paid. For.”

The man opened his mouth to speak again, and Beckyann's fury erupted, “BEGONE!”

Half the crowd bolted and ran right away. The baker's eyes nearly popped out of his head and he dove to the ground, scooping up the coins before he too dashed away. As Beckyann turned to retrieve her runeblade, she saw that the man she'd saved from the angry mob had also run away. She shrugged, sheathing her blade and still trying to sort out the raging emotions within her.

As she walked away, a part of her felt lighter, as if she'd made right something she should have fixed a long time ago.

Site Write Entry 2- Wailing

Beckyann's finger traced the last line in the necromantic tome, her glowing eyes pouring over every syllable and symbol written on the page. Laying on her stomach on her bed, she had a second book open beside her with a pencil holding the pages open. Every now and then she would reread a portion of the spell written in the book she was studying before picking up the pencil and jotting some notes down in the notebook she was using. Her feet kicked in the air behind her idly as she prepared herself for the spell she wanted to try.

One could not learn the deeper mysteries of necromancy without trying them out first hand after all.

With a satisfied smile on her black painted lips, Beckyann closed the spellbook in front of her and snatched up her notebook, jotting down a few more things before closing it and sitting up. She clutched the notebook against the black silk of her dress, calming her mind and silencing any distracting thoughts that might pop up while she was in the midst of spellcasting. She leaned down, grabbing some grave dust from a pouch that sat on the stone floor of her quarters before throwing it into the air and beginning to chant.

The spell was complex, the objective of the magic being to conjure a spirit of some power and chain it to the will of the caster. Beckyann had previously only summoned beasts, and never before had she tried to anchor the full echo of a sentient being's spirit. Her minions were dull-witted and slow normally, and nothing of the order of what she was trying to summon now. She chanted loudly, her voice echoing throughout the stone chambers as she confidently repeated the words of the spell she had memorized. As the spell reached its climax, her voice rose in volume, the horrific words of necromancy perfectly pronounced.

Feeling somewhat triumphant, Beckyann shouted the last word of the spell, hurling another handful of the dust into the air. A cold wind blew through her chambers, snuffing every single candle in the room and plunging her into darkness that was illuminated only by the baleful glow of her own eyes.

There was utter stillness in the room.

Beckyann blinked, biting her lip and looking around. Not a thing moved in the chambers, and nothing stirred in the gloomy darkness. Despite all of her studying and hard work, it seemed that she had failed once again to properly summon the spirit she had planned on chaining. She sighed to herself, murmuring the words of another spell and reigniting the candles in the room. As they flared to life, she thought she saw something out of the corner of her eye.

She turned her head quickly, but there was nothing to be seen other than the far corner of her room. Piles of clothes lay between her and the far wall, and a suit of plate armor was stacked haphazardly on an armor stand in one corner. Beckyann glared for a moment and then shrugged, only to find her eyes darting back across to the other side of the room as she again detected movement. One of her eyebrows rose as she noted one of the banners of the 1113^th she had hanging in the room moving slightly, as if an errant breeze had gusted and set it aflutter. And yet, there were no breezes in the heart of Acherus.

“Ah ha, I've got you now,” Beckyann murmured. She tilted her head, concentrating hard to try to find the source of the movement. For her efforts, she was rewarded with the faint sound of something dragging softly across stone, followed by the flutter of cloth. She darted her head again, only to see one of her stockings fall from the back of a chair where another seemingly improbable gust of wind had knocked it down.

She rose from her place on the bed, bare feet making no sounds on the stone floor of her quarters as she stood in the center of the room. Beckyann closed her eyes, using her unnatural senses to try and detect the creature that she suspected now shared the room with her. At first her efforts were again thwarted, until she heard the faintest sound coming from an armoire on the far side of the room. She turned towards it, cautiously walking towards it, one foot placed in front of the other as she tried to make no noise in her approach.

Within the furniture came a faint sound, almost like a soft moan followed by the sound of fluttering cloth. As Beckyann drew nearer, the strange noises grew louder, the soft sounds replaced with the flapping of many pieces of cloth and a loud moan of anguish. Beckyann's face immediately drew into a frown as she imagined what was happening to her clothes within, and she dashed across the room and yanked open the doors of the armoire, prepared to ensnare the creature once it was exposed.

She was definitely not expecting to be bombarded in the face with a pile of clothing that nearly bowled her over as the wailing banshee burst from amongst her outfits. Fabric flew left and right and Beckyann furiously clawed at the pair of riding pants that had landed on her face as she backpedaled away from the source of the attack. In her haste she tripped over another mound of clothes she hadn't bothered to wash yet, falling backwards as the banshee flew up over her, wearing one of her dresses on top of it all!

“Are you serious right now?!” Beckyann growled. The wailing banshee immediately turned in midair, affixing a baleful gaze on the Death Knight before opening its mouth and issuing a haunting wail that shattered one of the mirrors in Beckyann's vanity and cracked a few of the floor tiles near her head. Beckyann rolled her eyes, chanting and pointing at the undead creature that hovered in the air above her.

A bolt of dark black magic flew from Beckyann's hand, passing harmlessly through the banshee and slamming into the ceiling of Beckyann's quarters. Beckyann was forced to roll as bits of masonry rained down on her, her own clothes entangling her as the banshee actually had the gall to laugh at her before it began wailing again. To top it all off, someone began pounding on the door to Beckyann's quarters, whoever it was shouting away in the corridor beyond. Rolling her eyes, Beckyann managed to free herself from the bulk of her clothing before she stormed over to the door and yanked it open.

An initiate Death Knight stood comically in the doorway, hand raised as if he were about to knock on the suddenly vanished barrier. He grunted, straightening up as he looked at Beckyann. For her part, Beckyann planted both fists on her hips, glaring at the other Knight as the banshee wailed behind her again, shattering one of her makeup pots on her dresser. “Yes, can I help you?!”

“U-uh...sorry to disturb you, Ma'am, but I heard a disturbance and I just....um...w-why do you have underwear on your head...?” the initiate trailed off.

Beckyann's eyebrows shot up so quickly that the initiate Knight speculated they might launch off of her forehead. She reached up and snatched the undergarments from her blonde hair before furiously slamming the door in his face. From behind the barrier, the initiate could hear her raging overshadowed by the continued wailing of a very very angry banshee.

With a shrug, he turned and walked back towards his duty post; the one he had been forced to take after loosing a round of poker. As he resumed his watch over the gloomy little part of Acherus, he speculated who really had it the worst in the room down the hall, Beckyann or the banshee.

After a while, he decided he didn't want to know, particularly when the shrieking grew loud enough to be heard clearly from where he was standing.

Site Write 2, Entry 1- Confidence

Her earliest memories were of him holding her hand and guiding her when she most needed guidance. When she failed at a task or became confused or hurt, he was always there with a reassuring word, a comforting touch on the shoulder, or simply a pair of ears to hear her childish complaints. It was ironic that it would not be until long after her death that Beckyann would most come to appreciate what it had meant to have a father during the difficult years of her childhood, when poverty was a specter that loomed over every aspect of their lives.

She sat upon a charred beam, her runeblade propped beside her and her head in her hands as she contemplated this fact. Here in the former ruins of the home she'd lived in as a child, she could most remember what it was like to be that little girl again, to be alive and hopeful for the future and an end to the troubles that their little family had faced. It was here that her father's love and strength pushed them onward time and again, even when it all seemed hopeless and Beckyann or her mother felt like giving up.

Beckyann raised her head from her hands, studying the diseased black fluids that covered her flesh. She'd been crying for a while now, hours it seemed, alone in the night-shrouded ruins of Corin's Crossing. There were malevolent spirits in the structures around her, she could feel them as they could surely feel her, but they knew better than to approach a Death Knight in the throes of...well, whatever it was she was going through.

She sniffled, brackish black globs of ooze in her nose going down her throat as she wiped at her tear streaked face. When she cried it was impossible to keep the rot and decay that was entrapped beneath the thin veneer of her exterior from showing itself, and she was quite a horror to behold at the moment. She didn't care however; for her tears were not tears of sorrow, but a bittersweet mixture of happiness and relief that she was having a difficult time processing. It was never easy for a Death Knight to experience affection or emotional connection to others, and for Beckyann it was even harder as she had intentionally walled herself off for so long, and only in the past year had she begun to allow such things to creep in once more.

There was no denying it though, as far as Beckyann was concerned she had a father in undeath as she'd had in life, and that father was her General, Redamous.

She smiled in the darkness, the glow of her eyes the only light within the ruins. Looking around her, she shook her head as conflicting emotions bombarded her. She should feel horror and sorrow to be sitting here in the state she was in, and yet the memories of the house were mostly only happy ones; her family had passed long before she became what she was now or the Scourge had even rose up. Combined with the relief she felt after Lady Raven's ritual had been completed, she had this bubbling happiness within her that made her weepy and made the initiates in the Ebon Hold look at her askance. And so she'd come here to sort things out.

Red is alive. He's alive and whole again in his original state. He's returned to us fully, and will be there to guide us, to show us the right course through the difficult times ahead.

She knew the thought to be true without question. Red had been there for her through the most difficult personal challenges she'd faced in her undead state. He was a rock to stand upon, the wall at her back when enemies rose up all around her, the tome containing the knowledge she most desperately needed. Only one other time in her existence had she felt that way, and that was when her father held her hand as a little girl and explained the mysteries of the world or drove away the things that scared her in the night. Her confidence in him was absolute and unwavering, as constant as the tides or the rise and setting of the sun.

She smiled again, wiping at her face and shaking her head. The others had seen her crying. They'd seen her unseemly outburst of affection and scoffed at it. It didn't matter, because for once she was actually able to feel something again, to know that she still had the ability to care for friends and those she considered family. She had felt true dread when Lady Raven began the ritual, knowing she might lose Red forever, and she'd felt the thrilling surge of relief when he spoke his first words after it was complete.

Beckyann rose from where she sat, taking up her runeblade and studying it for a moment, letting the swirling emotions within her settle as she accepted them for what they were. It had been a difficult night indeed, but deep down she knew that it had fundamentally changed her; the person she once was still lingered on within her, despite the monster that was wrapped around that woman's spirit now.

With a grin she sheathed her blade and headed for one of the gaping holes in the walls of the burned shack that had once been her home, one thought lingering in the back of her mind. The others could scoff at her all they liked; they could poke fun at her friendship with and loyalty to Red as much as they wanted. She would tolerate all of that, but Light help anyone who ever EVER attempted to harm him as he'd been harmed again.

For the person that did would come to know the full force of the person that Beckyann Eastberg once was; the willful woman who had died for her country in the most horrific way possible. They would come to see what her fury could unleash if they were foolish enough to touch her General again. She would make them hurt like she'd hurt when she'd thought him taken from her.

In the darkness of Corin's Crossing, several of the wild spirits still lingering there withdrew as they felt the malice of the woman who once called the place home flow out of her like a pocket of energy. They watched warily in the darkness as she stalked away, the shrill neighing of her undead steed fading into the night as she mounted and rode back towards Acherus.

Elven Envy

It was a quiet night in the Hinterlands, with only the sounds of insects in the tall grass and the occasional breeze moving the branches of the trees that dotted the landscape. To Beckyann, it was almost soothing, reminding her very much of her homeland that sat on the other side of the mountains poking skywards in the distance. She'd rarely spent time here, despite the region's close proximity both to her former home and to Acherus, and she was pleasantly surprised that she was enjoying the countryside so much.

Above her the stars twinkled in the perfectly clear sky, the light of the moon shining down and bathing the structures nearby with a cool glow. Beckyann sat on an outcropping of rocks that overlooked the elegant buildings that the Quel'dorei had constructed in the middle of the wilderness, her baleful eyes soaking in the details of the place as she pondered the nature of the people there.

Elves were radically different than humans in many ways, including their outlook and long-term views, the way they crafted and shaped magic, and their sense of beauty. When growing up, Beckyann had few encounters with the denizens of Quel'Thalas, her sleepy little town getting few travelers from that realm and none that paused to speak with the poorest of the relatively poor community. As she grew older and began her own magical studies, elves had always been distant, aloof creatures. Always better than her at magic, she had learned to respect them and to maintain a wary distance from them while she worked and trained under the Kirin Tor.

When the plague had come to Lordaeron, Beckyann had given little thought to the surrounding kingdoms. She had been so wrapped up in her own world and her own ambitions that the fate of neighboring Quel'Thalas had meant little to her. The irony that she had died only a few miles from the border of that realm and that her passing had happened long before theirs was not lost on her as she now sat and watched the refugees of the once proud nation.

Beckyann had dealt with Sin'dorei. She knew how they operated, how they fought, and the viciousness of their intrigues. She'd had many run-ins with the creatures, and many had fallen to her runeblade over the years. She knew how they dressed, how they talked, and envied the elegance and grace they displayed even in battle. It enraged her at times, made her lash out at them with more fury so she could break the people that were making her feel that way.

The envy was easily placed when she thought about it long enough. Although it was difficult for Beckyann to admit, it was clear that elves were more beautiful, more graceful and lithe than she could ever be. Even in life this had been true, and in undeath they represented an ultimate perfection that neither magic nor cosmetics could actually attain. She could steal the clothes from their dead, tailor her outfits perfectly and have her makeup and hair arranged just so, and she would still only partially attain what each of them was born with. It made her furious sometimes.

That she had gained in undeath something of their nature was a fact that was only just starting to dawn on Beckyann as the years passed. She was, in a sense, immortal now, doomed to wander Azeroth forevermore as a spirit chained within the flesh of her corpse. Human lives would begin and end in time, and she would carry on beyond them, until even the memory of her people and the time in which she lived was a distant, dusty record in a tome somewhere. Like the elves, she had an immensely long amount of time to ponder the mysteries of the world and to evolve beyond what she was currently.

She also would suffer that entire time.

Again she felt a stab of envy flow through her as she glared hatefully at the buildings below. She paused, holding perfectly still as she mentally schooled her mind back into a tranquil state. It was a difficult process for a Death Knight to choke down her rage and bitter feelings, and something that Beckyann rarely forced herself to do, but there was no one to vent them on here. What was she going to do, beat a rock with her runeblade?

She smirked, idly counting the sentries she could spot in the Quel'dorei settlement below, considering what she'd seen of these people so far. Unlike the Sin'dorei, they were less impulsive, less prone to passionate outbursts and essentially less like Beckyann. They plotted though; they conducted intrigue amongst themselves that the Corin's Crossing girl knew would be beyond her grasp if she tried to analyze them. So what did that make them? Friends or foes? Or did it matter? In the end she would exist even after they were long ash and dust on the wind.

Still, there was one possibility of a positive nature that could be gleaned from them. Perhaps she could learn something of their elegance, their charm. Perhaps she could apply that to herself, and better perfect her exterior shell with which she was so proud. Vanity was not beyond her after all. Beckyann smirked as the thought crossed her mind and she rose from the rock, still undecided about the creatures below her.

She paused for a moment, tilting her head as if sensing something on the breeze. She suddenly lurched, her runeblade drawn in one swift motion as she spun in a circle. The blade came to rest with the tip just touching the hollow of an elf's throat, the blue glow of his gaze matching her own perfectly in the darkness. She smirked at him, her voice a soft purr in the night, "You'd be dead, elf."

The Quel'dorei sentry grinned at her, his gaze shifting down to where his own hand pressed a long dagger against her, the tip having already slipping between the armored plates at her groin, "You'd join me."

Beckyann rolled her eyes, withdrawing her runeblade and sheathing it, "That is not how you destroy one of my kind. If you believe I have blood flowing down there...you're a terrible assassin."

"And you are a terrible spy," the Quel'dorei responded, slipping his dagger back into its sheathe.

Beckyann turned towards him again, blinking and stuttering, "I-I wasn't spying! I was looking! A-and I'm perfectly g-good at espionage when I feel like it."

"Uh huh," the elf replied dryly.

It was infuriating of course. It was exactly what Red would have said. Beckyann threw her hands in the air in exasperation, turning and muttering a few words of magic. A dark portal opened, the howling winds of the Shadow Realm echoing from it. She gave the elf one more baleful look before she stepped through and returned to Acherus. The pout on her face when she stepped through the other side of the portal was enough to make the guards there avoid eye contact with her as she stalked towards her chambers.

She still don't know how she felt about Quel'dorei exactly, but she did know how she felt about people being rude!

We Still Dream

The plodding, slow pace of their mounts was mind-numbingly boring. In the boredom, Beckyann's mind wandered, and she began to daydream....

They rode like the wind, not on the back of undead monstrosities, but on noble and powerful, purebred warhorses. The horses wore barding, the silver armor and blue cloth bright in the sunlight. She sat straight upon her mount, her body alive and fit and clad in sparkling silver plate armor as she gently guided her steed down the path. Her eyes glowed not with the foul touch of Scourge magic, but with the holy light of one who believes, the righteousness of her cause unquestioned.

Behind her rode the rest of her men, paladins all as she was, the boldest and bravest heroes of the land. Their mounts ate up the distance, flying through the forests of Elwynn and passing beneath the mighty gates of Stormwind, pennants flying above them as Beckyann's golden hair streamed out behind her, her blue cape flapping in the wind of her passage. A shadow crossed over them as they rode, and several of the heroes with her pointed, shouting as they charged ahead.

She looked up to see the terrible black wings unfurled above them, the mighty dragon roaring as it disgorged fire down upon their charge. Flames crackled around them, buildings exploding from the fiery fury of its breath, and yet they rode on, untouched, their righteous cause and holy blessings making them invincible to evil. 

Ahead Stormwind's keep loomed large, and the dragon withdrew towards it, knowing it could never stop such mighty heroes. With a gesture Beckyann broke her squad up into groups, many of the knights dismounting as they ran towards the burning homes around them to save and care for the innocents that the dragon had harmed. She snapped her reins, her warhorse eagerly breaking into a full gallop as she crossed the cobblestones and drawbridge to the keep itself. The dark opening loomed large, larger than it should perhaps but it mattered little to her, for what darkness could stop a holy paladin of the Light? 

She dismounted, patting her horse gently and proceeding ahead on foot, glinting silver blade in hand as she crossed the threshold. Within that darkness she heard the flapping of wings, and knew her prey was trapped. She turned and slammed the doors closed behind her, sealing herself within the keep with the black dragon, intent on saving the rest of the city from its rampage. 

In the darkness, a tiny glint of light flared up as the dragon prepared to breath fire on her. She raised her golden shield, and the flames parted around it as she advanced resolutely towards her foe. The dragon roared, the fires of its breath illuminating the cavernous throne room as it plunged its head down to swallow her.

But what was it to her? She was a champion, and it a mere beast. She dodged the blow, dropping her shield with a clatter as its head passed by her. With her sword held in both hands, she brought it up and plunged the tip into the base of the dragon's skull, slaying the beast instantly. She planted a foot on its head, withdrawing her holy blade as the doors banged open.

Sunlight streamed in, illuminating her standing atop the ruins of her foe. HE paused in the doorway, looking at her in awe and admiration. He walked towards her, his footsteps echoing in the throne room, coming down to a knee before her.

"You have my thanks, mighty champion," said King Varian Wrynn. "Without you, my kingdom would be lost. If only we could all have such courage and righteous might."

She stepped down off of the dragon's corpse, standing before her king, bowing low, "No thanks are needed, Your Majesty. I live to serve my kingdom and my King."

He rose up before her, taking her hand in his, stepping closer, "As I live to serve my kingdom....and my newfound Queen."

She felt herself blushing, the blood rushing to her face as she opened her mouth to respond, "My King, I-"

"Sergeant?" the voice interrupted Beckyann's daydream. She blinked once, actually feeling a rush of embarrassment bubble up as she realized what it was she'd been thinking about. Her body attempted to blush, but in undeath her circulatory system didn't function properly and instead of the healthy red hue of a living woman, her face took on a bruised look for a moment as brackish black blood clotted in capillaries.

"What do you want, Private?" Beckyann growled. She turned to glare at him, seeing the rest of the Knights of the Ebon Blade she was leading on the patrol strung out in a line behind them.

"M-ma'am," the Knight replied hesitantly. "I think there might be an a-ambush ahead."

Beckyann began to growl something at the Knight and then held her tongue for a moment. She realized that if she was going to be a good Sergeant then she'd have to act the part. Recent events had shown her the difference between good and bad leadership. She calmed herself, trying to imitate Red's easier manner of speaking, her voice sweet, "Yes? What makes you think that, Private? Thank you for bringing this to my attention by the way."

The Knight paused, looking at her with wide as as if expecting a trap of some sort. Beckyann sighed, realizing that she might as well just act like herself; the men were more used to it. After a moment the Knight managed to regain his composure and he pointed, "Look at the road ahead, there and there. You see how there are two ruined wagons near the edge of the road? There are others in the distance where the orcs have taken a supply convoy, but note how the ones near the road have no scavenger birds over them?"

Beckyann turned and peered in the direction he was pointing, nodding. They had been traveling across the Barrens on patrol, and ahead was clearly an Alliance supply convoy that had been overtaken by Kor'kron raiders. Several wagons were destroyed, and dead pack beasts lay strewn here and there in the tall grasses. Two of the wagons were on either side of the road, disabled. "I see what you are pointing at, but I'm not sure I follow why you think this is an ambush, Private."

The Knight pointed, his voice sounding concerned, "Well look there, Ma'am. There are drag marks on the ground near those disabled wagons, as if they'd been placed there. And there should be dead pack beasts near them, where scavenger birds would be feeding. Also I thought I spotted something moving near the front of one of the wagons."

Beckyann squinted again, her baleful glowing eyes missing few details of the road ahead. She could see nothing out of the ordinary given the constant conflict that had been going on for weeks across the plains. The debris of battle could be found everywhere after all. She shook her head, "I don't think so, Private. You likely are just seeing flies or other insects on a corpse. I'm quite sure that it's fine. I think I'm pretty well versed in being ambushed at this point. We will proceed at our current pace."

"Yes, Ma'am," the Knight replied, sounding sullen. Beckyann smiled, snapping the reins and making her deathcharger hiss in anger at her. She was in control of the situation, and she would let her previous experiences guide her. What could go wrong?

**************************

Five hours later, several death gates opened in Acherus, disgorging a number of battered, gore-covered Knights who looked like they had seen better days. Beckyann lead them, her hair messy and one shoulder pauldron dented from a lucky ax-blow, a broken arrow shaft protruding from her hip. She glared at the Initiates that were on guard duty as they smirked at her before stumbling away from the death gate and dismissing her patrol.

One day she would learn how to be the champion she'd dreamed of. Or at the very least, recognize the signs of an ambush.

Maybe.

Satisfaction

Beckyann closed the door to her quarters behind her as she entered, throwing the wooden bolt into place to seal herself in. She paused, reaching back and removing her runeblade before setting it gently against the wall. Leaving it there, she walked into the center of the room, her hands already at work on the buckles that kept her gauntlets in place. As each came off, she dropped it on the stone floor with a loud thud, her now-free fingers moving to undo additional straps, buckles, and laces.

Piece by piece her heavy saronite armor dropped to the floor, each piece haphazardly thrown into a growing pile of silver and black that took up a good part of the center of her floor. It didn't quite dwarf the massive pile of clothes laying next to a hamper nearby, but it certainly attempted to rival it. As the last piece of armor fell to the floor and Beckyann stepped away from it in the full body-stocking she wore beneath her armor, she sighed in relief. While her undead state kept her from feeling tired, it still required more necromantic energy to move the heavy metal and it was easier to walk around as she was now.

With a smile, Beckyann walked over to the newest addition to her room; a wash basin and water cistern that she'd had installed. After the little 'argument' she'd had with Cheree, the room had required masonry repairs and she'd summoned up a few extra ghouls to haul enough stones for the small cistern and the much larger wash basin. Now she could wash her face or even bathe if she felt like it in her own quarters, letting the water simply drain out of the bottom of Acherus. The amount of effort it took to cart buckets full of water up to Acherus was irrelevant to her; that was what undead minions were for.

She leaned over the wash basin, letting some water into it and cupping it in her hands before bringing it to her face. Blood and ichor ran off her skin, the brackish ooze a result of her entering the chapel at Light's Hope. It had damaged her skin and face again and made her feel ill, but it had been worth it. With another smile she flicked the remaining water from her hands, dried her face on a left-over shirt that had been laying on the floor nearby, and walked over to her vanity.

She sat on the stool in front of the vanity, crossing her legs and studying the reflection in the mirror. As always, her skin had cracked like porcelain from too much exposure to the Light. The damage was not that bad though as she had tarried within the structure only long enough to ensure that Lewin was well cared for. The thought made her grin, and Beckyann glanced down to a little notebook she'd left on the vanity. She opened it, turning the pages until she arrived at a list of names. With a smirk she picked up a quill and crossed 'Lewin' off the list before making a few new entries and updating some other information. The cultist had told her enough information about his little friends for her to begin hunting them next.

After she'd finished writing, Beckyann picked up a bone-handled brush and began to brush her hair, looking at herself in the mirror and humming an old tune from Lordaeron as she worked. She let her thoughts wander back to what she'd done to Lewin, and another smile crept across her face.

Beckyann fed on violence, on pure fury and the agony of wounds inflicted in battle. It was the sweetest feeling to her to know that she'd mortally wounded someone or maimed them and that they were aware of that fact before they perished. It was how she fought, and that brutality had been with her since the moment she'd been raised. When she was alive, she'd have been aghast at her behavior, but this was a different time and place, and it was part of who she was now, as much as it might disturb her former self or even her current friends and allies.

She remembered the moment of her wakening very clearly, and the scene replayed in her mind as the brush stroked golden strands of hair. She recalled her eyes first opening, first taking in the sight of Acherus as she pushed herself from the floor. She recalled how her body had been whole again, or at least not as damaged as the Cult of the Damned interrogators had left it. Likely they'd stitched up the wounds before performing the raising ritual; it wouldn't do to create a Death Knight with all of her organs outside of her body after all.

Above all else, Beckyann recalled the feeling she had inside, the insatiable need that she could not identify. It was not for food, or wealth, or earthly pleasure, but something else that she couldn't place. It wasn't until her new trainers had instructed her to kill a failed initiate right then and there with a rusty old sword that she came to realize how it was she would feed for the rest of eternity; through the suffering of her foes.

Had her will been her own then, Beckyann would have destroyed herself on the spot. The Kirin Tor mage that she once was would have abhorred her new form. The icy grip of the Lich King's will overshadowed her own though, and Beckyann recalled being content, or rather, satisfied after the kill. It was that feeling of satisfaction that would tell her when she needed to feed again as it faded, an ebb and flow that was similar to hunger pains in the living, and one that brutality would feed over and over again.

Beckyann set the bone-handled brush down, satisfied that her hair was in perfect order and smiling at herself in the mirror again. She chanted a few spells, fingertips tracing runes on her face that surrounded the damaged areas. After this was done, she uncorked a vial of ointment that she'd been given and applied that to the damaged areas, watching as the skin immediately began to knit itself back together. Satisfied that the spells and ointments would restore her flesh once more, she rose from the stool and headed towards her bed where she would regenerate for the rest of the evening.

The feeling of satisfaction was strong in her now, and she lay on the soft silk that she could no longer feel with contentment. Although her will was her own now, the training she'd received while it was not combined with simply getting used to her existence had allowed her to overcome her natural inclination to hate herself for what she had to do to exist. She was content to know that she would continue on like this, eternally young, eternally beautiful at least on the outside and from a distance, until the world itself came to an end.

With an uttered word of magic, Beckyann snuffed all of the candles in the room, allowing her own magic to fade as the regenerative spells began to take effect. As the green glow surrounded her and her own consciousness faded to its lowest point, she whispered into the darkness.

"Sweet dreams, Lewin."

The Difference Between Us

Lightning crashed in the distance, the turbulent skies of Icecrown a perpetual storm. The flash illuminated the barren island's landscape in perfect detail, and Beckyann could still make out the darker, stained patches on the sands where people had fallen.The remote island was as far north as one could possibly go, a last refuge for a small group of former Scarlets that discovered to their woe that even this place was not shelter enough for them.

Beckyann sat upon her undead gryphon, the beast perched on top of a rock outcropping that overlooked the island. Two Knights sat behind her, comprising the patrol she had put together with murmured, nonsensical explanations. They were silent behind her, but she knew they questioned their destination and her purpose in taking them there.

There were forbidden to interfere with the people in the small encampments down below after all.

Beckyann smirked as she watched them, knowing they were aware of her presence and wondering what it might portend. That there was a spell protecting them from her and her from them meant little if she decided to assault them in some sort of suicidal bid for vengeance, and few down below would fail to recognize the brilliant blonde hair of the woman that had stalked through their camp, cutting down men, women, and children alike in her thirst for vengeance.

Beckyann turned and looked back at the two Knights behind her, nodding to them, "You will remain here and watch from this location. See to it that I am not disturbed."

"Yes, Ma'am!" one of them replied. "Do you want us to report in on your progress to Command?"

Beckyann eyed him over, deciding he was likely going to be ghoul food the next time they got into combat. She shook her head before turning and snapping the reins, "No. You are to say nothing of this patrol to anyone."

With that she was off, gliding gently over the rocky island below, circling the camp for a moment before spying what she sought. The fact that the people down below clustered into fearful groups and pointed at her meant nothing, and she ignored them as she brought the gryphon down. It landed in the soft sands near the water's edge and she slipped from its back, deftly dodging its snapping beak as she grabbed a heavy, burlap wrapped object from the saddle-bag. The fact that she didn't immediately beat the newly-raised and aggressive creature was a testament to the fact that her thoughts were elsewhere.

The part of the island she had landed on was barren and empty, the solemn beach filled with the mournful sound of Icecrown's winds and the sounds of waves crashing against rocks. A number of small grave markers stood along the ragged coast, newly made and carved. Beckyann walked towards them, pausing a few feet from where the line of them began, heavy object in her arms. She sighed, steadying herself before speaking a few words of necromancy.

Her eyes glowed in the island's gloom, energy flowing through her. Just like that, her vision shifted and she could see. She saw them standing there, staring mournfully at the markers or out to sea. The confused, dead faces of the victims of the attack that could not be raised, of the people that the Knights of Menethil had cut down.

Of her murder victims.

After a moment, one of them noticed her, hissing at her and pointing. It was a man, a guard perhaps or maybe just a smith. His sounds attracted the attention of the others, and suddenly multiple pairs of baleful eyes were staring at her, the sounds of their ghostly voices echoing around her.

"Murderer!"
"Monster!"
"You killed us! We were innocent and you murdered us all!"
"I'm so scared and cold! I just want my mommy!"
"Why are you here?! Did you come back to torment us more you unclean thing?"

It went on and on. Beckyann stood there, listening to the sounds, to the accusations, as the ghosts vented their ire. She knew they had to have the chance to speak if the next step would be successful. To her surprise, a shadow drifted over her followed by a screech. She looked up to see a ghostly gryphon descending; the spirit of the undead steed she'd lost here.

Its spirit had never been broken. Enslaved to her will, the creature had obeyed her only because she controlled it. In death it was restored, appearing as a fully feathered, ghostly creature that landed before her and spread its mighty ghost-wings defiantly. It leaned forward and its beak darted in, snapping at her neck.

Had it been a real gryphon, Beckyann's head would now roll in the sand. Instead the ghostly beak passed through her, leaving not a mark. She looked at it, watching it hiss in fury at her before she'd finally had enough, "Are we all done now?"

Silence fell over the beach as the ghosts realized she had been able to hear them the whole time. They'd been unable to communicate with the living on the island since they'd died, and the days spent wandering had been hellish for them. To know now that their murderer was there, and that she could understand them, was like a slap in the face. It was most unfair, and the undead spirits glared at her hatefully.

Beckyann stared them down, completely unafraid of the spirits. What fear did the undead have of the undead after all? She put the heavy, burlap covered object on the sand before her before straightening up and addressing the ghosts, "What you say is true. It is all true and I recognize that. I would have slaughtered every living person on this island for my revenge, but the others stopped me. It took me a while to realize why they did, but two wrongs do not make a right as it were. I don't know who told me that. Maybe Red? It certainly sounds like something he would say."

The ghosts were unimpressed, a few beginning to wail mournfully. Beckyann shook her head, sighing, "I have come to understand that there is a difference between those who have purpose and those who let purpose blind them to all else. The cultists, the mad followers who leap to kill and destroy in the name of ideals that mean something only to them, are unable to think about any other point of view or change their minds when they are wrong. The difference between something right and something that was once right and has become wrong is this inflexibility."

She leaned down, slowly beginning to undo the burlap wrappings on the object in the sands, "I am not so inflexible. I am a monster, but that does not make up all of what I am. I sought revenge, but revenge is not the entirety of my being. There are good parts and bad parts, and it is up to me to sort them out, to find purpose that is not blind but that can see reason. I failed to apply this concept here, and as a result you died for my failures."

She paused, looking up at the silent ghosts that stared at her, "I will not apologize. I cannot apologize for being what I was created to be; a monster, a killer, a weapon. Where I cannot apologize however, I can seek to undo, to make right, to correct what my instincts and urges cause me to destroy. Know though that I will suffer for it, and in this you will have your revenge, given freely to you by my hand. Let that be enough, lest you become chained here to this place forever to wallow in malice and misery. Believe me when I tell you that you do not want that."

She threw the last of the wrappings aside, the very sight of the massive holy tome laying before her making her flinch. Pilfered from the ruins of a Scarlet base further south, the Light glowed from the object as purely as if it were being conjured. She hesitantly reached forward, caressing the cover before opening the book to an earmarked page.

It burned to touch the book. It made her eyes ache to look upon the pages. None of this was comparable to what she did next though. Beckyann read over the words, memorizing them even though she had known them by heart since she was a child. She looked up at the ghosts and began to recite them loudly.

She began a prayer to the Light. A funeral rite for the ghosts.

The effects were instant. Her skin began to crack and burn, her voice faltering as her throat constricted in agony. The book before her was blindingly bright, the power of the Light coming from the sacred artifact nearly intolerable to her unholy form. She gasped out the words, shielding her eyes with her hands. If not for her black saronite armor, the power of the Light would have cut through her flesh almost instantly. As it was, it took all of her effort to croak out the last of the words and finish the prayer.

The spirits stared in awe at the book, seeing the Light before them, the first touch of it since they had perished. The sacred book became a gateway for them, a tunnel to the hereafter blessed by the Light. They slowly began to drift towards it, their gazes affixed to the holy energies even as Beckyann stumbled away from it, coughing up black blood.

She looked back once to see the spirits entering the Light and finding their rest, pausing as one of the little ghost children turned and looked at her. The little girl frowned, shaking her head sadly and holding a hand out to Beckyann, gesturing for her to join them.

"N-no," she gasped, falling to her hands and knees and spitting up more blood. "Y-you are not the only ones who yet n-need to rest. My time c-cannot come now, or anytime soon. Go. Be done with t-this."

The little ghost girl nodded once and then turned and walked into the Light, the magic fading with her passing. The brightness dimmed and then disappeared as the prayer's power ended, leaving the beach silent and free of wandering spirits. Beckyann gasped and fell on her face in the sand, trembling as her unholy energies attempted to knit damaged flesh back together. She lay there for several minutes, feeling nothing but the burnt agony of nerve endings that had been in touch with energies she was not designed to experience. She idly noted that for a few moments she could smell the scent of salt air on the wind, her sense of smell returning briefly.

Her comm buzzed as one of her Knights called in, "Sergeant? Are you alright Sergeant? I saw a flash of magic. Report please."

Beckyann rolled over in the sand, brushing grains of it from the cloak clasp she wore that contained her comm. Her voice came out hoarsely, malice in the tone, "Shut the Fel up, do you understand me?! Maintain comm silence until you are ordered otherwise!"

"Y-yes, Ma'am!" came the hesitant reply.

She rolled her eyes, hoping to whatever gods might be listening that Red, Nis'tara, or anyone else for that matter had not been monitoring the comm channel. The last thing she needed was to have to explain why she'd visited the island again. She slowly picked herself up, brushing sand from her hair and spitting another glob of blood onto the sand. She'd have to clean herself up before she returned or they would know she'd been up to something.

With a grin she looked back towards where her patrol was, another thought crossing her mind. If they were in combat, that too would explain their rather ragged appearance. And as a plus, Mister Ghoul-Food up there would learn a valuable lesson about being too curious. With a grin she stalked away from the now-silent graves, setting out to do what she was meant to do. In all of Icecrown, there had to be something to destroy...