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...