Shattered Chains

*A Scourge ziggurat in Icecrown. The Fall of the Lich King*

Laraus Ketting sat forward on his throne, his staff coming up in one hand and banging loudly on the stone floor, the sound echoing through the ziggurat and rebounding from the haunted halls of the structure. Distant rattling, growling, and groaning could be heard from the unliving that roamed the structure’s interior, the Scourge patrolling their base with impunity.

After a moment the echoing of the staff’s crash faded, and the sound was replaced by the sound of armored boots approaching. The necromancer smirked to himself, leaning back in the stone throne like a king holding court. He was hardly that of course, being a powerful necromancer but just another cog in the war machine that was the Scourge forces in Icecrown. Even so, the ziggurat and all within it were under his control, and so he played at the role with the dead who must obey his commands.

A figure entered the chamber, dressed from neck to toes in dark black plate armor, a spear glowing with unholy runes strapped to her back. Long blonde hair fell down around an elven face that still held all of the beauty it once had in life, and the delicate curves of the elf’s form was not lost on Laraus as he watched her approach. He knew his acolytes thought him disgusting for his ogling of his elven death knight, but what did he care for the opinion of his minions whom were simply fodder as far as he was concerned?

As she had been instructed to do long ago, the death knight approached within ten feet of him before falling to her knees, her head bowed. The spear she carried scraped on the floor alongside her plate armor, making a terrible clatter as she got into position. The rune-spear had been his idea, as the death knight was his ultimate weapon within the ziggurat and therefore was his ceremonial guard whenever he met others of equal position within the cult. She would stand behind him, her cold beauty matched by the deadly weapon she carried; the perfect trophy piece to show his conquests.

He waited a few minutes, watching her as she knelt before him, admiring her for a time before waving his hand and allowing her to rise. She did so, coming to stiff attention before him, her glowing eyes unseeing as she stared straight ahead, “You summoned me, Master?”

Laraus grinned, the thrill of complete control over his entire domain a thing he never tired of. He nodded, gesturing with his hands, “I did. The so-called Argent Crusade makes progress into Icecrown, particularly the Master’s citadel. I am concerned that they will launch attacks on other targets as opportunity permits, such as this structure. It is my desire that you prepare extra defenses around the ziggurat’s entrance and that traps be set in the outer passageways. I have already informed my acolytes that they will not be permitted to leave the structure for some time.”

The blonde elf bowed stiffly, a hand coming up to her heart in a salute he had commanded her to give him every time he issued an order to her, “I hear and obey, Master.”

Laraus grinned, “I know you do. Now go. I do not wish to have the living assaulting my domain.”

He watched as she saluted him again, admiring her undead form as she turned to walk away. Just as she reached the edge of his audience chamber, there was a sudden shockwave of magic that surged through the ziggurat. Laraus felt it immediately, as if a great vacuum of power had opened up somewhere nearby, and it reverberated throughout all of the domain that he watched over in the name of the Lich King.

Where the shockwave had been a puzzling occurrence to the necromancer, it had far more impact on the death knight. She stumbled, staggering sideways until a hand came out to lean against a nearby pillar, her form swaying as she struggled to make sense of what had just come to pass.

Somewhere in the distance, a group of adventurers in conjunction with the Argent Crusade had finally slain the Lich King, and his fall had been felt by all of the undead in all of Icecrown.

The death knight blinked, shaking her head as a voice that had been with her for so long was suddenly silenced, a wave of images replacing the cold control of the Lich King and flooding her senses. She saw golden woods flying by as elves on hawkstriders rode through the forests of Quel’Thalas. She felt the cool, refreshing water of the Elrendar River on her feet as she dipped her toes in it on a lazy summer day. She tasted wine on her lips of the finest vintage, given out to guests at a party as they enjoyed the sight of fireworks in a starlit sky to celebrate some great holiday or event.

And behind all of the images, all of the sights and sounds, she heard a chorus of voices rising up in song, the sound a harmony that contained within it generations of her people, her heritage passed down the line from a kingdom that had lived peacefully in a golden realm untouched for thousands of years.

In that moment, she remembered who she was.

“Death knight! Seal the entrance to the ziggurat at once. I do not know what has come to pass, but we must be ready for an attack!” Laraus shouted, actually deigning to rise from his stone seat due to his nerves.

Expecting immediate obedience, he was shocked to see the black-armored form turn to stare at him, the gaze no longer unseeing, no longer a slave to his will. Instead he saw unending malice glowing in those two scourge-lit orbs, affixed on his person with an intensity that made him think of the primal, secret fear that all necromancers shared; that moment when their creations turn on them.

“Do as I say at once!” Laraus shouted, his voice sounding a bit weak even to his own mind.

The death knight paused, her form straightening as she turned to face him, and for the first time since her death she spoke with her own free will, the words coming slowly, “My name…..my name is Avielle Silverlight….”

Laraus’s eyes widened in shock and he backed up a step, falling unceremoniously back into his throne, “That cannot be! You are my servant! I have given you a command and you will obey!”

Avielle took a few steps into the room, her grip on her rune-spear tightening as a cascade of memories crashed through her mind. All of it spun within her, thoughts flashing wildly as she tried to make sense of it all, but underneath every thought was the knowledge that she had been a slave of the human who now shouted at her; a mere tool to use as he saw fit, keeping her in undying captivity under the thrall of the Lich King for all those many years.

Her voice echoed back, more confident now as her will surged, triumphantly reclaiming her body, “My name is Avielle Silverlight, and I am a daughter to slaughtered parents, sister to brothers who died defying the undead, leader of a people who perished at the hands of you and yours. Know now the terrible price of my vengeance, necromancer!”

Laraus sprang back to his feet, shouting out words in the language of Death, summoning more of the minions within the ziggurat to come to his aid. The lesser undead would have little in the way of memories as the more powerful death knight had, and would be useful in controlling her until he could reclaim his grip over her will.

From the corridors beyond skeletons loomed, rattling as they approached, their rusty weapons held ready. They moved more slowly than Laraus would have liked, stepping into the room and surrounding the death knight in a throng. “You will obey me once more, my pet! There are too many within my domain for you to fight. Surrender and I will forgive your outburst!”

Avielle looked around her, and for a moment sorrow passed over her features. She reached down, taking a horn made of bone from her belt and brought it to her lips, sounding a long trailing wail from the instrument. It was meant to signal the Scourge under her leadership to attack, the call a spell designed to lead them into battle. This time though, it had something beneath it; a ghostly echo of a silvery sounding horn that the elves of Quel’Thalas would sound before a battle.

The dead around Avielle stopped, the sound echoing coldly through the ziggurat. She looked at them, her voice softer now as she pleaded with them, “A great crime has been committed against each and every one of you. Each of you fought beside me, died a good death defending those who could not fight the evils that invaded our land. Instead of rest, you were cursed with this…this mockery of life whereby your hands would be stained with the blood of our own. Hear me now, sons and daughters of Quel’Thalas! Hear me now, retainers of House Silverlight! Heed my call! Take up arms once more for our banner, that we may right this terrible tragedy! Give to me your loyalty in death as you once did in life, and I will see that we are avenged!”

The air around the throng of skeletal dead shimmered, ghostly images forming here and there over the skeletons. Here the blue eyes of an elf stared with sorrow at Avielle, there a silver and blue banner materialized and fluttered in an unfelt wind. Though the ghosts were silent, each stared at Avielle in reverence, the Lich King’s fall having given them some semblance of free will for a moment.

In that moment, they chose to give of themselves, they chose to follow the heir of their House in death as they had in life. To a single creature, the throng of skeletons fell to one knee, their rusty blades held out in offering to the death knight.

The ghostly images faded, and Avielle returned her gaze to the necromancer on his throne. For the briefest of moments, he saw the outline of a ghostly silver circlet on her head, as if she wore a ceremonial piece of jewelry that those of noble blood might wear when commanding their servants at an event. It faded a heartbeat later, and the skeletons all rose, now turning to face him, weapons drawn.

Avielle’s voice echoed through the chamber, the cold sound final in its judgment, “Your time has come, necromancer. You and all those who dwell within this place will now pay for what you have done to my people. We shall leave no brick atop another when we are through here, and none shall remember you ever existed.”

Laraus stammered, trying to croak out the words to spells, trying to call for his acolytes to aid him even though he knew there were not enough of them to confront the undead that the death knight had wrested from his grasp. He tried to force his will upon Avielle again, only to find his power coldly and swiftly repulsed by the fiery will that now rode within her form.

As they came for him, he even screamed for the Lich King to aid him, although it was far too late for that.

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

Many hours later a throng of undead would exit the burning remains of a ziggurat and slip into the blowing snowstorms of Icecrown, not to be seen again by living eyes. A few cultists who observed this rebel group of undead leaving the structure would report seeing them lead by a figure on a deathcharger, her golden hair flowing down over the midnight black armor she wore, a flickering runeblade in the form of a spear strapped to her back.

An Inconvenient Past

As she neared the gates of Silvermoon City, Avielle slowed the speed of her deathcharger. The undead horse bit on its reins a bit, unsettled at the gaudy, bright entrance to the city and the two city guards who brought their weapons upright and eyed the mounted woman with suspicion. She brought her mount to a halt right before they would become uncomfortable enough to level their weapons at her, smiling at their discomfort.

It was only natural that they would question the approach of something undead from the direction of the Dead Scar. Her greeting at the city gates was the same each of the few times she'd returned to visit, and she knew that there was little that would ease the fears of the living elves in the walls beyond. Slowly, oh-so-slowly, she reached down, taking a small trinket out of a pouch on her belt and holding it up before them.

The little metal disc had the symbol of the Ebon Blade on it, and at the sight of it the guards relaxed just slightly. It had cost Avielle much to obtain the object, for she had not fought alongside those of Acherus while under the control of the Scourge. The Knights of the Ebon Blade had subjected her to intense, painful, intrusive, and humiliating tests both of her physical form and of her spiritual bond with her runeblade before they consented to give her one of their tokens. It had been worth it though, as the ability to freely enter Horde cities was vital.

The guards nodded at her, one of them pointing at her steed, "That creature cannot come beyond the walls."

The deathcharger, sensing the hostility, growled with a sound no ordinary horse would produce, making the guards more nervous. Avielle  rolled her eyes and dismounted, giving the two guards a harsh look before uttering words that no elf of Quel'Thalas should speak. The deathcharger shimmered once and then burst into dust, the drifting ashes blowing away in the winds of Eversong. She would summon it later, out of the eyesight of pesky patrols; she'd be damned if she was walking the entire way through the city to get to the translocation orb in Sunfury Spire.

With that task complete, she passed between the two guards quickly, ignoring the stares that she could feel boring into the black plate armor that covered her back, her stride confident as she entered Silvermoon proper and began her journey both to aid the Horde, and to discover a new purpose for her existence.

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

The Royal Exchange was beautiful, as it always had been even in Avielle's time. With gold and red hues and artfully shaped trees placed at just the right intervals, one who had time to stop and appreciate the beauty of the place would find much to admire. For Avielle, it was just a reminder of what she had lost and she tried to hurry along her way. She didn't wish to tour the city or interact with the Sin'dorei, who were somewhat alien to her given her state and the fact that she'd died before their way of thinking had risen into prominence. Above all else, she wished not to encounter anyone she'd known in life, as such meetings could be awkward at best and disturbing at worst.

As fate would have it however, luck was not on Avielle's side, and as she stepped around a cart carrying fresh fruit to a nearby stand, she nearly collided head on with a group of Sin'dorei who had also been trying to avoid the obstruction. She came face to face with someone she had never thought to see again, someone she never wanted to see again.

Her former betrothed, Vilreth Brightleaf, stood before her, his mouth open in surprise and elves bearing the colors of his House crowded around him.

Time might as well have frozen as Avielle stood still, her eyes wide in shock. Whatever her own surprise, Vilreth's face showed not only shock at seeing her, but immediately slipped into horror at what she clearly had become. His mouth opened and closed several times, at a loss for words before he managed to croak out her name, "Avielle..."

Avielle was at a loss herself, for what did one say to someone whom they once loved, whose actions had quite literally resulted in one's death? She took a moment to study him, noting how he had aged in the time since they had last seen one another. No longer the breathtakingly handsome youth to whom she was to be wed, now he was a strong, strikingly handsome adult elf, his House tabard barely concealing his broad shoulders and the rippling muscles on his arms. Arms that had once wrapped themselves around her, comforted her when she needed it, held her as they slumbered together after making love in the forests of Quel'Thalas.

It was too much to bear.

She turned to leave, only to find his hand grasping her arm, "Avielle....wait. Please, don't go, not yet. I....there's so much to say, so many things I would ask you. I believed you to be dead. I was told....was told..."

She turned, her scourge-blue eyes gazing into his now fel-green ones, "I am dead. I fell long ago, and you were right to think that. I died in the service of Quel'Thalas. I died because you and your House never came that day. I died trying to protect your light-forsaken sister."

He rocked back on his heels, the venom in her words almost like a physical blow. Part of her enjoyed it, enjoyed hurting him the way she was hurting inside just from seeing his face again, but she knew she couldn't continue on like this; it was too painful to have a reminder of her life, of her happiness so close to her. It twisted in her gut like a sword, cutting her to her soul. She turned to leave again, and this time he stopped her not with his hand, but with his words.

"My sister lives, Avielle. You and those of your House saved her. She escaped the Scourge that day."

She stumbled, her hands going to her temples as the emotional pain of his words struck her to her core. We didn't die in vain. Everything we fought for meant something. All of those who perished....someone lived to remember it, someone appreciated what we sacrificed. 

Avielle felt the world tilting around her, and fought desperately to remain in control. Her consciousness wanted to withdraw, wanted to flee the pain that her undead form could only turn into anger and hate. If she did though, if she fainted, her body would run on instincts, and it would be a bloody massacre. She felt herself falling, felt the ground rushing up to meet her until two strong arms wrapped themselves around her and halted her fall, Vilreth holding her tight in his embrace.

She struggled internally, choking back bitter vile and hatred that had sustained her for years, desperately trying to center herself. Vilreth turned her around, steadying her on her feet, looking into her eyes with a mixture of disgust and sorrow at what she'd become, "I'm so sorry, Avielle. We couldn't come. Minutes after I sent that missive to you, the dead poured over our defenses. We could have cut our way through to your House, but we had other allies who were closer to us that we had to aid. Allies whom had already sealed such accords with marriages as you well know when you accompanied me to my brother's wedding. I argued with my father, with my brothers, but they were adamant that we could not go back, even to rescue my sister. It was too dangerous, and there was too little to gain."

Avielle shuddered and her hands came out, violently shoving Vilreth away from her, breaking his embrace. Her voice was cold now, and scourge-light blazed in her eyes, "Too little to gain?!" That is your apology? That is what you say after making me watch my family and all of those who served us perish? Is that what you said to the heirs of House Sunblade? That there was too little gain and too much risk?"

He shook his head, frowning, "Avielle, I have apologized. There is little more I can do at this late hour. If I had known you were....like this...I would have-"

His words were cut off when she quite literally hissed at him, "Like what? Like a filthy dead bitch? Do you know that I suffered? That I took a mortal wound and lingered on for hours in wretched agony before they bound my soul? Do you know that for years I was a slave, the little part of my mind that was free wishing, hoping, praying for true death or that perhaps someone, anyone would come and rescue me? Hoping in my own idiotic fashion that the one who claimed to have loved me would come with his soldiers and cut down those who commanded my obedience?! And you think a fucking apology is going to fix all of that?!"

She was raging now, and every instinct in her undead form screamed at her to draw her runeblade and cut him to pieces. It must have been visible on her face, because several of Vilreth's retainers actually drew steel and made to step in front of them. He brought a hand up, signaling them to stand down. When he spoke now, his voice was cooler, more distant, "I see that I truly was wrong. You are not my Avielle. You cannot be, not like this. My Avielle would never have spoken so harshly, would never have let rage consume her, even when she felt angry. I truly am sorry for what has befallen you, but there is nothing more I can do or say. I thought you dead, and life had to press on despite my grief, and now you inflict the grief on me all over again by showing me what truly became of you. I wish you had died, and had not risen like...like this ghost of what you were."

She stopped, standing unnaturally still, not even breathing for a few moments and making Vilreth's retainers even more uneasy. When she spoke again, it was with a mastery of her form that she had learned through years of practice, of brutally suppressing her own emotions so that she could continue on and function. Her voice was hollow and cold now, like a distant winter wind, "No, you are right. Avielle Silverlight is dead. May she rest in peace. I will leave you to your 'life', Lord Brightleaf. I am happy to hear that your sister lives and prospers. Perhaps she will become something better than what you have become, or what I was forced to become. Good day to you, Lord Brightleaf."

It took every ounce of her self control to turn and walk away slowly, as if she were in control of her body. Within, her form raged, the need to harm her betrothed and his retainers almost unbearable. She could picture herself cutting their limbs off, chopping them to bits with her runeblade even while they screamed in agony, even biting them while they writhed in pain and taking bits of their flesh. The horrific images continued to flash through her mind the entire way back through the Royal Exchange.

She changed course, heading for the Bazaar and making her way into an alley between several of the structures until she found a dark, quiet place to fall to her knees and wail with grief. In the distance, residents heard the sound and several shuddered, closing the doors to their shops early as it sounded like a banshee had made its way past the guards and they wanted no part of such a creature.

Connecting with the World

The room was dark. Darker than a living person would prefer anyway, with only pale blue witchlight flames flickering dully where once a pure white magical glow shone. Avielle sat upon a rotting old divan, reclining against the soft material where there was any left, her scourge-blue eyes glowing fitfully in the darkness as she read over a tome that she held open in one hand.

The room around her was in equal disrepair, the walls blackened by fires that occurred years ago, the tiles cracked from the heat and, here and there, from the blows of weapons that had missed their mark and struck the floor. Now and again, a hole could be seen in the walls where arrows had once sunk into the wood only to be pulled free and fired again by desperate defenders.

That was not to say that efforts had not been taken to tidy up Silverlight Estate of course. The floors were swept clean of dust and debris, and though the furniture had seen better days and no noble would even think of using any of it given its condition, it was at least free of cobwebs and insects.

Avielle brought her other hand up, the tall glass she held filled with thick, red liquid. She sipped delicately, enjoying not the flavor, but what was contained within the liquid. Although she could consume normal food and drink, she had little need for such and a great need for agony and suffering. This need was filled when she harmed others, but could be staved off for a time by consuming the blood of one of her victims and tasting the residual spiritual torment that lingered on after death.

This particular vintage, as she liked to think of it, was of a Kaldorei Highborne that had wandered into Quel'Thalas intent on stealing Sin'dorei secrets. His death had been unfortunately gruesome at her hands, and the lingering fear and agony that had once flowed through his veins was like a snack to Avielle until she could feed on such emotion again.

She set the glass down on a table beside her divan, reaching up to turn the page of the tome she was reading. At that moment, a light began to flicker in the air, the eerie blue and purple forming to take the shape of a ghostly Quel'dorei. The ghost bowed before her, his partially see-through form bedecked in the former colors of House Silverlight.

"My Lady," the seneschal said, his voice echoing with a hollow sound, "We've received a missive from your contacts in Silvermoon."

With that, the ghost signaled and a skeletal warrior entered the room, bearing a sealed letter in one hand. The creature stopped near to where Avielle sat, and she nodded. She gestured, and a second skeleton stepped forward, handing her a perfectly clean white cloth that she used to blot her lips, the blood she'd drank staining them red. She handed the cloth back to the skeleton beside her, who bowed and backed away. With a fluid motion Avielle took the sealed letter, opening it and reading over the contents quickly.

She had few friends in Silvermoon, and those whom she remained in contact with had far more dealings with the Forsaken then with the ruling Sin'dorei elite. Even so, the message she read was alarming, telling of a horde of foreign orcs pouring from the now-red Dark Portal and laying waste to both Horde and Alliance fortresses in the Blasted Lands. It seemed the world was in peril from some unknown place.

Avielle gestured and her seneschal bowed deeply once before dematerializing. The skeletons in the room withdrew as Avielle rose from her seat, leaving her book of necromancy behind on the divan as she walked from the room and through the broken double doors of her family's estate house. The doors had been kicked in when the Scourge overcame the defenders outside, their resilience proving ineffective against the blows of abominations. She'd had them re-hinged, but the damage they'd received was still visible on the outside.

She walked across the desolate, eerie landscape that Silverlight Estate had become since the fall of Quel'Thalas and the creation of the Ghostlands. The dead trees loomed over the unkempt grounds, the calls of strange beasts and groans of distant undead in the forests around affecting Avielle not at all, for what were the walking dead to one such as she now? What could happen to her that was worse than what had already been done?

She was a silent, foreign shape moving across the dead lawns of the estate, her dark flowing gown something that would be fitting at a party instead of in a place that would give a party of adventurers anxiety. Save for the sheathed sword strapped to her belt, there was little to distinguish her from any other resident of Quel'Thalas if one overlooked the blue glow of her eyes. Of course, the blade at her hip was not a plain bit of steel, but was a runeblade capable of slaughtering any of the creatures that roamed on the grounds her family once ruled over.

Avielle had tried over the years to rid herself of her curse. She'd tried to abandon the runeblade, tried to go back to who and what she was, but it was an impossible task. Her soul was bound in darkness, and although she had found ways to transfer the binding from one blade to another, setting aside the weapon was as impossible as trying not to sustain herself with the agony of others. She was a monster now, and that was all there was to it; better to accept it then to fight the inevitable.

As she passed across the the last stretch of lawn before the broken gates of the estate, she paused, staring at the burned wreckage around the walls. It was here that she had set up the defenses; here that many of the Scourge had been slain. Even so, it had been in vain and beyond the walls there had been carnage and massacre. The site's evils drew her on as she walked like a siren call.

Beyond the broken wall was a clearing, the ground once paved with perfectly smooth stones in a circle to allow carriages to pull up to the estate's main gate and deliver passengers. Although the stones were uneven and scorched now, the circle was still visible, a relatively new construct centered in the middle of the space.

Avielle approached the stone monument, staring up at the statue she had ordered built there and pausing before it. It was a stone sword, the point planted firmly down in a stone base, the inscription on the bottom paying tribute to those who bravely fought and lost their lives beyond the gate's walls, particularly Lord Kelthias Sunblade and his retinue, who bought time for those fleeing with their lives.

Avielle knelt before the stone sword, reaching out to caress the inscription before closing her eyes and murmuring, "I do not know what to do. The world is in peril, but I've yet to even find or understand my place in it now. I have reclaimed this place, but to what end? So that I can dwell here like one of the beasts that haunt this forest, to feed on those unwary enough to approach my domain? What can I do to change this, to grow beyond this? Can the dead grow at all, can we learn?"

Although the question was asked aloud to give words to Avielle's thoughts, she was not expecting an answer. When the gloom of the Ghostlands suddenly brightened to the healthy light of full daylight, she gasped aloud and fell backwards, sitting in the fallen leaves that covered the ground and staring in shock at the statue.

Sunlight slanted down from seemingly nowhere, illuminating the sword in the ground and reflecting brightly. It almost hurt her, for she felt within it the touch of the Light. The glow intensified, a form taking shape in its brightness, an old Quel'dorei smiling down at her.

Avielle stared in utter shock as the ghost of Kelthias Sunblade nodded at her, his voice echoing from the great beyond, "Avielle Silverlight, of all of those who fell that day, you least deserved the fate bestowed upon you, and yet you linger on in suffering. This is a crime I'd say, but one for which there is no justice, no vengeance to be taken. And yet, it can have a purpose if you let it."

Avielle scrambled, sliding her body around until she was on her knees, staring up at the glowing figure of the elf; an elf that had died that same day and whose body she had never found, either truly dead or as one of the walking dead. It had been a mystery to her for years, and to see him now, his soul pure, was a profound shock. "I-I don't understand. W-what purpose? Why have you come before me?"

The old Quel'dorei looked at her sadly, his smile bittersweet, "You were once a citizen of our great nation. You fought, bled, and died for it and for those within it who could not defend themselves. Though you have been tainted now by that which you fought, do not forget who you are, who you were. Walk the path carefully, and you will rise above what has befallen you. Offer yourself to the world, and serve your people as you once did."

Avielle felt a stab of agony within her, the emotions roiling in her heart something that her form could not process. A stifled sob escaped her as she both sought to cry and to rage against the words, the beastly thing she'd become barely restrained, "Please, leave me I beg you. If you've any decency, any respect for the accord that existed between our Houses, leave me to my suffering and offer me no more wisdom."

The ghost of the old elf nodded once, looking sadly down at her as he floated in the air, "I will do as you ask, Avielle Silverlight. Know though that our accord still exists, so long as one of my line lives on. Think on this. Farewell, Lady of Silverlight, may your suffering ease in the years to come."

With that the light was gone, the ghost with it. Avielle stayed where she was on the ground, kneeling in the leaves and gasping as she tried to restrain herself. Hope battled with rage and sorrow, love for her people battled with the need to slaughter. She shuddered and brutally pushed it all down until she could think clearly, her mind focused on one singular point in all of the words she'd heard.

The accord still exists so long as his line remains. I can serve Quel'Thalas and its allies still. I can preserve the honor of my House if I walk the path carefully.

With that she was up, moving swiftly back across the lawns, already calling for her undead servants to fetch her armor. If invaders sought to destroy the allies of the Sin'dorei, then they had set their hands against her and her House. And in the process of cutting them down, she would investigate other things, such as what truly befell the rest of House Sunblade, and what that meant for her future. 

The Fall of Two Dynasties

*The outer regions of Quel'Thalas during the Scourge invasion, Silverlight Estate*

She paced the open space of the inner courtyard restlessly, her boots leaving tracks in the dew-laden lawn. Behind her rose the majestic structure of Silverlight Estate, the ancestral home of her family and the central structure overlooking the remote region of Quel'Thalas where it was constructed.

Sunlight slanted down through the beautiful trees of the forest, playfully reflecting off of Avielle Silverlight's golden locks as she turned and began her pacing once more, the worry on the Quel'dorei's face obvious to all who knew her. Beyond the confines of the inner courtyard walls, shouting arose and the sounds of something detonating echoed ominously through the air, giving Avielle pause and causing her to tilt her head to listen anxiously.

Around her, servants bustled and hurried, carrying weapons, spare arrows, or buckets of water to put out the inevitable fires. The estate was under siege by a massive horde of walking dead, and every hand was bent towards the task of its defense. Avielle had been assigned to coordinate the activities within the inner courtyard as her parents set out with her brothers to hold the perimeter of the estate's grounds. The estate itself was built within a dell, and the natural slope of the land had allowed House Silverlight to construct light defenses where the ground curved down, preventing the horde of undead from reaching the estate directly.

Others had flocked to the estate from neighboring houses and towns that had been overrun, those who could fight put to work with the other defenders while the innocents had been bustled inside the walls of the sturdy elven building. Although Avielle had found herself busy with the petty details of organizing the inner defenses and ensuring there were adequate stocks of ammunition and supplies, her tasks had been completed relatively quickly and now she found herself pacing with anxiety as the sounds of battle grew louder just beyond the wall.

Another explosion rocked the ground, this time powerful enough to make Avielle stumble for a moment. The Scourge had deployed siege weapons; there was no other explanation for the explosions. Either that or magic so powerful that she cared not to think about it even now was being used to exterminate the outer defenses that they had prepared.

Screams arose just beyond the wall, horns blowing frantic warcries as something was happening. The sounds of hurried footsteps on the paved path beyond the gates could be heard just before the doors swung wide and a number of harried looking defenders poured through, many sporting gruesome wounds.

Avielle watched in fascinated horror as several of the Quel'dorei in the rear of the group turned and fired bows at point blank ranges into the advancing undead before the defenders within the courtyard were able to slam the gates shut and bar them. Immediately pounding could be heard on the outer wall and a thin rain of arrows arced over the structure to land within the courtyard beyond.

Avielle stood frozen amidst the chaos, unsure of what to do. A figure approached her, an older Quel'dorei in gleaming blue and gold armor, gore-encrusted sword in his hand and a grim expression on his face as he paused before her and offered her a formal bow, "Lady Avielle, I bring grim tidings. The Scourge have overrun our defenses through foul magic and the use of abominations to barrel through our barricades. Most of those on the wall have fallen, amongst them your parents and your brothers. I am truly sorry, but we could not hold the line."

Avielle looked at the elf with numb shock, the words barely registering. She felt as if she might faint, and her mouth opened and closed for a moment before she managed a hoarse whisper, "Lord Sunblade...c-can it be true...? I-I..."

Lord Kelthias Sunblade caught her before she fainted, his strong arm supporting her until she regained her senses, sorrow on his face, "I am sorry, my Lady. We did what we could to hold them back, but I fear we are trapped within the estate itself now. You are now the heir of your House, and these men are yours to command. I will aid you as I may, but you must inspire them as quickly as you can lest this rout turn into a massacre."

Avielle nodded, still in a daze as she righted herself, her voice low, "B-but...my betrothed, Lord Brightleaf, said he would be here within the hour with reinforcements. How could things have turned so dire so quickly...?"

Kelthias shook his head grimly, pity on his face as he gently broke the news to the stunned young heiress, "Only one of my scouts returned beyond the Scourge lines, and his report indicates that House Brightleaf began a withdrawal as soon as the Scourge were in sight. I am sorry, my Lady, but they aren't coming. We must fend for ourselves."

Avielle processed this latest bit of disaster, the betrayal of her betrothed a secondary fact to the horror of losing her entire family in a single morning. She swallowed hard, her glowing blue eyes coming up to meet those of Kelthias Sunblade. He reached out, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze and a gentle nod before he spoke again, "Lady Silverlight, know that House Sunblade will stand beside you until the end. Although I have few of my retinue left, we will not allow the innocents inside your estate house to fall to these undead monstrosities. You have my word on this."

Avielle nodded, her voice becoming firm when she replied, resolve blooming in her eyes, "I thank you for this, Lord Sunblade. I will never forget what you and your House have done for us this day, for as long as I shall live. We will see those in our care safely from this trap, regardless of the cost."

She turned, seeing those fighters who were left of her House watching the exchange closely. Her tone was steady now as she looked each of them in the face, her words heard across the courtyard, "This day we face a most terrible foe. Many of our House have already fallen, their lives spent in honor defending those who cannot defend themselves. Know that I will make my stand here, in this place, and that none of the living dead shall pass by us to those behind. I know that this poses great risk, and I do not command any of you to stay here and fight beside me. No, instead I beg you, I plead with you to stay that we may help those who came to our door seeking sanctuary. There will be no shame on any who choose not to fight, for I know well the fear that stirs in all of our hearts. For those who are willing to stay, we must prepare at once; the gates will not hold long."

To a soul, those of House Silverlight who were left fell to one knee, each pledging their lives for the cause. Lord Sunblade drew his sword again, bowing low towards Avielle and offering her a salute, his voice also firm, "Know that House Sunblade stands beside you. Until the sun sets on us all, we fight!"

"We fight!" Avielle echoed, drawing her own blade and raising it high. The defenders all rose, roaring their defiance as they scurried into positions within the inner courtyard. Avielle had been clever, carefully preparing ambush points and barricades from which keen elven archers could fire at advancing enemies. To this planning she had added an extra step, preparing pots of weapon oil and placing them near the gate opening. As she fell back towards the estate's main double doors, archers prepared flaming arrows in positions around her.

The pounding on the gates grew louder, the wooden structure beginning to splinter before it finally burst inward from the force of an abomination's blows. Immediately the undead began to pour into the gap, another rain of rusty-tipped arrows pouring over the walls.

The defenders returned fire, arrows slamming into the first shambling corpses that entered the narrow opening, flaming arrows striking the pots on their side of the gate. The pots exploded, sending a fireball up into the sky and coating the oncoming abomination with flaming oil, causing it to flail around and ignite other undead before it collapsed in a smoking heap.

A ragged cheer rose up from the defenders as the advance of the dead halted in the courtyard, dozens of zombies falling to the keen precision of elven archery. The cheering was short-lived though as the door behind Avielle burst open and one of her servants rushed out, her face ashen.

"Lady Silverlight! There are giests breaking through the windows to the rear of the estate! They're going to get inside to the children!" the elf panted, out of breath.

Avielle's face fell as she realized the estate had become surrounded, she turned towards Kelthias, her face grim, "We have to get them out of here now."

He nodded, flicking his sword to get some of the gore off it, "They won't make it through the Scourge hordes. The only way is to distract them long enough to get the children to safety."

Avielle frowned, shaking her head, "We don't have enough men to push forward again, Lord Sunblade."

He nodded, a half-smile on his face as he resigned himself to his fate, "I know, Lady Silverlight. I will push them back for as long as I can. See that they get to safety, and that our sacrifice means something."

Avielle's eyes widened in shock and she shook her head, "You can't! You're the Lord of House Sunblade. You can't spend your life like this. Your people need you. I need you here. I can't do this alone!"

He shook his head, planting his sword in the ground and checking the straps on his armor, his men preparing themselves as well, "No, Lady Silverlight, you do not need me. It is you who prepared the inner defenses, you who thought to shelter the children in the estate where they have been safe and alive for all this time during the battle. You are a fine leader, and it is time for you to take up that mantle. Do me one favor though, tell my wife Sassariel, and my daughter Kyliska that I love them dearly, and that I am sorry I cannot be with them again."

Avielle nodded, tears in her eyes as Lord Sunblade turned. Her voice was a whisper on the wind as he strode away from her, his doomed retinue prepared to sell their lives dearly, "I will...."

And then there was no more time to talk or think. She shouted orders and her men hopped to obey them, scrambling to get the children and infirm out of the estate house and onto the front porch so that they could be brought around the back of the structure and into the forests beyond. Whether they would be safe there was anyone's guess, but Avielle would send enough rangers to at least give them a chance.

Behind her a warcry rose up, and she turned to see the last glorious charge of House Sunblade, their lord leading the way and their swords gleaming in the dying light of the day. The Scourge beyond the walls reeled back as their ranks were penetrated by the advancing elves, dozens and then hundreds of them falling to the skill and bravery of Lord Kelthias Sunblade.

Avielle watched him for as long as she could, even after he and his men were completely surrounded. It was not until drifting smoke from the flames at the barricades blocked her view that she finally tore her gaze away from the scene, finding herself and just a few retainers standing alone on the porch, the children ushered away behind the house and to questionable safety.

"Lady Silverlight, it is time to go," one of her men said.

"No. If we leave now, they will overtake the refugees. Someone has to stay, someone has to delay them," Avielle said quietly.

There was no response to her words save the drawing of weapons as the last of her retainers grimly prepared to die beside the Lady of their house. For her part, Avielle bent down and picked up a second fallen sword, holding one in each hand defiantly as a roar arose beyond the wall and the dead advanced again.

Through the smoke and flames they came, skeletons, zombies, and all manner of horrors rushing across the now undefended ground of Silverlight Estate. Avielle and her men waited for them on the steps and the porch, their bodies set in place, prepared to meet the enemy in the final battle.

It came and went swiftly, the dead pouring over them like a wave. Everything moved as if in slow motion, Avielle's weapons lashing out again and again, cutting down an endless number of undead. Around her, the last remaining men of House Silverlight fought with courage and bravery that should have been recorded for future generations to remember, and yet would be forgotten as they fell one by one, trampled beneath the walking dead.

At last, it was Avielle's turn, a sword thrust towards her too quickly for her to avoid it. The cold of the blade sliding into her chest was a shock that was soon overcome by hot white pain. Blood poured from her mouth, and she slid to her knees as the skeleton that had stabbed her continued on, hacking at her men.

Her gaze stared up at the blue sky above, the sunlight slanting down through the hazy smoke of her family's burning estate the last thing her living eyes would ever take in. And then darkness claimed her, and she was no more.

That is, until she was made to rise again.

Renewing the Pact

The door to the small room closed quietly behind Serephel as she locked herself in. The room that the Myrewood Historical Society had provided her was small, but compared to the rooms she'd had at various taverns it was not bad by any standards. It was also far preferable to sleeping in a hayloft or ruined building, which she had also done in the past.

Serephel sighed, walking over to the bed and sitting down on top of it, feeling bone weary. The weather around Surwich was not pleasant for her, the mixture of the swampy, fetid air and the blowing sand from the deserts beyond creating havoc for her health. On top of that, she had many weighty matters to consider after the revelations of the evening.

The Society is a cover for a coven! What amazing luck!

When she'd written her letter of introduction, never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that she might stumble upon others of the craft. She had only hoped to possibly gain access to historical records and other fragments of knowledge that would aid in her research into plague. That she was far more likely to find such information now was certain, and that she could potentially freely make use of her own talents was a thought that put a smile on her face.

"They'll betray you, you know. You don't need them anyway. There are much better solutions," a malignant voice piped in, interrupting her thoughts.

Serephel glared, staring across at the wooden chair that occupied a space near a very small desk. Upon the chair sat the imp, Zormir. Her tormentor as well as her savior, depending on how one looked at it.

"Shut up, I neither asked for your advice nor care to hear it," Serephel growled. She flopped over backwards on the bed, a hand on her forehead as the room spun. She was feeling quite ill after spending two days near the swamp.

"You could put an end to all of this you know," the imp continued, unphased by the woman's response. "There are demons aplenty in the swamp nearby. If you performed the ritual on enough of them, you would never again need to worry about your condition."

"Silence!" Serephel snapped, rage in her voice. "I would not even be in this position if not for your delightful little bargain all those years ago! How dare you think to advise me now when-"

Her tirade cut off abruptly as she began to cough, doubling over on the bed. The cough became a wracking, heaving gasp for breath as it grew worse. She held an arm over her mouth, coughing bitterly into her sleeve as the imp watched impassively from its seat nearby. When Serephel finally managed to control the fit, she brought her arm away only to see bright red blood on the fabric of her shirt.

"Fuuuuuck..." she murmured, stumbling from the bed. "Not now, not so soon....no, no no!"

She lurched across the room to where she had left her pack, falling to her knees beside it and tearing at the lacing to open one of the pouches on the side, all the while feeling another coughing fit coming which she desperately tried to keep in check.

"Look at you," the imp said impassively, "you could be so much more than this. So much more powerful if you just complete what we started. Go into the swamp and take enough of them to transcend this."

"Ooooh right," Serephel replied sarcastically. "Let me absorb enough fel energy to shed my mortal shell. Yes, exposing my unprotected soul to the nether and the more powerful beings within it sounds like a fantastic idea."

Finally finding what she was looking for, she pulled out a small glass vial with a rather foul smelling liquid in it. She crinkled her nose and tipped the vial back, drinking it down as fast as she could. Immediately she felt some relief, the impending threat of another coughing fit settling down a bit. Even so, she knew it would soon be time to renew the pact and claim enough fel energy to purge her system of her illness once more.

"You know it doesn't have to be like that," the imp protested, grinning as the warlock dropped the empty vial into her pack in obvious disgust. "How much longer can this go on, can you go on?"

"Continue with this line of thought and it will be you who serves as my next source of corrupt energy," Serephel replied, her gaze affixed on the creature with some malice now. "The only good in your words is the suggestion that I find one of the native demons wandering in the swamp and perform the ritual on them. Now go and leave me be, I already don't feel well and your presence sickens me."

"As you wish, mistress," the imp replied with a grin. "Just remember my words; others will not aid you with this. Eventually you will have to make another hard choice and either heed my advice or die."

Serephel rose suddenly, flames flickering to life on her fingertips, "You are running out of time to leave."

The imp gave her one last foul little grin before fading from sight, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She shook her head, staring hard at the now empty chair, "Whether they can aid me or not, it matters little. I've not had allies in many years, or anyone to even speak with about my real life. Better that than speaking to the likes of demons until I am driven mad."

She turned and walked back to the bed, easing herself down on top of it and closing her eyes. She could feel the tonic taking effect, further dampening the desire to cough up the fluids she felt in her lungs. Her pounding headache had diminished, and soon she would be able to think clearly enough to perform more complex rituals, which was just as well because the imp's words echoed in her mind as she lay in thought; she was running out of time and the pact had to be renewed soon.

"Nether take it all," she murmured, finally rising again and mentally preparing herself. She reached down and rolled up her sleeve, ensuring that her ritual dagger was securely strapped to her wrist. She would need to slip out into the night and find one of the local demonic entities wandering through the swamp. It would be long, tiring, and dangerous work but once she found one, she could collect its energy, renewing herself and cleansing the illness from her body.

By the morning she would feel much better, for a time. It never lasted and she knew it never would. With grim determination on her face she slipped out of her room. She would live on, no matter what the cost.

A Favor for a Friend!

*Ghostlands, early evening*

Kyliska's charger plodded along the now rarely used path, the gloom of early evening coming fast in the Ghostlands. The oddly glowing foliage and distant rustling of possibly undead creatures moving through the half-dead brush were a constant reminder that this part of Quel'Thalas was not now, and likely never would be tamed again.

Kyliska didn't care of course; that was the whole point. She was going somewhere secluded to think for a while, and if some undead slaying came her way, well that was cathartic as well in some cases. She had left behind the annoying trappings of her new role in life and even her original role in House Sunfire. Dressed in simple studded leather and taking with her little more than a pack of supplies and her trusty ax, she had even left behind the House Sunfire barding and banners that she would typically have displayed on such a trip.

The journey had taken several hours, and by now her dear Andi would be well aware of her absence. That was just as well; he would only have tried to stop her and the last thing she wanted right now as to confront the reality of the next few years. Marriage and a new life seemed like grand ideas when one looked at them from a distance, but up close they could downright cause a great deal of fear, and a ton of anxiety and she'd had enough of both for a bit.

A particularly large crackle in the nearby underbrush gave Kyliska pause, and she pulled back on the reins of her charger for a moment, the animal coming to a halt as she scanned the surrounding dead trees.

A zombie or something else crawling through the bushes, or a bat coming out of its roost and upsetting the foliage around its lair? 

The Ghostlands could be a dangerous place even in daylight, and she would not walk blindly into trouble if trouble had indeed found her. She remained perfectly still, dusk falling as she sat motionless, her glowing green eyes staring intently into the darkness.

The explosion came suddenly and so unexpectedly that it startled even the alert Kyliska. One moment she was staring into darkness, the next moment a wall of explosive flame flared to life across her path. Kyliska's charger bucked at the sudden frightening crackle of flames, the animal rearing up. Although it was trained for battle, its rider's unease had settled into the beast, and it was beyond all control. Desperately Kyliska held the reins, even as the beast began to buck her off its back. She scrambled, managing to snatch a hold of her ax's pommel and one of her packs before she was hurled from the saddle.

Another wall of flames burst to life beside her, and her startled charger nearly trampled her as it turned and fled, forcing Kyliska to roll in the dirt to avoid its hooves. The foliage around her crackled and hissed with the orange flames, but she noted that the sounds of larger creatures moving through the brush could be heard under the sound. In an instant she was on her feet, ax in hand as she turned towards the source of the sounds.

The wall of flames seemed to bend as a form surged through it, the demonic visage of a felhunter appearing from the darkness. The beast reached Kyliska in three charging strides, her ax narrowly deflecting its jaws. Behind Kyliska, another wall of flames erupted, pinning her into a narrow alley of burning fire. It was clear now she was in the center of an ambush, and her warcry echoed through the forest as she brought her ax to bear on the felhunter.

A second demon lurched from the wall of fire, the newly arrived felhunter charging at her legs and forcing her back even as she scored a minor hit to the first one's head, severing one of its tentacles. The beast howled like a wounded dog, and the howl was taken up by the second felhunter.

And then howls came from at least three more from beyond the flames.

Kyliska knew she was in trouble now as a third demonic hound lurched through the wall of fire, blocking her access to the only path clear of the flames. She battered it with her ax, forcing it back and whirling to meet the attack of a second demon, the creatures attacking her almost like a pack of wolves might. Such creatures did not belong in Quel'Thalas however, and were not native to the Ghostlands. As a result, Kyliska knew she had another foe somewhere in the darkness that she couldn't see. She pointed into the forest, shouting holy words and instantly the woods burst into clear, brilliant light.

In the distance, beyond the wall of fire a figure stood within the trees, staring at her from where it had been revealed. Kyliska pointed again and again shouted out words of power, her holy judgement flying across the distance and forcing the distant figure to duck behind a tree as her power stripped the bark from the wood.

Wicked, almost delighted laughter filtered through the forest as Kyliska was again forced to defend herself as a fourth felhunter emerged from the fires, this one snapping its jaws at her legs. She swung her ax hard, the blade connecting with the beast's head and removing said head in a single stroke, the corpse flying by her and slamming into one of her other attackers.

A felhunter jumped up, its teeth clamping down on her shoulder and causing her to cry out as the pressure from the bite pinched through her lighter armor. She slapped a hand against it, holy magic pouring into the beast and causing it to Turn. It howled, fleeing in terror from her holy form even as another of the creatures jumped at her.

Kyliska whirled, her hand coming up again and this time she uttered her most powerful of holy spells. The felhunter was struck mid-air by her exorcism, the words of Light utterly obliterating it from existence and sending it back to the nether as if it had never been. A fading howl was all that remained of it as Kyliska laughed and turned to face another of the beasts.

That was when she was struck by fel magics, the chaotic bolt of pure energy surging from the forest beyond and hitting her squarely in the back. The force of the blow spun her around and dazed her, the felhunters she had been about to fight leaping towards her to take advantage of the moment. The weight of two of the demons struck her in the back of the legs and on one arm as she was bit again, and she fell beneath them, her ax flailing wildly.

In desperation, she swung again, her blow neatly beheading another of the creatures as the last one clamped down hard on her shoulder and worried at it like a dog attacking prey. A blast of cold black fel energy slammed down upon her and the night sky spun as she was dazed again, her ax finally flying from her hands.

As she stared up, the figure she had seen earlier loomed over her, the felhunter on her shoulder sitting as the person uttered a command, its weight pinning down her entire right arm and shoulder. The figure kneeled down, putting weight on Kyliska's chest with one of her legs as she loomed close in the glow of the fire.

Kyliska found herselt staring up at a human woman with long, jet black hair. The woman grinned at her, her pock-marked face disturbing with the half-illumination coming from the inferno in the woods, "Greetings Kyliska Sunfire. A mutual acquaintance wishes to impart a message to you. It is something you will absolutely love to see I'm sure."

"I don't know any human scum, so I seriously doubt that you know anyone that I also know, bitch," Kyliska responded with a snarl. She brought a hand up, grabbing the woman's leg and shoving her off as she struggled to get the demon off her, its teeth clamping down harder and drawing blood now.

The woman grinned, her hand coming out and back-handing the prone elf, one of her plain traveler's boots coming down and firmly stepping on Kyliska's free arm, pinning it as she bent close again, "Oh, but we do, Lady Sunfire. You simply don't know who it is, that is all. Also, how very rude of me; I have not introduced myself. Given that you and I will be traveling together for a short time, it is only proper that I observe the formalities, wouldn't you say?" She grinned and laughed as Kyliska attempted to wrest her arm free from the demon's jaws.

"Your name doesn't matter, human. I'm going to tear you to pieces in about three seconds. I could put your name on whatever grave marker I make for you though," Kyliska growled, still struggling.

The woman frowned, shaking her head, "You bore me, Lady Sunfire. I had expected more wit from one such as you. Regardless, I am Serephel Delange and I will guide you to the place where you will receive your little message. You can go peacefully or not. I care little either way."

Kyliska grinned and spat up at the woman, her spittle hitting the human right in the face. The woman who had called herself Serephel frowned, bringing a hand up to wipe the spit from her face before shaking her head, "You are fortunate our mutual friend wishes you alive and well, or I would literally tear your heart from your chest you skinny little bitch. As it is, now this is going to hurt far more than necessary."

"Do your worst, bitch!" Kyliska snarled. Light flared in her hand and the felhunter whined as it was wounded.

Serephel lurched forward suddenly, a grin on her face and a sacrificial dagger in her hand. She held it against Kyliska's throat, pressing it close and forcing the other into immobility, "Oh I shall, Kyliska. I shall. And you will regret very much every word you have spoken here."

Kyliska opened her mouth to say something more, but Serephel suddenly reversed the dagger and brought the pommel of the weapon down hard on Kyliska's forehead. The blow dulled her senses, the strike hard enough to make the world spin around her. She saw Serephel looming over her, the human grinning as she brought the dagger up and hit Kyliska again.

And again, and again.

Probably by the ninth time she could have stopped, but Serephel was having fun after all. Besides, bruises weren't likely to be fatal, and the little bitch deserved what she got. After a time she grew tired and bored, and put her dagger away, signaling to the felhunter to release its victim. She stared down at the unconscious blood elf and grinned, uttering the words to a spell and opening a demonic gateway that glowed with foul green light.

With a sigh, Serephel bent down and grabbed Kyliska's legs, beginning the process of dragging her victim to her destination beyond the gate.

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

Hours later, Kyliska would wake up with a throbbing headache in a dusty room dimly lit by a small fire in a nearby hearth. After her vision stopped spinning and she had assessed her aches, she could see in the minimal light that the room contained a dirty old bedroll upon which she was sitting, a table with an iron key atop it, and a pile of sacks in the corner that looked to contain some food and wineskins judging by what was sticking from the top.

Kyliska groaned and went to rise, the movement arrested by the rattle of a chain. She looked down, eyes wide as she saw her shoes had been stolen and that around one leg was a dark iron manacle that chained her by the ankle to the floor of whatever dilapidated old building she was imprisoned in.

Even as she discovered this, a shadow moved in the doorway and a female figure entered the room, the nearly naked succubus grinning at her captive and smiling, "Oh! You're awake! That's perfect as the show is about to begin soon. Please, Lady Sunfire, let me know if you need anything. I would love to serve you."

With that the demoness moved further into the room, setting a small orb down on the floor. Kyliska recoiled at being so close to a demon, and she began to utter the words to another exorcism spell. Pain shot through her like an electric shock as she began, and she looked down in horror to see glowing fel green runes along the manacle on her ankle, interrupting her spellcasting.

"Oh Lady Sunfire!" the demoness scolded. "No magic in here please! You're here to watch a few things and I'm here to tend to your every need!"

The demoness giggled and stepped away from the orb, gesturing at her, "This will show you exactly what you need to see! I'll be in the next room, so just call me if you need me 'kay? I'd love to help!"

With that the foul creature practically pranced from the room, leaving the glowing orb where it sat. Kyliska looked at it for a moment and then her mouth opened in shock as it glowed more brightly and began projecting a magical image into the air in front of her, the orb clearly having been linked to a scrying spell.

A spell that showed Kyliska's own bedroom at Sunfire Estate.

She felt her stomach dropped as she realized the orb was about to show her something horrible, and her mind raced as she tried to think about who could have done this, or who that Serephel woman knew. She curled up as best she could against the wall, her knees pressed against her chest as she watched the glowing image, waiting to see what new horror would be inflicted upon her next.

Three Little Scarlets

*Before the fall of Southshore to the Forsaken. An isolated cabin in the Hillsbrad foothills.*

Serephel grinned as she pushed the door open, slipping quietly into the small cabin's interior before shutting the door behind her. She was greeted with the sound of utter silence as the cabin's inhabitants looked at her in stunned shock.

There were four people occupying the small space. Three of them were grizzled looking men, dressed in an assortment of old chainmail armor. Their weapons and equipment were so varied that the only thing they really had in common is that each wore a red bandana around their foreheads; cloth that had obviously just been donned as none of the bandanas showed signs of wear or dirt from the road.

The fourth occupant was a woman in her early twenties. Laying atop a table that sat in the middle of the one room cabin, she was trussed up like a wild animal taken in a hunt, her mouth gagged. Her eyes were wide and wild, and she squirmed against her restraints in her place on the table. She was obviously a prisoner of the three men, and obviously frightened.

Based on their positions, the prayer books that were out in the cabin, and the way they were dressed Serephel realized she had encountered a small group of Scarlet bandits who likely were 'cleansing' people in the region as they had been doing for some time now.

As Serephel closed the door, the three men each reacted different. The one closer to her blushed slightly, as if ashamed of something, his eyes averted from her.

"Too weak willed," Serephel thought.

The second was brash, pulling out two shortswords and glaring at her, his breathing already labored as he prepared himself for grim close quarters fighting against what, to his eye, was likely a second unarmed woman.

"Too brash and not enough thought," Serephel judged.

The last man was slightly shorter than the other two. The moment the door opened he shifted in position, putting the bound woman and table between himself and the intruder. He pulled a small dagger, holding it over the woman's chest to menace her and keep Serephel back. He also glared at Serephel, his voice firm as he spoke, "Stay back or I will kill her right here and now."

"Intelligent. Cunning. Merciless. Just right," Serephel decided.

She shifted, stepping further into the room and causing the tension to rise many times higher. She pointed at the man with the dagger, the black nailpolish on her fingertip glinting in the dim candle light as she spoke softly, "You and you alone will come with me. The others are not my concern and I care not what you are doing here. Come quickly or you will test my patience."

The man's eyes bulged and he pressed the dagger point menacingly into the woman, causing her to squeal in fright, "I said stay back. I'm serious about this."

Serephel rolled her eyes and flicked a hand towards the larger, more brash looking of the two men on her side of the table. Flames spewed from her fingertips, instantly settling on him and immolating him where he stood. He began to scream, dropping his blades and running around until he struck a wall and collapsed, still in flames. Serephel looked at the man behind the table before taking another step towards him, almost purring as she spoke, "Last chance. I am not here to rescue hostages and don't really give a crap about your threats. I have needs."

The leader of the trio snarled, stabbing viciously into his hostage, her blood flowing from the fatal wound. His companion lurched forward, blade coming out and towards Serephel's unprotected side as the other scarlet attempted to circle the table and approach her from the opposite direction.

She moved quickly, her hands coming up and facing palm outwards towards the silent scarlet that was attacking her flank. Flames spewed forth, vicious fel magic burning everything in its path. The man screamed, also immolated as he kept moving. Serephel dodged his clumsy flailing, watching with amusement as he slammed into the leader of the group as the other tried to attack her from behind. As the two fell, she flicked her hands out again, this time more carefully controlling her fires and burning the leader up his legs, crippling him with the searing magic.

And then the battle was over, two crackling corpses and one quietly weeping, severely wounded scarlet all that was left of her foes. Rolling her eyes, Serephel stepped past the burning men, circling the table. She reached out, touching the hostage's corpse before pushing it from the table, leaving a bloody streak across the wood. She turned towards the weeping man, kicking him viciously with a boot to disarm him of his dagger while murmuring a spell.

Demonic energy seeped through Serephel's body, and she reached down, grabbing the man and hauling him up onto the table as if he weighed nothing. The spell quickly expired, leaving her panting and causing her to have a coughing fit, the sound nearly drowning out the moans of agony from the scarlet leader.

When Serephel's fit had passed, she grimaced as she saw her own blood on the sleeve of her shirt. Shaking her head, she picked up the fallen dagger the man had dropped, standing over him. She cut away his shirt with the weapon, her fingers tracing over his bare chest as she grinned at him, "You will do perfectly I think!"

The man was in little condition to respond, his blood pouring from horrific burns on his legs. It was just as well to Serephel; she didn't like to talk to her victims anyway. She chanted an incantation, her finger tracing fel symbols across his chest and leaving green magics shimmering in the air. When she was done, she casually brought the dagger up and then plunged it down into the man's still-beating heart, killing him instantly.

Fel power flowed through the room, the candles and the flaming corpses flickering fitfully as the spell was completed. A moment later a spark of green flame appeared, settling on the edge of the table and taking on the form of an imp. It grinned at Serephel, nodding with familiarity before speaking in its foul little voice, "We meet again! Care for a kiss?"

Serephel's nose crinkled in distaste and she shook her head, "The years for that have long past. You know the deal. A succubus. Now please if you would; I have other things to do."

The imp grinned and nodded, "You're no fun, you know that? Fine, you can have another wench." With that it disappeared, magic flaring in the air again.

The air beside Serephel shimmered, the light bending and slowly taking on the shape of a gorgeous female figure. A moment later the spell was complete, the succubus having been pulled into Azeroth's reality. The demoness blinked a few times in confusion, looking around the cabin and taking in the burned corpses. Her eyes finally fixed on Serephel, one artfully sculpted brow rising in question.

Serephel gave the creature no explanation; she merely stepped towards her, pressing her body against the demon, her head tilting forward until their lips met. The lustful demon shivered, its strangely glowing eyes drifting closed as the warlock kissed her. Serephel let the kiss linger, her body pressing closer to the creature, one hip sliding against the succubus. She almost grinned as the demon responded, its long tongue entering her mouth.

Serephel plunged her dagger into the unsuspecting demon's heart.

Fel fires erupted around the creature, the demon's head tilting back in horror as it was destroyed. It's body shuddered once before erupting fulling into flames, its physical form failing as it was banished. The fires flared up and into Serephel's mouth, the warlock finally letting her own eyes drift closed as she inhaled deeply.

As always, the fires were pure bliss at first, the heat burning away the encroaching illness that she had felt returning. It flowed through her veins like a heady wine, a power that she could feel in every pour, every cell in her body. And then the pain came, the soul-searing agony of flames deep with in her, causing her head to tilt backwards as the last of the fires burned through her, smoke pouring from her mouth.When it was over, Serephel leaned heavily against the table, panting, bloody dagger still in her hand.

That was when the cabin door was kicked in.

To Serephel's everlasting surprise, a group of adventurers piled into the room, staring around in shock. It was a classic team of fighters with a warrior leading them shield first, an elf with a bow covering the group from the rear, a woman with a holy symbol around her neck, and another man bearing two blades and wearing light armor backing up the warrior. The group had obviously come to save the hostage who was now lying dead on the floor in a pool of her own blood, a dagger wound in her chest.

A wound caused by the dagger that was in Serephel's hand.

"Oh fuck..." Serephel murmured as realization of how guilty she looked set in. The four adventurers had taken in the charnel house that the cabin had become quickly, their eyes narrowing with hatred as they focused on Serephel.

"I'm...just going to go..." Serephel murmured as the elf trained her bow on the warlock. She murmured a word and in an instant Serephel burned to ash, leaving nothing behind but a black pile of fel powder as her form was transported back to her summoning circle outside of the cabin.

Quickly she turned, running towards a nearby group of trees, her sturdy boots giving her good purchase as the team of adventurers burst back out of the door. In a panic, Serephel heard the sound of a bowstring snapping, an arrow whirring through the air and striking a tree right beside her. It had accidentally pinned her cloak to the wood, and she tugged futilely at the garment as the two melee fighters closed on her.

"This is really not how it seems..." Serephel began as the leather-clad fighter reached her. She squealed and ducked as one of his blades passed through the space where her neck had been, the weapon neatly lodging in the tree and severing her cape. Serephel fell to the ground, the fighter standing over her and preparing to deliver the death blow while she was prone.

"Fine! Have it your way!" she yelled, reaching up and viciously grabbing the man by his genitals before twisting hard. The fighter howled, his attack completely interrupted and causing him to flail backwards into the warrior that was also pursuing her. Another arrow slammed into the ground between Serephel's prone legs and she quickly dashed to her feet, turning to run as a healing spell soothed the pain of the fighter she'd injured.

"This is ridiculous! I wasn't even with those guys!" she yelled over her shoulder as she dashed into the treeline, trying to avoid being killed by elven archery. Another arrow lodged in a tree right next to her hand, causing her to blanch and keep running. She realized she was running out of time and although she didn't want to kill an adventuring party so close to the town of Southshore, she was running out of options. That was when a stroke of brilliance came to her.

"Fine, you want to chase me? Chase me through an inferno!" she cackled. With a flick of her wrists she began hurling fire right and left as she dodged through the trees, igniting the dry underbrush and quickly setting the woods alight. Behind her, the two fighters had slowed as their weapons and armor got caught in the brush. They now had to backpedal as a wall of flames suddenly erupted around them, the trees quickly turning into an inferno just as Serephel had said.

Through the raging wall of fire Serephel glared at the adventurers, the group staring at her hard. She turned and walked into the blaze, her magics making the fire curl around her as she disappeared from view, leaving the group behind to tend to the forest fire that she had started. Southshore would be warned of course, and enough men would come to extinguish the flames, not that she cared. Unfortunately, her days of working as a barmaid in Southshore's inn had likely come to a close, given that those people had seen her.

Oh well.

It was time to move on again. It was not the first time her needs had caused such a situation, and it would not be the last. She would never stop trying to keep herself alive, consequences and the rest of the world be damned.

She stalked off into the burning forest, her stride determined.