A Cog in the Machine

*Within the Ebon Hold*

The well-oiled hinges on the door made not a sound as the wooden barrier was pushed opened, allowing entry into the room beyond. In the dim dark of the stone chamber, a latent spell detected that the door had been opened and set scourge-lit lanterns aglow, bathing the room in a pale blue but very steady light.

The figure that slipped into the room resembled an elf, but looked like no other creature on the face of Azeroth. With skin the color of granite and hair bleached whiter than sun-baked bones, the death knight that called herself Malfecta was striking in appearance. Her face held a hint of youthful beauty and her flesh was unmarred by blemish or imperfection, and yet her color and the scourge-glow of her eyes told the tale that she was a creature created from the foulest of magics.

The chamber that Malfecta had entered was her personal quarters, assigned to her for use when she was within Acherus. She was a Knight of the Ebon Blade but unattached to any military component of that organization and instead was often called upon to investigate, study, and eradicate rogue undead or cultists that could pose a threat to the Ebon Blade or Azeroth in general. Arguably 'neutral', the death knight was primarily concerned with threats against the Horde or her former nation of Quel'Thalas, and was deployed accordingly.

Malfecta closed the door behind her and locked it from within before moving swiftly and efficiently across the immaculately clean stones that made up the floor of her room. She made her way to a weapon rack, carefully removing her runeblade from its sheath on her back and studying it for a few moments, checking for chips or signs of wear. The blade shone with a pale blue light, the carefully cleaned metal free of defects. With a nod of satisfaction, Malfecta set the blade in its assigned place on the weapon rack before moving towards an armor stand beside it.

Carefully and with precision, Malfecta began to remove each piece of her plate armor. Designed in the style of the Knights of the Ebon Blade, each piece was in excellent condition and the death knight studied the metal segments as she removed them one by one, fitting each onto the armor stand so that the equipment was orderly and readily available.

Stripped now to a padded black bodysuit that she wore beneath her armor, Malfecta turned and headed towards one of the three sets of furniture that were present in her chambers. She took a seat at the small vanity, observing herself in the mirror for several moments before taking a bone-handled brush and carefully running it through her snow-white hair. After a few moments she stopped, studying herself in the mirror and ensuring that every strand of her hair was in order before setting the brush down and nodding.

Seeing that her makeup was also still in order, she rose from the chair, striding across the open space in the center of her quarters that contained magical wards and circles on the floor. It was here that she cast her most powerful necromantic spells and performed her experiments in the safety of her private chambers. Having no need for a bed, there was plenty of space for such magics and combined with a lab table on the far side of the room that contained spellbooks and reagents, she had set up an entire laboratory dedicated to the study of necromancy.

Malfecta passed by her casting circles and equipment, heading for the only other piece of furniture in her quarters; her writing desk. She pulled out the chair and sat, noting that the desk was in the precise order in which she preferred it. The center of the desk had blank parchment ready to write missives, to the left of this was her quill and ink well, and at the edge of the desk sat several bins made of wire that were labeled with neat lettering 'in', 'out', and 'missives'. 

Although Malfecta used her right hand to wield her sword, she always wrote with her left, and she picked up the quill and set some ink to the tip before beginning her report on a blank sheet of parchment.

Status Report 001- Felo'melorn Investigation

I have made contact with the representative of House Felo'melorn. As directed, I have placed my services at her disposal for the duration of this case. I have not informed Lady Felo'melorn that I may conduct additional investigations or perform additional duties for the Ebon Blade during this mission as this information was not relevant to her specific case.

As of yet, there has been little progress in my work. Lady Felo'melorn has been forthcoming with information upon request, but has no knowledge of the whereabouts of the creature that I hunt. I estimate that there is a ninety percent chance I will be able to continue working directly with her as her distaste for our kind is irrelevant in comparison to her desire to see to the safety of her House and staff. 

SPECIAL NOTE: I believe my combat effectiveness may suffer minor degradation when fighting beside Lady Felo'melorn. She appears to wield Light effectively and with enough force to cause unintentional secondary damage to nearby undead allies. I will take necessary precautions to avoid becoming ineffective in combat.

I have attempted to intermingle with Horde non-combatants to acquire additional points of contact and information sources both to aid in this investigation and to uncover new threats. As I have been assigned to the Plaguelands for many years, my efforts in this regards have met with mixed results so far. I have encountered resistance from some of the living as well as incomprehensible curiosity about my form. I will make further attempts to create a contact network in the near future, although I estimate the chance of success is only thirty percent given my experiences thus far.

Objectives: One, interview additional subjects involved in the Felo'melorn case including one Biara Sunfire and her sister, Kyliska Sunfire as well as minor members of House Felo'melorn. Two, establish additional contacts in order to uncover leads to the creature's whereabouts. Three, investigate the ruins of Dawnsea Estate in Eversong to help determine the origin and strength of the rogue creature that I hunt. Four, study the living in an attempt to understand why they interact with each other and with myself as they do such that I can improve the chance of success during reconnaissance.

Additional reports will be forthcoming as more information becomes available.
Malfecta
Knight of the Ebon Blade

With her letter complete, Malfecta set her quill down, careful not to spill even a drop of ink. She took a small wooden box out of one of the desk drawers and opened it to reveal a bone-handled stamp that she inked and then applied to the bottom of the letter. It was a stylized 'M' with a sword through it, and once it was dry Malfecta picked the letter up and set it in the bin labeled 'missives'. Every three hours an undead minion at her command would enter the chamber and check the bin for messages to deliver to her commander, and it would make its way to his desk in a timely fashion.

With a smile of satisfaction, Malfecta rose from her chair and pushed it in, ensuring her desk was in perfect order before turning and heading towards her laboratory equipment. She had assigned herself precisely two and a half hours to perform several experiments before she headed back out to continue her investigation. Order was important after all; one could not perform at peak efficiency without rigid order and scheduling.

The Princess is in Another Castle

*Sunfire Estate, Current Day*

Braeth'el tightened the straps on his bracers, pulling the hard leather against his skin firmly to ensure they wouldn't slip in combat. With that task complete, he checked his belt sheaths to ensure that each of the half-dozen daggers he carried could be easily retrieved and thrown. Combined with the weapons included in his boot sheaths, he had a decent supply of equipment to deal with any eventualities.

He paused for a moment in his trip down the empty stone corridor, holding his hand up. On his right ring finger sat a small golden ring with a green emerald set in it. He stared hard at the object, focusing on it and trying to conjure the magic within it to life one last time. The ring had been enchanted by Biara long ago, and was linked to a bracelet that Kyliska wore and that they had been using to communicate regularly for the past few weeks. That is until all communication from Kyliska had abruptly ended two days prior.

Braeth'el had attempted to contact the wayward Sunfire sister multiple times, and he was becoming concerned now. Kyliska was headstrong and often thrust herself into the heart of battle, but she was usually at least aware enough to keep her allies informed of her intentions (indeed, how could one not hear her battle-cries anyway?). That she had not contacted him in so long, especially after she had been so very interested in talking regularly with him, was an ominous sign, and there was only one thing to do.

With a shrug Braeth'el completed his trip down the corridor, pushing open the door to Biara's bedchambers and slipping inside before closing and locking the barrier behind him. He moved quickly to one of Biara's dressers, counting the drawers and opening the second one from the bottom. He smirked as he peered within it, noting a rather large and amusing collection of lingerie, stockings, and other unmentionables that the busy Magistrix probably never ever wore. Digging down into the drawer and pushing aside the delicates, he uncovered the hidden door beneath the clothing.

"Ah Biara, you were always a terrible spy. You fired me and didn't bother to move the magical objects that you specifically told me about for emergencies. It's fortunate that you are so bad at this, because now perhaps I can find out what's going on," Braeth'el murmured.

Picking one last pair of panties off of the door and casually tossing them on the floor, Braeth'el opened the secret compartment and reached in, retrieving an orb made of glass. The object had Kyliska's name on it, with runes encircling it in careful patterns. He touched the writing and the entire object began to glow, casting an image against the wall beside him.

Braeth'el's mouth hung open in surprise as he turned to watch the image. As expected, the scrying orb showed him Kyliska's current location, and not too surprisingly she appeared to be manacled to the floor of a dungeon somewhere. What caught him by surprise was how she looked. In the image, she was kneeling on the floor, her eyes closed and her hands clasped together in prayer. Tears ran from her eyes as she quietly murmured something that the orb would not let him hear. As he watched, a soft, radiant light seemed to shine down upon her, and golden wings seemed to spread from her back. She remained motionless, her plea to the light continuing and her eyes closed as it blessed her.

It was as if he were looking upon some mythical angel, so radiant was the light and so beautiful was Kyliska. He had seen her in many different places and situations, had known her to be rough on the battlefield or taverns and sometimes more feminine when her sister Biara forced her to dress the part, but never had he witnessed Kyliska's faith. In it he saw the heart that beat beneath the rough edges and the constant warfare; he saw the love and joy that she possessed deep within her, beneath all the flaws, and he found it breathtaking.

For a few moments, Braeth'el simply watched Kyliska in her prayers before he finally tore his gaze away from the orb and set it down on Biara's dresser. He shook his head, already planning his next steps. "It figures...she becomes a delicate, beautiful little thing right when she's likely in the most danger once again. I guess I'll go get her, but this time she's staying put here until she's taken some classes on how not to get captured."

With that he turned and headed for the door, leaving Biara's room even more of a mess than he and Kyliska had left it last time.

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

*Sunfire Garrison, Evening the next day.*

Kyliska opened her eyes, her prayers falling silent as she finished her plea. She'd been praying for days now, not only for rescue but also for forgiveness and even to cleanse herself. She'd eaten very little, the fasting allowing her to focus and putting things in perspective. Likely her captors were concerned about the fact that she had refused food today, but she needed time to think and to clear her mind of more mundane things so she could focus on the Light and what her father had told her.

Already she had begun to feel better about herself and what she could do. Her life, up to this point, had been battles, booze, and romantic encounters that had not left her feeling fulfilled. The Light had made her see everything in a different way, but it also had taught her that it didn't always have to be this way. There were paths that lead to true happiness if she were brave enough to walk them and the one thing Kyliska had was bravery aplenty.

A noise further up the hallway drew her attention, and she turned to see a figure speaking softly with the two guards that were stationed at the beginning of the row of cellblocks. The conspirators that had captured her were few in number, and could only keep guards in the dungeon itself while Thandir and Dralath took care of running the daily business of the military outpost.

As Kyliska watched, the visitor turned and began to walk towards her, Dralath's form becoming clear as he drew nearer. He paused on the other side of the bars, staring down at her where she sat on the floor, looking disappointed. "Kyliska, you've not eaten much again today. If you think to starve yourself so that we let you go, know that we will simply force you to eat if need be. There are ways this can be done with magic."

Kyliska shook her head, rising and standing in front of her betrayer, "I'm not starving myself, I'm fasting. I need time to think, time to focus. You've already overthrown my authority here and imprisoned me, leave me to my thoughts and prayers at the least."

Dralath shook his head, "You know we can't do that. We can't allow you to die in the event that something goes wrong here. If you won't comply, we'll be forced-"

Kyliska's eyes widened as a shadow seemed to detach itself from the deeper shadows along the corridor's walls, rushing up behind Dralath. Before the elf could finish what he was saying, he was forcibly propelled forwards, his face almost comical to Kyliska as it collided with the bars. His skull made a loud *dink* sound as it rebounded off the iron, the elf's fel green eyes rolling up in his head as he was rendered unconscious.

Dralath never hit the ground, his body caught in two strong arms and gently eased down to avoid making any noise. Further up the corridor, the guards there heard nothing, and continued to chat amongst themselves, not even glancing towards the cell. As Dralath was set down, a black-cloaked figure loomed up over him, a pair of fel green eyes meeting Kyliska's and almost making her gasp.

"Ah, there you are, Kyslika," Braeth'el said cheerfully but quietly. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Don't you know it's impolite not to report in when you've told someone you were going to?"

"Braeth'el!" Kyliska whispered breathlessly. "You came to find me! Oh thank the Light!"

Braeth'el merely nodded, pawing at the fallen Dralath and then standing up, the keys to the cell taken from the unconscious Sin'dorei. "We'll get you out of here and to your guards. From what I saw outside, no one is really aware that you are down here. We just need to get through the few who have participated in this conspiracy."

With that he stepped over the unconscious elf and gently put the key in the lock. Before he turned it, he withdrew a small vial from a pouch, coating the lock and key with oil. With a grin he turned it, and it silently unbolted, allowing him into the cell. In an instant, Kyliska was in his arms, hugging him tightly. He grinned and shook his head, wrapping an arm around her and patting her back before releasing her and bending down to apply the oil to the lock on her manacles. Once she was free, he gestured at the unconscious Dralath and the two pulled him inside the cell before slipping out and closing it silently.

All of this occurred in the utmost of secrecy, and the guards at the end of the hallway heard nothing, continuing their private conversation. Braeth'el took a few steps down the corridor, Kyliska following before he held a hand out, his palm against her shoulder. He looked back at her and shook his head, signaling that she shouldn't follow; she was not a trained assassin after all.

Kyliska nodded and bit her lip, not wanting to stay back but understanding that it would be better if things were done quietly and swiftly. She held perfectly still as she watched Braeth'el make his way down the hallway, his muscular form crouched low in a half-crawl that would have made an inexperienced person's back ache to mimic. She watched him admiringly as he moved in complete silence towards the guards, circling so that he was approaching in a direction from which neither of them were looking. He drew a dagger and then re-sheathed it, perhaps thinking better of it.

A few feet from the guards, he drew a solid metal sap, the heavy object coming out and quickly colliding with the back of the first guard's head. The second guard's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to cry out just as Braeth'el threw some sort of caustic powder into his face. The guard began to choke and cough, his eyes watering as he stumbled into a wall. Braeth'el casually walked up to him and cracked him over the skull with the weighted sap.

As the second guard fell unconscious to the floor, he signaled for Kyliska to move forward, and she did so with a gleeful smile on her face, stepping over the traitors and again wrapping her arms around him. Her glee was short-lived though as a voice cut through the silence.

"What's this? You have another lover, Kyliska?" Thandir's voice echoed from the stairwell leading out of the dungeon.

Braeth'el and Kyliska both turned to see the Sin'dorei that walked towards them, two remaining traitorous guards in tow as they drew near. Thandir paused a few feet from the two, his expression stern, "Regardless of who this is, we cannot allow you to escape; it would ruin everything and put us right back where we started. Take them."

The two guards behind Thandir drew swords and began to advance on Braeth'el and Kyliska. Braeth'el shrugged and drew his daggers only to find Kyliska's hand on his shoulder. He turned and met her gaze, her eyes staring deeply into his as she spoke, "Braeth'el, please do not kill them. It is my fault that this all happened. I don't want any deaths over my mistakes. Not again."

For a moment Braeth'el said nothing, simply staring into the fel green pools of Kyliska's eyes, seeing the tears there again as whatever conflict she had within her warred with her thoughts. He nodded at her once, his voice gruff, "I'll leave them alive for you, Kyli."

Braeth'el turned and marched towards the approaching guards while Thandir smirked at them, "How touching that you think you could-"

Lightning fast Braeth'el lunged forward. The first guard swung at him only to find the lithe rogue had dodged around him. With almost comical precision Braeth'el's dagger slashed out and parted the elf's belt, causing his sword sheath to slip down his legs. Braeth'el's daggers came up in an 'X' as they caught the second guard's sword above his head, even as he lashed out with one leg, kicking backwards and firmly kicking the now-encumbered first guard hard in the ass.

The first guard stumbled forward, his sword sheath entangling his legs and causing him to windmill his arms as he fell face-first into the solid stone wall of the corridor. His sword clattered out of his hand and was swiftly picked up by Kyliska who stood over him and kept him from rising. In the meanwhile, Braeth'el spun around, allowing his second opponent's sword to fall downward. He punched forward with his main hand, his fingers stiff and his dagger held only by a thumb.

His fingers jammed into the guard's throat, causing him to gag and crumple backwards as Braeth'el casually kicked him in the crotch and stepped past him as he howled. Thandir, eyes wide, drew his own sword and slashed at Braeth'el only to find his blade parried and then deflected up and away, a vicious hit with the hilt of a dagger shattering his wrist and causing him to release his grip on the weapon.

The fight had lasted all of ten seconds, and Thandir brought his unbroken hand up above his head as he found the point of one of Braeth'el's daggers at his throat. The spymaster stared at him with a hard look, his voice firm, "I believe you owe the Lady Sunfire an apology."

"S-sorry..." Thandir croaked, sounding panicked.

Braeth'el poked Thandir a little with the dagger's point, "Say it right."

"S-sorry, L-lady Sunfire..." Thandir said again.

Kyliska nodded, her eyes closed and a prayer on her lips. Her Light came down upon Thandir, his broken bones knitting together as she healed him. Once the prayer was done, she looked at him, a glow in her eyes that had never been there before, "I forgive you, Thandir. Although you and your men must be imprisoned for what you've done, I forgive you. You will not die this day."

Thandir swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded. He stepped forward as Braeth'el removed the dagger from his neck and prodded him, helping one of his allies up and heading for a dungeon cell at Kyliska's bidding.

A few moments later the traitors were imprisoned and Kyliska was finally able to lower her weapon. She turned to Braeth'el and smiled, feeling at peace at last, "Thank you so much, Braeth'el. You don't know what I've been through."

He sheathed his weapons and nodded, a calloused hand placed on her shoulder gently as he spoke softly to her, "I am beginning to see that it was more than I know. I told you I would watch out for you, Kyli. I'll always be here for you."

Kyliska nodded, leaning forward to kiss her spymaster once before breaking away, "Come, let us get out of this place. I need to speak to my sister about what's happened here and then...I think it's time I went home. There is much I need to change."

With that she strode away up the stairs of the dungeon, leaving Braeth'el to stare after her, alternately watching the pleasing sight of her swaying hips and considering the changes that had come over her. He shook his head and smiled; it was never a dull moment with the Sunfire Sisters.

A Path of Shadows

*Many years ago in Icecrown, before the fall of the Lich King*

Janthela Sunfall shivered as another gust of freezing cold wind blew snow horizontally into her face. The frigid air penetrated the deepest clothing, looking for any crack in one's defenses to suck the warmth and life out of all it touched. It was fitting for the desolate, icy lands that the Lich King had selected for his throne. Its mournful howling fit her mood well, and served as a dirge for the fallen.

She turned away from the wind, trying in vain to keep her face covered enough to keep the stinging cold out. She peered out from beneath the scarf that covered half her face, her fel green eyes glowing softly and the only light in the gloom of the storm. Others stood around her, looking equally forlorn, and she studied them for a moment, taking their measure.

There was the tauren, Kareem. A mighty shaman, he had suffered some minor wounds from a mace to his shoulder. Her healing spells had mended it, but he still moved stiffly. Even so, he would be valuable in this last mission that they had to complete.

To his right stood the orc warrior Targesh. Of all the group, his spirits were the highest and he stood proud and straight under her gaze, his axes held at the ready in each mighty fist. He met her gaze, his stern look softening for a moment as he shared her concerns privately.

Off to one side and overlooking a bluff that descended into an area that was, unsurprisingly, filled with more snow, stood their troll scout Ragan. A cunning headhunter and ax-thrower, it was only through Ragan's skills that any of them were even alive now. The troll had also suffered some injuries, particularly to his right arm, but between his natural stamina and Janthela's spells, he was still capable of leading them through the raging blizzard.

Finally, standing just beside Janthela and unmoving was the Forsaken, Viktor. A long-fallen knight, he was a silent wall of steel and a comforting presence to the Sin'dorei warpriestess. It was he who had first rallied those few survivors of the camp, and he who had eventually gotten the small group together to fight their way free of the crushing defeat their company had suffered.

Janthela paused, the silence extending between them all as she considered their next move. They were a mere five against all of the powers of the Scourge, all that remained of an entire Horde military force. A shaman, a warrior, a headhunter, a fallen knight, and her, a rather weakened Sin'dorei priestess. It was enough to make her want to laugh in a hysterical sort of way, but they had no time to spare on hysterics; they had to move, had to complete their mission.

Their encampment had been betrayed by cultists hidden amongst the orcs and trolls that made up the bulk of their soldiers. Betrayed in the night, many had died from foul poison or in their sleep. Many others had been slain as undead erupted from the ground around them, even as their perimeter was overrun by a massive Scourge attack. All of it, all of the deaths and violence, had been over several artifacts that the Horde had managed to wrest from a Scourge stronghold only the day before. Artifacts that were so important that a lich had been involved in the assault on their encampment.

They had slain the lich and fought their way free, but the price was unbelievable. Hundreds had died, all of them turned into Scourge. Ragan had reported seeing necromancers even raising some of the more powerful orc warriors as death knights, and what was worse, they were still pursuing the ragged band of survivors, and each of them knew why.

They still had the artifacts; Janthela carried them in her pack.

"Before we continue, we must make a pact. A bond," Janthela said quietly. "So many have died and have been condemned to eternal torment so that we could win free. We cannot let them stop us, no matter what. We cannot turn on one another, despite what happened back at the camp. We must trust one another above all else, or everything they died for will have been in vain."

Each of the others gave their confirmation, from the grim nod that Kareem gave to the gruff grunt coming from Targesh. Even the silent Viktor nodded, his sickly yellow eyes meeting her gaze. Even so, Janthela needed more. She drew a dagger from her belt and roughly tore off one of her gloves, holding her palm up. She met the gazes of each of the others before dragging her ritual blade across her palm, letting the blood drip from it, "By my blood oath, I swear to you that I will uphold this pact. I will not abandon you. I will not abandon our quest. We will see this through to the end."

Instantly each of the others reacted, drawing their own weapons with Ragan reaching for Janthela's dagger. Each drew their blood and let it spill upon the frozen tundra of Icecrown, repeating her words, her oath. When it was done, the ground beneath them had a mix of blood and what passed for blood from Viktor, and all sheathed their weapons.

"We are of one mind then. We make for Horde lines. We don't stop for any reason until we all die," Janthela said, her voice containing a hint of finality to it.

With that she nodded to Ragan, and he turned, beginning to lead them in the trek down the side of the nearby dell, into the raging storm.

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

Kareem was the first of them to fall, his death an unavoidable tragedy. They had been making their way across a perilous stretch of frozen ice when an echoing crack was heard. All of them had been thrown to the ground as the very earth shook, and ice had broken apart and fallen to the side as a giant worm rose from the ground. To the shaman's great misfortune, he was right above the spot where the worm burst free, and its gaping maw swallowed him up in an instant, even as the others scrambled to their feet and scattered.

They turned to fight it, knowing it was likely controlled by the Scourge and sent to destroy them, knowing they would have no chance against such a huge beast, but they need not have bothered. Kareem's last act, his last sacrifice, was to cause lava to erupt deep within the beast's belly. The creature let out a strange gurgling scream and shuddered, molten lava spewing from its mouth as it collapsed and fell back into its hole, dragging tons of ice with it and nearly taking Targesh with it.

In the aftermath, Janthela found herself on her knees beside the pit that had gobbled up a member of their party so easily. All her spells, all her healing had done nothing to save him, and she felt the tears running down her cheeks and freezing.

Footfalls sounded behind Janthela, and she felt Targesh's mighty hand clasp her shoulder in comfort, felt him kneel down beside her, his voice like a solid rock upon which she could lean, "He died an honorable death, a warrior's death. There is no shame in this."

Janthela looked up at the orc, the frozen tears glittering on her cheek, her emotions raging within her silent form. Targesh reached out, scooping up her tiny form against him, his arms like a shield against the hurt she felt in her heart. She clung to him a moment, her body rocking with her sobs, the loss of one of the few remaining survivors like the snuffing of a candle representing hope.

And yet she knew they couldn't delay, couldn't tarry here to mourn him. Even now, through the blowing snow, the clatter of bones in the distance could be heard as the Scourge hunted them, somehow always knowing where they were. Janthela pushed herself away from Targesh, giving him a look of gratitude as she pulled herself together.

By now, the others had gathered around them, and she nodded at the group, "We keep moving. Kereem would have wanted us to keep our oath."

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

Ragan fell next, and this time they had no time to mourn him. Taken by skeletal archers in an ambush, the party found themselves running for their lives as the Scourge closed in all around them. The undead had tracked them through the storm, had determined their course, and had cut them off. Even as Ragan's screams carried through the air the others ran, knowing they stood no chance without their scout.

Harried now, desperate, the remaining three of the party ran through the blizzard, their progress hindered by great drifts of snow and stinging winds. The clattering bones of moving undead behind them grew louder for a time, but then grew more distant as another scream echoed through the cold.

Ragan had not died easily, or quickly, but his death had bought them time.

The three exchanged glances and continued on, running where they could, trudging through the snow where they couldn't, knowing they were running out of time.

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

The end came when they came upon a cliff face in the ice. Trapped against the impossibly sheer glacier with only a narrow path to travel down further into the valleys of Icecrown, the three knew they would not be able to navigate the pathway with the undead so close on their heels. They paused together, each of them nodding at the others and preparing for death.

Targesh turned towards where they knew the undead would come, nodding at the others, his voice strong, "I will hold them off for as long as I can. Viktor, you stop them from reaching the priestess, and she will use her magic until it is expired. We will die with honor."

Janthela stepped forward, squeezing his hand once, "I will stand with you until the end. Lok'Tar Ogar."

Targesh smiled once, drawing his axes, "Lok'Tar Ogar!" With that he strode forward, taking up a position along the pathway they had traveled, almost obscured by the blowing winds.

Behind Janthela, Viktor's voice whispered, "One of us must survive this, priestess."

She turned to look at him, meeting his gaze, "We won't."

"No, we won't, but one of us must," the undead knight said again, his voice cold. "All of us have perished for what? To be raised as slaves to...you know what. It cannot come to pass. I will not let it. You must take it and go."

Janthela blinked and shook her head, her eyes wide, "W-what? No. We swore oaths."

Viktor's voice was angry now, almost a hiss, "Oaths that said we would see our mission done. The path is narrow behind us. The undead will not be able to navigate it in any great numbers. If you go now, while we delay them, you will win free. Take it and go. Do not look back."

"B-but..." Janthela began to protest. Viktor cut her off with a glare, "Go. Now."

In her heart, Janthela knew he was right, and she turned away from him, tears again on her face. Behind her, Targesh prepared to sell his life dearly never knowing that she would not be there to aid him. She bent down and picked up her pack, the pack containing the cursed, wretched thing that was the purpose behind it all. She looked at Viktor one last time and nodded at him, her voice cracking, "Lok'Tar Ogar."

"Just go. Don't give me that crap. We're dead men," Viktor snapped, looking away.

Janthela turned and headed down the path, guilt heavy on her shoulders as the first orcish warcry rose up.

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

The sun was setting, although it was hard to tell given the fact that the blizzard had darkened the day to almost night. Even so, the temperatures were plunging, and Janthela knew she would soon freeze to death, alone and forgotten.

It had been many hours now since she had heard even the slightest sound beyond the howling wind, and she knew she had lost most of her pursuers. When the voice started to whisper to her, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Oathbreaker...." the wind whispered. "Traitor....Sin'dorei whore...Fel-cursed elf...."

Janthela bit her lip, trying to block out the sounds, suspecting she knew what they were. Her footsteps faltered as she tried to force her way through yet another snow drift, her body's heat expended, her energy fading.

"You left them to die....betrayer! You swore an oath! Your word is nothing!"

"No!" Janthela cried out to no one and nothing, "I had to continue the mission! H-had to press on!"

"Oathbreaker...." the wind whispered.

Tears ran down Janthela's face and instantly froze, the feeling painful on her already frostbitten skin. In desperation she cried out to the Light, but her faith had long since waned with her fading health and spirits. She tripped, falling forward in the snow, the bag in her hand falling free, the object within it tumbling out onto the fresh snow nearby.

The urn lay there, glimmering darkly, the voice seemingly drifting from it, "This can all end if you just give in, oathbreaker. The darkness comes for you now."

The phylactery mocked her now, she was sure of it. The lich that they had destroyed was within it, trapped there for as long as she lived, for as long as she carried it away from Scourge lines. It could be destroyed, and it knew that she knew. And yet, her strength was gone now, her life slowly fading.

"Soon your breath will cease, and then I will bind you in new oaths. Oaths that you will keep eternally," the voice mocked. "Already your friends know the joy of obedience. You will continue to carry my urn, will bear it for me, protect it eternally. You have failed, Janthela Sunfall. Oathbreaker. Your time has come to an end."

Laying in the snow, Janthela sobbed, feeling the freezing cold fading as warmth grew. She knew it was a sign of hypothermia, and that she had minutes only to live. She tried to pray again, and the Light did not heed her call, her faith so little that her prayers were useless. The voice continued to mock her, laughing at her in her final moments.

Deep within her, something stirred, some selfish last piece of herself, clinging to life. It was unfair, that she should die here after suffering so much. That she should perish to the same forces that claimed her people, her family, her betrothed. A spiteful little bubble of malice burbled up within her, fueling her last, desperate prayer. Normally she would sing her prayers, gently coaxing the Light forth, but this time her voice was like a dirge, like a commanding, demanding brat ordering it to obey.

As the sun set and the temperature plunged, the Light did not heed Janthela's call, but something else did. Through the blowing wind and snow, a raven cawed, and Janthela's head snapped up as she spotted the bird perched on a dead branch poking through the snowdrifts.

The bird's head tilted, and it cawed again, meeting her gaze. In that moment, she felt energy flowing through her, darkness creeping around her. Warmth bathed her, the shadows empowering her. She had heard of this type of magic before, but studied it only briefly. Even so, she reached for it, all of her selfish need to survive fueling her as she touched it.

She rose from the snow, the cold banished around her as the power spread through her. The mocking voice from the phylactery faded as the lich within recognized that something had changed. Janthela stared at the raven, her form unmoving as if listening to something deep within her. She could feel the shadows gathering there, feel the energy that she could touch only with her most negative emotions, her hateful, spiteful prayers. She was still herself, but she had a new tool if she dared to reach for it.

"You will die little elf, whatever you may think you'll become," the phylactery mocked. "See now the price of your failure."

From the snow, figures shambled. They were all there, Kareem with burns across his now-dead face, Ragan full of arrows, his leg broken as he dragged his zombified corpse towards her. Targesh was there as well, his body covered in gore and wounds, his gaze almost damning as his dead eyes met hers. And amongst them walked Viktor, a smirk on his face and absolutely nothing different about him except perhaps for a blue glow to his eyes.

In that moment, Janthela felt hate flow through her. That all of them had perished because of traitors made her furious. The mocking laughter that came from the phylactery enraged her. As the dead walked towards her, the raven rose from the branch behind her, alighting on her shoulder. As it touched her, she felt the power within her surge, darkness creeping from the ground and rising from her feet until it shrouded her.

"I am Janthela Sunfall, and I will keep my oath, consequences be damned," she intoned. The wind blew around her, the harsh gusts ripping her hat free, setting her black hair to writhing around her face like tendrils of the darkness that now surrounded her.

Her dead companions surged forward, shadows reaching out to greet them.

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

When the blizzard ended, a lone Sin'dorei stumbled from the snows into a Horde encampment. She was suffering from frostbite and had numerous shallow wounds on her body. She said little other than to give her name and rank, her voice subdued and her tone evasive. She carried with her a small pack, the object something she kept close to her at all times, as if she trusted no one else with it.

She would remain with a larger Horde company for the rest of the Icecrown campaign, a minor healer and one to keep to herself, the secrets locked within her a mystery that would remain unsolved.