A Warning

Biara tossed and turned, her dreams filled with disturbing images and visions that she would not remember upon awakening. Thrashing in her bed, she awoke in the night in a sudden gasp, her fel green eyes peering into the darkness around her, her heart racing.

For a moment she lay there, simply letting her breathing slow to normal and her heart return to a normal pace, her hands feeling the silken comfort of the bed beneath her. She shivered in the chill of the night, realizing she'd kicked all of her silken sheets off in the thrashing that accompanied her nightmares. With a resigned sigh, she slipped out of her bed, the silken nightgown she wore providing little protection against the cold. She nearly gasped as her bare feet came into contact with the cold marble floor, and she reached for a nearby robe to throw over her nightgown before moving slowly across her room.

Echoes of her dreams remained with her as she walked to the double doors that lead out to the balcony connected to her chambers. She threw the doors opened, stepping out onto the marble platform beyond and leaning against the stone railing that surrounded it. For a moment she simply breathed in, enjoying the night air that was somehow warmer than the air in her bedchambers. She peered out across Silvermoon City, the magical lights of her home twinkling in the night like the countless stars above.

The new spire that Selenthiel and her family had planned was coming along nicely, and already Biara had claimed a luxurious suite on one of the higher floors. Although construction was still ongoing, much of the structure was already habitable and her new quarters provided a breathtaking view of the city. Kyliska and Braeth'el still transitioned between the estate in Eversong and the new spire, but in her heart Biara was happiest here in the center of her city and near to Sunfury Court where she routinely conducted business. Staring out over the city was a comforting, familiar activity that brought peace to her troubled mind.

As she stared down at the ground many floors below her, she sighed again, realizing the source of her dreams. She'd met an old contact within the city that evening that she'd not seen in many years. One who had often given her timely advice and information when intrigues were rife and danger was all around her. His motives were unknown as were his loyalties, but the mysterious spy had always provided her with details that had been to her advantage. Seeing him again reminded her of many old times, old fights, and old losses that had seeped into her dreams.

With another sigh she stepped away from the balcony, walking back into her room and pausing near one wall. There, hanging on specially designed hooks, her primary battlestaff rested, glittering a dull gold in the night. Hesitantly she reached out, her fingertips caressing the gold and wooden weapon, feeling the magic within it. How many times had she held it in her hands? How many times had power flowed through it, sent to strike down her foes? It had been many months since she'd held it, since she'd fought at all. Life was peaceful now; a calm that allowed for work and time with her daughter. And yet, something nagged at her mind, some feeling of unease that her old contact had kindled further with his suggestion that the future could not be so bright as to be free of trouble.

"Am I being blind right now? Selfish to think that I have a moment to breathe?" Biara whispered to no one, her fingers still running over the wooden staff gently, as if patting an old friend. "Am I making a fatal mistake in thinking that things will be peaceful and that Kyliska will need to do little more than make arrangements for her own wedding?"

Battles still raged on Draenor she knew. The Iron Horde had turned to fel magic, but it all seemed so distant, so disconnected from life in Quel'Thalas. What threat could they pose to her now? To any of her family? Even the Alliance had been oddly peaceful. Was it to be this way forevermore, or was this the last breath before a plunge into deadly danger?

Even as the last thought crossed Biara's mind, a tingling sensation began to spread through her body. The wards on her face blazed with life, and when she looked down she could see the blue glow of further wards shining through the fabric of her nightgown between her breasts and further down the left side of her body. Wards meant to defend her, to protect her from foreign magic that she could sense stealing into the room.

In a rush she grabbed her staff, the weapon flaring to life as if no time had passed between their last contact. Endless magical power flowed through Biara, like a lover returning to embrace her. The thrill of it set her heart racing anew, set her gasping for a moment as a feeling more blissful than sex ran through her. She whirled, the weapon pointing at the middle of her bedchambers where magic built and began to tear at the fabric of reality.

A moment later a hole opened, a scene right out of Biara's nightmares visible through it. Ash rained down and flames raged across a hellish landscape. This was not what made Biara's eyes widen though, not what caused a startled shout to escape her lips. For within the image stood a Sin'dorei, one with deep red hair and a smile that was hauntingly familiar. One who wore an insignia bearing the Dayfire crest.

"Hello mother," the image said.

Biara's staff fell from nerveless fingers, her eyes wide in shock, "A-astariel...but...no, she sleeps in her room even now. This cannot be."

"Well, it can and it can't actually," Astariel said with a smile. "I don't exactly follow all of the rules if you understand what I mean. Like mother like daughter as they say. I have taken it upon myself to reach back in time, to tell you something that you need to know."

Biara could hardly believe what she was hearing and seeing, and yet it was as plain as day before her. An older version of her daughter spoke to her through the portal, one who was a powerful mage in her own right. One who should know better than to tamper with temporal magics as she must surely be doing. And yet, her smile was infectious and her words brought mirth up in Biara's heart. It made sense after all, why would her daughter follow the rules guiding the use of temporal magic or any other magic for that matter when her mother was so carefree with them? That the elf was an adult and alive somewhere, sometime, meant that she would do her job raising the girl properly, if imperfectly. Exactly as it maybe should be.

"You are taking a great risk, contacting me like this," Biara said, trying to keep her tone stern even though the encounter was already sending her thoughts racing ahead. "I suggest you be brief before the Bronze's decide that you've pushed things too far."

The image of adult-Astariel nodded, smiling at her mother and shooting her a wink, "I will vex them many times in my life, do not trouble yourself over that. But you are right, and my rule-breaking has very hard limits. I have come to tell you just one thing and one thing alone; do not stop, do not give up."

Biara blinked in surprise, staring at the flickering image, "I..I'm not sure what you mean."

"I mean that your fate is not to die in your spire, surrounded by books and notes, Mother," Astariel replied. "Call it your destiny, call it what you will, you were born in the fires of battle, and it is there that you must discover what you were meant to do. Do not stay your hand, do not stray from who you are inside. If you do, if you choose to shut yourself away and retire from the world around you, then those you love most will be the ones to suffer. Follow your heart."

Biara swallowed a lump forming in her throat, all of the dreams, the warnings, the hints at some hidden danger coming together in pinpoint focus within her mind. She straightened, nodding at the image and replying in a firm tone, "I am a Magistrix of this city, and I will never stay my hand if it is in danger. I swear it on my blood."

The image of Astariel smiled sadly and nodded, "Then my message has done what I meant it to do. I must go now, before they discover what it is I've done. I love you, more than I can ever say. Know that I will come to understand your choices one day, even if it seems that I do not. Farewell."

Biara felt tears building in her eyes as the image began to crackle and fade. She reached out towards it, her voice choked, "I love you as well my daughter. I will always be proud of who you are, and who you will become."

And then the image was gone, the magic fading rapidly within the room and leaving a scent of burnt ozone within the small space. Around Biara she could feel the wards that she and Tyavel had designed activating as they finally began to detect an intrusion. She smiled softly as she bent down to retrieve her staff, knowing that Astariel would have known how to breach the wards around the home that she would grow up in.

A moment later the doors to Biara's bedchambers burst open, causing Biara to jump and turn towards it, her staff at the ready. A group of Sin'dorei piled into the room, looking flustered and all holding weapons. Leading them was a blonde-haired Magistrix with locks so light they were almost white. In her white knuckled hand she held a wand, the weapon pointed at Biara for a moment as she assessed the threats in the room.

"Biara! The wards on this spire were breached!" Tyavel said, sounding exasperated and looking like she'd just darted out of her bed.

Biara sighed, lowering her weapon and nodding at her counterpart, "They were indeed, Magistrix. But not by a foe. They were breached by an ally bringing tidings."

After a moment more of peering, Tyavel lowered her weapon, staring at the other Magistrix and gesturing for the guards that had burst in to back out of the room. She and Biara were, after all, in their nightgowns, "And what tidings were so important that our wards were breached in the middle of the night with no warning?"

Biara met Tyavel's challenging gaze, her tone firm but calm when she replied, so as not to challenge the other Sin'dorei, "We have overlooked something. Some danger, some threat that we have yet to identify. Something is coming, and we must prepare ourselves lest it wash over us and destroy what we have sought to build. I beg of you, Tyavel, please lend me your aid. Only together, by putting aside our past differences, can we ensure the safety of our combined family."

For a moment Tyavel said nothing, simply staring into Biara's eyes, the words fading in the echoes of Biara's bedchambers. After a time she nodded, her tone one of compromise, "Very well, if you feel there is something urgent to be concerned about, then we will prepare. No harm will come to my family, our legacy, or our holdings while I can still cast spells."

"You have my blood oath that my own magic will be bent to this same task," Biara said.

A silent understanding fell between the two Magistrixes as each began to plan within their minds what to do next. After a moment Tyavel whirled, her voice echoing through the hallways as she shouted at the guards, "Awaken the apprentices and have them clear the laboratory in this spire! Summon my brother at once so we can begin preparing and training the ranger force. Have Lady Sunfire's Blood Knight Captain summoned to the war room at once! No, I don't care that it's the middle of the night, get moving at once!"

Biara smiled as Tyavel's voice echoed away, the sound of people hurrying to obey her orders following the Magistrix. She gently set her staff against the side of her bed, letting her robe fall away as she went to gather some clothes and prepare herself for a long day of meetings and planning. The entire time she was preparing herself, she kept her eye on her staff, the comfort of the weapon nearby putting her mind at ease.

She would not let her guard down even for an instant in the days to come. The safety of House Sunfire's holdings and of Quel'Thalas would be foremost in her mind.

Aedri Blightsong: 2- Making Friends

Aedri's plate armored boots made a loud booming sound as she marched down the marble hallway, her stride quick and filled with purpose. Although she hated coming to Silvermoon, her business had taken here there more and more frequently as of late, and now she found herself within the confines of an opulent spire owned by House Sunfire. Despite this, she found herself in a good mood as her task within the spire had been completed successfully.

The research that Selenthiel Sunfire had already completed was impressive to say the least. Clearly she had been considering the contamination of the Dead Scar for many years, for she'd drawn experts from many different professions in to study the problem from all angles. The fact that she'd reached out to the Ebon Blade at all meant that she was willing to explore avenues that she had not previously considered, despite her obvious distaste for death knights. Aedri smirked to herself as she continued walking, Selenthiel's discomfort with her presence something she found amusing provided that it would not interfere with her work.

If Aedri was being honest with herself, she was pleased with current events. It was rare that she was able to participate in a project that sparked her personal interest, and one facet of being undead was facing an eternity of potential boredom. To have something to work on that required her intellect, attention, and creativity beyond her normal work for the Ebon Blade was satisfying in a way she could not fully describe. It was for this reason she'd agreed to work with Selenthiel in the first place, and so far the project had provided all she'd hoped for and more in relation to such benefits.

She passed a marble bust of some long dead noble elf set back in an alcove along the corridor's length, her stride picking up as she reached an intersection with another hallway that she knew would lead towards the exit. Although she would prefer to simply open a death gate and return to the Ebon Hold, Selenthiel had asked her not to use such magics within her home and in the spirit of not threatening the project's success, Aedri had agreed. She would leave the spire the normal way and then return to her laboratory and write some notes before her evening's rejuvenation with necromantic magic.

As Aedri turned the corner, her brisk pace carried her forward and directly into the path of a blonde Sin'dorei who was coming the other way. With no chance to avoid one another, the two elves collided, the plate armor that both wore bounding off of the other with a metallic clatter and nearly knocking both elves down. In shock, Aedri quickly noted the freckled face glaring at her, the rather large two-handed sword on her back glimmering with gold. The elf's armor was intricate, but functional and left some of her body, such as her belly, exposed in classic Sin'dorei style.

"What are you doing in my spire?!" the elf demanded, still glaring.

Aedri shook her head to dismiss the confusion, her face falling into a frown, "That is none of your concern. I am leaving so step aside."

Kyliska Sunfire's glare deepened as the death knight attempted to step around her, one of her hands coming out and firmly pressing the death knight back, the palm of her hand flat across Aedri's breast plate, "I asked you a question, and you will answer it. What are you doing in my spire? We don't let death knights simply wander around in here."

Angry now, Aedri's hand came up and roughly removed Kyliska's hand from her armor, her contact with the other elf bringing a tingling sensation to her hands that hinted at use of the Light. Understanding now that she was dealing with a Blood Knight, she glared daggers at the Sin'dorei, "And I said that it is none of your damned business. Get out of my way so I can leave. Now."

Aedri attempted to brush past the Blood Knight a second time, only to find Kyliska's hands darting out and grabbing her by the arms. Kyliska whirled her around, slamming her back first against the wall. Not to be outdone, Aedri quickly moved forward, slamming her shoulder into Kyliska in an attempt to push her aside. They collided again, the clatter of their armor clashing louder this time.

"I am an envoy of the Ebon Blade and you will treat me with respect, or you will pay!" Aedri yelled in Kyliska's face.

"I don't give a crap if you're the King reborn!" Kyliska shouted back. "You don't come into my spire and act like a fucking bitch and think you're going to walk out of here! You want to keep all your limbs attached you're going to answer my questions now!"

Kyliska was taken by surprise as the death knight reached out and grabbed her long flowing hair, yanking her head back hard in an attempt to break her hold. She allowed her hands to fall free, using the opportunity to punch the death knight in the throat before lashing out with one leg, unbalancing the death knight and making her tumble. Unfortunately, Aedri did not release her grip on Kyliska's hair, and the pain of it forced Kyliska to follow her to the ground. The two landed in a pile, beginning to kick and punch each other in earnest, Kyliska's nails scoring several deep scratches on the exposed arms of the death knight.

The rough fight and shouting echoed down the hallway for several minutes, Kyliska at first getting the better of the death knight and repeatedly kicking her until Aedri managed to roll on top. The angry death knight's dead cold hands locked around Kyliska's neck, even as Kyliska repeatedly punched her in the face. A moment later a shadow fell over the two and an iron hard arm wrapped around Aedri's neck, yanking her back and up and breaking her handhold on Kyliska.

Aedri found herself pulled to her feet roughly by her neck, the cold edge of a blade pressed to her side and a male voice whispering in her ear, "You'd better start explaining yourself right now or you're done."

Aedri stiffened, her voice cold as she choked back her rage, "I am a Knight of the Ebon Blade, invited into this spire to perform work here. This...goon accosted me as I was leaving and then physically assaulted me. I am not at fault."

"The hell I did!" Kyliska snarled, rising to her feet and glaring at the death knight. "You were a bitch from the moment you were raised I'm pretty damn sure, let alone in the hallway here. Like I said, this is my spire and I don't recall inviting you here."

From behind the death knight, Braeth'el shook his head, "Calm down, Kyli. We need answers before you start punching her again okay? She said she was invited." He paused, glancing at the dead elf in his arms. He could see her anger in the blue glow of her eyes, hidden as it was under a now messy tussle of snow-white hair, "Who invited you?"

"The Lady Selenthiel Sunfire requested my presence," Aedri said begrudgingly. "She will be informed of this...this...unacceptable treatment! I should not have to deal with her underlings treating me in such a fashion when she asked me to come!"

Kyliska stepped close to Aedri, her faces inches from the dead elf's. When she spoke, her voice was cold and hard, "Get something straight here, dead elf, I'm the Lady Kyliska Sunfire, and like I said, this is my spire. Selenthiel may have invited you, but she did not tell you to act like an animal. For her sake, I won't have Braeth'el carve you into pieces, but make no mistake; I don't want to see your dead face in my hallways again. Got it?"

Aedri's glare deepened and to Braeth'el's surprise she reached out suddenly, grasping the knife blade he held, the metal cutting deep into her flesh as she snatched the weapon from his hand. Black ichor dripped from her wound as she stared at Kyliska before flinging the knife away with a clatter. In the silence that followed she nearly hissed her words, "Believe me when I tell you I'd rather never see another Blood Knight for as long as I exist. Your wish is more than granted, although I advise you never to come to my home, because I will escort you out of the Ebon Hold quite fast, and it's a very, very long drop."

After a moment of glaring, Kyliska finally nodded, and Braeth'el released his hold on Aedri's neck, shoving her away. She stumbled several paces before regaining her balance. With a huff she straightened, using her unwounded hand to pat her hair back into place before storming off down the hallway, her boots intentionally stomping on the marble to make her ire known.

When she was gone (and clearly heading towards the door), Kyliska finally breathed a sigh of relief, turning towards Braeth'el and wrapping her arms around him. She pressed herself against his muscular frame as he held her, his heartbeat in her ear, "Thank you."

"I'm pretty sure the entire spire heard your yelling and guards were already on the way, but you're welcome," Braeth'el said with a smile. He reached down, tipping Kyliska's head up so he could look at her. "She gave you a bit of a shiner there. Might want to heal it or get some ice at least."

Kyliska snorted, "I kicked her ass, so it's fine. I don't know where she got off thinking she could talk to me like that but I won't have it! I'll have to have a talk with Selenthiel about this."

Braeth'el nodded, studying his ichor-covered dagger on the floor, "Yes, I'm surprised at her as well. Normally she would inform us about guests like that. We should make sure that nothing is going on that is going to cause a security concern at the least, although I'm sure she has everything well in hand and can explain this."

Kyliska hugged him again, "She'd damn well better be. I'm pretty pissed. She's lucky I didn't carve her little dead friend up into pieces, especially since I just came from the practice yard and have my weapons on me."

"I'm glad you didn't; I don't want to know how much work it would have been to get all that black goo off the walls and floors," Braeth'el said to break Kyliska's dark mood. He was rewarded with a smile a moment later and he released her, "Why don't we go and get you something to eat and let you calm down a bit, and then we'll go find Selenthiel together okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine. I always get hungry after a good fight anyway," Kyliska agreed. Together the two turned, walking deeper into the spire and leaving the bloody weapon on the floor behind them for the servants to clean.

There would be a lot of talks to be had with Selenthiel, by many parties, in the days to come.

Aedri Blightsong: 1- Return to Quel'Thalas

The air shimmered briefly and then turned black as a hole tore open through the fabric of space, a link to the shadow plane briefly glowing purple as it disgorged a Death Knight from the deathgate. The two acolytes waiting in the laboratory came to attention as a figure that would have been a horror in any place other than the Ebon Hold appraised them with malevolent eyes.

Of average height for a Sin'dorei, the Death Knight Aedri Blightsong was anything but typical for an elf. Her skin was slate gray, her hair a bleached snow-white that was artfully arranged atop her head with saronite clasps. Her armor was similar to those worn by lesser ranking acolytes, consisting of a robe with saronite plates sewn into it combined with wraps that covered much of her flesh. It was her runeblade that gave hint of her place within Acherus; the blighted, rusty, diseased looking weapon was atypical even for a death knight, and it was clearly imbued with unholy magics far beyond those used by the newly raised or by the amateurs amongst the living who styled themselves as necromancers.

Aedri paused for a moment, glancing around the laboratory and ensuring that her underlings had performed the tasks she assigned them. Satisfied that the experiments she'd ordered were running properly, she determined that she would not need to discipline the two for the time being. She waved her hand, her black-painted nails dully reflecting the torch-light, "You will prepare two tables for a new experiment in the secondary laboratory. My business in Quel'Thalas has lead to a new project."

The two acolytes bowed deeply and turned, heading towards the exit to an adjoining chamber. All together, Aedri had three small laboratories under her command within the Ebon Hold, along with private chambers set behind them for her own use. Unassigned to any particular company, she served as a plague and disease expert, performing experiments and research for the Ebon Blade where needed to combat their enemies.

With a second glance at the bubbling alchemy equipment in the lab, she nodded in satisfaction and headed towards a sealed door at the rear of the lab. Speaking several words of magic, she unlocked the wards that barred it and slipped inside, closing it behind her. The room within was slowly lit with a blue light as magical torches came to life at her presence, illuminating her personal work space and living quarters.

The room was smaller than one might expect, holding just a large desk, a book shelf stocked with various tomes, and a small cot that Aedri used more for reading than for sleeping, her body being far beyond the need for such mortal concerns. A closet off to the side contained her meager worldly possessions including extra armor and wraps as well as a few dresses and outfits used for mingling with the living when her work required such unfortunate measures.

With a sigh of satisfaction she sank down in the plush chair behind her work desk, reaching out to take a small journal from a drawer and grabbing a fresh bottle of ink and a quill. She opened the book, making several notes relating to her meeting with the priestess Selenthiel Sunfire in Silvermoon City. Her neat, precise script clearly spelled out the details of the experiments that Selenthiel wished her to conduct as well as Aedri's own thoughts and theories on the reasons for the continued contamination of the Dead Scar. When she was finished, she set the quill down and examined her writing, nodding in satisfaction.

"It will be an interesting project at least," she murmured to herself, her voice echoing with a hollow quality not shared by the living. "Although I dare say it will involve several unpleasant aspects."

She sighed again, watching the ink dry for a moment before closing the journal and setting the book back in the drawer where she'd retrieved it. Today had been the first time she'd returned to Quel'Thalas since her raising as a death knight. It had brought with it a mix of emotions she'd not expected, including a certain amount of resentment for some of the living Sin'dorei that she'd seen patrolling the streets.

"And how many years has it been?" she wondered aloud, still considering the strange mix of emotions she felt. She'd died some time ago, just before the Northrend campaign had begun when the Scourge had struck at all of the races of Azeroth. Since then, she'd been freed from a horrible enslavement as an undead creature and then been absorbed in her work against the Lich King and other threats that the Ebon Blade brought her to combat. She'd not even considered returning to Quel'Thalas in all that time; there was simply nothing there for her now.

With another sigh she rose, leaving her chambers and returning to the main laboratory to study the experiments there. Several animals in cages along one side of the room drew her notice, and she walked over to them, still considering what her meeting with Selenthiel had brought up. The animals in the cages appeared fragile and sick, and she smiled as she realized the plagues they had been infested with continued to affect them. It had been twenty-eight days since they'd become sick, and still they lived on and suffered; the experiment to create ever more unpleasant and non-lethal illnesses was going well at least.

She moved slowly about the room, checking each experiment one by one, her mind occupied by her thoughts of her meeting with the priestess. Once, long ago, she had been in much the same position as Selenthiel, albeit without the noble title or authority. It was an amusing exercise to consider what life would have been like if it had continued, although eventually it led her to black thoughts about how that had turned out for her.

"No matter, I will do the research as Selenthiel requested," Aedri murmured, reaching down to pick up a squirrel from a cage. The animal struggled only fitfully, the disease it had contracted much worse than the others and likely not a candidate for her ongoing experiments. "If it provides a boon to the Ebon Blade then it will have been worth my time. If not...well, weakness must be expunged once it is discovered, and if Quel'Thalas is going to make me feel...unpleasant...then I must come to terms with that in some way or another."

She set the likely dying animal back in its cage and shrugged, completing her rounds of the various experiments laid out in the room. In unlife she had achieved something of success, and the struggles of the elves in Quel'Thalas meant little to her now. If seeing people like Selenthiel put her mind ill at ease she would need to force herself out of the labs more and into the field. It would not due to be brooding when there was work to do.

As she returned to her room to perform her regenerative necromantic rituals for the evening a final thought about the matter crossed her mind.

It could be worse after all, she could be a damned Blood Knight. That I do not think I could have tolerated. 

The torches in the laboratory flickered and died out as she closed the door behind her, leaving her suffering experiments in the darkness of the Ebon Hold, much as her black thoughts were trapped within her own mind. 

Bethani Easting 2: Reconnecting

The door of the inn creaked loudly as it opened, letting in the dank night air of Darkshire. Within the bustling barroom conversation petered out as all eyes turned towards the open doorway and the newcomer standing there. For a moment, Bethani Easting paused, her malevolent gaze falling over each of the patrons as she studied them in turn. She was forced to hold her face in an expressionless mask as a jolt of surprise surged through her at the sight of the various people inhabiting the place and then a second time at their response.

Her surprise came from the fact that everyone in the room simply turned away and went back to their conversations, as if seeing a death knight was not particularly unusual. In addition, she had immediately noticed that several lycanthropes were present amongst the clientele, both in transformed states and hidden as regular humans if she was any judge of unusual creatures (and she was). This too was not of interest to the patrons there, and it puzzled her for a moment.

Despite her surprise, she forced herself to move nonchalantly, the door closing behind her as she strolled casually through the crowd towards a table set against a far wall. Situated away from the room's main hearth, it was colder there and likely why the spot was not occupied by one of the many drinking, chatting patrons. It suited Bethani just fine though, as the cold night was of little concern to her and she eased herself into the chair, spreading the black stormcloak behind her to avoid sitting on it. She shifted, ensuring her sheathed runeblade would not catch on the chair's back should she suddenly need to draw it.

For a few moments, she simply sat and glanced around the tavern. Things had certainly changed since the war in Northrend. Although she'd been consciously aware of the fact that the world would have moved on without her during her self-enforced slumber in the crypts, being aware of something and seeing it first hand were two entirely different things. The patrons here had clearly experienced much, and if lycanthropes were accepted as members of society then things had changed far beyond what she'd anticipated. Bethani was no mindless undead thing however; she was able to adapt and after a few glances at the nearest worgen to analyze it for potential strengths and weaknesses she paid them all little more heed.

A figure detached itself from the edge of the bar and began making its way towards Bethani. She pretended not to notice at first, but when the figure continued to boldly approach her she affixed her baleful gaze on it, which did little to deter the newcomer. The figure stopped before her, shrouded in a dark, hooded cloak that concealed its features but did little to hid the scourge-glow of its eyes. Bethani nodded once as the person stopped just shy of her table, understanding about why the patrons were not surprised by her presence blooming.

After a moment's pause the silent figure reached into its cloak and pulled out a sealed letter, dropping it on her table before stalking away. Bethani blinked once, watching the figure make its way through the tavern before exiting and being lost to sight. Clearly the person had been a messenger waiting for her arrival, even so it was strange to think that anyone would have expected her given the time she'd spent sealed away. She glanced down at the letter and nodded to herself, seeing the Ebon Blade's seal; the organization would not forget its members, and likely they had put a spell near her resting place to alert them of her rising.

She slipped her gauntlets off, setting them aside so she could pry the seal open with her black-painted fingernails. The letter was terse and to the point, giving a brief overview of events that had transpired during her slumber, the current status of the Ebon Hold, and orders to contact the Knights of the Ebon Blade when she was ready to resume her duties. She absorbed the information quickly, silently reading and considering the words. Much had transpired that she had missed, not that it had mattered much. Taking it all in made her feel groggy and out of place in time, and a smile crossed her black-painted lips as she considered that the feeling was akin to what a living person might feel like after a long afternoon nap in the sun.

As she read, a shadow fell over her and she glanced up to see a barmaid looking down at her. To Bethani's surprise, the woman offered her a smile and nod before speaking, "Can I get you anything, miss?"

Bethani blinked once and was surprised when her voice came out in a harsh croak, "No I'm fine. Actually wait, yes. I need some information. About an old man who wandered the lands nearby. One with a bad illness."

The barmaid frowned, shaking her head, "Ain't nothing I can tell you about that. Maybe Ted at the bar can, but he's not likely to give it away for free when you're taking up one of the tables here."

Bethani forced air into her lungs and sighed, considering the situation. Realizing she needed to blend in better, she decided to play along, her voice still a harsh croak as she responded, "Fine then, I'll have tea. Very hot tea if you can manage it."

The barmaid smiled and nodded, "I sure can! I'll send Ted over to talk to you as soon as he's able."

Bethani nodded, her gaze returning to the letter and re-reading it a second time. It would not due to miss any pertinent details given that she was going to be awake and wandering the world once more. She needed information both about current events and about why she had been disturbed. The Ebon Blade were her people, and she would serve them as she had in the northern campaign. She was alike with them and apart from any of the living people around her, and had unique skills that they could call upon at need. In return, they would give her a stipend, and she would have the opportunity to serve in ways that pleased her.

The barmaid returned a moment later, setting down a steaming hot cup of tea. Bethani paid her and nodded her thanks before taking it up and sipping it gently. Although she could taste very little, the feeling of moisture and heat in her mouth burned away the years of dust and dry decay, clearing her throat and making it easier to draw breath or speak. She didn't need to eat or drink, nor did she like doing so in her unliving state, but sometimes it did help to maintain outward appearances and to keep her form in a reasonable state for social interactions. She coughed briefly, ignoring the alarmed looks several patrons shot her from the unnatural sound before setting the teacup down and gently folding up the letter.

A balding man of middle age approached her table and she studied him, noting the dirty rag hanging from his belt and the nods several patrons gave the man as he passed. Here then was the bartender, and someone who could help her begin her quest. She offered him a non-threatening smile, nodding as he came closer.

"You need something, miss?" he said gruffly.

"Yes, and thank you for taking the time to speak with me. My name is Bethani Easting, and I've...newly arrived here," Bethani said, taking great care to make her words as polite as possible. Unlike many of her kind, she was able to throttle down her irritation and negative emotions when it suited her, maintaining a calm demeanor. "I wish to know about an old man. One who had been wandering the forest and was ill."

The bartender's eyes narrowed as he studied the death knight, "That'd be old Victor. Everyone knew he was getting sick. But you're saying 'was'. You do something to him?"

Bethani shook her head, her tone neutral, "I did not. It was he who disturbed me. He entered my tomb and woke me from my slumber. Foolishly he allowed himself to be injured by the creatures that inhabit the cemetery and was at death's door when I awoke. I could ask him nothing of why he had come before he passed."

The bartender studied her closely for a moment, as if weighing and judging her response. Finally, he nodded slowly, "That's a shame if old Victor's gone and died. I doubt you'd be telling me about it if you were responsible given what you are, although I'll be sending a few of the constables to check if you don't mind."

Bethani sighed, waving a hand at him before reaching up to her neck and pulling an iron chain from beneath her breastplate. On the end hung an emblem of the Ebon Blade, wrought in black iron, "Do what you will, but know that I represent the Ebon Knights. I have more important things to do than to dispose of wandering old men in cemeteries, nor to confess about such crimes later. I laid him to rest in a cairn within the third tomb to the cemetery's east. Your men can check his body; they will find it has been mauled by ghouls multiple times and that I am not responsible for the death."

The bartender nodded again, "That gives your story even more credit, as murders don't usually tell you where the body is free and clear like that. I'll let the Night Watch know. He didn't have any family anyway. Sad tale, that."

Bethani pursed her lips, trying very hard to rein in growing irritation, "I'm quite sure. Regardless, why did he disturb my resting place?"

The man scratched his chin in thought, and then shrugged, "Damned if I know Miss Easting. He was always an odd one, talking about disasters and calamities. Used to read fortunes for people here but they stopped going when he started to only tell 'em bad things. A few people even got sick or died after he told 'em they would. Ever since then he was going downhill fast, and then the sickness took him. Figured he would have died in his bed, not wandered into the cemetery."

Bethani frowned, looking away from the man as she thought. It made little sense, as the man had obviously deliberately disturbed her rest. He had thought it important obviously, even in his declining state. There was more purpose to all of this than could be seen by the naked eye. She looked back up at the bartender and nodded, "Well, that doesn't explain it per say but I guess we can say the old man had finally lost his wits, especially given that he broke into my tomb. I thank you for your assistance."

The man shivered when Bethani had said the tomb was hers, and he was quick to nod and then turn and walk away, leaving her to her thoughts. For a time she simply sat and did nothing, holding the emblem of the Knights of the Ebon Blade in her hand and turning it over and over again, the little black disc with its carved sword motif seeming to drink in the light of the fire and reflecting nothing back. After a time she nodded to herself, tucking the medallion away once more before rising; she would need to learn more of the current state of the world and that was best done by following up on the letter from her superiors and reconnecting with the Ebon Hold. She made her way towards the door, pausing as she neared one of the worgen patrons.

She glanced down at him, a smile crossing her lips as she studied him. There was one more thing she needed to do, "Excuse me?"

"Yes?" the beast growled, looking annoyed that she had interrupted his conversation with another patron.

"I do apologize for cutting in, but...does this town have any enemies nearby?" she said softly.

The worgen looked at her for a moment before shooting her a feral grin. The grin was infectious, spreading to her own lips as he described several enclaves of feral worgen beasts that needed to be put down as well as nearby murloc tribes and the usual bandits and thieves. When he was done, Bethani nodded her thanks and turned quickly, heading towards the door and the night beyond.

In her veins she could feel the pulsing stir of the plagues that she carried. Like a fever, they flowed through her in a rush of warmth, begging for release. Before she could do anything else, she would need to restore her weakened strength, and that would only come through more suffering, more agony, more death.


As the night enveloped her, the death knight who the Scourge once nicknamed the Plague-bringer began her hunt, the fever growing within her as a burning need to harm some living thing. The town of Darkshire would be safer for several weeks to come after her dark work was finished for the evening.

Awakening

*Raven Hill Cemetery, Deep Within a Crypt*

The old man stumbled, falling heavily against the earthen wall of the tunnel that lead into the blackest depths of the crypt. Wracking coughs took hold, his body shaking as blood welled up and came out of his mouth onto the cloth he held over it. The torch he held flickered in the stagnant air as his convulsions caused it to shake.

After several long, agonizing minutes, Victor Cooper managed to push himself away from the wall and continue his journey further into darkness. In the back of his mind, whispered warnings and clashing thoughts battled for his sanity, the last fading vestiges of his rational thought holding in place by a thread.

A seer for many years, Victor had always been accosted by visions and dreams of the future. As he grew older and his health began to fail, the visions had become darker and more mysterious, often pointing towards the deaths of those who sought his council or were related to some ill tidings. Since the illness had begun to claim him, virtually every night his mind's eye had shown him horrific images of green flames and death raining down on a silent hill that he believed was his resting place.

These visions had continued night after night, even as his body had begun to fail him, until two nights ago when he had seen something entirely different, something he'd had difficulty understanding. The green fire was there as it always was, washing over everything in a vision of apocalypse, but this time it was different. This time the green fire was met by blue fire, the two forces clashing and burning away everything around them until the green flames were beaten back and extinguished at last. It had taken him much thought in his weakened state to try to interpret what he'd seen, and even now he was not sure if he was correct. He'd researched local legends and folklore, trying to come to terms with what he'd seen. Finally, after agonizing hours out of the bed that he knew would soon be his deathbed, he had discovered what he believed to be the answer.

He stumbled again, the uneven stone floor of the crypt's tunnel barely visible in the small globe of light thrown off by his torch. He winced in agony, hearing the patter of his blood as it dripped onto the stones. He'd been wounded many times in his journey, the roaming ghouls and undead creatures that even now haunted the cemetery having taken their toll of his flesh. His own illness mingled with the diseases they carried, his body a cauldron of dark plagues that made each step, each breath a symphony of agony, but he pressed on, his visions guiding him to what he knew would be his destiny.

After many long minutes in the darkness, he finally felt the tunnel wall slip away as he moved forward into a larger, hollowed out space deep beneath the cemetery hill above. With a shaking hand he held his torch high, its pitiful light flickering again and revealing a small stone room with a stone sarcophagus set in the center of the space. Warily he lurched towards it, his hands coming out to touch the smooth marble as he leaned heavily on it. His fingertips traced runes carved into its surface, the words in several languages warning others to keep away from the unholy resting place.

Victor frowned in concentration, his hands running over the cold stone in the darkness, seeking the particular runes that he'd read about. After a long search he finally found them, a satisfied smile coming over his face as he felt the outline of the words in the Language of Death.

Plague-bringer

With a nod to himself he dropped his torch on the stone floor beside him, leaning forward and placing both hands on the lid of the sealed stone before him. He heaved with all his remaining strength, the thin lid of stone giving way after a moment and sliding forward slowly before tipping over and crashing to the floor behind the sarcophagus before shattering into a million pieces. The noise of its cracking almost drown out the death rattle coughing fit that consumed Victor for several minutes after the act.

Blood staining his lips now, he reached down and drew the torch up, his hands shaking again as he leaned over the edge of the sarcophagus, his eyes widening as the light illuminated the stone container before him and confirmed the tales he'd read.

Within lay a figure in repose, the woman's flesh ashen white. Bedecked in black armor with images of skulls decorating it, she lay silently within her resting place, dark blue-black hair framing a face forever frozen in the flower of her youthful early twenties. Her hands lay at rest over the hilt of a sword, the weapon lain atop her and long enough to reach the middle of her armored calves. Although she had obviously lain undisturbed for many years, no hint of decay touched her other than the ashen color of her skin, and the fact that cobwebs connected her dead form to the walls of her resting place. Black-painted lips lay closed, still looking healthy and plump as if her eyes would open and words would slip forth from between them but a moment later.

Victor took all of this in for a moment, holding himself steady with quickly weakening limbs. Here lay a legend from the campaign in the north. A woman whose death saddened many in the nearby region years ago, and whose legacy and contributions to the fight against the Lich King had all but been forgotten. Sealed away from the world in the years following, all but a few had forgotten she'd even existed, and none now living cared. Victor smiled as he looked down at her, the smile fading as he realized what he was about to do, trepidation making him shake his head.

"This was as the vision foretold. Blue fire to burn away the green," he muttered to himself. His words echoed in the narrow space, bouncing back to him in the empty darkness. No response greeted him, nor had he expected any. He'd come as his visions told him, but now that he was here he knew little of what to do.

A coughing fit took him, this one worse than all those before. Agony gripped his chest like hot iron bands wrapped around his form, and he nearly plunged head-first into the sarcophagus as his strength failed him. Here, at the end of his quest, he would fail because he was too weak to finish what he'd come to do. He hung limply over the stone, his coughing becoming weaker, agony and misery mixing together in a bittersweet brew within him. In despair he glanced at the dead woman beneath him, his eyes widening in shock.

Her lips had parted into a smile at his pain, though she remained unmoving.

Understanding came to him at last, and with his remaining strength he reached out, his hand closing around the edge of the sword she carried, the weapon biting deep into his flesh. The agony made him cry out, and crying out made him cough again, the plagues within him causing him to collapse, his last view of the corpse showing him flickering glowing runes beginning to dance upon the weapon he'd touched.

For many long minutes he lay on the floor of the crypt, coughing out his life, the flickering light of the torch that he'd dropped sending shadows dancing across the ceiling. In the echoing noise of his coughing fit he heard nothing but his own agony reflected back at him, and he panted in fear as he tried to cling to life. His eyes slipped closed for a moment as he prayed for the pain to stop, opening slowly as he felt a change in the air.

Twin glowing orbs stared back down at him, the dead woman having come from her tomb to stand over him, her face inches from him. She said nothing as their gazes locked, merely watching as he suffered. When his coughing diminished for a moment, she reached out and grabbed his wounded hand, the pain making him howl again and resuming the coughing fit. Although he resented what she did, the blue fire burning in her soulless eyes matched the hue of his visions perfectly.

As his vision faded away and death finally claimed him, a smile passed over his face. He'd completed his quest after all and brought forth a weapon against the darkness he'd foreseen. Although he could tell her nothing as life slipped away, he knew it would not be necessary. The dark look in her gaze, the wonder at being awakened would be enough. Her curiosity would do the rest, and she would walk the world once more. With a final sigh he passed away, his spirit free at last from the pain.

Within the slowly darkening tomb, Bethani Easting, a death knight of the Ebon Blade and once called the Plague-bringer by the Scourge stood and stared at the dead man. For all these many years she had lain still and silent within the crypt, her form sealed away from a world that had no use for her. She'd put herself there after the Lich King's final fall, as the world of the living had no place and no use for a creature such as she. And yet...for some reason this man had come, had disturbed her resting place and nourished her with his own dying agony to awaken her, and she had no idea why.

She stood silently as the last of the torchlight flickered out, the glow of her eyes and of her newly empowered runeblade glittering in the blackness. She could sense the myriad undead creatures of the crypts around her, their growls echoing in the long darkness. For a long moment she did nothing, weighing the choice between returning to the sarcophagus behind her or venturing forth from the crypt to determine why she'd been disturbed, the decision a difficult one.

Finally, curiosity won the better of her. Despite her misgivings about dealing with the living and returning to the painful reality of what she'd become after death, she began to move. In the crypts around her, the ghouls and other undead monstrosities fled from the sound of her tread, knowing what would happen should they encounter her.

In the darkness of the night, an armored figure emerged from the hollow, black opening of a crypt, scourge-blue eyes staring up at stars that they had not seen in many years.