An Unexpected Visitor

The sunlight warmed Kyliska’s skin, her form soaking in the rays as she lay upon a blanket spread over the beautiful white sands of the beach. She sighed happily, enjoying the moment of relaxation, her eyes closing in the pure bliss of simply enjoying the day. A happy shout made her open her eyes for a moment, and she stared out over the gorgeous blue water, watching as Braeth’el lifted Biara’s daughter Astariel up into the air playfully, the girl shouting again and laughing. He brought her back down, nearly dunking her in the water and she shrieked in delight.

He will make a fine husband one day, a fine father for my own children.

The thought had come unbidden, but it made Kyliska smile secretly as she watched Braeth’el gently bring Astariel down into the water, her eyes devouring the way the sunlight played on his bronzed skin and glittered with the beads of ocean water that clung to muscles seemingly carved from rock. She sighed again, snuggling on the blanket and letting her eyes drift closed, imagining the happy times that the future would hold.

A moment later a shadow fell over her, blocking out the sun with its darkness. Kyliska frowned, peering up with one eye, her mouth opened to scold Braeth’el from blocking her sunlight. What she saw made her jerk in shock, her heart racing in her chest as a pair of glowing blue eyes stared down at her, the face of the dead elf above her pretty and framed with golden blonde hair. Kyliska nearly jumped to her feet before she realized who it was that was standing there, a hand coming to her heart as she regained her breath, “Sunwell! You scared me Avielle! I thought there was a ghost there…”

Kyliska’s voice trailed off as she realized just how offensive such a thing might be to an undead person. For her part, the death knight Avielle Silverlight merely offered her a half smile, as if she found the entire situation amusing. Dressed in a shimmering black and silver dress, she looked nothing like the warrior that had saved Kyliska from captivity all those months ago. After regaining her composure for a second time, Kyliska did rise, peering at the other elf with curiosity, “Why have you come here? How did you come here? I mean, how did you find me that is?”

Avielle studied Kyliska for a moment and then spoke softly, her tone even as if she were afraid to give offense, “It has been months since last we spoke. When I returned you to your estate on that occasion you were in no condition to discuss…well, anything. I have waited patiently for a chance to speak with you again, but time has passed and I’ve heard nothing. Most recently I heard rumors about a narrowly avoided disaster at one of your garrisons, and when I attempted to speak to a member of your newly enlarged House about it, I was rebuffed and told to seek you at your estate.”

Kyliska’s mouth opened in surprise for a moment and she had the grace to look embarrassed even though the death knight had somehow tracked her down on a beach while she was sunbathing in a bikini, “I um…I’m really sorry about this but it totally slipped my mind to come and seek you out. I know I should have but… a lot has happened.”

Avielle held up a hand, shaking her head, “It is I who should apologize, for I have come uninvited and unannounced. I just...when I heard about these troubles through my agents, I became concerned. Our accord still holds for as long as you draw breath, and as such I feel an obligation to help you.”

She paused for a moment, biting her lip in thought and shaking her head, “No, obligation is the wrong word, for what do the dead owe anyone? Instead, the accord gives me purpose. It gives me a reason to be Avielle. To continue to walk the forests of Quel’Thalas. To think of dishonoring it makes me…upset. Does that make sense?”

Kyliska smiled at the undead elf, meeting her gaze, “Yes, it does make sense and I’m sorry that a member of my House has made you feel unwelcome. You may always come to our estate to seek me out if you need to speak with me. I owe you that much both for saving me and in honor of the accord my father signed.”

Avielle smiled at this, seeming to relax a little. It was hard to tell with an undead creature, but a certain tension seemed to drain from her. Her voice was softer when she responded, “Do not blame your priestess, Lady Selenthiel, for rebuffing me. Her kind have understandable qualms about dealing with the dead. I fear I may have left a sour impression with her however. I hope that she will, in time, come to see past such things.”

Kyliska laughed, “Oh don’t worry about Sel, I’ll talk to her the next chance I get! That is easy enough to fix. I really do feel bad though; I should have come to see you or at least sent you a missive. My life has been…well, crazy lately. I’ve been attacked, been in battle, found romance. It’s…”

Kyliska trailed off, amazed that she was chatting away with a dead elf as if they’d been friends for years. The death knight’s quiet and seemingly serene nature made it easy to speak with her, despite what she was. For her part, Avielle seemed to be enjoying the fact that someone, anyone, was speaking to her at all. She offered Kyliska a knowing smile, “I remember my own, similar times. I am glad that your life has been blessed, Kyliska. My only hope is that it continues to be so and that I can aid you where I may. I came to you today for two reasons related to this.”

Kyliska studied the pale face of the other elf, an eyebrow raised, “Oh? Do tell! We have all day my friend!”

Avielle turned and stepped aside, revealing a rather large and long pack that she had brought with her. She knelt beside it for a moment, undoing ties on the top of it and slowly opening the canvas top. Within the pack was a long wooden box that Avielle carefully removed from the pack. She turned towards Kyliska, lifting it and placing it at her feet, remaining on her knees before the other elf. She looked up at Kyliska, her expression hopeful as if seeking approval for what she’d presented, “I have found something of interest to you. Something that I had restored in remembrance of those who have fallen and of our accord.”

Kyliska smiled, kneeling down on the other side of the long box, her hands reaching out to touch the polished wooden surface. With an encouraging nod from Avielle, Kyliska undid the clasp that held the box shut, lifting the lid to reveal a sword laying atop velvet within. Kyliska’s eyes widened as her hand reached out to grab the gold-enameled pommel, her breath catching in her throat.

“I present to you with Belore’melorn. Your father’s sword Sunstrike,” Avielle said softly. “I discovered the broken fragments of the blade on our estate grounds. Although I never found your father’s body, I have had his blade reforged for you to wield in honor of what he did for our people.”

Kyliska couldn’t breathe and tears ran down her face as she held the golden weapon before her, a piece of her father’s heritage clenched in her hands. Her hands shook for a moment, and she drew in a deep breath before gently setting the blade back down within its case. She leaned over the box, her arms wrapping around a stunned Avielle and hugging her tightly, “Thank you so much. You have no idea what it means to me or how wonderful a gift this is.”

Avielle shifted, clearly uncomfortable and surprised that a living person would touch her. The feeling of Kyliska’s blessed form against her own unholy body was somewhat painful, but she did not push the Blood Knight away until she’d had her fill of the moment. She smiled again, reaching back to the now mostly empty pack and pulling out a second object, this time holding a silver necklace with a green emerald set in the center.

“I have created this with magic that I believe will be inert to you,” she said. “If you call for me, if you say my name or the name of my House, I will come to you in need. This way I will feel assured that you can obtain my aid in an emergency. It would…make me more comfortable to know the accord was protected.”

Kyliska nodded, taking the necklace from the undead elf and wiping her face with her free hand, “Thank you. My sister has given me similar items in the past so I understand how useful they can be. I will keep it with me always.”

Avielle was about to speak again when another shadow fell over them. As Kyliska rose, Braeth’el came up beside her, an arm around her and a rather hard look on his face, “Who do we have here, Kyli?”

Kyliska blinked once, wiping away more tears and coming to realize she had never told Braeth’el about the death knight. Her mouth opened and closed, a million details she needed to tell all trying to get out at once. She was saved the trouble when Avielle herself spoke, her tone cooler but polite, “I am Avielle Silverlight, last Heir of the fallen House Silverlight and vassal by accord of the Lady Kyliska Sunblade, ruler of House Sunfire.”

Braeth’el blinked once and Kyliska drew in a sharp breath, the words laying bare the entirety of the situation quite efficiently. Braeth’el’s tone was wry when he responded, a half smile on his face, “Are you now? And yet I’ve never heard of you before. Strange, being the Master at Arms for House Sunfire.”

Avielle dipped her head once in respect, her tone mild when she replied, “I beg your pardon, Master at Arms, but I am not beholden to House Sunfire. My accord is with the Lady Sunblade, and I answer to her and only to her.”

Braeth’el chuckled at this, his tone amused now, “Oh Biara must adore you!”

Kyliska gave Braeth’el a sharp elbow to the ribs, her tone stern, “Biara doesn’t know about her and I forgot to mention Avielle to you. I’m sorry, but a lot has been going on. She fought beside my father and fell with him as well, and was the one who saved me from captivity.”

Braeth’el studied the death knight closely, his eyes meeting her icy cold gaze, “Well then it seems that you are owed my thanks, Avielle. It is a shame I’ve not heard more about you before this.”

His tone was clear, and Kyliska had the dignity to blush a little. For her part, Avielle simply nodded again, her gaze going out over the ocean. Her expression softened and for a moment something sparkled in her eyes, “I remember...we used to swim in the Elrendar river. We’d dip our feet on the warm days and then slip into the waters to cool off.”

“Oh you should go swimming then!” a voice piped in from behind the group. Kyliska turned in surprise as Astariel bounded past her, running right up to the death knight as if there were nothing unusual about her at all. To everyone’s everlasting shock, she grabbed Avielle’s hand, pulling her towards the water, “Come on! The water is beautiful today!”

For a moment Kyliska felt tension surging through Braeth’el as the death knight’s hand closed around Astariel’s. Kyliska could almost feel his seething thoughts about how one of the heirs of the House was near an unknown danger. Before he could say anything she wrapped a hand around his arm, her presence anchoring him in place and seeming to serve a word of caution and patience. The moment stretched on and Kyliska was rewarded when Avielle began to slowly move in the direction the young elf had been pulling her, her blue eyes fixed on the water.

“Oh you have to take your shoes off silly!” Astariel laughed as she pulled the death knight towards the surf.

Almost woodenly Avielle kicked off her shoes, seemingly lost in some memory from long ago, her feet stepping into the surf as Astariel released her hand and darted along the shore, laughing happily. For a moment Braeth’el merely watched the death knight, allowing Kyliska’s arm to hold him in place as the undead creature followed the child, his thoughts whirling. As Avielle stepped further into the ocean, one of the most puzzling questions was answered as she lifted the hem of her dress to avoid getting it wet, exposing the tip of the runeblade that was clearly strapped higher up on one pale white thigh.

For a moment the death knight looked back, her gaze meeting Braeth’el’s and an understanding passing between them in that instant. Here were two extremely dangerous individuals, but of alike purposes. In that moment, Braeth’el gave a subtle nod, understanding that the death knight would pose no threat to House Sunfire’s heirs.

As Avielle turned away, Kyliska’s arms wrapped around Braeth’el’s waist. He turned in place, staring down at her with an almost scolding expression on his face. Kyliska looked up at him, intentionally plastering an almost vapid look on her face, “What’s the matter Hunky Bear? Don’t look at me like that, okay? I know I should have told you. It was an accident. And besides, we’ve had a lot going on.”

Braeth’el sighed, glancing back to see if Avielle had been close enough to hear Kyliska’s pet name for him before shaking his head. How far could a death knight hear anyway? He didn’t even know. He looked back down at Kyliska, sighing again as she leaned on him, almost strategically also placing her impressive cleavage dead smack in the center of his view. It was like she played such games by accident sometimes. When he responded, his voice was one of long-suffering exasperation, “You know you’re going to be the death of me one day, right babycakes?”

Kyliska’s false expression melted and she grinned wickedly as Braeth’el replied with a pet name of his own, “Oh, I know.”

“And you’re perfectly okay with this? You’ll be a murderess you know,” Braeth’el chided, wrapping his arms around Kyliska.

“Yep! But you’ll love every minute of it,” she responded slyly.

Braeth’el sighed again and shook his head, “We will let your…friend…stay for a while. But once our adventure at the beach here is over I will look into this further. I do trust your word on this, and surprisingly, hers. If she had wanted to kill you there would have been no point in tricking you in the first place and she could have done it when you were imprisoned. Even so, I’d like to know more. More about her, about the accord with your father’s house, and about her fall. Silverlight…it sounds familiar to me. I remember Tel’athar mentioning it before.”

Now it was Kyliska’s turn to sigh. She rolled her eyes, squeezing Braeth’el tightly, “You always have to bring up work. Can’t we just relax for a bit? We came out here to relax and let Astariel play. Let’s talk about schemes and plots another time okay?”

Braeth’el sighed again and then nodded, “Sure. I can let this lie for now.”

They both turned, watching as Astariel laughed and splashed in the water, running in circles around a dead elf who had a look that was a mixture of bemused delight and the dancing shadow of memories from times long past on her face. Kyliska hugged Braeth’el closely as they watched, sighing softly, “She’s adorable and friendly. I don’t care if my sister or anyone else doesn’t like her, she’s done so much for me already.”

Braeth’el gave a noncommittal grunt, watching the death knight from a distance, his hands wrapped around Kyliska. Although Avielle Silverlight did indeed appear to be an ally and harmless, he knew better than to trust outward appearances. He also knew exactly what she was, and if Kyliska wished to forget that they were staring not at a girl but at a necromantically created weapon then it was up to him to ensure that someone remembered at all times. Even so, having such an ally could be useful if she could be trusted.

“Besides,” Braeth’el thought with a grin, “It will REALLY piss off Biara to have someone around that she can’t order about or manipulate with her scheming. It’ll be worth it just to see that!”

With the issue decided, he smirked and then moved suddenly, scooping Kyliska up in his arms and charging towards the water with her. She shrieked, pounding on his arm to no avail as he carried her into the sea kicking and laughing.

Despite the unexpected visitor, it turned out to be a very pleasant day indeed.

A Knight in Shining Armor

Sunlight slanted down across the dew-laden scrub brush of the plaguelands, the light reflecting back in a thousand broken sparkles in the morning's light. The beauty of the scene was lost on Avielle however as her scourged gaze swept across the ground, continuing to follow the trail of hoof-prints that a horse had left in the soft soil.

She had been tracking the path of the strange Knight from the Ghostlands all night and into the early morning, her lack of need for sleep a boon in moving quickly. Tirelessly she and her undead steed plodded onwards, moving ever further into the more wild regions of the plaguelands.

Hours had passed with nothing but the twisted dead scenery and occasional burned out building that was once a part of the mighty nation of Lordaeron before its fall. Now and then Avielle had encountered roaming undead, but they generally left her be as she herself was undead and far more powerful. Zombies were stupid, but they weren't that stupid.

As she progressed, a shape began to take form in the distance; an old watchtower that was once part of Lordaeron's holdings. Dilapidated now, it rose like a broken, crooked tooth from the brown soil and stabbed up into the sky; a would-be eyesore if any living eyes were present to take in the sight. As she drew nearer to the tower, Avielle began to realize that the trail she was following was heading directly towards it. After another half hour had passed, she was firm in her conviction that this was the case, and she yanked on the reins to halt her mount.

Across the barren, dead earth between her and the tower nothing stirred. No banners or pennants fluttered from the broken crown of the ruined building, and all was in stillness around Avielle. She stared hard at the structure in the distance, unmoving as she studied her destination.

Her patience was rewarded when she spied movement along the tower's base. Distant figures exited from one of the black openings into the structure, moving lazily away from it as if patrolling its perimeter. Even from this distance, Avielle could see the wings and red flesh of demons as they walked, and her eyes narrowed as she connected the creatures with the dead Felhunters she'd found at the battle site in the plaguelands.

With a grin, Avielle drew her horn from her belt, bringing it to her lips and letting forth a long, wailing blast. It echoed across the distance, the mournful sound a warning to all that a death knight hunted now. In the distance, the figures became frantic, pointing at her and running in her direction. She grinned wickedly, snapping the reins and letting her deathcharger begin its dash towards her prey. She reached back and drew her rune-spear, holding it before her like a lance, steed and rider gaining momentum with every thunderous fall of the deathcharger's hooves.

In her battle-lust, Avielle never noticed how the sunlight reflected from her speartip. She never realized how much like a Argent Crusader she must have looked, charging from the rising dawn, lance ahead of her to plunge into the heart of evil.

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

Kyliska shifted in her cell, her manacle clinking against the cold stones of the cell's floor. She crawled as far as she was able, reaching the supplies that the imposter had left for her. She sat beside them for a moment, her eyes fixated not on the food and water, but on the hookah and blood thistle that had been left for her.

Once long ago she'd been addicted to the herbs. She remembered vividly how good they had made her feel, how powerful. That they were here now, in her lowest low when all the world had fallen down around her was a temptation she was finding it hard to resist.

What does it matter if I do it? I'm never getting out of here anyway. No one knows I'm gone, no one cares. If I'm going to die here, I might as well enjoy the one thing that can make me forget all of this for a moment.

Her hands shook as the desire to relieve the stress and lose herself in the herb took hold. She didn't care anymore and none of it mattered. If she was to be forced to watch another live her life, enjoy the company of her lover, then she was going to use the herb and go far away from it all to a place where she felt happy and content.

Slowly she took the hookah and slid it towards herself. She opened the top, placing the blood thistle inside and igniting it before closing the lid. Her hands shook even more now as she took up the pipe, preparing to lose herself in the herb's embrace. Her life was over now and it was best to just let it go.

She brought the pipe to her lips, her eyes closing as she prepared to inhale the highly addictive drug. She felt her heart racing as the old feelings for the herb flowed through her again. Just as she was about to inhale, a loud bang startled her and caused her to open her eyes in surprise.

A second bang rocked the room, the sound of something heavy pounding against the wooden door that sealed off the dungeon's cells from the hallway beyond. Kyliska stared hard at the barrier, her heart beating quickly in her chest and the un-smoked herb sending a curl of smoke up into the air from the hookah beside her.

The third bang shattered the barrier as a heavy form was thrown through it. Kyliska dropped the hookah in shock as she watched the very dead, mangled form of a Wrathguard slide across the stone floor and come to a halt against the far wall of the prison block.

The cell room was guarded, as it always was, by demons. A second Wrathguard surged to its feet from further down the line of cells, rushing towards the shattered barrier as a lithe figure entered through the opening. Kyliska took in the sight of her in an instant, seeing a strange blonde-haired elf strolling casually towards the charging demon, a glowing spear in her hand.

The Wrathguard's blades came down, one after another, and the spear-wielder reacted with cat-like reflexes. Her weapon whirled, the weapon deflecting one blow and parrying a second. The elf spun the spear around her body like a top and slammed the point into the demon's chest so hard that it burst out of its back. The creature howled, falling backwards into ruin as the spear-wielder slashed it three more times for good measure.

The intruder turned, rushing towards Kyliska's cell and causing her to cringe back against the far wall of her prison. The elf's blonde hair fell over half her face, messy from combat, but her exposed eye glowed with a foul blue light that fixed on Kyliska with an intensity that made her shudder. The elf set her spear down for a moment, reaching out and taking the bars to the cells in both hands, beginning to bend the solid steel with unnatural strength that confirmed Kyliska's fearful suspicions; there was a death knight trying to break into her cell for some reason.

From behind the intruder came the sound of a foul little giggle, and the death knight blinked in surprise as a barbed whip wrapped itself around her body. Kyliska noted that the barbs dug into the elf's flesh deeply, but only a small amount of blood oozed out of the wounds. Rather than looking pained, the elf actually rolled her eyes in irritation, even as the succubus that had been tormenting Kyliska for so long yanked the whip back and spun the death knight around.

The death knight wasted little time, reaching out and using her power to wrap dark tendrils of shadow around the succubus, dragging her close. The foul demon actually panted in excited surprise as her body was slammed against the dead elf's and she was slowly choked by an icy cold grip on her neck. The panting turned into howls as the death knight reached out and literally tore one of her wings off before spinning the demon around and snapping her neck with her bare hands.

Tossing the dead succubus aside, the death knight picked her spear up and slashed the bars of the cell, causing them to shatter from the cold of the weapon. She stepped through the opening and leveled the spear at Kyliska, her voice hollow and cold, "You. You are Kyliska Sunblade, now known as Kyliska Sunfire?"

Resigned to her fate, Kyliska brought her head up, her voice firm, "I am."

The dead elf reached out, grabbing Kyliska's arm in a firm, icy grip. Kyliska instantly felt nausea pass through her at the touch of the unholy being, and watched in surprise as the flesh on the dead elf's arm began to crack and flake from contact with her holy form. The undead elf released her grip, her voice a soft whisper under her breath, "At last..."

The death knight brought her spear up and Kyliska closed her eyes as the weapon descended, prepared for death. She was utterly shocked when the blade slammed into the manacle on her ankle, the weapon shearing through the metal and sparking as it bounced off the floor of the cell.

Kyliska's eyes opened wide as the death knight fell to her knees before her, her head bowed. She could swear she saw tears in the other's eyes as she spoke, "Kyliska Sunblade, I am Avielle Silverlight, heir of House Silverlight, allied to House Sunblade in accordance with agreements signed by both our fathers. Know that I come now to uphold the vows of my House, and that we of Silverlight have never forgotten and will never forget our oaths to you and yours. My blade, my power, is in your service Lady Sunblade."

Kyliska's mouth opened and closed, utterly shocked. She struggled to come to terms with what was happening, even as the strange elf lifted her head and stared straight into her eyes with her glowing orbs. Her next words rocked Kyliska to her core.

"Know that your father, Kelthias Sunblade, bade me tell you that he loves you. Know that these were the last words he spoke in life, and that his thoughts were ever on you and your mother Sassariel, even as he gave his life to protect the innocent of Quel'Thalas. His sacrifice, his honor, will never be forgotten by those of Silverlight for as long as I exist."

A strangled cry escaped Kyliska as emotions crashed through her, tears pouring freely from her eyes now as she began to sob. She felt elation flow through her, relief at finally knowing how her father had died, at knowing that he had thought of her before his life ended, at knowing that he had died a hero. Questions flowed through her, a thousand points she wanted to ask, beg, shout at the strange undead elf before her. Instead, she managed to croak out only a single sentence, "Thank you...thank you so much. You cannot know what that means to me..."

A look of relief flashed across Avielle's face as she rose to her feet. Her voice was soft now and soothing as she spoke to Kyliska, "Lady Sunblade...the tower is on fire. We need to get you out of here, get you to safety. Are you able to walk?"

Kyliska looked down at herself, at the filth that covered her and the blood on her ankle. She looked back up and nodded grimly, "I can try."

With that, she attempted to rise, a gasp escaping her as her injured ankle gave out on her. She tumbled back towards the floor, only to find the icy cold grip of the death knight holding her. Avielle's face was inches from hers as she spoke, "I will carry you from this place if not. No harm will come to you as long as I exist, this I swear. Come Lady Sunblade, it is time to go home."

With that Avielle hoisted Kyliska up, carrying her across her shoulder. She winced in pain as Kyliska's blessed form remained in contact with her, a soft hiss escaping her lips. For her part, Kyliska's world spun crazily around her, her weakness mixing with the touch of the unholy to make her feel sick. Her nose was filled with the strange scent of dead roses that came from the death knight as Avielle carried her from her cell. Kyliska's last sight of that place was of the un-smoked hookah, a trail of blood thistle smoke coming from its lid fading from view a moment later.

The hallway beyond the cells was long and narrow, the ruined tower's fortifications long since compromised. Beyond the end of the hall daylight stabbed through the broken opening of the tower's side, and in the dim light of the hallway Kyliska could see flames licking up the side of rotting support beams.

The hallway itself was littered with dead imps, their twisted bodies on the ground near a deathcharger. The undead horse was happily grazing on one of the imp's skulls, the sick crunching sound of bone being ground up coming from it as it chewed its meal. Kyliska felt herself being hoisted higher by Avielle's icy cold grip as she was placed gently in the saddle, the death knight leaping up behind her. A saronite plated arm wrapped around Kyliska's abdomen, keeping her in place as Avielle snapped the reins and urged the horse to a gallop.

The flaming hallway passed by them quickly, daylight suddenly surrounding them and making Kyliska squint and hold a hand to her eyes, the world spinning again as sickness stayed with her. Explosions rocked the ground around them as imps hurled fireballs at them from the tower's exterior, and Avielle wrapped her cloak around Kyliska, anti-magic wards shielding the wounded paladin as they galloped away.

Kyliska felt Avielle grunt a few times as she was struck by errant spells before they were clear of the tower's radius. Ahead of them a form rose up, a doomguard cackling as it prepared to hurl a spell at them. Avielle snapped the reins hard, her steed picking up momentum and hurtling towards a collision with the demon.

Kyliska's eyes widened and she cried out as it appeared they would slam into the demon, but Avielle shifted behind her and a spear hurtled through the air, shattering the demon's skull just as the deathcharger jumped, narrowly clearing the falling demon's body. Avielle yanked her spear from the creature's skull as they passed, and they galloped into the open plains beyond, free of their attackers at last.

In shock, exhausted and wounded, Kyliska felt her pulse slowly start to slow down. The questions in her mind continued to buzz, but a lethargy came over her as she finally felt safe for once. She found herself leaning back against the death knight behind her, her head against the solid armor that Avielle wore. The galloping of the deathcharger as they headed back towards Quel'Thalas combined with her exhaustion to slowly rock Kyliska to true, restful sleep finally.

As she drifted off, Kyliska's last thought was amusement at the fact that she heard no heartbeat through the armor of the elf that she was leaning against.

Encounter in the Ghostlands

NOTE: This story has been co-written by myself and Kyliska!

Kenzie Dawnsea entered the dilapidated building where Kyliska Sunfire was being held prisoner. She smirked as she made her way towards the cell that she was being held in. Kenzie had kept Kyliska there for a few weeks and had been torturing her, mostly emotionally. She was being forced to watch as Kenzie slept with her beloved Andithiel Felo’melorn. She would tear apart their Houses and cause strife between them. Also hurting someone close to Biara Sunfire always made Kenzie happy. She hated that bitch and she would hurt and feel pain as long as Kenzie lived.

Kenzie made her way to Kyli’s cell. She looked weak, and tired. Her face was bruised and there was dried blood on her body. It appeared that she had tried to find a way to escape. She tried to remove the manacle that was around her ankle, but to no avail. She was strong but not strong enough, especially with no magical ability. Her ankle was very bloody and bruised. Kenzie could see that Kyliska had not been eating much recently either. There was a lot of food that was left uneaten. She shrugged and made herself visible. She cleared her throat and Kyliska looked up at Kenzie. Only to Kyliska, she was looking at herself.

Kyliska stood up slowly and walked to the edge of the cell and stared at Kenzie. “Who in the fel are you, and why did you capture me?” she asked.

Kenzie laughed. “Oh my dear Kyliska, the truth will be revealed when I am good and ready for that to happen. I do hope you like your quarters.” she smirked. “I know they are not quite what you are used to, but I think they are quite nice!” Kenzie laughed again. She was enjoying Kyliska’s pain all too much.

Kyliska spit in Kenzie’s face. “You bitch! You will let me out of here right this instant! Give me my identity back and stop sleeping with my Andi!” Kyliska raged. Kenzie could see that Kyliska was broken, even her little outburst was not at the level that it usually was. Her plan was working quite well then. Kyliska started to cry, the tears streaming down her face.

Kenzie wiped the spit from her face and reached through bars to slap Kyliska in the face. “You will do well to know your place Kyliska. You are a traitorous bitch’s daughter and that is all you are and ever will be. Biara is not truly your sister and she will never love you as much as her flesh and blood.” Kenzie said coldly. “Also, your beloved Andi, well clearly he must not love you as much as you think either. Or else he would know that he has been sleeping with an imposter for weeks now. He has never once thought I was not you. How sad is that? Your soul mate, your one true love, cannot even tell that I am not you.”

Kyliska’s face fell. The sudden realization that Andi did not know she was missing hit her. She was just focused on the torture of watching him with another woman, and did not even think of the pure fact that he did not know it wasn’t her. She fell to the floor. Her will to keep trying to escape her prison had ended. Kenzie had broken her finally, and fully. She looked up to Kenzie who was still smiling at her. “You are right. He does not even question that you are not me. I…...maybe I deserve to be here. For all of my sins that I have committed. My father would be so ashamed of me if he knew all the things I have done.”

Kenzie stared back at Kyliska and talked softly. “I have no care for what your father would have thought of you, but yes your beloved, and your “sister” do not care that you are missing. I could be you forever and they would not care or notice.” she went to leave but turned back around. “Oh and you really should eat something, you will just fade away. Oh wait, no one will really care if that were to happen. I did include some wine though and also a little something extra to help take some of the pain away if you chose to do so.”

Kyliska looked towards the wineskins and then noticed something that for some reason she had overlooked before. It was a pouch of blood thistle. Somehow this imposter must have known that she was once addicted to the drug and left it for her. Kyliska began to sob as Kenzie walked away. Kenzie left the dungeon and could not wipe the smile of satisfaction off of her face. Her plan could not be working any better. She must now head back to Kyli’s estate and see to Andithiel again. She mounted Kyliska’s horse and started to ride towards the Ghostlands.

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

The Ghostlands were dark and dreary, as they always were regardless of the time of year or even time of day. Muted sounds echoed beneath the oppressive stillness of the dead forest, the groans of distant undead and the sounds of predators taking prey as common as the crackle of dead leaves as Avielle’s deathcharger plodded along.

She had visited the city again, something that she was doing more frequently as of late, and was returning to the dark little piece of the Ghostlands that she called home. This far from the reclaimed lands in Eversong, the world was filled with danger and darkness. It was a home of sorts, and something she’d grown familiar with.

That was why the sound of a horse’s hooves echoing from the poorly paved road up ahead gave her pause. She yanked on the reins, her steed coming to a halt and giving out a little growl of irritation before she calmed it with a soothing hand. In the stillness the sounds she’d heard were growing louder, a rider approaching from deeper within the Ghostlands or perhaps the plaguelands. Whether it was friend or foe she would soon find out, for she was not of the habit of letting uninvited guests wander through the haunted forests unchallenged.

Avielle slipped from her mount, patting it and shooing it further up the trail, crouching down in the dead foliage and watching the trail ahead. She remained motionless as only the dead could, her glowing eyes the only sign of her as she waited. It took only moments for the rider to come into view; a blood elf on a Blood Knight’s charger, the figure not bearing the arms of a Knight perhaps but sitting regally as one.

Although the Blood Knights were the law of the land, it was still suspicious to see one out in the haunted wilds, and so when the rider came close enough, Avielle rose from her hiding place and stepped into the road, rune-spear held ready to gut the horse if the rider chose to advance further.

“In the name of Quel’Thalas, I command you to halt and identify yourself,” Avielle said calmly.

Kenzie slowed her horse down and looked at the elf that was talking. She smiled and spoke. “I am Kyliska Sunfire, not that it is any of your business Death Knight.”

Avielle’s mouth opened in shock, her eyes wide as her spear immediately moved to a non-threatening position, “K-kyliska did you say? But Sunfire? You have wed then, or was this always your surname?”

Kenzie stared at the Death Knight blankly. Why was she so concerned with what her new last name was? Her horse shifted slightly and Kenzie held the reins tightly. “You have not told me who you are, and also why are you so interested in my last name and who I am?”

Avielle nodded, offering the mounted elf a bow before looking back up at her, “My name is Avielle Silverlight, and if you are the Kyliska that I think you are, I have been seeking you for a very long time. I have an oath that must be fulfilled. I have sought you, or your mother, for the last several weeks.”

Kenzie looked at this Avielle with a confused look on her face. She shook her head and spoke. “Avielle, I am sorry but I have more pressing matters that need to be attended to. I cannot stay and talk about my sordid past and your supposed oaths. I must be going.”

Avielle gasped, rushing forward and grabbing the charger’s reins, her voice imploring and containing in it a hint of a banshee’s wail, “Please, I beg of you, stay but a moment and listen. As a Knight you must at least understand the need to uphold the honor of one’s name and station. It is vital that you hear me out, and that I learn of your mother as well!”

Kenzie gasped herself as Avielle ran towards her, she pulled back on the reins and the horse bucked and knocked her off. “What in the fel are you doing! Why would you charge me like that! My mother is dead and that is all you need to know, now please let me be!” Kenzie brushed herself off and attempted to get back onto her horse.

Avielle rushed to the fallen elf’s side, looking shocked. She reached out, brushing debris from the other elf’s clothing, her voice low, “I am so sorry to hear of Lady Sassariel’s death, Kyliska. Please know that I come before you not to seek revenge but to offer you hope instead. It is why I have sought you for so long; we are linked together, you and I, and you must hear me out.”

Avielle paused as the other elf got back in the saddle, a thought stirring in the back of her mind. She looked down at her hands; the hands that had just touched the Blood Knight, and then back up at the other elf, blinking a few times.

Kenzie looked at Avielle with a slightly confused look on her face. Sassariel, that was Kyli’s mother’s name! She tried to refresh the confused look and looked back to Avielle. “Maybe there is another time we can catch up on old times. I really must be going.” she looked towards the Death Knight and saw the expression on her face. “Are you alright?”

Avielle was no fool, and the look that passed across ‘Kyliska’s’ face at the mention of her mother’s name had not gone unnoticed. She stepped back a few steps, her back straightening. Although she attempted to conceal her emotions, there was a frigid coldness to her voice that had not been there a moment before, “Oh yes, of course, Lady Sunfire. I do apologize for causing you any inconvenience. I will let you be on your way now, and seek you out at a more opportune time.”

Kenzie nodded. “Yes thank-you.” she stated. “Let us meet and we can discuss these matters fully at a later date. Good day.”

Avielle bowed once, her gaze unwavering on the other elf, “Good day to you, Lady Sunfire.”

As Kenzie rode away, those two glowing eyes remained affixed on her back, the hard stare cold and unforgiving until it faded from view.

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

After the ‘knight’ had ridden away, Avielle called out in the Language of Death. Her deathcharger trotted from the nearby foliage, coming to her side at her call. As she mounted, her mind ran over the encounter again and again, her suspicions deepening with each passing moment.

The Knight’s touch was not unpleasant, not light-filled. She did not feel uncomfortable in my presence. Even if she’d been used to fighting the undead, my touch should have been uncomfortable unless she is used to the touch of evil creatures. And she didn’t recognize Sassariel’s name immediately. Why? Too many why’s.

Avielle snapped the reins, her steed setting out in a fast trot through the dead forest. As she thought over the encounter yet again, she directed her mount towards the direction the Knight had come from. The road was long and dark, heading towards the distant plaguelands, the broken gates of Quel’Thalas not far off.

As she rode, Avielle scanned the terrain around her, checking to ensure that the Knight had not ridden from somewhere deeper in the woods. After a few minutes of riding, she suddenly tugged on the reins, bringing her steed to a halt. Something in the woods had caught her eye.

She dismounted, her plate armor clinking lightly as she moved with purpose towards the dead undergrowth in the forest to the right of the path. She pressed through crackling dead branches and piles of leaves, her eyes affixed on a strange lump laying beneath the brush.

As she bent down, Avielle pushed some branches aside, and her eyes widened as she revealed a dead Felhunter, it’s body pierced by the thrust of an ax. Wary now, Avielle drew her own blade, stalking through the clearing around the dead beast and studying the terrain. Her investigation revealed the presence of several more dead demons, and something else as well.

She kneeled down in the leaves, her spear in one hand and her face coming close to the ground. She held out her free hand, pressing it lightly against the ground in a spot that looked burned. Instantly the skin on her arm began to crack, the flesh flaking as it dried up. Avielle’s eyes widened and she withdrew her hand in shock, the remnants of the Light left at the scene of the battle evidence that a paladin had fought in this place, and recently.

Alarmed now, Avielle rose, dashing back towards her deathcharger. She hopped up into the saddle, the beast already moving as she took her seat, sensing her urgency. She snapped the reins hard, the beast dashing further up the trail now, towards the gates beyond.

If the ‘Knight’ had come from the plaguelands, there would be a trail. Avielle would discover her origins and what she had been doing. And then she would go back and discuss it with the imposter.

Cloak billowing out behind her, Avielle dashed into the darkness of the Ghostlands, heading for the plaguelands behind, the thud of her deathcharger’s hooves warning the denizens of the haunted forest to keep their distance, for a real undead threat now hunted her prey, and when she found out everything she needed to know, someone was going to answer her questions whether they liked it or not.

As In Life, So In Death

*Blasted Lands, Present Day*

Avielle stood on a ragged outcropping of rocks overlooking the blasted plains below. Dressed in black and white hued armor that was reminiscent of the dresses she once wore in life, she held a runespear in one hand, the dry, dust filled winds of the Blasted Lands moving the small black and white pennant she’d affixed to the tip fitfully.

In the far distance, looking almost like ants in the heat haze of the dry, cracked earth, she watched as two armies clashed; the brutal orcs that had been pouring from the Dark Portal slamming into a slender line of elven defenders, the banners of Silvermoon visible in their bright golds and reds even from where she stood.

She squinted, her scourge-blue eyes narrowed as she watched the two armies fighting. The Horde forces were holding their own against the invaders, but it would be a costly victory she could tell. Even as she watched, a unit of Iron Horde orcs began to maneuver around the side of the conflict, moving into position to flank the elves and rout them from the field.

An emotion that no undead should feel began to fill Avielle as a thrill of fear shot up her spine. Not fear for herself, but fear and concern for those she had sworn to protect. Emotions battled in her, the need to hurt those who were causing her to experience the emotions battling with the feelings that came from what she could only call her soul.

Beside her, her deathcharger stirred, the undead horse moving closer as it sensed its master’s unease. It nuzzled her once, its fetid breath washing over her before it pointed its nose towards the distant battle and issued a very un-horse-like growl.

Avielle nodded, patting the beast before grabbing the reins, “Yes. We must go. We are needed now.”

With that she planted the spear in the ground beside her, hoisting herself up on her mount before taking up her weapon. She snapped the reins once and her undead mount eagerly surged forward, plunging down the steep, rocky hillside at speeds that a living person would cringe at.

It mattered little to Avielle, for today the dead rode to war.

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

Vilreth Brightleaf gasped for breath, his arm aching already as he hued at another Iron Horde orc that stood before him. He and his retinue had been part of the forces sent from Silvermoon to bolster the Horde lines in the Blasted Lands, and although the fighting had only raged for a short time, it was fierce and unrelenting.

Around him other elves fought, lithe bodies twisting and turning as they deftly avoided the blades of their foes. Here and there an explosion rocked the battlefield as the Iron Horde unleashed its deadly technologies in an effort to level the playing field.

Just as it looked like they might repulse the initial assault, a warcry arose to the east of Vilreth’s position. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw the elves there beginning to fall back, a wall of Iron Horde orcs pushing into their flank as the elves were out-maneuvered.

As he saw Sin’dorei falling, Vilreth knew that they were in serious trouble. He tightened his grip on his weapon, preparing to sell his life dearly.

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

She rode like the wind, the dust of the Blasted Lands rising behind her like a red trail. Ahead of her, the Iron Horde orcs had made their first push into the Sin’dorei, at least forty of the creatures breaking against the flank of the blood elves. Avielle knew that time was short if she wanted to intervene; the Sin’dorei were brave fighters but they would rout if pressed too hard.

She flicked her reins and her horse gleefully picked up its pace even further, moving so swiftly that it risked breaking its scourge-fire covered legs. It cared little for such concerns though, instead eager to serve Avielle’s wishes; eager for battle.

As they dashed across the cracked earth, Avielle brought a horn to her lips, a long sorrow-filled note hanging in the air. Behind her the air shimmered, ghosts appearing around her and riding beside her on skeletal steeds, the dead of House Silverlight coming to the call of the heir of the House.

They rode on, a small wedge of the dead moving with grim purpose towards the rear of the orcs who themselves were flanking the Sin’dorei.

They never saw Avielle coming.

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

Vilreth impaled another orc on the tip of his blade, fear pumping through his veins now as the Sin’dorei ranks become compressed from the pressure of attackers on all sides. Many would fall in the next few minutes, and unless something changed swiftly it would result in a defeat on the plains. They would never even reach the area near the Dark Portal to aid with the main battle.

Even as he thought this, a shrieking warcry echoed over the battlefield. In the distance, behind the orcs that sought to crush the flank of the Sin’dorei position, Vilreth saw a rider on a dark horse plunge into the rear of the orc lines. The beast surged forwards, its rider holding on as the obviously undead horse reared up, a spear in her hand glowing with foul magics and blonde hair flowing from her head. She cried out again, her weapon plunging down into the nearest orc and slaying him instantly, other undead around her stabbing viciously into the enemy combatants and instantly throwing their lines into disarray.

Vilreth paused for the briefest moment, his mouth hanging open in shock as he recognized the rider before the haze of battle tore her from his gaze.

“Avielle….”

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

They were all around her now, the enemy forces stabbing at her from every direction. Her blade whirled through the air, the polearm giving her massive reach over her foes and the enchantments on it deadly to those it touched. Orcs fell, their blood mixing with the red sands beneath their feet as their bodies were trampled by her steed.

Swords stabbed out and her deathcharger cried out, its form pierced many dozens of times. It lashed out, crushing the skull of an orc and biting another before one of its legs was cut from beneath it. It screamed, not in pain but in rage, its fall flinging Avielle from her saddle.

She sailed through the air, her weapon high above her as she plunged down into the enemies in front of her, impaling one and sweeping the weapon around her body to clear some space to fight. Enemy firearms discharged, rounds striking her armor and bouncing off, another piercing her gut and causing a minor, easily ignored bit of damage to her form.

As the circle she’d cleared closed in around her again, her eyes widened, her mind racing as she parried blow after blow, viciously striking back at those around her. She lost her sense of time and place, her memories bubbling up as her spirit divorced itself from reality.

She saw around her not orcs, but the undead coming to claim her once more in Quel’Thalas. Those who fought around he were not dead, but living servants of House Silverlight, battling desperately to stop the Scourge from reaching those they were defending.

I have to stop them. They’re going to get to the children! I have to protect them at all costs!

She lashed out again, and her foes fell, her eyes showing her the shattered bodies of zombies and skeletons at her feet, refusing to see what was actually there. Blades lashed out at her, and she parried blow after blow, desperation growing in her mind.

They are breaking through! I have to buy them just a little more time! No matter the cost!

She hurled her body forward, slamming into the orcs and throwing them back. Many died around her, but there were more to replace them and as they stepped forward, one of the Iron Horde orcs plunged his blade forward, the weapon slamming into Avielle’s breastplate and severing the metal, sliding deep into her chest.

In Avielle’s mind, she suffered a fatal blow; the one that took her life originally. She saw a skeleton before her, its unending grin and empty eyes gazing at her as its sword slid into her chest, narrowly missing her heart. In that moment, despair set in.

I have failed. They’re breaking through! Run children, RUN!

Avielle was not in Quel’Thalas. She was not alive, and not fighting the Scourge. As the orc pushed the blade into her chest to the hilt, she screamed, the sound an echoing wail as her collapsed lung prevented her from actually speaking.

Her spear came up above her, the runes on it glowing brightly as her magic was unleashed.

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

Vilreth parried a blow, narrowly avoiding being decapitated by the vicious strike. As he prepared to counter-attack his opponent, a shrieking banshee’s wail echoed over the battlefield loud enough to disturb him even from where he was. His gaze, and the gaze of many others, turned towards the source of the sound just in time to see the weapon in Avielle’s hand glow brightly with scourge magic, power blazing out of it.

A snowstorm erupted around her, the freezing cold winds alien in the parched desert. Razor sharp bits of ice and flakes of snow whipped wickedly around the center of Avielle’s battlefield, slashing into the orcs near her.

In a heartbeat, almost a dozen attackers were frozen solid, their forms encased in ice as the wail trailed out slowly into the desert. Vilreth used the moment to strike down the foe in front of him, grinning as the flank of the Iron Horde’s attack began to crumble.

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

Avielle remembered who she was, where she was. Her weapon slashed out, shattering the frozen orcs around her into a thousand glistening pieces. She reached down, ripping the blade from her chest and casting it aside, blood gushing from her wound and staining the white of the fabric she wore. It mattered little; it would weaken her a little perhaps to lose some of her fluids but she was no longer alive and the blood would be restored either by taking it from the living or by the blood worms that maintained her veins.

She wailed again, robbed of her voice for a time, her weapon plunging into the back of an orc that turned to flee from her. More firearms discharged, the projectiles whipping through the air around her like angry hornets and doing absolutely nothing to stop her.

She stalked through the battle, a specter of death now, slaying at will as the morale of her foes fully broke and they began to rout. As they fled before her, she cut down those she could reach, always moving forward, the objective she had picked for herself only a short distance ahead.

She reached it quickly, what resistance that was presented to her on the broken orc flank petty at best. As she impaled the last of the foes before her, she grinned, planting her spear in the ground and turning towards one of the cannons the Iron Horde had set up along the rear of the battlefield.

With strength unnatural to a blood elf, Avielle bent down and heaved, sliding the cannon around in position, realigning its barrel with the rear of the rest of the Iron Horde lines. An orc charged at her, attempting to stop her and she side-stepped his blow, casually backhanding him and breaking his face with her saronite gauntlet.

She grinned, reaching down to grasp the cannon’s firing lever. She savored the moment, seeing the fear on the faces of those who were close enough to understand what she was doing, relishing in the sweet agony of the writhing orc on the ground near her.

And then she pulled the lever.

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

The explosion rocked the battlefield, throwing Iron Horde orcs into the air like ragdolls. Vilreth cheered as the orcs in front of him began to break, the other Sin’dorei around him taking up the cry. The enemy began to fall back, additional rounds from a captured cannon battery slamming into their ranks.

As the orcs fled before him, Vilreth took a moment to pause and catch his breath. He surveyed the battlefield, seeing the Sin’dorei dashing after the now fully retreating orcs, leaving behind the dead from both sides that had fallen that day.

He paused as the battle moved on, seeing now the flanks where the orcs had been struck. Ice still glistened on the red sands, and smoke rose from the battery of cannons that had been captured along the flank of the enemy lines. That was not what caught his eye though, or kept his gaze riveted to the scene for many moments.

In the distance, he saw her. Avielle stood amongst the corpses of the fallen, the winds making her white cloak flutter, her spear held firmly in her hand. Gore covered her, most of it that of her enemies but some spilling from horrific wounds on her body. She stood perfectly still, motionlessly watching the aftermath of the battle, her unblinking, glowing blue gaze intent on the rest of the fighting.

Vilreth shuddered, seeing in her both the beauty of what she once was and the horror of what she was now. He forced himself to tear his gaze away from her, bittersweet feelings flowing through him as he wiped the blood from his blade and sheathed it. She had quite possibly saved their lives, and acted heroically, but she had also shown that she was a monster. He was not sure what to think of her, what to think of the fact that she still walked the world.

When he looked back again, Avielle was gone.

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.