Satisfying Needs

Gortak looked out over the rolling green fields of Shadowmoon Valley, his spyglass held to his eye as he scanned the distant terrain. Standing atop the barricade that his twenty or so Iron Horde orcs had created around their damaged supply wagon, he was essentially Warchief of his own little fortress. Thus far the Draenei had left him and his orcs alone, more concerned with the aftermath at Karabor than with a small group of soldiers who seemed content to eat the supplies they'd been traveling with while waiting for back-up or orders.

As he moved the spyglass across the horizon, he finally spotted the sight that one of the scouts had reported; a lone figure rode towards the encampment. He adjusted some lenses on the spyglass and the image became clearer. A blonde haired human galloped towards them at high speed, her black horse seemingly having blue flames licking around its hooves. He could make out few details about the woman beyond the fact that she appeared to be wearing a black dress and had glowing blue eyes.

Gortak grunted and shook his head; clearly the woman was either insane or a spellcaster, given that she was riding alone and unarmored towards a hostile position. That she knew they were there was beyond a doubt; her course lead directly towards the gap in the makeshift barricade that the orcs had made. He lowered his spyglass and folded it up, gesturing to the orcs behind him, "Snipe her."

One of his top scouts grinned and pulled out his long-barelled rifle. Leaning on the edge of the earthen and wood barricade, he sighted down the scope, adjusting a knob on the side of the lens as he took aim. A moment later his rifle emitted a loud crack and recoiled as it discharged. In the distance, the blonde woman shuddered once as she was struck with the projectile, and the orcs cheered.

Until they realized she was still riding towards them.

Gortak frowned and brought his spyglass up again. She did indeed ride towards them, a gaping hole in the front of her dress showing she had been struck. He'd studied the races of the so called 'Alliance' carefully, and he knew he was dealing with a human. As far as he was aware, a bullet would definitely resolve any problems with unarmed civilians or captured prisoners, so why was she still riding? Annoyed, he held his fist up and gave a signal. In the camp behind him, five more orcs with rifles took up positions, and they began to fire on the woman as Gortak watched.

Her body shuddered. Dirt exploded from the ground around her steed. Gunpowder filled the air around them. And yet despite all of this, she continued to ride towards them, getting ever closer. Gortak lowered his spyglass, now easily able to see the bloody woman as she galloped towards the encampment. Concerned now, he signaled again, his men opening up in a full barrage, "Shoot her horse out from under her!"

Dozens and then hundreds of rounds cracked out from the orc position. The ground around the woman exploded as shots slammed into it or ricocheted off the armored horse. The steed gave a rather disturbing howl, but continued to gallop towards them even as black looking gore exploded from it. Gortak cursed and turned towards one of his orcs, yanking the rifle from his hands, "Give me that! It looks like if I want something done right I have to do it myself!"

With that he stood atop the barricade, holding the gun at his hip and pumping round after round into the steed that was only a few dozen yards away now. The beast shuddered as its flesh exploded, giving off another howl before one of its legs snapped and it collapsed into a heap, its rider falling off to land motionless beside it only a few feet from the barricade. With a satisfied grunt, Gortak tossed his rifle back to the orc behind him, "That's how it's done."

The orcs on the barricade cheered, and Gortak gestured down to the corpse, "Check it."

One of the orcs nodded and scurried down the side of the earthen barricade, rifle in hand. He reached the corpse of the woman, his rifle reaching out to prod her. After a moment he looked back at Gortak and nodded, and the orc turned away, "Clean the mess up."

Even as he uttered the command, an unearthly wail came from the ground below the barricade. He turned in shock as he saw the blonde woman rise up, a glowing sword in her hand plunging through the back of his soldier and out his gut. The horrific wound would take hours to kill him, and the orc screamed as the blade was twisted. Gortak opened his mouth to shout a command but before he could, pandemonium broke out.

The blonde woman flicked her sword, the dying orc falling from the blade. She pointed up at the barricade, tendrils of black magic lashing out of her hand and wrapping around another orc. He was yanked down to her and impaled on her sword as she howled again, this time killing her target. The corpse fell to the ground and then began to twitch even as the blonde woman began to climb the barricade, rising up behind her with the same blue glow in its eyes, drawing a weapon on his companions.

"Kill her! Kill her quickly!" Gortak shouted, drawing his own ax. The blonde woman wailed again, even as several orcs pumped rounds into her from their rifles. The bullets passed through her body and she continued on, as if she didn't need to breathe and her organs were unimportant. She impaled a third orc before whirling and lopping an arm off of a fourth.

And then she was too close to fire rifles at.

Orcs charged in, and the woman went berserk. Her blade met an ax in the air and then came low to remove a leg from one of the orcs. Another was smashed in the face with the hilt and then beheaded, even as the woman ignored a sword cut to her side. Her eerie wailing continued, even as she slaughtered, the violence something that would have made any of Gortak's best soldiers proud.

He charged her, only to have her whirl and badly gash his arm, forcing him to fall back. Orcs died around him, the fact seemingly impossible considering that he was fighting only a single human woman. Several that died rose, that glow in their eyes as they attacked the woman's enemies. Those she didn't kill she maimed, their screams rising up above the sounds of battle and seeming to energize the woman, encouraging her to move quicker and strike more and more deadly blows.

Gortak fell back towards the command tent he had set up, blood gushing from his wounded arm. His honor guard rushed to him and he waved them on, stumbling into his command center and desperately seeking out something to stem the flow of blood from his limb. Howls rose up from outside the tent, and Gortak knew the woman had met his honor guards in combat. The sound of steel clashing on steel echoed out, a fierce battle errupting outside of the canvas tent even as Gortak found a tourniquet and wrapped it around his upper arm to stop himself from bleeding to death.

Silence fell outside of the tent, the only sounds the moans of the mortally wounded. A shadow passed across the entrance to the tent, blocking the light there before a glowing blue blade parted the tent flaps and allowed the blonde woman to enter. Gortak growled and lunged at her with his ax, the weak attack easily deflected. The woman responded by lashing out and lopping off Gortak's unwounded arm, the limb falling to the floor as blood gushed from him. In shock, he slid to the floor, the woman standing over him.

"H-how...how c-could a human survive t-this...?" he muttered in broken Common. He had studied the enemy well, and wanted his question answered before he died.

As she stood over the orc, Beckyann Eastberg sighed. A minor wound on her face glowed with green magics, the flesh there knitting together as necromancy closed the damage. Behind her, the howls of the dying were like a sweet beverage to her and she inhaled them deeply, shuddering with obscene joy at their suffering. She looked down at the mortally wounded creature and grinned, "You have made the same mistake that I myself have made; you assume I am a human. In point of fact, I am something far worse now. It is a lesson we both should remember."

She smiled, bending down to plunge her weapon into the orc's gut, sighing again as he howled, her need to feed finally sated with the agony and suffering of the dying Iron Horde orcs. She twisted the blade, severing the creature's spine and finally killing him, turning to leave the tent.

As she moved, her boot connected with the orc's dismembered limb. She glanced down, pausing as she saw a tattoo on his arm. She studied it, noting how it depicted a bond of love between the now-deceased orc and his mate. Deep inside, something stirred within Beckyann and she found herself considering the orc's life, his hopes and dreams and fears. His loves.

A shuddering wail came up from deep within Beckyann's chest as she allowed the emotions to crash over her again, remembering her own love and the reason why she had come to this state to begin with. Wracking sobs escaped her, and she sunk down to the floor, sitting in a pool of gore as she cried bitterly, the moans of the dying outside mixing with her heartache.

She cried for a good hour, letting all of the sorrow at what she'd done to Frederick, to herself, escape her. In the encampment beyond the remaining orcs slowly perished, their death-agony feeding her even as she slowly freed her soul of the weight of her guilt. After a time, the black tears stopped running from her eyes, and she found herself idly picking dried and congealed blood from the edge of her runeblade, her heart somewhat lighter for letting all of it out.

Finally, when she felt she'd let enough of it go, she rose from the sticky mess within the tent, sheathing her gore-crusted blade and walking from the dark confines of that place into the killing field beyond. As she studied the corpses of her enemies, she realized at last that the answer was not so simple, not so black and white. What she had said to the orc was true; she was not a human any longer. But it was also wrong, because somewhere deep within her, she still craved to be who and what she once was. It was a war that would never end in her thoughts, and allowing it to drown her in sorrow and freeze her into immobility would serve no one and nothing any good.

At last seeing a glimmer of light beyond the depression that had gripped her for so long, Beckyann walked confidently out of the camp, heading towards the nearest Alliance garrison. She was a filthy mess, and she'd be damned if she let anyone see her this way until she got cleaned up.

Depression

The room was almost pitch black, with only flickering, pale blue scourgelight coming from lamps that had begun to run low on magic. The chamber had not been disturbed in some time, a fine layer of dust having settled over all of the objects within the dim confines of the enclosed space. The air was stagnant, the scent of dried flowers mixing with the stench of decay and rot.

In the darkness, a figure lay in repose, its unmoving form stretched out upon a regal looking bed, hands crossed at the chest and black dress draped around it. Unmoving, the woman's chest did not rise and fall, and her arms were crossed over her bosom as if someone had laid her in state after her passing. A fine layer of dust clung to tanned flesh, time having taken its toll on both the corpse and the bed upon which is rested.

The room had been thus for weeks, or was it months now? It was had to recall exactly when things had come to such a state. When a mind is locked in a downward spiral, constantly battling itself, time begins to lose meaning. When one has no physical requirements to care for, it becomes even more ethereal, fading away to a nothing that can be ignored.

At what point did one admit that they were in the wrong? After having come to such a realization, for how long could one lash oneself with blame? Was it possible to remain in such a state of self-loathing forever? Worse, when the cause of such self-loathing was the result of pain inflicted on others, when was enough suffering and penance really enough? Such thoughts went beyond merely feeling inadequate or being 'upset' and delved deep into a fetid stew in which one regularly reviewed one's own character and found it wanting, until it was decided most firmly that one's existence was a pointless waste of time and that one had absolutely no purpose in anything anymore, freezing a person into immobility.

A person might think about taking their own life once they reached such a depth, and yet that was not an option. When life had fled, what was left but a seething cauldron of hateful spirit that would continue on exactly as it had when it was alive? When one knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was no end to the suffering and that the only way to move past such thoughts was to forgive oneself, it became clear that there would be no victory and that wallowing in misery and self-loathing would be a permanent course.

Of course, nature had its own cures for such things, even when one existed in an unnatural state. In the darkness, the unmoving figure shuddered once as wracking agony passed through the undead form. In the blackness of the room, two burning points of scourge-light flared to life as eyes that had been closed for so long sprang open, unable to process the sudden pain.

The figure shot up out of her 'final' resting place, her mouth opening and a chilling wail echoing from her, the sound penetrating the stone walls of the sealed chamber and carrying far into the corridors beyond. A sound of terrible pain and hate, it was like a banshee's shriek and was enough to alert others who also dwelled in that place to come investigate.

In a moment pounding began on the door, the inhabitants of Acherus concerned that someone had summoned or accidentally released a banshee within the confines of the structure. When the pounding was met with more wailing, those outside of the chamber began to beat against the barricade, eventually bursting into the room and allowing a stream of torchlight to illuminate the dim chamber beyond. They entered warily, blades drawn as they took in the scene.

A blonde-haired woman was crouched on the edge of the bed, one hand grasping a bedpost as she glared at them. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, her body shuddering with the agony that came from a death knight neglecting to feed herself for weeks or months at a time. Her hair was ragged and fell around her face, making her look like a wild animal as she dug her overly long nails into the wood that she grasped.

"C-captain Eastberg...?" one of the death knights murmured as he took in the scene. Beckyann Eastberg had not been seen for many months, and those who had been nominally under her command had assumed that she had either deserted or died long ago. Her quarters had been sealed, and no one had thought to enter them.

The figure on the edge of the bed actually hissed at them, like a scourge creature. The two death knights that had entered the room gave each other a look before advancing towards her, their blades drawn. "Captain...have you been in here the entire time?"

There was no response beyond additional hissing, but as one of the death knights drew close enough, the blonde figure sprang from the bed, her body flying through the air and colliding with his, hurling him back against a dresser. Although she was unarmored, the blonde woman's weight was enough to unbalance the death knight, and he stumbled sideways, tripping over a pile of discarded clothing in the room. He fell with a crash, Beckyann landing atop him and battering him with her hands, which clawed at his face and neck like a zombie might.

"Captain! Compose yourself!" the second knight yelled. He brought his own blade around and smacked the flat of it against Beckyann's head, hurling her off the first knight. She tumbled, her victim rising and cursing as black blood oozed from the superficial wounds her nails had made. A third death knight entered the room behind the duo, his weapon also drawn.

Beckyann turned rapidly in place on the floor, spinning around and launching herself at the knights again. This time they were prepared for her attack, and she was body-checked by her first plate armored foe. The second sprang at her, wrapping his arms around her waist and driving her to the floor, his weight falling atop her. She struggled beneath him, inarticulate hissing coming from her.

"Damn...would one of you grab her legs? She's going to get free..." the knight on top of Beckyann yelled. One of his companions dashed over and essentially sat on Beckyann's thrashing legs, while the third dropped his runeblade and ran around the group, grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the floor.

The knight on top of Beckyann looked down into her eyes, seeing nothing but wild hate and a complete lack of conscious awareness. He reached down and slapped the blonde woman hard, the action only eliciting more hissing and additional thrashing. "Captain! Get hold of yourself! You haven't fed have you?! What in the nether is wrong with you? You know better than this!"

The beast beneath him merely hissed some more, and he slapped her again and again. The blows seemed to dull her fury for a moment, and after a time and a good, sound beating, she calmed enough that she was no longer thrashing, her glowing eyes fixed on his. He leaned closer, studying her expression for a moment.

"It looks like she's totally gone," the knight said, turning to look at his companions. "We're going to have to destro-"

As he was speaking, Beckyann lurched up, her teeth sinking into his neck and ripping the flesh from it. Although the wound was superficial, the plagues within Beckyann's mouth ate at his flesh enough to cause him to howl, black blood gushing from the hole she had torn in his neck. The pain she inflicted on the death knight made Beckyann shudder, her eyes dilating for a moment and glowing more brightly. It had been just enough to pull her from the brink, although not enough to stop her from her need to feed.

Beckyann shuddered again, and her eyes snapped into focus just in time to see his fist descending towards her face. The snap of the blow rocked her head to the side, and when she looked back at him, black blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. She blinked a few times, her voice low, "W-why are you on me..."

"Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with you?!" the knight on top of Beckyann cursed. "You're like an animal. You need to feed now. Or at least get the fuck out of this fortress. I don't care if you're a Captain or not, wild scourge are thrown off the edge or used for parts. So either get control of yourself right now, or we'll cut your head off ourselves! Got it?!"

Beckyann took in the knights looming over her and nodded once, blood still oozing from the welts on her face. When she spoke, her voice was a croaking echo, "My blade. My horse. Show me where to go."

The death knight on top of Beckyann rose off her, the other two nodding and releasing her. One of them turned and stumbled through the darkness of her chambers, muttering curses to himself as he stumbled over her things. He came back into the light thrown from the open doorway, a runeblade in hand. He tossed the weapon, letting it land unceremoniously on her body where she lay on the floor.

"Get up and get the fuck out or I'm reporting this to the General. There's a portal opened to a place called Draenor below the citadel where you can be a fucking scourge construct all you want without us having to deal with you. Go kill some orcs and when you feel like yourself again, we can talk about what you owe the three of us for not reporting this. I'm thinking we're about to get some r&r time in," the death knight that had pinned Beckyann said with a smirk.

Beckyann rose from the floor slowly, her runeblade in her hand and her dress falling around her. She bowed her head, studying the blade and watching as the runes on it began to glow. She knew that the knight was right, and had every right to talk to her like he just had. Her rank meant nothing if she was going to become scourge because she hadn't fed herself. Light, how long had it been? Weeks? Months? A year? She didn't even know, but she could barely think straight and she knew that if she didn't kill soon, she would lose herself in it permanently.

She glanced at one of the knights, her eyes meeting his and understanding passing between them. They all had to face this after all, and she had let the blackness inside her mind blind her to the reality of what she was now. Her voice was more steady when she replied, "Thank you. I will go now. If the others come looking for me..."

"I will tell them that you set out on a patrol and we haven't heard from you in a week or so," the knight replied, his tone softening. "Go before it's too late."

Beckyann nodded once and then turned and walked from the room, not even bothering to don her armor as she left. There was no time to waste, because if she didn't feed soon, her depression would be the least of her worries.

After she left, two of the death knights looked at the one who had spoken, a question in their gazes. He grinned at them and shook his head, "Look, it's a win win. Either she is destroyed outright and we don't have to deal with her ever again, or she gets better and then she owes us a favor. Either way, we don't have to wonder what she is doing. Safer this way."

The other two nodded in agreement and in unison the three left Beckyann's room, pulling the oft-kicked in door closed behind them, leaving the blackness of the room to itself once more.

Strained Tolerance

*Northpass Tower, Eastern Plaguelands. Midday*

The light streaming in through the tower opening was shadowed for a moment as an armored form filled the space. Captain Frederick Lightstone looked up from the map table that he had been pointing at, smiling as he saw the figure moving into the interior of the tower's space. The five men and women around him comprising a strange mixture of different races also paused, looking at where the Captain's gaze had been drawn.

"Ah, you've arrived finally!" he said, a smile on his face.

The armored figure, a Sin'dorei paladin bearing a tabard of the Argent Crusade with light blonde hair neatly tied in place with white ribbons, smiled and offered the human a salute, "I came as soon as I received your missive, Captain Lightstone."

Frederick smiled and shook his head, "Please, Britany, no formalities. You've not been under my command in quite some time now, and though I may nominally hold a higher rank than you in the Crusade, you've been doing just as much work as I have on your solitary quests."

Britany Dawnblaze smiled, nodding once as she moved towards the group of Argent Crusade officers that Frederick had been addressing. Many of them offered her a polite head nod or smile, all recognizing one of the Crusade's many paladins. Britany studied Frederick for a moment, the smile still on her face as she spoke in heavily accented Common, "I hope that there is no trouble, Fred. I know that we've been busy in this area trying to remove the remaining Scourge."

"No, no, nothing of the sort that would require your expertise, Britany," Frederick said lightly. "I had heard you were passing through Light's Hope and wanted to ask a favor of you, if I may. I know you were going to Quel'Thalas to do some fund-raising and hopefully recruiting."

Britany nodded again, her fel-green gaze meeting the human's. They had been comrades in arms for many years, and friends beyond that. It was Frederick that had nicknamed her Britany; a name that she now bore proudly and had inscribed on her cloak clasp. The bond between them was one that could be seen between many of the Crusaders that had passed through the trials of the Icecrown campaign, and when Britany replied to Frederick, her words were sincere, "You know you can ask anything of me, Fred. I will always support you and the Crusade."

Frederick smiled, reaching out to clap a hand on one of Britany's shoulder pauldrons, "I know, my friend! Fear not though, it is nothing too arduous. It seems that one of my men, one Necros Sunsworn, has lately been showing some hint of a higher calling. Although he is still a trainee, I think it is important for the Crusade that he at least be introduced to a possible mentor to further develop his potential. Being that he is a Sin'dorei and you were in the area, I was wondering if you would allow him to work as your escort for a time while you travel here."

Britany tilted her head, one eyebrow rising in surprise at the request, "Although I am not an instructor, I do not see any harm in having the Crusader accompany me. The journey will not be arduous or present a danger except perhaps in the Ghostlands."

Frederick smiled, "Excellent! It is settled then. I will have him pack his kit and prepare to travel within the hour. He will be thrilled to have such an exceptional mentor to guide him."

Britany blushed, the bright pink color spreading across her cheeks and up to her eartips, "I am simply a servant of the Light, Fred. There is no difference between me and any other of the Light's children. Be that as it may, I will do what I can for this Sin'dorei in the hopes that he will further our cause in the future."

"You have my thanks, Britany. And please, the next time you are near Hearthglen stop and visit for a while. My wife and I would love to have you as a dinner guest and it really would do you well to have a few days of rest here and there, hmm?" Frederick said with a smile.

Britany grinned and bowed, speaking over her shoulder as she turned to leave, "As you say, Fred. I will do my best to drop in, preferably before you have an entire clan of children for me to babysit when you need a rest!"

Frederick's laughter echoed within the tower and followed Britany outside as she exited the structure, the sunlight slanting down through the clouds and kissing her skin. It was a beautiful day, and the rest of her journey into Quel'Thalas would be a pleasant one. At least, that was her thought until a commotion caught her attention. Tilting her head, she determined that the shout she'd just heard had come from one of the forward guard positions around the tower and proceeded to head that way.

She quickly made her way past the tower's outer defense walls, the trail beyond snaking down and around the tower to lower ground. There were sounds of a scuffle on the other side of the wall and Britany turned and walked along its perimeter, rounding a bend and encountering the source of the noises.

Two Argent Crusaders were there, one a dwarf and one a human, each holding their arms out and blocking the way towards the front of the tower. Beyond them stood a blonde woman in a black dress, her eyes covered by designer sunglasses. A quick inspection of the woman showed that she was wearing a rather expensive looking but worn dress, and that she had taken other steps to beautify herself by having her nails painted jet black and by wearing an abundance of golden jewelry. None of this was a concern to the paladin though once she sensed exactly what the woman was.

The chill of undeath could be felt even from a distance for someone like Britany, and it immediately make her feel sick to her stomach. Fists clenched, she stormed towards the scene, already suspecting who it was that approached the tower.

"Ma'am, you cannot enter the tower. We've been ordered to keep travelers away while there is a-" one of the Crusader guards was saying.

"Get the fel out of my way! I didn't come out here to bicker with one of the Crusade's lackeys!" the woman snapped back.

Britany stepped in between the guards, her voice firm as she took control of the situation, "What is the meaning of this? Identify yourself at once."

The two Crusaders backed up and lowered their arms, content to let the paladin handle the situation. The woman had been argumentative and showed no signs of leaving anytime soon. Britany planted her fists on her armored hips, awaiting an answer.

"I have come to see Captain Frederick Lightstone. I know he's here, and I have matters I wish to discuss with him," the blonde woman said, her voice echoing with a hollow quality.

Britany glared at the woman, her eyes seeking the scourge-blue glow that she knew lurked behind the glasses, "I know exactly what it is you wish to discuss with him, Beckyann Eastberg. Fred and I have discussed this at length. If he's ordered you away from the tower, then away from the tower you will stay. He's working on a local campaign here and your kind is neither needed, nor wanted."

The woman, the death knight, nearly hissed as Britany finished speaking, rearing back as if she'd been slapped. When she responded, her tone held barely restrained rage, "He was not so unwilling to speak to me when I was saving an entire patrol of his new recruits from the Scourge around Corin's Crossing. And how dare you presume that you know my business, slick-ears! I will speak with him for a few minutes and then be on my way. He owes me at least that much after my assistance. Besides, I'm trying to apologize for another...incident."

Britany remained firmly in place, her tone stern, "You will not see him. I know the 'incident' you are referring to and you should be glad that you still walk the face of this world and darken it with your footsteps. Turn and walk away. There is nothing for you here and this tower is property of the Argent Crusade."

Beckyann actually did hiss this time, her voice filled with hate. She lurched forward, one hand grabbing the armor that covered Britany's upper arm and squeezing it hard enough that the plates pinched the paladin's skin even through the padding beneath, "Get. Out. Of. My. Way. I am going to see him, whether you like it or not."

Whatever response Beckyann was expecting from the paladin, it was likely not one that would have made the death knight herself proud. Britany's hand came up and clamped down hard on Beckyann's arm, her other hand snapping out and grabbing the blonde woman by her throat. Using the grip she had as leverage, the paladin swung Beckyann around and slammed her against the wall of the tower, Britany's face scant inches from Beckyann's.

When she spoke this time, there was no question as to the paladin's feelings about the death knight, "Some of your kind take the opportunity to make amends for the things they've done. Some have souls that can be redeemed. Some of the living would have given anything, absolutely anything to have the chance that you've had to speak to those who passed on at the hands of the Scourge just one last time. And you waste every moment of that time by bringing more pain on those who recall you from life. You are a waste of existence, a filthy beast conjured from dark magic and if not for the Accords and for Fred's own wishes, you would even now be a burning torch, your soul set free when you were laid to rest. Do not test me again. The dead have no place here, or anywhere."

The look on Beckyann's face would have been comical to all present if not for the deadly nature of the confrontation. The death knight shifted in place for a moment, feeling the holy energies in the form of the Sin'dorei that held her in place. She wasn't hurt, but still felt like she'd been kicked in the gut. She violently reached up and broke the elf's grip on her throat, her body pushing against the other's armored form to force her to back up.

"FINE! I'LL LEAVE, BUT DON'T THINK FOR A MOMENT THAT IT WOULD BE ME THAT WOULD SUFFER IF I DECIDED THIS SHOULD GO FURTHER!" Beckyann raged.

"Just go. Return to your floating fortress of the dead and trouble us no more," Britany said, her gaze leveled at the death knight. "Fred does not need you ruining his life any further, nor do I need to waste my time speaking with you. You cannot be redeemed; I know this from what I've learned of you. The only boon you grant is that you destroy those things which we also fight, but one day that work will be done and then it will be your turn to go, monster."

Beckyann sneered, her voice low and cold now and chilling to hear, "Do not think that you are Fred's gatekeeper, or that he can hide behind your plate skirts forever. One day we will continue the conversation we had, and I will state my regrets. Only I get to decide if I can be redeemed, or if my good deeds outweigh the bad. Pray to your blessed Light that we do not meet again."

With that the death knight turned and stormed off, heading into the plaguelands around the tower without concern for the undead that lurked in the wilderness. Britany stared at her the entire time, until she was no longer visible and it was clear that she would not seek to enter the tower from another route.

"You are wrong, death knight. It is you who should pray to the Light. You should pray to it every day for forgiveness, and pray to it that you and I do not cross blades on the field of battle one day, for I should love nothing more than to put you to your rest so that my dear friend can live at ease, without your shadow to darken his doorstep."

With that, Britany turned and walked away, her mood greatly soured by the encounter although her purpose still clear in her mind. She would return to Quel'Thalas with the new recruit in tow, and seek to further the cause of the Crusade and the Light wherever she went. It was her purpose in life, and one she would never set aside until the day she drew her last breath.

Journal Entry- October 17th

Beckyann smiled, leaning forward to apply the brush containing the nailpolish to one of her toenails one last time, checking to make sure the black polish was just right before capping the bottle and setting it on the nightstand beside her bed. With that task complete, she leaned back against the over-sized pillows on the bed, bringing her knees up to her chest for a moment as she glanced around the room, the fabric of her dress laying around her on the top of her black silken sheets like an even blacker pool.

Her new quarters were easily twice the size of her old ones; Colonel Nis'tara had not been lying when she said officers got the best pick of the Hold. Beyond just being a bedroom, the enclosed set of quarters actually contained a bathtub set off in a side room, as well as a walk-in closet. Clearly it had once been used by one of the Cult of the Damned's living necromancers and it had all of the necessities that a living person might need; perfect for the frivolous vanities that Beckyann herself required in her room.

The center of the floor in the room had a marble inlaid motif of a skull, the circular pattern it made drawing the eye immediately. With as much space as she now had, Beckyann had been able to shove her writing desk off to one side of the room and actually had a table and chairs where she could sit and work if she felt like it, or even entertain guests...not that she'd ever have guests!

She smiled again, leaning back further into the fluffy black pillows behind her. Although she couldn't feel the material against her skin, she knew that she was surrounded by luxury and it gave her a vague sense of satisfaction. She looked up and examined the huge banner of the Ebon Blade that hung over her bed, admiring the decoration for a moment before sitting back up and reaching over to her nightstand to grab her journal.

The battered little book had seen better days. Covered with ragged leather and stamped in the center with a skull surrounded by a heart, the little book had a number of deadly wards set into the cover that would outright kill a living person and would be extremely unpleasant for any undead that might attempt to handle it. She whispered to words to unlock the wards, grabbing a pencil that had been sitting beside the journal on the nightstand.

Once the wards were unlocked, she turned the book to a fresh page, sliding her legs out in front of her a bit so she could lean it on her knees and write. She bit the tip of the pencil for a moment, chewing on it thoughtfully as she considered what she'd say. After a time, she set the pencil to paper, letting her thoughts out finally.

 This is the first time I'm writing here in some time. I fell out of practice with it, maybe because I got lazy or maybe because I just had nothing to say. Certainly years ago there'd have been nothing of interest to record in this book other than a few spells I was researching or my most recent battle. Now though, things are a little different I think. Probably for the better if I have to admit it privately here.

First off I should mention my promotion. Did it piss me off? Of course it did. Red knew I didn't want to be an officer and so did the others I suspect. But whatever, if they want to take the risk I pose to the patrols then that's their business. I'm tired of trying to convince them that I'm bad news when it comes to leading others. I'll just have to grin and bear it and hope I don't mess up as badly as I did when I'm alive. At least the Knights can take a bit more damage before they are destroyed than living men can. And I can't make mistakes like forgetting to arrange for enough food or water for them eh? So it should be easier than that ill-fated expedition I lead at least.

I will admit that the change in quarters has been nice. This place has way more room than the old place did. I mean, I've already filled up the closets but there's plenty of space in the main part of my bedchambers to put things. So there's a bright side to everything eh?

I think I'm kind of stalling as I write here, because there's something else I need to touch on. I think it'll be important in the future, either for me to look back on, or for someone else to look through this should something go wrong. It has to do with the girl, Almaria. I saw her again this evening; she returned to Stormwind for some sort of holiday from her classes.

I can't explain why I care about this. Why did I go and intervene when I saw her potentially getting in trouble? Why do I check to make sure she's attending her classes, or look in on her when she's traveling? Red would say that it was the spell she used on me, some residual effect or something. I know he worries about it; I can see it in his expression even when he doesn't say it. I don't think that's it though, because all of us, every last Knight, knows what it was like to have our will dominated by the Lich King. Although the girl Almaria did cast a similar spell on me, the idea that there would be a residual effect seems wrong. I don't, after all, feel any residual loyalty to the Lich King. Far from it, my will is as strong as it has ever been.

So if it's not a spell, what is it? Why DO I care about what she's doing? She is a living person, and not my responsibility. And yet she writes to me, and I find myself happy to receive a letter from her. And I am concerned about what happens to her, even knowing that she and I are nothing alike and that I will be here long after she's gone. Why?

Maybe she represents something that I could have had with Fred? The way she looks up to me, respects me, and listens to my advice makes me think of what could have been. What my own child would have been like. It's hard to even think of that, and I could never tell anyone else such things, but there it is, here for my journal to know and no one else. I don't think I could ever explain it to Red or the others. There's no way to put that into words really. It just is. 

And so there it is. I feel like I have to make sure the girl at least survives and learns enough not to get herself hurt by some prick that thinks he's doing the world a favor. She's in the same position I was in once, and she can become so much more than what I became. I'll do what I have to in order to ensure that comes to pass, one way or another.

I just hope that all of this is not insurmountable. The dead are not meant to be parents, and she is not really a child. I sense that she will put us all in great danger of the span of the next decade. Even so, if I've helped to save even one soul from darkness, then maybe I've made a chip in my own debt. We'll see what happens.

Going to end this here. I think I've written enough crazy things for one evening. I have to make sure to put extra wards on this. Last thing I need is everyone laughing at me or acting all concerned over what I'm doing, thinking its the remnants of that spell. 

With a sigh, Beckyann closed the book, running her hands over the emblem burned into the cover and then holding it against her chest. She shook her head, whispering the words to re-apply the wards before leaning over and slipping the book into her nightstand drawer. Getting it out on paper always helped, even if she didn't fully understand why she thought the way she did. Now that it was done, she felt a bit lighter.

With a smile, she rose from the bed and walked into her closet, looking for her shoes. A bit of shopping would help clear up the rest of her mind, she was sure of it!

In Another Life

*Outskirts of Corin's Crossing, Midday*

Things were going downhill fast, at least it seemed that way. The lead elements of the Argent Crusade force that had entered the outskirts of Corin's Crossing had met with heavy resistance. The fighting had spread between the ruined buildings there, and then ground to a halt. As the minutes wore on, more and more of the trainee soldiers and newly Knighted men-at-arms that Frederick had been commanding on the training exercise were wounded or tiring.

"Captain! Watch our flanks! Our flanks!" a voice cried out desperately from the swirling melee directly ahead of Frederick's position.

Scanning his surroundings quickly, Frederick Lightstone came to the realization that his entire command was in jeopardy. After having chased what appeared to be a ragtag group of cultists to the edge of the town, it now was apparent that his enemy's withdrawal had merely been a ruse designed to pull the green Crusaders towards the still scourge-held ruins of the town. While they were bogged down in the fighting, undead had begun to surround them, and now as Frederick looked on, a group of wraiths and banshees had appeared from the edge of one of the ruined buildings, passing through the solid structure and heading towards the flanks of one of the three squads he'd deployed.

The men there wavered; it was only natural when faced with supernatural enemies after all. Two of them perished instantly as banshees actually swept forward and passed into their bodies, tearing them apart from the inside out. Another was slashed with barely visible, ghostly claws and fell to the ground with blood covering his face and chest. The entire flank began to fold up as men back away from the threat, the entire task force endangered.

Frederick was about to shout an order when a spell blast struck right next to him, startling him and throwing up a plume of dirt. He blinked in shock, seeing several of the hooded cultists they'd been chasing running out behind the line of undead in front of his men, already preparing their next spells. In that moment, he felt his morale wavering and knew he had to order a full retreat to save as many of the Crusaders as possible. With a heavy heart he drew in a breath to shout the order, when he was interrupted yet again.

A sound permeated the battlefield that was loud enough to cut through the shrieks and cries of those fighting. A long, mournful blast of a horn, the sound echoed through the ruined buildings as if it were a dirge for those who'd died. The foul tone of the horn was enough to chill the blood of the Crusaders who heard it, but it also was a dire warning to the undead engaged in battle. All eyes, living and dead alike, turned towards the source of the sound, and Frederick found himself gasping in surprise.

He should have known she'd come. Corin's Crossing had been her home after all, and it was quite close to the Ebon Hold. Even so, as Frederick's eyes rose to look over the ten armored forms that sat upon deathchargers on a nearby rise, he found his heart skipping a beat as he saw her.

She was not like he'd seen her before. She was not throwing a temper tantrum, not acting like a childish brat. She sat firmly in her saddle, one hand holding the reins of a murderous beast of an undead horse, the other hand holding a runeblade upright. Her golden hair practically glowed in the sunlight, and the silver bone motif of her armor sparkled whenever she shifted. The breeze blew her hair and the black cape she wore, setting the black banner that one of the other Knights carried to flapping for a moment, the white skull icon on it almost mocking to the undead below.

For a moment, from the distance, Frederick recalled how beautiful Beckyann Eastberg once was. From there he could not see the decay that she tried to hide. He could not see the glow of her eyes or the marks of undeath upon her. He saw only a vision of the past; a woman that was firmly etched into his memory for the rest of his life, and he had to remind himself harshly that all was not as it appeared.

This became apparent a moment later when Beckyann raised her sword up, a warcry echoing from her as she ordered the squad of ten Knights to first advance, and then charge, their steeds plunging down the slight incline towards the battle and gaining momentum as they came. It was quite a sight to behold, the Knights moving in perfect formation as they rode and their weapons glowing with foul magic as they plunged into the wraiths and banshees that had been hitting Frederick's flanks.

The battle turned almost instantly, the dead reeling back from the attack of a full patrol of Knights of the Ebon Blade, their foul magic and diseases having little affect on armored knights who were trained to deal with such things and who were much, much better at inflicting their own ills on their foes. In less than a minute the pressure on the flank of the Argent Crusade force was relieved, and Frederick breathed a sigh of relief himself as he ordered his squads to support the Knights who were now pushing forward into the ranks of the undead ahead of them.

As the undead pulled back from the onslaught, several of the Knights fought their way towards Frederick's command group, and he noted with some irritation that Beckyann herself was amongst them, her banner-bearer beside her along with a third Knight to make up her own command group. As she drew near, he blinked in surprise, seeing a Captain's insignia above the silver armor of her breastplate.

She rode up beside him, looking down at him from her vicious mount, a bit of a smirk on her lips as she spoke, "Problems, Captain Lightstone?"

Her tone and the way she addressed him gave him pause. Although part of him hated her now for what she'd done to him recently, another part knew her better perhaps than she knew herself. He knew when she was confident in herself, when she felt that she could make a difference. Her tone matched what he'd have expected from her long ago, perhaps after one of the Woodbury nobles had praised her.

His response was hesitant when it finally came, "No, everything is fine...Captain Eastberg."

She smiled sweetly at him as a howl rose up from the fighting, the death cry not even drawing her attention, "Then why were you about to retreat, Captain? That would have been very unwise you know."

Anger swept through him, not at her words, but at the fact that she knew him so well. He had been about to order a general retreat, believing it the only course of action open to him. He also knew that her words held extra weight, as if she judged him for all the years between then and now. His response was angry, "I had little option, Captain. Despite what you may think, I do actually know what I'm doing. We would have withdrawn to the hills behind us and held the higher ground there. Do not think that you know me so well as to undermine my command decisions."

She looked at him, her glowing eyes boring into him as she replied in a sweet, almost smug tone, "And yet, there are several dozen ghouls waiting in those hills for you to do just that. You almost just retreated into an ambush and lost your entire command. Really, Fred, I'd expect better from you, and your men deserve better too. Without discussing this further or assigning more blame, let's be realistic here and get your men to safety."

He stared at her hard, not wanting to admit she was right, but knowing that she probably was. Something else tickled at his mind as he glared, a realization that dawned on him as he looked up at her; she had confidence now, she was sure of herself. Based on the way she was speaking, the way she had commanded her Knights and lead them into battle, and on the fact that she had that pin on her chest, it seemed that others supported her. Despite himself, he smiled, realizing that she was not alone, that someone or perhaps many someones were there for her in her unlife. For some reason he found that comforting, even as part of him raged inside with his anger at her.

She saw the smile of course; lovers did not miss such things. A mirror image of that smile curled up at the corner of her mouth, as if they'd just shared a moment together. The memory of the times when they had bubbled up so abruptly that he had to shake his head and look away before he actually grinned. He managed to retain control of the emotion for a moment, letting it fade as he focused on the task at hand, "Fine then. What do you propose we do, Captain Eastberg? As my men are endangered, I will heed your advice."

When he looked back at her, she was grinning at him just as he'd expected her to be. She nodded at him, leaning forward as if sharing a secret, "Why, we'll ambush the ambush of course! Come, let us put an end to this so that you can leave this place to we dead, hmmm?"

He nodded, turning and shouting to his men to form up. At the front of the formation, his Crusaders and Beckyann's Knights had put down the last of the cultists, allowing them to disengage from the edge of the town and the ravenous dead that still lurked there. As the group withdrew, Beckyann shouted in a firm voice, her Knights turning and trotting their deathchargers out in front of the formation, falling back into a perfect line. Frederick marveled at the change that had come over the woman he once knew as she issued more orders, the Knights moving ahead of the Crusaders on foot.

Each of them raised a runeblade, chanting as they began to work their dark magic. Tendrils of purple energy lashed the plagued ground, the soil beginning to stir as first three, then seven, then dozens of ghouls rose from the depths of the earth. As the Crusaders looked on in disgust, the dead under the command of the Knights of the Ebon Blade charged forward, rushing into the hills and colliding with a number of ghouls that had been waiting there to ambush the Crusaders just as Beckyann had predicted.

Howls rose up in the distance as Beckyann lead her Knights forward, supervising the destruction of the threat and letting the Crusaders win free of the town. As Frederick got his command in order and began preparations to move to the nearest guard tower, he paused, watching the Knights in the distance as they finished off the ghouls.

Across the barren ground he saw Beckyann turn, her blue eyes staring at him amongst his men. With another smile on her lips just like the one they'd shared earlier, she offered him an almost mocking salute with her runeblade, snapping the reins of her deathcharger and leading it away, her Knights following her and leaving a trail of dust behind them.

As they faded into the distance and became nothing more than a dispersing cloud of dust, Frederick watched, trying to decide if he hated Beckyann Eastberg or admired that she had started to rise above the dreadful creature he'd seen not a week past.

He shook his head, turning to lead his men away. It was impossible to say what would become of her in the future, but perhaps if she continued to have the support of others and the confidence she'd just displayed, then just maybe she could be redeemed one day.

Site Write Finale- Unspoken

Beckyann sighed, looking into the surrounding forest as if her baleful blue eyes could pierce the foliage and see into the distance. Through the dim light of the coming dawn she saw only shadows dancing beneath the trees, the object that she wished to see and that she so desperately did not want to see concealed by distance and terrain.

She never liked coming to this part of the Western Plaguelands and generally did everything in her power to ensure that she was not part of the patrols that rode in this area. The forest rose up along the edge of a range of hills, and she knew that beyond the woods stood Hearthglen, the settlement controlled by the Argent Crusade. Although the Crusaders themselves gave her little concern, amongst them was one Captain Frederick Lightstone, a man that she once knew from a time when she still drew breath; a man that was once the love of her life and often in her thoughts even in undeath.

With another sigh, Beckyann turned around, returning her attention to the matter at hand. They were in a small clearing that had, at one point, contained a somewhat orderly camp of four or five tents. It was hard to tell now exactly how many there had been given that several of the tents had caught fire when they commenced their attack. Amongst the still smoldering ashes lay several still forms, broken weapons laying beside them or strewn about the open space where the main fighting had occurred. Taken by surprise, the small cultist group had stood little chance against a patrol of armored Knights of the Ebon Blade.

Several other Knights watched the camp's perimeter, while a few milled about near the center of the camp where a form struggled futilely between two of Beckyann's men. She walked towards them, nodding at the others as they saluted her. One of the men holding the captive spoke as she approached, “Sergeant, it looks like this is the only survivor of the battle. The rest fought to the death. Never a good sign with these scum.”

Beckyann nodded, taking in the ragged appearance of the cultist. Wearing torn and stained clothes, his hands and forearms were stained black with strange chemical burns. Given the remains of some of the equipment found in the tents, it was clear that he was one of the Cult of the Damned members that had been brewing whatever it was they'd been working on before the Knights interrupted them. Beckyann leaned forward, her blonde hair neatly framing her face as a smile curled over her black-painted lips, “Well then, perhaps our friend here would like to tell us what exactly they were up to.”

The man being held glared at Beckyann, actually leaning forward to spit on her boot, “I ain't tellin' you nothing, bitch.”

Beckyann rolled her eyes, scuffing the toe of her boot in the dirt to remove the filth before reaching forward and backhanding the captive with her gauntlet, setting his head to rocking, “Wrong answer. Let's try this again. What were you brewing in the tub near the campfire over there? Where is that substance now?”

The cultist merely grinned at her, shaking his head as blood dripped from the split in his lip. Beckyann sighed again, her voice an unpleasant hiss now, “Perhaps you think that you're in the hands of the Crusaders up in Hearthglen? Let me explain something to you; you are my prisoner, and we are the Knights of the Ebon Blade. I will ask you one last time to tell me what you have done with the substance that was in that tub, and then I will take the answers from you. Do you understand?”

The man maintained his bravado, although Beckyann could tell that he was nervous after she'd spoken; his skin looked a little paler as she studied him. She gave him several minutes to make the right decision, the silence lingering as she waited. Her patience was not particularly good to begin with, and his stubborn refusal slowly soured her mood. After enough time had passed and she could stand no more, she shook her head, reaching back to grab her runeblade and slowly sliding it from the sheath, smiling at the man, “As you wish.”

The man blanched, opening his mouth to say something but by then it was, of course, far too late. With a grin, Beckyann plunged the tip of the runeblade into the cultist's chest, the weapon piercing his heart and exploding out of his back in a shower of gore. He had no time to even scream before life fled, the foul necromantic magic in the runes of Beckyann's blade already flowing into his corpse. The body twitched several times as Beckyann focused the energies, her lips whispering words of blackest magic as she reanimated him.

After a moment, she extracted the blade, the now-obedient corpse sitting up and staring at her, awaiting instructions. She pointed at it, knowing she had limited time to access whatever dull memories it might retain, “The tub. What was in it?”

The corpse shuddered, as if it fought her. After a moment it began to hiss its answer at her, malice in its tone, “Poisssssssssson. Plaaaaaaaaague. Deaaaaaaaath.”

Beckyann snorted, exchanging glances with the other Knights that were observing the proceedings. They were all quite familiar with all three of those subjects, and whatever little plot the cultists had been planning was likely nothing that they couldn't deal with. With a bit of contempt in her voice, Beckyann completed her questioning, “And where is this poison-plague now? What did you do with it?”

The corpse grinned at her, the same shit-eating smirk it had had when alive. Beckyann felt an eyebrow twitch as she waited for it to answer, knowing it was compelled to obey her. It's mouth opened, and an answer came out that she was not expecting at all, “Wellsssssssssssss. Hearthhhhhhhhhhhglen.”

The answer was like a blow to the stomach. A sudden fear and urgency began to well up in Beckyann, the likes of which she found difficult to process. Her thoughts swirled as she realized the implications of the cultists successfully poisoning many of the Crusaders in their own town. Worse, a personal feeling of dread rose up as she thought about him, about Frederick. Try as she might, the years had not made her forget her connection with him, and the thought of him suddenly being in danger made her feel panicky.

The corpse began to hiss, a mocking laugh that was silenced instantly by the swing of her runeblade. The headless body slumped to the ground as she flicked gore from the blade, looking at the other Knights. One of them, a Kaldorei, looked at Beckyann and nodded, “It's possible that he spoke the truth. There were tracks leading into the camp that could not have been more than two hours old. They may have slipped into Hearthglen in the middle of the night.”

Beckyann paused, trying to quell the rising sense of urgency, the realization forming that when the dawn came, the Crusaders would draw from their central well, unaware of the threat it posed. As was her nature, Beckyann began to react, her mind already plotting a course.

“Secure the camp and the equipment in it. You and you, go and search the surrounding forest and ensure that we've found all of the cultists,” Beckyann barked, already hurrying away from the edge of the camp. Behind her Knights sprang into action, several of them turning to shout at her.

“Sergeant! What are the rest of us to do? Where are you going?!” the cries echoed through the fading night.

Beckyann didn't answer, already rushing towards her deathcharger. The beast turned towards her, hissing and attempting to snap at her with its teeth. She cruelly struck it with the pommel of her sword, mounting it as it staggered and then digging her spurs into its flanks. It hissed again, bursting into speed as she began to slap it with the flat of her runeblade, urging it on into the night.

With the light of the camp fading behind her and the dim glow of dawn beginning to brighten the sky above, Beckyann rode. Her urgency lead her to great recklessness, spurring her steed on faster and faster through the dense foliage, forcing it up inclines that would have snapped the bones of a living horse and thrown her from the saddle. Relentless, she continued to beat the beast, ignoring its warning growls as she forced it onto the paved path that looped up the steep incline towards the Crusader's town of Hearthglen. Hooves pounding on the dirt, Beckyann leaned forward, her black cap of the 1113^th flaring out behind her and her golden hair spilling down her back as she rode like the wind.

Ahead of her the white stone wall of Hearthglen rose up in the dim morning light, sleepy guards that had been standing near either side of the open gate suddenly snapping out of their boredom as they heard the hooves of her steed pounding away on the road below them. As she reached the crest of the hill, two of them stepped forward, pikes held upright and one of them holding a hand up to slow her.

“Halt! In the name of the Argent Crusade, identify yourself at on-” one of the guards began to call out.

His words were cut off as he and his companion were forced to dodge out of the way of Beckyann's deathcharger, its mistress digging her heels in harder and forcing the undead beast on to greater speeds. The two Crusaders managed to throw themselves clear just in time, the angry men shouting and brandishing their weapons as they alerted other Crusaders along the gate and walls overlooking the path upwards. It was far too late though, and Beckyann had moved well past the opening as the shouts rose up and then faded in the distance behind her.

In the early morning only a few of the people who called Hearthglen home were up and about. Those that Beckyann saw as she rode past at a frenzied pace were mostly guards that were probably just coming off duty or heading towards their stations for the day. Many of them turned to stare at her, as her undead steed and the silver bone motif of her armor would have made her stand out even without the scourge-light that glowed in her eyes. A few shouted at her to halt, and she ignored them as she'd ignored the guards at the gates, only applying more speed as she passed.

After a few minutes of this, her destination became visible around one of the towers, the central well of the settlement made of stone with buckets to draw from, troughs nearby already full and prepared for the stalls used by the Crusade's mounted soldiers. Beckyann jerked her reins hard, directing her steed towards the well at full-gallop, ignoring the shocked and frightened faces of the people standing around the well or carrying buckets.

With a cruel yank on the reins, Beckyann forced her deathcharger to skid to a halt, the beast nearly losing its footing on the cobblestones around the well as she jumped down. Enraged, the creature attempted to bite her only to have her parry the attack with the flat of her blade. A second well placed smack with the weapon sent it staggering away from her again, her eyes communicating to it for a moment what she would do to it later once she was done with her mission.

Around the well, several of the townsfolk had paused, staring at her with open-mouthed shock. She pointed at the nearest, a dark haired woman with a baby in one arm and a small bucket of water in the other. Dark tendrils of magic lashed from Beckyann's hands, wrapping around the bucket and ripping it from the woman's hands. The woman stumbled backwards, just barely maintaining her footing as Beckyann turned and repeated the spell over and over, snatching buckets of the poisoned water from the civilians and sending them reeling.

Angry shouts rose up from those she had man-handled, but Beckyann ignored them, bringing her runeblade up and pointing at the well itself. Runes flashed on her blade as she summoned a howling gale of cold wind, freezing the water solid enough so that no one else would be able to draw water from it for quite some time. Townsfolk scattered away from Beckyann as she moved towards the well, turning and putting her back to it protectively.

“Monster!”

“Get away from there!”

“She's knocked over old man Simmons!”

“Are we under attack?! What's going on!”

The shouts poured over Beckyann, making her roll her eyes as she yelled back at them, “The well is poisoned you idiots! Get away!”

The enraged citizens ignored the threat though, one man actually picking up a rock and hurling it at Beckyann. She managed to deflect it with her runeblade, but only barely, her eyebrows shooting up in alarm. In the distance she could see a crowd of soldiers rushing towards the area, weapons drawn. Concerned now, she brought her runeblade up, dark tendrils of magic spilling from it as she chanted in the Language of Death, the spell ripping holes open between the shadow realm and the real world. Ghouls crawled from the holes, rising up to surround the well at Beckyann's bidding, the shadowy magic fading as they were summoned.

Although the sudden appearance of the ghouls drove back the citizens, they did little to deter the armed men that rushed Beckyann's position. The armored group of warriors spread out, watching her warily as they began to circle her. Elven archers took up positions further back in the crowd, bows bent and arrows at the ready as they drew aim at her. After a moment, a deadly silence settled over the scene and Beckyann glared at the men arrayed against her.

She took a step forward, her mouth open to speak when one of the archers let loose with her bow. The arrow flew almost faster than the eye could see, piercing the armor over Beckyann's thigh and causing her to stumble. She fell to one knee, cursing at the damage to her form, her glare murderous and her voice filled with malice, “You idiots! The well. Is. Poisoned. Do you understand Common? You need to get a mage or an alchemist here now!”

Several of the warriors standing before Beckyann glanced at one another, muttering angrily. To Beckyann's irritation, the elf that had shot her had pulled another arrow from her quiver, merely smiling as she set it to her bow. Realizing she was about to be cut to pieces, Beckyann was barely able to restrain her rage. Just as she believed that battle would be inevitable, a voice cut through the crowd.

“Hold! Stand down! And by the Light, let me through!” a man shouted.

The crowd in front of Beckyann began to part, the men moving aside as another figure made his way through their ranks, coming to stand in the open space between Beckyann, her ghouls, and the armed forces ready to destroy her. The moment he stopped and faced her, Beckyann gasped, her eyes going wide.

He had changed a bit since she last saw him, the thick dark hair of his youth now spotted with a hint of gray here and there. Wrinkles had begun to creep in at the edges of his eyes, although it would be many years before he became weathered. At thirty five, Frederick Lightstone was still an imposing figure, his shining silver armor and flowing white tabard of the Argent Crusade lending him an air of majesty and purity all at once. His cloak was pinned in place with a Captain's seal, and he stared at Beckyann firmly, not recognizing her at first.

“Fred! Oh thank the Light, Fred!” a voice cried out. Beckyann watched with rising fury as a dark haired woman parted from the crowd, running up to Frederick and wrapping an arm around his armored form, her other hand still holding her baby. It was the same woman that Beckyann had 'saved' not a moment before, and she looked at the Death Knight with a scowl now, “That awful thing attacked us! She nearly knocked me over and she's done something to the well!”

Frederick nodded, untangling the woman's arm from his waist and guiding her behind him as he stared at the kneeling Death Knight, “It's alright, Miranda. We'll figure this out. It's only one Knight so I'm sure that she won't be giving us any trouble, now will she....wait... you there...rise and look at me.”

Beckyann actually felt a thrill of fear run through her as Frederick issued the command, knowing what would happen next. Slowly she pushed herself up off the ground, ignoring the diseased black ichor that ran down her armor from the arrow protruding from her leg. She straightened her back, her glowing eyes rising to meet his, seeing the surprise and then the horror cross his features.

“B-becky...why? What have you done?” his voice came out as a whisper.

“The well...it's poisoned, Fred,” Beckyann replied hesitantly. For all the years since her death, she had seen Frederick only a few times, and always at a distance. They had never spoken until this moment, and now that they were, she didn't know how to talk to him, what to say.

They had been so in love once, he a guard captain for a noble family and she a tutor for the same family. Their romance grew in secret, beneath the noses of their employers, their time together short but magical. It had ended only when the plague came to Lordaeron and brought their entire world crashing down around them. The feelings between them, the memories they shared, were bittersweet and tinged with the knowledge that in the end Beckyann had lead them on an impossible quest and paid for her ambition with her life. She had fallen when Frederick had abandoned her on the field of battle and now the time since stood like the weight of eons as they each held the others' gaze across the distance between them.

It was he that broke the silence finally, the crowd around them all but forgotten, “And so you rode in here, nearly cutting down men and women rather than getting help. Nearly harming my wife and child and all of the others who had gathered here this morning. Why doesn't it surprise me, Becky? After all these years, why am I not shocked to see that your impulsiveness has created an angry mob?”

Beckyann was so stung by the words that she nearly stumbled, her body drawing in a great, unnecessary breath as she gasped, her eyes blazing for a moment, “And what would you have me do, Fred? Did you want your wife to drink tainted water and die? Did you want me to wait and ask permission from the perimeter guards so I could get some sort of light-damned pass to ride in here and politely ask everyone not to drink the water?! People are alive now, thanks to me. And in gratitude, the knife-ears you've got over there put an arrow in me.”

Frederick scowled, shaking his head and speaking in a firm tone, “We have mages at the gate, Becky. They could have warned the people here even faster, without putting such fear in them or nearly injuring any of them. But you couldn't wait, could you? You have to be the hero. You have to ride in and fix it and get the glory for it. And that's why we're here now, talking like this, isn't it?”

Fury flowed through Beckyann, the years of pent up anger at what Frederick had done when he'd left her in the hands of the Cult of the Damned to die a slow, painful death finally surfacing, “Oh I'm so sorry that you weren't concerned about your wife and child, Fred. Why does that not surprise me?! Figures that you would put your duty first, and your wife second. Don't worry though, I made sure that she and your baby are safe and healthy, which is fel of a lot more than you did for me.”

Beckyann turned and stared hard at the woman named Miranda, her eyes blazing with scourge-light, “I hope that he truly does love you and I hope for your sake that he's never put in a position where he needs to decide between that love and his duty.”

“ENOUGH!” Frederick shouted. Beckyann actually cowered slightly, blinking at him in surprise as he continued, “It's bad enough that you've created a near-riot here and almost gotten yourself destroyed. You will not talk to her that way! I don't know why you think you care so much about my family, Becky, but I'll not have them living under the shadow of what you've become. Yes I loved you once, and I would have done anything for you; anything at all except let your ambition lead the rest of us to our deaths. You're lucky we don't lock you up for what you've done here, instead of reward you. You've got some nerve. What makes you think that you should even talk about my child, my wife like that?!”

Beckyann knew in that moment that she would hurt him. Deep within, a part of her didn't want to, but it had long been buried by what she'd become in undeath. She stalked towards him, slamming the point of her runeblade into the ground and planting her hands on her hips, shouting up into his face, “YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY, FRED? YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY I CARE SO MUCH?! BECAUSE THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN MY CHILD! THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME THERE! BECAUSE....”

She continued, her mind horrified at the words she let slip next, the words that had been unspoken for all those many years, knowing that they would cut him like a sword, “....because...I was carrying your child, Fred. Because....because I was pregnant...when I...when you...”

She trailed off, the horror of what she'd said sinking into all who listened. The woman, Miranda, turned ghostly white and fainted, a guard behind her catching her and easing her to the ground before picking up her baby and holding it gently. For his part, Frederick just stood there, staring at her with his mouth agape, small sounds escaping from him that formed no words.

She felt the weight of it, of the secret she'd been carrying for so long. She'd never told a soul. No one had known when she'd lived, no one had known after her death. Not even her closest friends like Red had known. It was just one more life lost to her mistakes, one more tragedy in a burden she already carried personally, and now she'd lashed out with it to wound, to harm the one man that she'd ever truly loved, the one she still loved beneath all that she'd become.

She spoke softly now, her voice trying to find the right things to say to undo the horrible consequences of her lack of self-control, of her terrible impetuous nature. As she spoke, the glow in her eyes faded slightly, their original green color partially visible, “It...it was just before we left on our quest, Fred. I-I didn't want to tell you. I-I couldn't tell you. You wouldn't have allowed me to come with you... If I d-didn't complete that task, if I wasn't part of the group that found a cure for the plague, Lord Woodbury would have thrown me out of his household, w-would have stripped you of your position. I-I...I had to keep it secret. It was the only way.”

And so the truth came out at last. She almost felt lighter, having rid herself of the burden of it after all these years. Her reasons were, at the time, sound. The plague had risen around Stratholme, the Woodbury family had been planning to send an expedition there to find a cure. If she had succeeded, she'd have had prestige and fortune and her pregnancy in her unwed state would have been overlooked after the deeds she'd done. Her pride, her ambition, had lead her and her unborn child to their deaths and her lover had never known of it until this moment.

“H-how...how far along...?” Frederick asked after a lengthy silence. Beckyann could feel the weight of emotion in his words, could feel his suffering from where she stood. She was meant to feed on such things, although it seemed almost comical to think she could actually enjoy this moment and the suffering it brought her.

“F-four weeks? Five at most,” Beckyann whispered. “I...I found out just before we set out. My moon's blood had not come and...I-I knew. I hid it from you. The sickness in the morning, the fear of it being discovered. I h-had to. For us, for you, for the child. I-I...I'm...I shouldn't have...”

“No. You've said enough, Becky,” Frederick said, his voice heavy. He looked at her through tear streaked eyes, shaking his head. “I could have gone on forever without knowing that, without the guilt that comes with knowing that I left not only you, but my own child to die. Every night I hear your voice crying out to me for help. Every day I have to get up and face what I did. And now...now I know I can never come to terms with it.”

Beckyann took a step forward, reaching out to touch his arm and feeling brackish, disease-ridden tears running down her own face, “Fred...please, I-I shouldn't have said it in anger, I shouldn't have t-told you like this...please, I'm s-so sorry...”

He brushed her hand off his arm, stepping away from her. He gazed at her, his voice raw as he spoke, “You have become a monster, Beckyann Eastberg. A terrible monster that has only the worst of who you were in her. I want you to leave. Now. I want you to walk away from me, my wife, and my child and never darken our lives again. You are not the girl I loved, not the person who you were. She died long ago, and I will mourn her every day of my life, especially for the part I had in that, but you are not her. You're...something else. Now go.”

Beckyann felt emotions pounding at her, threatening to strangle her. Behind her the ghouls she'd summoned collapsed as she lost her grip on her necromancy, a sob bursting free from her mouth, “Please, Fred...please...”

He turned away from her, kneeling down beside his wife and propping her up to comfort her. His voice, when it came to her from over his shoulder, was cold and final, “Go, and leave me be. You've done enough here.”

The sorrow was more than she could bear, and so Beckyann let the truth of Frederick's words show as she stood behind him. She let the pain melt away, let it turn into the fury of the creature she was now, and buried the real Beckyann Eastberg beneath a sea of writhing anger.

“FINE!” she yelled at him, her voice echoing from the structures around them. Cold seeped from her, frost forming on the stones beneath her feet as her eyes blazed with scourge-light. She stormed away from him, knowing that they would never see each other again in life or undeath, her wrath turned on the soldiers in front of her. “GET THE FEL OUT OF MY WAY!”

Men scrambled from her path as she raged, storming past them and over to where her deathcharger was standing. The beast began to hiss at her and then paused when it saw the state she was in, as if deciding that now was not a good time to test her ire. Angrily she launched herself into the saddle, grabbing the reins and snapping them, driving the deathcharger away from the mass of people who stared at her in loathing as she left.

Behind her she left the frozen well, her runeblade planted point-first in the ground, and the broken remains of a love that had been the greatest treasure of her life.

Site Write Bonus Entry- Guardian Angel

The snow fell all around her, each flake unique and pure white. The winds blew the flakes into little cyclones, flowing white powder drifting over the white landscape and dancing in beautiful patterns. It glittered here and there, the unmarred newly-fallen flakes almost a promise that even the most vile places can be reborn as something new. The snowbanks and falling flakes went on forever, as far as the eye could see, promising mysteries and chilly adventure on the distant horizon.

All of the beauty, all of the soul-inspiring majesty of the place, was lost on Beckyann as her cold blue eyes stared into the falling snow, ignoring it utterly. It settled on her in places, landing in her hair and piling up on the cold plates of her armor. If not for the necromancy that fueled her, she would have frozen into a solid lump of ice, covered by snow and made pure by the piling drifts; just another part of the frozen landscape.

She stood as still as one of the frozen trees around her, unmoving in conditions that would have made a living woman shiver with chill before eventually succumbing to hypothermia. The cold meant little to Beckyann, not even bothering her when flakes landed on those small sections of her arms and midriff that her armor exposed. She had long ago passed beyond such petty concerns that occupied the thoughts of the living. Even so, though the cold did not bite at her, Beckyann did not wait patiently or in comfort as she stood in place, her mind a swirling quagmire of doubt.

What am I doing here? Is this really a rational idea? Is it even my own idea, or something that was put in my head? I'm not sure if I can go down that train of thought, as I fear it might drive me mad.

No one knew she was there of course, and no one would see her where she waited. She would tell no one that she'd come, and only the doubts in her mind would keep her company during her vigil. It was difficult to still them though, when so many questions lingered on within her, making her question who and what she was.

Red was concerned. He didn't think it was 'natural' or whatever term he used. I don't know how to explain it to him though. I can't tell him everything, nor would he care to hear the details about everything. He's just going off what he's seen and what he fears, and I can't fault him for that. I'm not even sure if I understand this myself half the time, but I know it's my own self, my own thoughts that drive my decisions. At least I know that.

In the distance Beckyann's baleful gaze detected movement in the snow; distant figures that struggled to walk across the newly fallen drifts. They wouldn't be walking far in these conditions, but they didn't have to; it was likely beneficial for those doing the walking to understand how to overcome such obstacles, possibly even using magic to do so. The thought brought a half-smile to her lips as she remembered her own attempts to do such things long ago.

What Red can never understand is not how I was affected, but what those moments showed me and what I remember. I can never be alive again, can never look forward to the future as I did in life. I can never dream of what it means to have a family, to care for my own children, to raise them and watch them grow and have lives of their own. But for a moment, for the briefest of moments, I was allowed to feel what that might have been like. It was a blessing and a curse I guess in its own way; a cruel thing to inflict on one of our kind. I should be filled with hatred for what that girl did to me, should wish to rend her to pieces, and yet I find a little part of myself utterly grateful to her for giving me one tiny piece of a dream I lost long ago, even if just for a moment.

The people slogging their way through the snow would never see Beckyann of course; with her dark black, silver, and gray armor she blended in well with the swirling snow and the grayness of the sky and scenery around her. When holding perfectly still as she was and letting the snow pile atop her blonde hair no one who wasn't a highly trained Kaldorei scout would detect her. It was an advantage that the undead had in battle; they could remain perfectly still until the time was right.

As Beckyann watched, the figures drew closer, heading back towards a series of cabins that bore emblems of the Kirin Tor upon them. The group had only a short distance to go, which was a good thing considering the small size of many of those walking through the beginnings of what would probably be a bad storm. They had wisely decided to come in from their lessons before it arrived, and Beckyann had the perfect opportunity to view them.

Her eyes scanned over the group, mostly children and lead by an aging teacher who would instruct them in magic. As she looked past him, her vision alighted on a figure that was taller than the others, her form stumbling in the snow clumsily as they made their way to warmth. As she saw the girl, Beckyann's face crept into a half-smile, the only movement she made as the group passed near her hidden location.

Almaria had returned to her lessons, as Beckyann had asked her to do.

Why should it matter to me if she did? The girl cast a spell on me and harmed me. And yet I cannot let her walk the course I did so long ago. She is naive in a way, innocent in her mind despite the magic that she so easily conjures. 

Beckyann paused, watching the group move out of her eyesight and into the safety and warmth of the structures the Kirin Tor had left in place for their students. In her mind, she felt a strange sense of peace come over her, and she shook her head, finally moving and letting snow fall away from her as she turned to leave. She would not stop to speak with the girl or with her teacher; she had only been there to watch.

If I'd have had a child, he or she would have been perhaps ten years old now, maybe a little less. The child would have acted much like Almaria. It is hard to separate that fact from the reality that she is only a little younger than myself sometimes. She is not my daughter, she can never be my daughter.

And yet... I will not see her walk the path that I walked. I don't care what Red or anyone else says about it, the girl will prosper and be taught to take care of herself. I will see to it myself if need be, although I suspect the Kirin Tor will do a fine job of it.

Beckyann grinned as she crunched through freshly fallen snow, packing it down with her armored boots as she entered a clearing where her gryphon had been waiting for her. The beast hissed at her and she ignored it as she mounted, one final thought creeping through her mind.

They'd BETTER do a fine job of it... for they have no idea who it is that watches over the girl now. There will be no new chapter of horrors, no new mistakes that could so easily have been avoided. I will watch over her until she is safely walking a different course.

Light help anyone who tries to stop me. 

Site Write Bonus Entry- Regal

Beckyann sighed, looking around the shop she was in and almost immediately determining that there was absolutely nothing that she wanted. In the heart of Stormwind's trade district, her shopping trip had thus far been going only moderately well; in one hand she carried a bag that contained two dresses, a stylish new hat, and two pieces of jewelry that she'd purchased. It wasn't a terrible haul, but she honestly had been expecting to find more. The fall fashions were just so ugly this year! She was either getting out of style with the times, or perhaps not looking in the right places.

Just as she was about to give up hope that this fourth and final stop on her trip would yield good results, her sunglass-hidden eyes alighted upon a rack on the far side of the shop, and she saw 'it'.

'It' was a long, regal purple cloak the likes of which she had been searching for over the past few weeks. Perfectly hued to match a long purple dress she'd recently acquired from a tomb, the golden threading along the edges of the cloak made it look rich and elegant even though it was on a clearance rack. Beckyann rushed over to the far side of the store, eagerly reaching out to pull it from the shelf.

"Can I help you with something, miss?" a kindly voice came from behind her.

Beckyann whirled around, cloak in hand as she thrust it and her coin purse at the shopkeeper, "Yes! YES! This! I want this! WHY AREN'T YOU TAKING MY MONEY RIGHT NOW?!"

Blinking in surprise, the shopkeeper took the cloak and coin purse from the overly excited woman and guided her to the counter where he collected the price of the cloak and gave her her change. Moments later an extremely happy Beckyann was walking down one of the canal's streets with two bags in her hands, entirely satisfied with the trip.

As she turned the corner, heading towards a more distant part of the city where she could open a Death Gate to return to the Ebon Hold, she spied a cart sitting alongside one of the canals. As she approached, details became apparent and she saw that the cart had an opened side that displayed a number of pots, pans, knives, and other simple household goods. An old man sat on a stool in front of the open cart, pushing a knife along a whetstone to sharpen it. Beside him a little brown-haired girl played along the edge of the canal with a ragdoll that had seen better days.

Beckyann was about to pass by when something made her pause and take a closer look. She stood in place, studying the old man and his daughter. His cart was typical of a tinkerer or pot-mender, the interior having a number of implements to perform simple repairs on household items and utensils. His clothes were threadbare, and his shoes had seen better days, his gray hair thinning atop his head and his skin looking weathered and worn from the years.

The little girl playing beside him was in no better condition, her dress having several tears in it and loose threading at the hem. What was worse, she wore no shoes, even though the year was getting later and the cooler weather had arrived in the evenings. She played happily enough, staying near her father as he worked and content with her doll that was missing one of its button eyes.

Memories tickled the back of Beckyann's mind as she watched the old man work. Everything about him reminded her of her own father, and the pair reminded her of her own lot in life when she was the girl's age. She recalled the crushing poverty that they had lived with in Corin's Crossing. She recalled the sound of her father's whetstone at work as he did little odds and ends for the townsfolk to scrape by, his little work shed and the area around it behind their shack a playground for the young Beckyann. She even recalled having to go an entire season without shoes one year when she'd outgrown her own and they simply couldn't afford to buy her any.

"Miss, can I help you with something?" the old man said, startling Beckyann out of her thoughts. She blinked once, realizing she'd been standing there too long and had attracted his attention.

"O-oh, no sir, no. I was just...remembering something," Beckyann replied.

He must have sensed her undead state by the faint echo in her voice. Although she tried to hide it, it was fairly obvious that she was not amongst the living and he blanched, setting down the knife he'd been working on and looking nervous, "S-sorry to disturb you, Miss. W-we don't really have anything y-you'd want..."

Beckyann blinked, feeling uncharacteristically guilty for alarming the old man. Realizing that her disguise had failed, she pushed her sunglasses up on her head so he could see her expression, offering him a kind smile, "Sir, it's really alright. I just paused because...well, you reminded me of my family, of people that are long gone now but that I still hold fond memories of."

The man relaxed slightly, still looking nervous but nodding as if he accepted what Beckyann had said. She let her gaze shift to the young girl that was playing by the edge of the canal, questioning the old man, "Do you not have shoes for her, sir? The winter is coming and it will be a cold one."

She could hear the sorrow in his tone as he replied, "Afraid not. We just...we don't have the coin. I'm lucky enough to feed her each day and I take that as a blessing from the Light as it is. Once things went bad in Westfall we came here, hoping to make a living, but it's been tough."

Beckyann considered this for a few moments, strange emotions warring within her as she remembered having no shoes in the snow. It hurt terribly to step on the ice when she had to go outside for any reason, and she nearly had frostbite many times as a child. It was suffering, as was poverty itself at times, and she knew well how it could shape a life. Something in her stirred, and she took a step towards the girl, kneeling down beside her and ignoring the concern on the old man's face.

"Hi!" the little girl said, looking up at Beckyann. "Ooooooh! You have pretty blue eyes!"

Beckyann smiled, nodding at the girl, "And you have pretty green ones. Mine used to be like yours as well. Is this your doll?"

The little girl nodded, beaming, "Yes! Her name is Sarah! Ohhhh, that is a pretty blanket you have!"

Beckyann tilted her head, seeing where the girl was pointing and understanding she meant the purple cloak that was sticking from the top of the bag. She reached down, removing it from the bag and holding it up before the little girl, "Do you really think so?"

"Oh yes! It looks so warm! You're lucky to have such a warm one for when its cold at night!" the little girl said, happily making her doll dance along the canal's edge.

Something caught in Beckyann's throat as the girl talked, memories lashing out in her mind. She sighed, a resigned look coming over her face, "Well then, why don't you have it hmm? I don't ever get cold."

The little girl stopped playing, eyes wide as she looked up at Beckyann, "Reeeeeeeally?! You really mean it! Oh thank you SO much!"

Beckyann nodded, handing the long cloak to the little girl and watching as she hugged it happily against her chest, showing it to her doll. She rose, turning to find the old man looking at her, surprise on his face. "T-thank you, miss. I...just thank you."

Beckyann nodded at him once, her tone soft, "I remember what it was like. Although you see me as I am now, I was once someone else, and that person remembers. Here...take this and buy her some shoes." She reached down and grabbed her coin purse, tossing it to the old man. He caught it, eyes wide.

Beckyann gave him a smile, reaching up to push her sunglasses back in place and hiding her expression as she turned to go, the delighted cries of the girl at play behind her escorting her away. A part of her felt lighter, felt good about what she'd done, even if it was hard for her to understand why she'd done it.

One thing was for certain though; if she was going to keep giving her coin purses away everytime she came to Stormwind, she was going to need a pay raise from Central at some point. Or perhaps pay of any sort would be nice!