Bethani Easting 2: Reconnecting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Awakening

*Raven Hill Cemetery, Deep Within a Crypt*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plague-bringer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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