Lingering Malice

"At first, there is nothing, and I am nothing. At least that is what my senses tell me. I cannot see. I cannot feel. There is nothing to touch, taste, or smell. Around me is a great void of emptiness that is soul-crushing in its vast lack of any reference point.

I exist in this state for a length of time that cannot be measured, as time has no meaning here. Was it days? Years? Centuries? Or perhaps only five minutes? There is no way for me to tell, and it is maddening to be suddenly torn from ones entire frame of reference.

After the sudden shock of arriving here and the unknown time spent contemplating where here is, things begin to come back to me. I exist. That much is at first plainly clear. I am thinking after all, am I not? These thoughts echo out into the nothingness that surrounds me, and I realize that I am generating newness in emptiness merely with my existence.

With the awareness that I still exist comes a flood of thoughts, some of them memories and some of them simply echoes of sensory input that I no longer feel. I was not always like this, and not always in this place. I know that much. I was once...alive? Yes, I was alive, although the definition of living may vary from one person to another. That is another thought in itself; there were others and I was once in a place where other conscious beings walked.

How did I come to be here? The answer comes to me out of nothing, but I know it is truth when it forms. I died. No, I was slain. My form's existence came to an end, and I should have passed into the great darkness that takes us all at the end of our days. And yet I did not, for this is not that darkness. How do I know this? Because I do not suffer here, and I know that for my deeds in life I deserved to suffer.

Details of who and what I was slowly return to me. I was once a young noble who toyed with unspeakable darkness like it was my plaything. Others who walked this path with me paid the price long ago, and I watched as they fell one by one. In some cases I aided in their demise, using my intimate knowledge of these dark powers to hunt others who would harm the world in which I once moved.

I remember...preparing myself for this eventuality. More than once in life I was brought to the brink of death. I hunted evils after all and used great evil to do so. With each near-brush with the hereafter I came to know that punishment awaited me for the things I'd dabbled in, and so I delved further into the powers I had. 

There are ways to cheat death; any necromancer can tell you this. Some steal the life from others, extending their own lives indefinitely. Others are so powerful in their magic that they create an arcane device known as a phylactery, which their soul will return to in death. This type of artifact would allow one to become an undead creature known as a lich.

And yet, each of these methods have drawbacks. A living person sustained by the lifeforce of others can be slain. A lich can be destroyed, a phylactery splintered apart. Seeing these weaknesses, I took steps to circumvent them. I created a void, a space in which my spirit could seek refuge in the most desperate hour when my form had finally come to an end. Connected only on the fringe of those realms in which spirits roam, I will linger in this sanctuary forever.

And yet...my spirit burns now. Burns with the need to press onward. Ever in life, and even in the half-life I lived at the end of my days, I was propelled to excel. I was raised this way, raised to be perfect in everything to which I applied my skills. My parents would accept nothing else after all, and even now, when the concerns of mortals are beyond me, this is ingrained in who I was and who my spirit is.

As the thoughts swirl through my mind and I slowly come to understand who and what I was, time passes. Living people are born, age and die. Worlds turn and stars glitter brightly, all of it unknown to me. Severed from everything, I finally reach out beyond this void to seek something, anything to anchor myself.

I hear a voice chanting. I do not know the language that is spoken, but it is not necessary. I can hear the inflection of words and the steady rhythm with which they are spoken and I know instinctively that someone, somewhere is casting a spell that they should not be casting. A spell designed to reach out into the darkness, seeking power. It is like a lifeline, like a glowing tendril in the vast nothingness in which I float. Reaching out to it is as simple as picking up a string from the floor.

And then I am tumbling, tumbling down the length of the thread, all of the power, the knowledge that I had stored within me flaring to life as I hurtle towards the voice that foolishly continues to chant the evil spell that she thinks will bring her power but will instead bring her doom.

My collision with her form, her magic is like running into a concrete wall. She struggles against me, but her studies, her craft is inferior to my own. I have spent years honing my skills, perfecting my art, and a novice such as she cannot resist my power for long. Her very soul shudders as it comes into contact with mine, as it wars with mine. 

And then it is over, and she has passed from the world, another victim of dark magics that she should have known not to play with. Her passing means little to me, for she deserved it in the end. I experience her existence briefly as her spirit flees its shell, know that she was a cultist seeking to do unspeakable things. Her death is a blessing to whatever world she walked upon.

And then I feel pain. Unendurable, everlasting pain. It is like a bittersweet cup to sip from and I gulp it down, the pain the first thing I've experienced in who knows how long. I feel for the first time, I feel a body shuddering, my body shuddering. I feel the shell that I have claimed, I feel my magic locking my spirit in place within it, anchoring me. I feel eyelids flutter open, and the glow of my magic fading as eyes focus on the evil arcane symbols scrawled on the floor around where I sit.

I lean forward for a moment, simply enjoying the soul-wrenching agony and the feeling of breath panting from between my lips...or rather, HER lips. The form I have stolen. I shake my head, dismissing the thought, knowing that I must get my bearings and continue my work. Evil to fight evil, magic to slay those who would destroy worlds. 

I regain my composure and sit back on my haunches, taking in the moldy, dark cave in which I find myself. I smile, knowing that my banishment is complete. Knowing that those who had slain me hadn't the slightest idea what they were doing, or how to actually destroy me in my former life. Connected to my sanctuary, I can still feel that place, and mark it later as a journey I must take in order to seek vengeance. But that can wait for now, as there is work to be done here as well judging by the fact that cultists were able to call far enough to draw my attention.

As I rise, my smile widens, the last of my knowledge coming to me. As I walk from the opening of the cave, one last thought lingers in my subconscious, finally revealed to me.

I am Kerryann Westdale, and those who wish to dabble in dark powers should be wary, for there are some who are so much better at it."

~Kerryann's first spiritual transcendence.  

Regrets- Part 3

The day had gone much worse than Kerryann expected.

It had started off pretty much as she predicted; the man named William Saddle was up and about before the sun had even risen, merrily making breakfast over the fire and chattering away at her. Although she needed little sleep, Kerryann hated to talk in the early morning, especially after she'd spent much of the night regenerating a wound, and yet there she was, being chatted up by a man with seemingly boundless energy. At least he could make a good cup of coffee.

The morning had passed in an agonizingly slow manner as far as Kerryann was concerned. They'd set out on foot (because of course William had no horse) and walked across the great expanse of the Arathi Highlands. Stopping to question civilians passing on the road, Kerryann had been chagrined to learn that William was much better than she was at approaching these people and asking them questions.

At least they didn't run away in fright when he got near them anyway!

As the day wore on, they gleaned a few small clues here and there about the whereabouts of their prey. A hint that men had been moving crates in the middle of the night down a certain road. A tale of an ambush of a Refuge Point patrol several weeks previously. A mention of a newly dug grave found out on the highlands with no marker to identify the deceased.

Each clue was meaningless in itself, but when applied to a map of the region, a pattern of activity began to unfold that lead Kerryann and William further and further towards the north eastern region of the Highlands. The pace was terribly slow on foot, although to his credit, William never once complained about being tired or sore from all the walking.

Instead, he did something much worse; he chatted about his life endlessly.

At first it had done little to bother Kerryann. William had told her of his childhood, of his misadventures amongst the Syndicate living in the ruins of Stromgard. He told her about the things he'd learned and seen, the excitement practically oozing from his mouth as he discussed his plans for the future. He wanted to be a smith, he wanted to build a small house somewhere near Stormwind. He wanted to visit that city, to take in the sights.

The comments were not obnoxious by any means, but Kerryann found herself drawn into his ceaseless chatter. She found herself contemplating her own life, her own very dead dreams. His enthusiasm, his sheer joy and hope for the future were like little knives twisting in her, and as the hours wore on she found herself more and more gritting her teeth. It wasn't even that she didn't find his company pleasant, quite the opposite; it was that his enthusiasm was contagious and his dreams were not things she could share thanks to her own mistakes.

It hurt to be reminded of what you were every second of the day.

As the sun set and night began to fall, Kerryann felt her frustration mounting. She could have screamed up at the sky just to release it, but that would have given away their position, and they were getting closer and closer to finding the place from which the Undying were basing their operations. Just as she believed she could take no more and turned to silence the man trailing after her, William pointed ahead and whispered, "Look there. A farmhouse. And one not marked on the maps."

Kerryann turned and stared into the night, her glowing eyes missing little. A rather dilapidated farmhouse did indeed rest in a nearby dip of the Highlands, hidden from sight unless one were to come right upon it. Although it was still far, Kerryann could make out the forms of two men standing guard near the entrance. She turned and nodded once to William, who slowly drew his sword, a grim look on his face. Kerryann grinned, drawing her runeblade. She would finally get a chance to release some frustration on someone.

Using the tall grass to hide their movements, the two crept up to the house, studying it. Aside from the guards on the front porch, there was no other hint of life around the building. Kerryann looked to William once and nodded, signaling that they would attack. She received an affirmative nod from him and rose, her plate skirts clinking lightly as she moved.

Their attack was swift and brutal. Kerryann pointed and a choking band of shadowy magic wrapped around one man's neck, silencing him. She pointed again and a tendril of the same magic grabbed the second man and dragged him over to her, where her runeblade made quick work of him. Before the first man could get out a choked off cry, William had leaped over the porch railing and stabbed him.

Swiftly Kerryann jabbed her runeblade down, cutting the heart and then the head from the first man before she rushed to the second and did the same. With their bodies properly dismembered, they would not rise to fight again. The entire fight had taken mere seconds, and not a whisper of sound had made it into the house. Grimly William wiped his blade on the corpse at his feet and nodded at Kerryann.

She grinned and turned, a boot flying up and kicking in the door.

In a heartbeat the two had surged into the house, blades drawn and ready for battle. They needn't have worried though; the house was completely empty. It even lacked most basic furnishings, although there was a table and several chairs, as well as crates. The two swiftly began to search the crates and also a stack of papers on the table. What they found made them both pale with concern.

Several of the crates contained the uniforms of the Refuge Point guards. On the table was a list of equipment, supplies, and patrol routes of the guards, as well as a detailed list of the items needed to move a shipment along the roads in Arathi. They were clues, but one key element was missing. It was not until Kerryann's eyes alighted on something on the floor that she realized what it was.

She bent down, picking up what appeared to be a piece of grass and holding it up before her. She studied it, and William moved closer, a curious note in his voice, "What is it?"

"It's grain." She said, her voice devoid of emotion.

"And...? Why are you looking at it like that?" He asked with worry.

She turned and looked at him, her voice hollow in the empty house, "It's got plague on it William. They are not even creative to think of their own, new idea. They're moving a shipment of plagued grain to Refuge Point. It's not going to turn the people there into scourge, but it'll kill everyone, leaving corpses for the Forsaken to raise and little defense against further Forsaken advancement. They won't even expect it; the men will be wearing Refuge Point uniforms."

Wide brown eyes locked gazes with balefully glowing blue eyes. William swallowed hard and nodded, "We have to stop them. We have to go now. Can we find out where they are?"

Kerryann let the piece of plagued grain tumble from her fingers, moving back to the table and studying the documents there, she nodded after a moment of thought, "They must have gone towards the road by the straightest path in order to get a wagon across the plains. There's hidden rocks that will break an axle within the grass, so they'll want to use the smoothly paved road. If we hurry and if we cut across the grasses, we can catch them."

He was already moving as she finished talking, heading out the door. She hurried after him, signaling him to stop. He turned to look at her questioningly, and she began to chant in the Language of Death. The ground before her surged upwards as bones were dragged magically from the soil. They quickly knit together, forming an undead steed that snorted angrily. Kerryann grabbed onto some of its vertebrae and hopped on. She frowned when William tried to follow.

"You can't ride this. You'd be in direct contact with me and it will put you at grave risk," she chided.

He looked at her with a determined expression and shook his head, "No way. I'm coming with you. A lot of people are going to die if we fail, and the risk to me is worth it. Deal with it."

Before she could respond, he grabbed the steed and mounted up behind her, his arms wrapping tightly around her naked belly. Her surprise was added to by the fact that she found herself enjoying the feeling of his arms snug around her. She frowned at herself, angrily kicking the steed's flanks. It hissed once and then surged into the night, faster than any mortal creature could be.

The hunt was on.

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

Hours of ceaseless riding passed, the moon rising high above them as the two made their way across the plains. Silent now, William held on tightly as the two made their way to the road at a point that would hopefully allow them to intercept the poisoned shipment before it reached Refuge Point. When they finally reached the road, Kerryann found herself strangely sorry to feel William slip off the horse; the contact with another person had been the longest she'd had in almost a decade. She shook her head, and slipped down beside the man along the bushes that lined the road.

To her surprise, the crafty former-thief pulled out a spyglass, peering into the night down the long expanse of the paved path. After a moment he nodded and grinned, "I see them. Still very distant. We're not too late after all! They've got quite a few guards though. Maybe ten? And two wagons."

Kerryann frowned. Ten was too many for the two of them, especially if they were going to rise after death. It was time to even the odds. She rose swiftly, closing her eyes and reaching out with her senses. The ground nearby called out to her, and she walked in that direction.

As William looked on curiously, she began to chant, necromantic power rising around her. The ground began to surge up as the ancient troll burial ground was disturbed by her magic. Undead broke through the soil, rising up with moans and hisses of hatred, surrounding her but standing ready to heed her commands. In moments she'd summoned another seven combatants. William frowned darkly, but said nothing as Kerryann rejoined him; they needed to stop the wagons no matter the cost.

The two had only minutes to wait as the group got closer. Kerryann was soon able to see them clearly; ten men dressed as guards surrounding two wagons with drivers. It would be difficult. Silently she drew her runeblade, and William again drew his sword.

"To battle once more my lady," he joked. She rolled her eyes and tensed as the wagons came closer. When they had finally come close enough, she rose and pointed. The undead surged forward, and battle was joined.

"Burn the wagons!" She yelled over her shoulder as she surged towards the surprised guards. The peaceful road instantly became a swirling melee as men attempted to stop the dead from swarming over them. Swords flashed in the moonlight and howling cold air and magic flashed in the center of the battle as Kerryann's magic was deployed with devastating effects.

William ran in behind her, leaping onto the first wagon and stabbing the driver. He kicked the corpse from the seat before the other could rise in undeath and grabbed at the reins, stopping the wagon. In a flash he took out a gnomish device, lighting the canvas cover of the wagon on fire before jumping down. The flames took and the wagon became a roaring inferno as the canvas and grain beneath it began to burn.

"One down!" He shouted, turning to see Kerryann beset by a number of now-undead attackers. Eyes wide, he watched as she lashed out with a tendril of magic and plucked the driver of the second wagon from his perch; the man had been trying to steer the wagon around the melee and get it to safety. Driverless, the wagon careened off the road and into the ditch, flipping over on its side. It was effectively halted.

The move cost Kerryann. With her guard down, a still-living assailant lunged at her exposed back. William surged forward.

Kerryann felt something heavy impact her from behind. She was shoved into an Undying assailant and managed to gut him as they were both thrown off balance. Turning, she saw William stumble a step and fall to the ground; a blade meant for her had penetrated his chest deeply. With wide eyes she stabbed out, slaying his assailant and beheading the man before he even hit the ground.

"William!" She yelled, reaching down to support him as he slumped into the dirt. Around her the ghouls she'd summoned continued the fierce battle, but for a moment she could see only the obviously fatal chest wound on the man.

"S-sorry. C-couldn't let them...kill you. You're needed," he sputtered. Blood flecked his lips.

"Don't talk! Fuck...it'll be alright, it'll take you to Refuge Point, just hold on," Kerryann said, not knowing what to do. It had been a VERY long time since she had found herself concerned about a companion. She was out of her element entirely.

William smiled weakly and with a struggle, leaned up and kissed the death knight. She looked at him in utter shock as he slipped back to the ground. His lips slowly began to turn blue as Frost Fever from her kiss set in. "S-sorry, didn't want to g-go without...that," he said weakly.

For the first time in forever, Kerryann had no idea what to say. She sputtered futilely as he smiled up at her. After a moment, he sighed, his last breath soft against her face. In her scourged vision, she could see his spirit rise from his body. It turned and almost gave her a friendly wink before a glorious column of Light shined down on it. Although it was just a vision, Kerryann could feel her face burning, as if she'd spent too much time in the sun. And then it was gone. HE was gone.

The body slid from her hands into the dust of the trail as Kerryann felt her pulse begin to rage. It pounded in her head, an endless drum filling her with hatred that made her shake. Silently she rose, grabbing her runeblade up. Necromantic energy surged around her as her blade rose up, magics already lashing out at those around her.

She blacked out.

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

Her eyes opened slowly, looking up at the blue morning sky. Gingerly she sat up, rubbing her temples in confusion as she looked around her. She lay on the road leading to Refuge Point, and around her lay the hacked up bodies of the fallen Undying. On the ground beside her lay her broken and shattered runeblade; she had clearly used it to defile the bodies of her victims, smashing it against the ground until they, and it were utterly destroyed. Nearby one of the wagons still sent lazy tendrils of smoke into the air, and the other lay on its side.

The woman rose slowly, seeing that she was covered in scratches and bite marks from a battle with the Undying that she could not even remember. All around her was devastation, and her eyes scanned over it until they fell on the body of William, still laying with a smile on his face, peaceful in death.

It wasn't fair. He gave his life up for someone who had already long ago sacrificed hers. The thought sent an anguished guilt surging through Kerryann, and she sighed miserably.

"You stupid bastard. You were the one who should have lived," she muttered. Slowly she began to gather her wits about her, walking towards the second wagon of plagued grain. She took out a cigarette, lighting it up and taking a long drag.

"I'll make them pay for this. I swear it William," she said softly. She flicked her cigarette onto the canvas of the second wagon, watching as it began to catch fire. It would take about an hour for her to throw all the corpses onto the second blaze, and when she was done there was one more thing to do.

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

The guards at Light's Hope Chapel gripped their weapons tight as a figure stumbled towards them, carrying a burden. As they looked on grimly, Kerryann forced herself to take another step. Her eyes were lowered so as not to look directly at the blazing light that her scourged vision showed her around the place.

One more step Kerry, you can do it.

Her boot scraped in the dirt and she found herself falling to her knees as the sheer holy radiance of the Chapel bathed her corrupt flesh with Light. In her arms, Williams body bounced lightly as she kept a tight grip on it, forcing herself forward on her knees inch by inch. Her skin had turned ashen colored, and in a few places it was split and cracked as the Light burned her, but she still pressed on.

When she thought she could go no further, and when she could no longer see due to the tears of blood that had run down her face and blurred her vision, she felt strong hands reaching down to take up the body. The Argent Crusade guards had come forward to help at last.

"Let him rest in a place of honor," Kerryann managed to croak out. She had to pause as a coughing fit took her. She spit on the ground, noticing that she had coughed up blood from the damage the Light was doing to her. "He gave his life so that others could live. He was a hero. His name was William Saddle. Please, let him rest here."

A hand touched her shoulder, and Kerryann shook it off roughly. A voice spoke softly to her, "We will, miss. Let us get a healer."

Kerryann smiled bitterly, turning away from the burning radiance of Light's Hope and the sacred ground on this it stood. She pressed her hands into the dirt, crawling away like an infant. "There is no healing me. I made my choice long ago. Please honor him, as I cannot."

She crawled then, moving away. Every inch bringing slight relief. It would take days for her to fully heal from the ordeal, days of hiding in a crypt somewhere, letting necromancy rebuild her scalded flesh.

It would be years before the regret she felt for William's death left her. It would be her entire life before the regret at what she had truly sacrificed for her power left her, if it ever did.

Regrets- Part 2

The ground hurtled by as Kerryann's undead gryphon carried her swiftly across the distance. Below, the weeping willows and dreary scenery of the marsh in the Wetlands gradually gave way to jutting mountains and then a roaring river as she passed into the Arathi Highlands. Rolling plains of golden and green grasses flashed beneath her as she turned the creature's head slightly westward, her destination nearing.

The woman scowled as she urged the creature on with a flick of the reins. The gryphon turned its skull towards her once, hissing in rage before flapping the skeletal wings harder, increasing its pace. Kerryann didn't care if it was mad at her, she had little time to spare and things were quickly spiraling out of control back in Stormwind. The sooner she was back from this trip, the sooner she could return to her other research.

In the distance, the rolling fields of Arathi dipped down into a great valley. The valley rose up again almost out of sight, and upon the crest stood the crumbling stone walls of a once mighty human city. Kerryann nodded to herself in satisfaction; it was Stromgard and was her destination. With it in sight, her irritation began to fade a little.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, movement down below caught her attention. Her glowing blue eyes scanned the terrain quickly and she yanked back hard on the reins, illiciting another angry screech from the undead beast upon which she rode. With another savage pull on the reins Kerryann managed to bring it under control, directing it in a slowly descending spiral.

Down below, her gaze had caught sight of movement amongst some tumbled boulders along the slope of a grassy hill. As she spiraled lower, she could make out the forms of five people standing there. It appeared that three of them had backed two others into a dead end as they pressed them towards the boulders. All of the people had weapons drawn, and the blades glinted in the dying light of the day.

As she descended further, Kerryann could finally see that the two being pressed towards the boulders were youths, likely no more than eighteen summers old. A boy and a girl, the two had reached the end of the path where they could travel, and the male held his blades defensively, keeping his female companion behind him as he faced down the three attackers.

Kerryann's gryphon reached the ground and she jumped off, slapping it once so it would fly into the air and walking quickly up to the combatants. As she approached, she was finally able to get a good look at the assailants, noting that they wore cloaks with emblems of the Forsaken on them. She paused a few feet behind them as they menaced the two people with their blades, reaching behind her and pulling out her runeblade slowly. She made certain that the long blade scraped against its sheath as it came free inch by inch, the sound grating and obvious.

The three attackers stiffened, turning slowly to look back at the source of the noise. Kerryann was able to see their faces clearly for the first time. Three men, three humans stared at her from beneath their cowls, glaring at her interruption. Humans wearing the markings of the Forsaken.

Kerryann's rage knew no bounds. It exploded within her like a goblin machine set to full automatic. A hand came up and pointed at the nearest of the assailants. Instantly a freezing cold blast of necromantic energy struck the man, hurling him to the ground. The other two yelled and charged at her, but she was already moving even as they did.

A dark tendril of energy shot from her open hand, dragging one of the men forward and away from his companion. He stumbled as he was yanked off balance, and was pulled right into the point of Kerryann's runeblade. The weapon plunged through his body and out his back before she turned the angle of her arm and forced him to slide off the blade to the ground. The last man brought his blade up and downwards, only to have it met in mid-air by the plate armor that Kerryann strapped to her wrists. The blow created a harsh, discordant metallic sound as the blade was deflected, Kerryann's unnatural strength protecting her bones from breaking under the force.

The last man stumbled, off-balance from the deflected blow as Kerryann's runeblade came up. It swept downwards, shearing through the man's body at the collarbone and lodging deep within his chest. His sword fell from lifeless fingers as he too slid to the ground near his fallen comrades. Kerryann simply stepped over the corpses, paying them no more heed as she approached the two survivors.

As her gaze met those of the boy that had been defending his companion, some unnatural sense tingled in Kerryann's mind. At the same moment, she detected a surprised widening of the boy's eyes as something behind her drew his attention. Without thought, Kerryann hurled her body to the side, the blade that had been coming towards her narrowly missing her.

She whirled, her runeblade at the ready, only to stare in surprise at what confronted her. The three men she'd just slain had risen, a sickly yellow glow illuminating their eyes as they looked at her with hunger. Something had animated them, and they immediately attempted to strike at the nearest thing to them, their weapons held in unsteady hands.

For a moment, Kerryann held her ground, parrying a few of the clumsy slashes that the undead creatures made as she tried to determine exactly what it was she faced. As seconds passed, her knowledge in necromancy allowed her to identify one key fact; the risen men were uncoordinated and possessed no truly free will of their own. They were simply cursed constructs. Humans that had somehow been contaminated enough to rise after death.

A moment passed as Kerryann decided how best to deal with them and then she was out of time as all three of the undead rushed her, hideous moans escaping from their undead forms. By hunting in a pack they were making use of the natural instincts of their new ghoulish forms, forcing Kerryann onto the defensive immediately. The first of the creatures lunged at her, attempting to use its teeth rather than the weapon in its hand. She was able to dodge the blow, her runeblade darting forward and through the thing's gut, severing the spine.

She paid a price for the move however. The second of her assailants brought its blade down hard, slamming into the scant pieces of armor she wore along her shoulders. The blade bit deep into the metal, penetrating it and gashing her shoulder. Thick, brackish blood oozed from the wound, running down the naked flesh of Kerryann's torso. The second of the creatures leaped, its body colliding with hers and throwing her down to the ground with it atop her.

Gnashing teeth snapped at Kerryann's face and she snarled in frustration. Her eyes blazed with scourgelight as she summoned necromantic power, reaching deep into the creature on top of her. It shuddered as she applied the full weight of her power, usurping control of its undead spirit and forcing it to pry itself off her.

As it rose, the second standing creature lunged and Kerryann forced her new minion to position its body in the way. Undead forms collided and the two creatures began to fight, instinct taking over as they tore each other limb from limb. Within moments, the two things had fallen to the ground, mostly shattered with only a hint of life left in them. Kerryann rose, retrieving her runeblade and walking amongst the still-moving corpses, dismembering each and cutting out their hearts until they moved no more.

“That was a lucky thing miss!” a voice sounded behind Kerryann. The death knight whirled, runeblade ready. She relaxed a moment later when she saw that it was just the young man. Of his female companion there was no sign.

“Lucky?” she muttered. “It was damn clumsy. I should have known better.”

“There's no way you could have known they were with the others,” The man replied. “They've been good at hiding themselves so I don't think too many people know about them.”

Kerryann paused long enough to sheath her runeblade before looking the man over. As she had determined earlier, he was young, likely having just reached his eighteenth or nineteenth birthday. Definitely too young to be comfortable with the concept of fighting men that rose up again as the walking dead.

“Who is 'they' and how do you know so much about this? Also, where did your companion go?” Kerryann replied warily.

The man turned and looked and shrugged. “She wasn't my companion, she was just trying to get away from them. As for who 'they' are, they're a group of men and women who call themselves the Undying. They've been making headway amongst the syndicate folk in Stromgard, convincing some of them to pledge themselves to the Forsaken in exchange for eternal life.”

Kerryann's eyes widened at the news. She turned and bent down to examine the corpses, saying nothing. After a few minutes, she nodded in satisfaction, reaching down and collecting an amulet from one of the bodies. She held it in her hand, eyes closed as she felt the necromantic energy in it.

The fools had been duped. They thought they were going to rise again as Forsaken if they were obedient, the ultimate gift of everlasting life with free will. Instead they would become simple, mindless undead slaves thanks to the power of the objects they carried. Kerryann shook her head in irritation; she'd seen it all before.

The only difference was this time she knew who was behind it.

“Miss, you're bleeding you know,” the voice was closer. Kerryann turned in time to take a step back before the man could come into contact with her diseased blood.

“It's alright, it'll heal. Do not touch me,” She said with a hint of warning in her voice. The man sighed and nodded before taking a step back, his eyes running over her once.

“Who are you anyway, and how did you come to be under attack by these...'people'?” Kerryann asked.

“My name is William Saddle, ma'am,” the man replied. “My mother was a member of the Syndicate, or joined it when I was a child anyway. I've been living around Stromgard for a few years now, and I've seen what these men were doing. Me and the girl did. We decided to run for it, and happened to run together until just now I guess.”

He looked back, concerned that the girl had run off without him. For her part, Kerryann studied the man hard, realizing she was dealing with a potential criminal. After a moment she shrugged and shook her head; she didn't really give a damn about it.

“You were right to flee. These people are doing something insane,” Kerryann replied, looking at the corpses again. “The Forsaken behind this is likely building a private army of undead minions, and none of these people would have received the 'gift' they were expecting in repayment for their services. They are simply serving a monster in the hopes of eventually becoming monsters themselves.”

The man nodded, looking grim, his eyes still watching the slow flow of oozing blood on Kerryann's side. “What will you do now?”

Kerryann paused, looking up at the sky and considering. The light of day was fading, and she had to tend her wound or it would slow her down in combat. The pain meant little, but weakness was not acceptable.

“I think I'll make camp and see if any of the refugees or civilians near Refuge Point are familiar with this group. I need to know the extent of the problem before I can plot my next course of action,” the death knight said grudgingly.

“What about them?” William asked, pointing at the corpses. “W-will they rise again?”

Kerryann sighed, looking at the dead before shaking her head. “No, they won't rise again, but we need to properly bury them. I'll make camp here and take care of it. You should continue on.”

William shook his head, frowning. “Nope. You helped me out here and I'm going to help you. Besides you're wounded. It'll be hard for you to bury all three of them like that. I'll take care of it and you set up the camp.”

Kerryann rolled her eyes, bending down and easily lifting a corpse with one hand. The man's eyes widened at her unnatural movements. “If you insist on staying, how about YOU set up the camp and I'll take care of the dead hmm? I know the proper things to do to ensure they rest peacefully.”

With a muted nod, William turned and headed off to find some rocks and firewood to create a campfire for the coming night, eager to help. Kerryann just sighed as she watched him go, muttering to herself.

“Fel...just what I need, an ex-thief with a dash of the heroic in him following me around.” She rolled her eyes and set to work arranging the corpses, preparing them for burial and true rest.

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

Hours later the campfire crackled, its light illuminating only a small patch of darkness that made up the vastness of the Arathi Highlands. High above, the stars glimmered brightly, the lights of cities like Stormwind or Ironforge not present to dull their gleaming.

Kerryann was laying on her cloak, staring up at the sky as she let her necromantic energy rebuild and knit closed the gash in her shoulder. As she tried to concentrate, she was acutely aware of the man on the other side of the campfire, his eyes running over her form from time to time when he thought she wasn't looking, a smile on his face.

As he drifted off into what were most likely sweet dreams, she ground her teeth in frustration. Bad enough that she was delayed due to an injury she'd suffered from being incautious, the last thing she needed was some moon-eyed man following her around like a love-sick puppy.

She could already tell the next few days were going to be the most annoying she'd had for years. She sighed and reached to her pockets, pulling a cigarette out of her travel cloak. After lighting it up and taking a long drag on it, she nodded to herself, coming to one absolute conclusion.

No one was going to hear about this. NO ONE.

Regrets- Part 1

The Pig and Whistle had the usual crowd as Kerryann walked into the common room. Through the haze of smoke in the room laughter and the occasional argument rose up above the general buzz of the patrons at dinnertime. Kerryann paid it little heed as she let the warmth of the room soak into her unnaturally chilled form.

As she was about to walk up the stairs to her personal quarters her glowing blue eyes alighted on something unusual; there, sticking from the mail slots that the innkeeper kept for each of the patrons, a letter protruded. It was stuck in Kerryann's designated mailbox.

Curious, the death knight walked over to it, plucking the scrap of paper from the slot and turning it over in her hands. It was only a single page, folded twice and sealed with a wax seal. Beneath the seal was a little doodle of a heart which made her features scrunch up in irritation. She quickly broke the seal and opened the letter.

Kerry,
Two bells before midnight. The harbor. A ship's arrived with something of interest.

The letter was unsigned, but Kerryann recognized the writing. One of her contacts within the city had sent it. The heart on the outside of the letter was clearly a joke at her expense, making the otherwise secret correspondence look like a love letter for the love festival. As she looked up, Kerryann saw the innkeeper smirking at her from across the room. She rolled her eyes and crumpled the paper into a ball, holding it over a nearby candle to burn it to ash.

It looked like she had some work to do.

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

The harbor was quiet so close to midnight. Most ships set sail with the morning's tide and those arriving had already made port or were still out to see until daylight. Without all of the bustle of a busy port the place was somewhat eerie, the sound of waves and seabirds overpowering other noises that might normally be present. The place was dark too, with only the starlight and the dim glow from the distant lighthouse to illuminate the wooden docks.

Within the darkness and stillness, a single form moved quietly past the stacked crates and rigging rope piled along the piers. Carrying a medium sized wooden crate stamped with symbols of Stromgard, the man took great care to move with utter silence, or as silent as one can be when carrying a burden. He would pause now and then, looking around to ensure that he was unobserved.

As he came near a pile of stacked crates, he paused, staring at the dark silhouette of the obstruction. Something seemed off, and as he blinked and stared, he was hard pressed to determine what it was. His question was soon answered though as two glowing points of blue light appeared amongst the shadow of the crates. He realized after a moment that they were eyes, staring balefully at him.

Kerryann grinned as she stepped away from the crates she'd been leaning against. She'd kept her eyes closed, relying on the sound and sense of the living man approaching her to detect when he'd come close enough, keeping her eyes hidden from him until the last moment. judging by the look of surprise and fear on his face, the trick had worked well.

The man stepped back as she stepped forward, looking pale. She smiled at him, pointing at the crate, "Going somewhere with cargo? You are so dedicated, to be working in the middle of the night."

"I don't want no trouble lady," the man sputtered. "I'm just taking this shipment for delivery, as I've been ordered."

Kerryann said nothing for a moment, stepping forward and slowly circling the now clearly frightened man. She leaned forward, whispering in his ear, "And who orders someone to collect and deliver cargo from the docks in the dead of night." Her emphasis on the word 'dead' made the man shiver; he could clearly sense the malice in her tone.

"Look lady, I don't know who you are, but I swear I've been ordered to take this crate to...uh..." the man trailed off, realizing he would rather not tell her everything.

"Listen," Kerryann said, walking around in front of him again, "I know you're not a dock worker. I don't really give a fel who is paying you. I want to know where this is going. Now."

Her tone and gaze suggested that her willingness to continue talking was drawing to its end. The man looked at her and swallowed hard as he noticed the pommel of her runeblade sticking up over her shoulder, "I-I'm t-taking it to the S-slaughtered Lamb. Under o-orders from the....you know...R-right?"

Kerryann's eyes widened for a moment and then she nodded. "I know. I have reason to believe that something is amiss here. I want to see what's inside, and then you can bring it to your masters. Set it down and open it."

Seeing the look on her face, the man nodded and slowly set the crate down. With a short knife on his belt, he pried the lid off, revealing a small metal canister with a screwed on lid sitting amongst a large amount of hay used for packaging material. A note was on top. Kerryann reached down to pick it up, reading it over carefully.

As promised, the materials you need for your experiment are enclosed. Our mutual friend went through much trouble to arrange for this delivery. See to it that it doesn't go to waste.
~S.C.

As Kerryann read, she failed to notice the man reaching down to pick up the canister. By the time she had looked up, he had already half unscrewed the lid. She lunged at him and he backed away flailing, "DON'T OPEN THAT! STOP!"

"It's just a fel crystal lady! Light! Calm yourself!" the man muttered, prying the lid off the rest of the way. He upended the canister, spilling a large crystal into the palm of his hand. A sickly orange glow illuminated the dock.

It was a Blight crystal.

The man had time to look up at Kerryann in horror and shock before the skin on his face started to rot, the bones poking through here and there. Any exposed flesh on his frame likewise began to decay, and a sickening gurgling sound emanated from his mouth. Kerryann herself shivered as she felt the deadly power of scourge magic settle over the area, the only visible effect on her an increased glow in her eyes.

The man's eyes began to glow with a sickly yellow light, the look on his rotted face changing to rage and hatred as he tilted his head at an odd angle, looking Kerryann over and growling. Before he could move, her runeblade was out, plunging into his chest and piercing his heart. He sighed once and slide from the blade, the blight crystal falling from his dead hands and snatched from the air in a quick grab by the death knight.

As he crumpled to the ground, Kerryann took stock of the situation. She had an open crate, a dead body, and a blight crystal and was standing on the middle of one of Stormwind's main docks.

"Fuck my life, seriously," she muttered to herself. "Oh no constable, that man accidentally picked this blight crystal up. No sir, I didn't murder him, he had already died before I stabbed him. Of course I didn't order this shipment sir, what do I look like, a death knight?"

She shook her head, sheathing her runeblade on her back without cleaning it and retrieving the canister. She carefully put the crystal back inside the canister and sealed it, placing the whole thing back inside the crate and closing it. "They would NEVER believe me. Fel! I have to find out where this thing came from, and who it was going to."

She paused, looking the body over again. She had two options; take care of it herself, or bring it to the Knights of the Ebon Blade.

She considered for a moment and then shook her head, "No. I won't go to them. They'll be just as likely to blame me. Looks like I'm on my own. Not really an unusual or undesirable situation in the end."

She leaned down and carefully slid the body over near the crate. After positioning it, she chanted something in the Language of Death, using her magic to call out across the distance. Having finished this task, she casually sat down on the crate, using her cloak to cover the body behind her. She crossed her legs beneath her plate skirt and fished out a cigarette from a pocket, lighting it up and taking a long drag.

Several minutes passed, but no one noticed her sitting there, or if they did they didn't question a woman sitting on a crate enjoying a cigarette at least. In the darkness of the sky above, several stars were blotted out as a shape dove down, boney claws digging into the wood of the dock as a skeletal gryphon alighted before the woman. A baleful scourge-light illuminated the empty eye-sockets of the creature as it uttered a hiss at Kerryann.

"About time you got here," She muttered at it. Her comment was ill-received as the creature growled deeply, the sound completely unnatural. It took a menacing step towards her, and one of her eyebrows rose up. "You really are not going to start right now, are you? I mean, I'm already pissed off."

The creature lurched forward, its dead, rotting beak snapping in the air inches from Kerryann's face. She rolled her eyes and flicked her cigarette butt at the undead creature's skull, causing it to rear back for a moment before hissing again. Instantly Kerryann was on her feet, the expression on her face less pleased now. She raised a hand that suddenly glowed with sickly green light, her necromantic powers ready to be hurled at the creature.

"I'm not going to deal with this right now. You will obey me. Now." Her tone brooked no argument. For a moment, the creature looked as if it might spring at her, but then it shuddered and bowed its head down.

"That's right. Now then. We're going out over the ocean. Pick up the crate and the body," Kerryann said, lowering her hand and walking to the side of the creature. She quickly mounted it, grabbing several of its vertebrae to steady herself in the saddle before taking up its reins.

As the creature lifted into the air, using its claws to grab the objects, Kerryann sighed. It was always this way with necromancy. One had to assert one's dominance, or you lost control. It was unforgiving, there was no comfort, no warmth, no understanding in it. She had to have absolute control over her steed or it would tear her to bits.

As it carried her up into the air and over the sparkling ocean below, Kerryann smiled. The wind blew her raven black hair out behind her, and for a moment she felt a thrill as they soared over the waves. For a moment she could look up at the stars and away from her hands and the mount beneath her and just live.

She would take the body and the blight crystal far out over the ocean, where they would sink into the depths and prevent others from being infected. Then it was back to Stormwind, and possibly Arathi. She had to find out who would have the audacity to ship such an object into a crowded city and put a stop to them.

Given the initials on the letter she carried in her pouch, she knew just who it was that had engineered the plot. The question was whether or not she would be able to stop him in time, before anyone else died.

Of Love and Death

Kerryann ducked down behind some bushes and peered through the darkness of night, her glowing eyes missing little as she studied the small structure that lay in a clearing deep in Silverpine forest. It had taken her days of monitoring Tarren Mill and following couriers coming to and from the place before she had been able to find the location of the structure, and patience was critical.

In the distance, she could hear the not-so-subtle sounds of hooves crushing the underbrush. She winced and shook her head; Kelysia might be a valuable ally in a fight, both as a paladin and just for her sheer raw strength, but she was definitely not a scout, spy, ranger, or any other thing that walked quietly. A particularly loud crash was followed by a low-murmured string of curses in Draenei, and Kerryann just rolled her eyes and went back to her evaluation of the clearing.

She'd had to hunt down the right messengers to find this place; many of those who visited Tarren Mill amongst the Forsaken were simply taking regular correspondence. It had taken quite some time to find just the right one; to find a courier that had been dispatched by the Forsaken she was hunting.

Before Kerryann could finish her thought, a sudden movement behind her erupted in the night. Boney fingers clamped down over her mouth and she was pulled backwards as a heavy weight slammed into her back and tried to bear her to the ground. A dry, hoarse voice whispered in her ear as she fell, its mocking tone making it clear who she was dealing with, “You should never have tread upon the Queen's lands foolish human. Now you'll join her followers.”

Kerryann's eyes blazed with scourgelight and she reached out, grabbing the Forsaken's hand and imbuing it with Frost Fever, “Fat chance deader. Time to go to your final rest.”

The undead's grip was broken as its arm began to turn gray with frostbite. With its hand no longer restraining her, Kerryann grabbed the Forsaken by the wrist and hurled him to the ground in front of her. Even as she did so, noises crashed in the bushes around her as more Forsaken assaulted her; it appeared that a full patrol had been sent to scour the woods.

“Just great. This is just what I needed to finish the day off right,” Kerryann muttered, drawing her runeblade. The deadly sword flashed with necromantic magic as she slashed out at the first attacker, taking him by surprised when his blade shattered on her magical weapon. The next two assailants fared little better as she cut them down, her formal weapons training coming in handy. In the back of her mind, Kerryann realized that she didn't hear any other combat, meaning that the Forsaken had not found Kelysia yet. She felt a slight echo of relief flow through her, even as her face took on a look of grim determination and she waded into combat with a half-dozen attackers.

It was clear they would cut her down. It was only a matter of time. Even as she thought this, she lashed out with dark magic, hurling several back. To her discomfort, a flash of holy Light glowed briefly around one of the combatants as a nearby female Forsaken began casting healing spells on her comrades. Kerryann growled, using her runeblade as a bat to swat her attackers out of her way, charging towards the priestess.

She brought her runeblade up high, the magic on it glittering with a deadly light, prepared to slice the Forsaken's head clean off. At that moment, she felt a sharp impact in her shoulder as a crossbow bolt punched through her collarbone, spraying her diseased, brackish blood onto the forest floor. The blow made her stumble, and she found her runeblade slipping from her nearly useless fingers to fall into the leaves at her feet. She whirled, seeing a Forsaken in the distance reloading the weapon. Around her, the rest of the attackers grinned wickedly, clearly believing her doomed.

With a snarl, she turned back towards the priestess, who was in the middle of chanting another spell. Despite the flickering holy Light around the creature, Kerryann barked out a string of words in the Language of Death. Instantly the priestess's spell faltered as her mind was frozen in the grip of necromantic magic. She stumbled and Kerryann brought her good hand up, using it to hurl a howling blast of icy magic at the priestess, tearing her to bits.

It was all the time she had left though as a second crossbow bolt slammed into her hip, spinning her around and throwing her to the ground. The pain, while intense, was not any worse than holding a runeblade felt, and Kerryann tried to bring herself up. A shadow blotted out the stars in the night sky above and she looked up in time to see the stock of a crossbow slam into her face.

Blackness grew around her vision and she steadfastly held on to consciousness, attempting to chant the words to another spell, even as the butt of the weapon came down hard on her face again. Stars flared in her eyes and she found her mind amused by all of it as she tumbled into the leaves.

So this is what it's like to be unconscious...

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

Glowing blue eyes opened slowly, at first not able to see anything. After a few heartbeats, Kerryann's vision adjusted and she began to take in the details of her surroundings. She realized she was looking at a stone, cob-webbed ceiling in a room that had only a few candles illuminated for light. Even as she thought this, she attempted to sit up and discovered that she was restrained.

Moving her head from side to side to wake up fully, she noted that her arms were chained up above her head, with restraints clamped around her ankles. She was laying on a wooden table, and the restraints were strong enough to prevent even her unnatural strength from moving them much. The position was awkward, as her rather diminutive plate armor pieces exposed most of her torso, creating the illusion of helplessness. Kerryann grinned; it WAS only an illusion after all.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a door somewhere behind her opened. Footsteps echoed off of the wooden floor as someone approached her, and Kerryann turned her head as much as she could to get a view of whoever it was. She didn't have to wait long as a Forsaken man wearing a rather elegant leather tunic and pants stepped up to the side of the table, bending over to look down at her.

Kerryann's eyes widened in shock for the first time in her unnatural life.

The face was different of course; he'd died and been raised as scourge and then later became Forsaken. But the angle of his chin, the superior expression on his face, the set of his eyes and the way they roamed over her restrained form; all of it was familiar to her. He was the man she'd been looking for, the Forsaken named Sebastian Coallar.

The man who had once been her lover. The man she'd killed.

He grinned down at her, the foul stench of the undead washing over her as he spoke, “Hello Kerry. It's been far too long, wouldn't you say?”

She just stared at him, her eyes taking in the face of someone who she once cared about more than anything in the entire world, someone that she could have and did give up everything for.

“Nothing to say now love?” Sebastian said slyly. “I'm sure you didn't expect to see me again, what with the rather unfortunate events of our parting.”

“You were bleeding to death from a gut wound,” Kerryann responded in a neutral tone.

“Yes yes, quite inconvenient that was,” the Forsaken said, waving a hand as if to dismiss the notion. “As you can see though, fortune has a way of rewarding us for our diligence. And the fact that you are here now, and within my power, only proves that fact.”

Kerryann smiled up sweetly at the dead thing looming over her, “Only until I decide to leave beloved.”

Sebastian grinned, reaching down to his belt and pulling out a dagger, “Oh, you won't be doing that love. Unfortunately I rather suspect you have some information I could use. As a result, I'm afraid I must question you for a good long time before I allow you to go to the Undercity, where the Queen's agents will more thoroughly debrief you.”

Kerryann watched the Forsaken with indifference as he brought the knife up over her. He laughed a little, letting the blade flicker in the light, “Now, where exactly did you stab me? Oh, that's right, the stomach.”

The blade came down hard and fast towards Kerryann's unprotected flesh. When the tip reached the surface of her skin, necromantic magic flashed brightly and the blade tip snapped off as the weapon contacted a spell that was the equivalent of plate armor made from the finest steel. Sebastian reeled back, holding the damaged weapon in his hand and glaring at his captive.

Kerryann merely laughed, the sound echoing through the stone room and off of the bubbling alchemical equipment lining the walls. The Forsaken's face slowly changed to rage as her laughter mocked him. “You never did understand, did you Sebastian? You were not as good as me. You and the others encouraged me to study necromancy with you, encouraged me to join your little coven on Sorrow Hill so we could all become powerful together, but you never could overcome your own limitations. You never could open your mind beyond the teachings of the Cult of the Damned, and it is that weakness that caused you to die in the end, because you couldn't see that I COULD see beyond all of what we were learning, to the truth of the matter.”

The Forsaken surged forward, his withered fist connected solidly with Kerryann's mouth, rocking her head, “SHUT UP! Shut your disgusting little mouth! You think you understand magic? You think you are so much BETTER than me and the others?! You think because your flesh looks beautiful that you are not as rotten, as DEAD as us?!”

The Forsaken lurched away, going to a nearby table and drawing another dagger. He reached out, taking a bubbling vial and pouring its contents on the blade. In a rage, he stormed back over to the restrained death knight, raising the weapon up over his head, “Suffer love. Suffer the same wound you gave me on our last day together.”

The blade came down, magic flashing as its enchantments cut through Kerryann's barriers and plunged into her gut. She gasped once, the pain just another in the symphony of agony that her body inflicted on her every day. Between the Frost Fever flowing through her veins, the inability to sleep, and the dull throbbing ache of a runeblade that constantly sought to steal her spirit, a stab wound to the belly meant little in the end. She smiled up at Sebastian.

“You don't understand what true suffering is. I know that you DO suffer, because you're undead,” she murmured to him. “You are so much weaker than me though, so much less than what you could have been. You and I, we could have accomplished anything together, side by side. Our magic would have outshone anything, and what we had would have lasted an eternity. But you had to allow your mind to falter, to become bound by the will of the Cult, and now the will of your Queen. You think this is suffering? You do not understand suffering. What you should understand though is that unlike you, I will NEVER be bound. You cannot hurt me. You cannot turn me into what you are, because I've already long ago defeated you Sebastian. I let you die. You are here because of what I MADE you.”

His howl was, admittedly, satisfying to Kerryann as he brought the blade up and out of her gut. Some of her diseased blood oozed from the wound as he brought it down a second time, and then a third. She just kept smiling at him, the expression driving his rage on until at last he lunged on top of the table and with both hands plunged the dagger into her heart.

A gasp escaped her lips, and her eyes widened for a moment as her body began to finally die. Her hand came up and caressed his dead face once as her vision became a tunnel of darkness, her last words hanging in the air.

“And so I cannot answer your questions now my love....farewell.”

His rage at his own failure of self restraint was a pleasing dirge to guide her into death.

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

She hung in an endless gray void, her senses reeling as she tried to understand where she was, WHAT she was. There were no reference points, and nothing to guide her as she tried to puzzle it out. After a time, she realized that the void was not all gray. Beneath her were clouds of roiling darkness that contained shadows that writhed. She knew instantly, upon seeing that darkness below that the shadows would tear her to shreds if they could reach her; that they hated her simply for being aware enough to think of them.

She tilted her 'head', looking up above her and having to look away quickly. As dark as the clouds beneath her was, above her hung a burning glow of Light, too bright for one such as her to look upon. Here and there shafts of the Light blazed down, touching on the surface of the clouds beneath her and being absorbed; a constant struggle between the brilliance above and the darkness below, with her hanging between.

“You stand on the cusp. You must decide to ascend or descend.”

The voice startled her, and she spun her field of view to find a teenage girl standing on nothing beside her. Dark black hair framed a familiar face as the vision smiled at her; it was her, or rather, a younger version of her. Kerryann shook her head and frowned as she studied the vision; she was skilled enough to recognize a spirit, regardless of the form it wore.

“You are not me,” she murmured. “You're just an image, a vision, a ghost. Leave me be.”

The 'girl' smiled at her, tilting her head and speaking again, “You must choose Kerryann. What are you? You stand in darkness, but use it to destroy darkness. And yet the Light will not have you until you choose to surrender what you've become. Make your choice. It is over now.”

Time, which likely had no meaning to the dead anyway, seemed to drag on as Kerryann studied the figure standing before her, realizing that it actually WAS over. She had been killed. Killed by Sebastian. It was almost fitting in a way.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard a distant song rise up. She looked down to see her body, glowing softly with a radiant light. The girl standing beside her frowned, even as the song intensified; it was a prayer being sung in the rough voice of a draenei. A prayer to call the dead back. Kerryann looked up and smirked at the image of herself, shaking her head, “I do not have to make this choice. I am outside of all of this. I exist because I choose to. Because I will it to be so. I am not bound.”

Light flared, and Kerryann screamed as it burned her.

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

Dead, cold eyes suddenly blazed blue with scourge-light as Kelysia's prayer of resurrection forcibly hurled Kerryann's spirit back into her body. An ear-splitting scream pierced the night as the woman awoke, the holy Light burning her from the inside out.

“Kerry!” Kelysia shouted. “Wake up! It's me, Kelysia! We have to get you out of here. Snap out of it and get UP!”

The human thrashed, her eyes unseeing for a moment before coming to focus on the draenei standing over her. Slowly her convulsing slowed and then finally stopped as she regained control of her body. She blinked up at the draenei, confusion on her face, “Why? Why did you bring me back?”

Kelysia shrugged, “You're good at killing deaders and I felt like it. Deal with it. Get up.”

Kerryann shook her head and sighed, “No, I mean, they didn't dismember my body. I likely would have risen again given enough time...”

Kelysia shook her head and frowned, “Uh, Kerry... I don't care what kind of diseased magic you think you've got that would bring you back, do you see where you ARE?”

Kerryann blinked, tilting her head. Her face set into a frown as she realized she was lying on a pile of corpses outside of the structure she'd been interrogated in. Sebastian hadn't even bothered to give her a proper burial; he'd just tossed her away, like rotten carrion to be used in whatever experiments the Forsaken did on corpses.

Black rage began to build in her as she thought about it, her barely beating heart beginning to pump enough for her to feel it seething through her entire body. He'd discarded her, like it was nothing. He'd dishonored her body by leaving her to rot outside, not even bothering to throw her in a crypt. The sheer disrespect of the act burned inside of her like a flame. She shook with the force of her rage, of the idea of someone so inferior thinking they could treat her this way.

“Kerry...” Kelysia began. “People will have heard your screaming. We need to leave before they...” She was cut off as the woman she'd just brought back surged to her feet, the wounds she'd suffered still oozing blood. Her eyes blazed with scourge-light now, narrowed into slits of pure, unending malice.

“Kerry! You don't even have a WEAPON! Snap out of it and let's go!” Kelysia moved to intercept her friend, only to find the woman's hand shoving her back. The draenei stumbled on the pile of corpses that they stood upon, falling backwards and off of the dead onto the ground nearby, landing on her rump with an 'oof!'.

“So be it,” Kerryann said darkly. “If you wish to dishonor the dead, then we will see what they have to say.”

“Kerry! Stop it!” Kelysia shouted. It was already too late though as Kerryann's hand came up, deep purple magic flaring around it as she began to chant in the Language of Death. Strands of the magic touched the corpses around Kerryann as she applied her power in ways that she had not done in many years.

She began to use the necromancy that Sebastian had always envied so much.

Around her, corpses began to stir as they rose to their feet slowly, first one, then two more, then a dozen of them, all shambling towards their Mistress, who kept them in check only through the sheer force of her will. As Kelysia looked on in horror, Kerryann reached out and touched one of the corpses. It exploded into dust, and a cloud of necromantic energy flowed into the woman, stitching closed her wounds with a foul green light.

“SEBATIAN! YOU WISH TO SEE WHAT TRUE POWER YOU COULD HAVE HAD? COME OUTSIDE YOU COWARD!”

Her shouts alerted some of the Forsaken guards, and several poured out of the side of the structure. Kelysia drew her sword even as the first charged towards the woman standing on the corpse pile. Kerryann's unnatural eyes focused on the Forsaken and in that moment the creature knew what she was about to do.

She released her hold on the dead.

Like a mindless horde, the creatures gibbered and rushed across the remaining distance, already starting to tear the first guard to shreds. His screams echoed through the night as more guards poured out, pumping crossbow bolts into creatures that were far beyond the ability to feel pain.

A roiling battle ensued as the Forsaken tried to fight off the newly raised dead. As the combat swirled, Kerryann walked amongst her creatures, a dark figure with a look of utter hatred plastered to her face. Kelysia ran in behind her, trying to catch up to her and cutting down a few of the Forsaken guards as she reached for her friend.

“SESBASTIAN! COME OUT HERE THIS INSTANT! THIS IS NOT FINISHED BETWEEN US!”

Kerryann's hands came up and dark necromancy flared again, sending howling gales of ice and wind against the side of the building. Windows shattered inward, destroying furniture behind and several of the Forsaken were cut down where they stood. The ghouls around Kerryann began to gain the upper hand, feasting on the small garrison's flesh as the undead tore the undead to pieces.

The side of the structure exploded outward as an alchemical or mechanical device detonated. Kerryann raised a hand to shield her eyes as splinters of wood flew past her. From the smoking hole, a giant bat flew up into the night, a figure astride it looking down at her in hatred.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still as Kerryann's eyes connected with Sebastian's, their mutual hate crossing the distance like arrows. In that moment, he realized she would never stop looking for him, her ambition and pride driving her onward forever. He shivered, even as the bat soared up into the air and out of reach of her spells.

“SEBASTIANNNNNNN!!!!!!”

Kerryann's irrational screams were cut off as Kelysia finally managed to cut her way through the battle and slap her friend hard in the face. “SNAP OUT OF IT! We don't have time to linger here. The structure is on fire and there's been a battle. I don't give a damn if your lover got away, we have to leave before more Forsaken are sent to investigate!”

For a moment, Kelysia thought that Kerryann might strike her, so intense was the glare of hatred on her face. After a second, she relaxed, a breath escaping her. She nodded, “Yes. Yes we must leave. But not before we do what the Forsaken are too vile to do. Let us finish off the guards and burn them, so they can go in peace.”

Kelysia looked at Kerryann once and then nodded. Together they turned back to the swirling melee, sword and magic at the ready.

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

They rode side by side down the dark, moonlit path. Kerryann's undead steed was countered by the glowing light radiating from Kelysia's charger. Behind them, flames licked up into the sky, the fires now a pyre for the Forsaken garrison of the structure and their victims that had finally been given a chance at revenge thanks to Kerryann's magic.

As the two rode off, firelight glinted on the swords of the garrison, which Kerryann had carefully planted point down in neat rows as markers. All of the bodies were being consumed in the flames of the structure of course, but it was a gesture to honor the dead, something to remember the people that they might have been before they fell to darkness.

It seemed somehow appropriate to both the paladin and the death knight.

As they rode off into the forest of Silverpine, Kerryann's voice echoed through the night, raised up in a death dirge for the honored dead. The melody carried into the darkness, haunting in her unnatural voice, until it too faded and was replaced only by the snaps and pops of the roaring flames.

A Trip to the Capital

The water flowed slowly, the thick fluid oozing over the mold-covered rocks beneath it and heading towards whatever depths the drainage canal lead it to. Once filled with the pure, crystal-clear water of Lordamere Lake, the moat area now had a toxic, bright green sludge that only barely passed for a fluid. The liquid surrounded the central keep of Lordaeron's old capital, seeping deep into the sewer system far below the surface.

Even so, the liquid continued to flow along its normal course, hardly a bubbling brook but still making the occasional splashing sound as it was drawn faster into the spaces between the aging stone fortifications. If not for the contamination, it might have simply been a peaceful, haunting reminder of a place that once was the shining jewel of one of the realms of men.

The almost natural flow of the water was interrupted as it surged upwards and a pale hand shot its way out of the slime, grasping the edge of one of the nearby stone ramps that were once used by laborers to service the canal and the inner workings of the drainage system. A head quickly followed the hand, dark black hair plastered to the ivory skin of the woman that slowly emerged from the foul fluids. As Kerryann's eyes cleared the slime their baleful blue glow allowed her to see that the service tunnels were empty and free of foes. With a smile her other hand came up, her runeblade trailing a wake of sludge as she pulled herself out of the canal's current.

Dirty, contaminated water flowed off of Kerryann's body in rivulets, flowing across her mostly bare upper torso and falling like rain from the cloak that was now stuck to her back. The water mixed with the brackish blood that begrudgingly flowed from several puncture holes in Kerryann's mid-section, creating a disgusting brown mixture that flowed down into the plate skirts that covered her lower body. She scowled as she watched the diseased blood ooze from the wounds, even as the flickering green glow of necromantic magic began to slowly knit the flesh back together; just one of the many boons of studying her dark arts.

"Ugh, Alaindia is going to throw a fit if she sees me like this. Fantastic. That'll end the day perfectly," Kerryann muttered as she stepped the rest of the way out of the muck and into the relatively dry, pitch black service tunnel. Beyond the confines of the stone around her the death knight could still make out the scattered sounds of steel crashing against steel and the despairing cries of the mortally wounded. She grinned, relishing in the noises.

The attack had gone more than well enough as far as she was concerned.

It was all a matter of numbers really. A game of sorts. The Forsaken could raise the dead, so any attack on them had to inflict more casualties than it left dead bodies if the attackers were to gain any ground on the Banshee Queen's people. Given the damage done to Tarren Mill and the additional damage they'd inflicted on the upper levels of the Undercity, it seemed like the math added up in Kerryann's favor.

She always liked it when the math worked out.

She smiled to herself in the darkness, setting her runeblade down for a moment and wringing out her filthy cloak. There was no help for it, she was going to have to wash it and the rest of her armor. She checked herself over carefully, seeing numerous new gashes in the scant plate pieces she wore; it had been a fierce fight indeed and it had taken much of her magic to keep her flesh safe from blades. Even so, it had been exhilarating to know that there were enough brave souls willing to penetrate the heart of Forsaken territory.

A particularly loud scream echoed down the hallway she was in and Kerryann paused, her glowing blue eyes scanning the entrance with care. She was still deep in enemy territory, and the Forsaken were even now hunting down the remnants of the attack force as it withdrew from the city. A running battle had ensued as ever-increasingly enraged Forsaken had gathered with their allies to repel the assault, and many had fallen or been cut off as the group withdrew. Even so, Kerryann had gleefully slaughtered quite a few more Forsaken before she'd been stabbed and pushed into the canal.

Besides, what was the pain of a flesh wound compared to holding her runeblade?

The woman smirked, reaching down to pick up the blade as she thought about it. As it always did, it sent a jolt of agony through her still partially living body; it was an agony she'd become quite used to over the many years she wielded such weapons. A quick glance at the blade's edge showed several chips and notches; it would be time to forge a new one soon. It wouldn't do to use a damaged weapon on her foes; the Forsaken deserved a clean edge to put an end to the misery that was their existence.

"Yes, there will be many more joining the peaceful dead soon enough," she murmured to the darkness around her. "The people of Lordaeron deserve their rest after all."

She sighed, picking at a particularly bad notch in the blade with her fingers. The weapon had been damaged when it connected with the stone floor of the Undercity's sewer system as Kerryann had dismembered one of her fallen allies. It wouldn't do to allow the Forsaken to raise too many of them, and they deserved a clean death rather than eternal enslavement in undeath. Fortunately she knew just what to do, and the right words to speak in order to prevent such a thing. She was sure her allies could go into battle much more confidently as a result. Either that or they would fear her, it didn't matter much, all that mattered was that they had finally struck a blow. And it would not be the last one, not by a long shot.

With a smile Kerryann sheathed her still-filthy blade on her back and began to chant in the language of death. A moment later a dark purple tear opened in the air before her; a death gate away from the Undercity. She'd return soon enough to put down any of her former allies that had been raised, and to kill more of the Forsaken.

The numbers never lied. The more of them that died, the sooner the plague of undeath would end forever. Time was forever on her side. Her smile widened and she stepped into the glowing portal, whisked away in a moment, leaving the dark tunnel and the echoing screams behind her.

Suffer Well, or Live Well?

The night sky was filled with the glimmer of countless stars, the scant clouds moving across the tapestry they created swiftly, allowing an almost unobstructed view from one horizon to another. Looking straight up, it was possible to imagine that you were floating amongst them, with nothing of the world around you or beneath you.

Kerryann sighed, letting the smoke from her cigarette trail lazily up towards those unreachable points of light in the distance. She was lying on her back, her cloak spread out beneath her and across the surface of the tomb upon which she rested, allowing her to gaze upwards without having to tilt her head. She could feel the coldness from the hard marble beneath her creeping into the fabric and against the bare flesh of her back, but it didn't bother her.

She brought her cigarette up to take another drag of it before letting her arm hang loosely over the edge of the monument upon which she rested. It was starting to become a habit of hers to come here to Stormwind's cemetery when she wanted to be alone to think or simply regenerate her energies. The guards assigned night duty around the cemetery's perimeter had long since given up on trying to prevent her from entering at night; they knew she'd simply conjure up a freezing cold mist and walk across the surface of the nearby lake itself to enter from an edge they couldn't watch. They also knew by now that she would never desecrate one of the monuments there, other than using it for a seat that was.

Kerryann had the utmost respect for the dead after all.

She smirked at the thought, still gazing up at the heavens and trying to find some feeling or emotion that their beauty could stir in her. Rationally she knew that the night sky WAS beautiful, but she found little reason to sit and actually soak in that beauty; little reason to think much at all of such sights. It was one of the reasons she liked the cemetery actually, besides for the solitude; she now and then DID feel a pang of...something...when she saw a beautifully carved memorial or the flowers and gifts that people left for their loved ones. In that, in their grieving she recognized that something beautiful had been lost, and it gave her a haunting stirring in her heart. It was something at least.

As Kerryann continued to watch the night sky above, she realized that there were two courses available to her in the future. Each had been championed by one of the new acquaintances she'd made, and each was radically different from one another, at least to her mind.

Kaelus had told her, "Live well." when she'd given the other the traditional parting remark of the Knights of the Ebon Blade. As if implying that there was something more in the world, as if life could go on after it was brought the brink of death and dragged into everlasting suffering. The thought had made Kerryann laugh. How could she 'live' when she was forever suffering from plague? How did one enjoy anything with the unbearable agony of a runeblade that fought to steal your soul every second you held it? A runeblade that even now rested in the soft earth beside the tomb upon which she reclined, beckoning her to wield it.

And yet, Kaelus has found some measure of happiness. Enough even to not be bitter about her recent loss of sight. Enough to greet a stranger warmly, and share a drink. Enough to love again, despite everything. Even the human who called himself Howley, suffering from a terrible curse that could cause him to harm those he loved, even he echoed the thought.

Love. The very thought made Kerryann's mind wander to the second viewpoint. It was love that made her what she was after all. Love that drove her onwards into darkness, that had brought her to this moment. Love that she'd long since purged from her heart with a stroke of her first runeblade. An action that had clearly been to Seylene's liking. An action that had been necessary and personally cleansing. The concept of 'suffering well' had been foremost in Kerryann's mind for years now. She used her suffering, her physical pain, to drive her onward. It was a whip, a scourge to make her bring down her foes, to make THEM suffer for what she had had to become. For what her ambition had made her.

Which then was the right way to live? It was an interesting question, and as Kerryann's past came back to haunt her in the fact that some of her former coven-friends were apparently alive, it was something that grew in the back of her mind. Eventually she would have to decide on one course or the other, because she couldn't stay in Stormwind forever like this; it had far too many memories in it.

As if to emphasize that fact, the stillness of the night was broken by footfalls nearby. Kerryann flicked her cigarette away and rolled over onto her belly, pressing herself against the marble with her glowing blue eyes scanning the nearby monuments. Most of them were higher than the tomb upon which she lay and she was hidden from sight as a figure made its way past the rows of headstones, stopping at one very near to where she was positioned.

Stopping at Kerryann's own monument.

The figure sighed, leaning down to brush away ashes from the top of the monument before speaking, "Oh Light, who would go and smoke cigarettes near your tomb Kerry? How disrespectful to leave the ash here. Don't you worry though, I'll clean it up good enough."

Kerryann's nearly lifeless heart skipped a beat as she heard the words and recognized the voice; it was one of her dearest childhood friends named Alissa Goodstone. She'd not seen the woman in well over a decade, and they'd been teenagers when last they parted as Kerryann headed off to Dalaran for schooling.

"I'm sorry I haven't come to visit recently Kerry," Alissa continued, unaware that she was being observed. "Things have been so busy lately! I know I should have come to see you on the Day of the Dead, but your parents said your spirit hadn't appeared anyway."

The words were like little daggers stabbing the death knight. She watched the woman as she knelt before the monument, her fingers tracing the carvings there while she spoke.

"I suppose maybe that means you're at peace somewhere," the woman continued. "I hope that's the case! I know it's silly, talking to a piece of stone when you likely can't hear, but...I just wanted you to know that i remember."

The woman's eyes were glistening with tears as she spoke, and Kerryann felt like she was a part of the stone upon which she lay. Alissa continued, her voice cracking a bit, "One day I'll bring my children to visit you. I've already told my oldest about you. She's four now, and has black hair like her father. That's the reason why I couldn't come sooner you see, I've just had my second a few months ago and things have been hectic. I'm sure you know that though, wherever you are. I'm sure you're watching us and know."

Kerryann actually winced as her friend spoke to the monument. She would never have children of her own now, not after what she'd done to her body. She remembered that it had always been one of Alissa's dreams though, something that they both shared together when they were much younger. Another thing she'd sacrificed for power. One of the many things.

As Kerryann watched, her friend rose and brushed the top of the memorial again, relighting some of the torches that the wind had blown out. "Anyway, I don't want to stay too long and jabber on. I just...I hope that you're happy Kerry, wherever you are. I know one day we'll see each other again. Rest well my friend."

With that the woman turned and walked away slowly, leaving the memorial behind with candles burning on top. Kerryann's eyes tracked her through the cemetery until she was swallowed by the night. Slowly her eyes returned to the lit memorial that her friend had tended to, her mind turning the other's words over and over.

After a time, the ghoulish woman smiled to herself, rolling back over and looking up at the stars again. A strange sense of calm flowed through her, carried by the faint beating of her nearly dead heart. She had finally seen something beautiful in the night, something she could appreciate. It was the beauty of a life that had come and gone. One that had given others joy and sorrow. A perfect story, from start to finish.

The question now was where the story would go after it was over.

Suffer well or live well? One cannot do both, but how does one live when one is suffering? And how does one suffer when one also lives? What a fascinating place I've brought myself to.

Naturally, the still night and stars above gave her no answer as she lay there, staring at nothing for hours to come.

Kelysia the Vengeful

*Several months ago in the Western Plaguelands*

She knew she shouldn't have come back. She should have just stayed in Northrend. The thought repeated itself over and over in Kerryann's mind as she stumbled and fell against a stack of crates. The pain in her side was bad, but not as bad as the pain she normally felt from holding her runeblade; she'd be able to continue on after resting a moment.

It had all gone downhill when she decided to return to Stormwind. Of course she'd had to go to Archerus first, and naturally they had told her that she HAD to report in to several of the Ebon Knights stationed in the plaguelands before she passed through the region. It was literally the last time she was ever going to listen to any of the Knights. They were, as far as she was concerned, a bunch of fools.

And now they'd gotten her stabbed. She grimaced at the thought, reaching around her side to feel the puckered flesh where the dagger had plunged in. Likely it had been poisoned or coated with blight since it was a Forsaken that had wielded it, but it didn't really matter much to the death knight; her unique body would handle the toxins in its own way. It would just hurt a bit, like everything else in her life.

Kerryann shook her head and pushed herself off the crates she was leaning on. She had to move before more Forsaken arrived and found the bodies she'd left carelessly strewn around the perimeter of the camp. It was bad enough that the Forsaken had blocked off the road, but now she'd have to navigate their little checkpoint and skirt around Andorhal to get back to Alliance held territory. With a wound. In the dark night in the plaguelands.

Fantastic.

Even as she thought it, her necromantically-tainted eyes caught movement near some of the tents ahead of her; Forsaken with weapons drawn had fanned out, searching the camp. They must have discovered the dead and were hunting for intruders.

Even more fantastic.

Without pausing to think, Kerryann ducked into a nearby tent, closing the flap behind her to prevent the searchers from locating her. In the cool darkness of the interior, she made out a number of wooden frames that clearly were normally used to hold prisoners, likely while they were being tortured. In the far recesses of the tent were more stacked crates and an odd bundle lying on the floor. With nothing better to do, Kerryann stiffly walked over towards the bundle to examine it.

As she drew nearer, she could tell it was a burlap tarp laid over something. She reached down and yanked the tarp back, almost gasping in surprise as she saw the nearly-naked form of a draenei lying on the dirt floor of the tent. The creature was shackled, looked like it had been beaten to death, and had a burlap sack over its head.

"These filthy little bastards.." Kerryann muttered. She leaned down to take a closer look at the likely dead creature.

To Kerryann's everlasting amazement, the draenei sprang into action the second her head had come within striking range. Long arms unfolded beneath the draenei, launching her up and back. Chains rattled as the supposedly hobbled creature lashed out, wrapping them firmly around Kerryann's neck and yanking her forward. Before the death knight even realized what was happening, she'd been spun around and the chains were pulled taught, the pressure on her neck almost enough to collapse her windpipe.

Although only partially alive, Kerryann still had a pulse and she felt her vision dimming as the pressure increased. A voice whispered in her ear, "Time to die Forsaken. Don't worry, you won't be alone. I'm going to kill all of you, and then find your undead families and kill them too. And then I'll burn your homes down, just to be certain."

Kerryann clawed at the chains, managing to gasp out a few short words before she could no longer draw breath. "Not....forsaken....idiot....."

There was a momentary pause in the pressure and then Kerryann felt herself hurled forward to slam into and fall amongst a pile of crates. When she finally managed to pick herself up, she turned to find the draenei casually snapping off the last of the poorly constructed fetters that had held her. Without the burlap sack over her head, the creature looked a lot more alive, and a lot more pissed off, than Kerryann had first thought.

"You certainly fucking look like one," the draenei snapped as she noticed the human looking at her. "You're lucky I didn't snap your neck in half. What kind of idiot walks around a Forsaken war camp looking like a Forsaken anyway?"

"I'm not 'walking' around the camp," Kerryann snapped back. "I was trying to get AROUND it. And shut the fel up, there's Forsaken searching the area for me, I killed a few of their sentries."

The draenei paused again, as if appraising the human. After a moment she nodded and grinned, "Good. That's less I have to kill then."

Kerryann rolled her eyes, "Yeah. You. The naked, beat up, recently freed prisoner is going to take out an entire camp of Forsaken by yourself. With your bare fists."

The draenei merely smiled, her fanged teeth looking menacing in the darkness of the tent. "I'm not a prisoner anymore, and they're going to die. What's your name anyway? If they kill you, I should probably tell someone who rescued me."

Still looking at the creature in amazement, Kerryann blinked and said, "The name's Kerryann Westdale. There's no point in remembering it though, no one will give a rat's ass if I die here. There's no one to tell."

"Ah, well things are tough all over aren't they? You going to stand there bleeding from that nice wound you got or are you going to help me? The name's Kelysia by the way," was the response.

"Um, did you hear me when I said there's patrols looking for me or did they do something to your ears?" Kerryann replied. "We'll wait here until things settle and slip out."

The draenei snorted, rubbing her writs to regain circulation. She stretched, cracking her shoulders and back and looking the human over again. "Whatever. I'm here to make dead things that are walking around dead again. You're lucky I felt the pulse in your neck or you'd be joining them. I'm out of here."

With that, wearing nothing but the scant rags she'd been imprisoned in, Kelysia stepped through the tent flap and was gone. Kerryann just stared after her in amazement. Seconds later shouts could be heard as the patrols spotted the draenei. Kerryann could hear them clearly through the thin walls of the tent as they hunted her.

"She's over here! I'll get her!"
"By the Banshee Queen! She got his sword! She got his sw-"
"Fall back! Fall back! We need to regro-"
"What the fel is wrong with that thing? She just bit me! I-"

The shouts were punctuated by the sounds of metal striking metal and thuds as bodies collided with each other and then the ground. A small, wet object bounced through the tent flap and came to rest at Kerryann's feet; the severed head of a Forsaken guard. Kelysia poked her head back in a moment later, her blue skin spattered with gore and goo from the dead patrol, "You comin' or what? Or maybe you just want to sit in there and cry about that scratch you've got?"

The draenei emphasized her words by waving around a sword that she'd somehow managed to obtain. It glittered with Holy Light, giving Kerryann a good idea of what kind of draenei she was dealing with. She drew her runeblade and walked forward stiffly, "Fine. But we cut our way out and leave. I don't have time for this crap."

Kelysia grinned wickedly and shook her head. "No, they all die. You're going to slow me down like that. Hold still." With that she reached out and slapped a hand against Kerryann's wound. Holy light flared, the magic a searing agony to the partially undead flesh of the death knight. She howled as the draenei applied more magic, sealing closed the dagger hole and leaving a trail of smoke in the air around Kerryann.

"What the FEL is wrong with you?!" Kerryann demanded.

Kelysia just smirked and then slipped back out of the tent. A second later there was a roar followed by several more shouts and the sounds of steel hitting steel again. With a resigned sigh, Kerryann parted the tent flap with her runeblade and ran out after the insane creature.

Two hours later, the two made their way out of the plaguelands, a burning camp behind them. The draenei, now wearing an assortment of borrowed armor she'd taken from the fallen, glittered with the remnants of holy light and had a satisfied look on her face. She was a good contrast to the somber death knight that walked beside her, a sour pout on her face.

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Or something like that.