World of Warcraft®

Saavedar, the fortress of General Taeril'hane Ketiron, was under somewhat different management. With the fortress' master sequestered in his Great Hall, the garrison troops looked to three others for leadership - Kitrik, the goblin assassin who served as the fortress' chief artisan; his younger twin brother Kellik, now commander of the House Guard, the private army of House Ketiron; and Lazhna Trueflight, the pandaren ranger who had taken over for Kellik as Captain of the Phalanx, Ketiron's personal bodyguards.

All three of them were now in conference in Saavedar's tavern, sharing mugs of pandaren ale that Lazhna had brought back with some new recruits; with a pandaren now part of the upper echelons of the House Guard, she had brought in - with Kitrik and Kellik's agreement - a detachment of Huojin volunteers to join Ketiron's small but well-equipped army. The massive armory, set between the barracks and the tavern, had seen a great deal of work since. The ale had been a great boost to the garrison's morale, in light of their commander's darkened spirit.

"He's not eatin', not sleepin', just stares at me when I report to him," Kellik was saying as he sipped from his tankard. "It's either he doesn't see me...or he's not all there anymore, if you know what I mean. Like he's in some kinda trance or some paladiny thing."

"Can ya blame him, little brother?" Kitrik asked. "Blood elves have been dealt crappy hands for the past fifteen or so years. Arthas, Kael'thas, Proudmoore, Hellscream, so on. And Silvermoon was destroyed, and the Sunwell, and all that, and they had to rebuild...just like we lost Kezan, only we had to rebuild somewhere else."

"Your point?" the pandaren captain asked bluntly.

"My point, ma'am, is that the general has had to endure all that, plus his own personal tragedies in all this bloody fighting. His old man Lord Melonar, Captain Skyfire, Master Portalseeker, Lord Saavedro...and now the Lady Areinnye. You'd know what that is, you were red-ragin' mad when you joined up with us back on Azeroth, wantin' to get your paws around that priest's neck for killing your brother. Heaven knows, I'd do the same thing in your place."

Lazhna nodded cautiously, conceding the point. "What can we do?"

"Ante up and kick in the best we can, is all we can do," Kellik said grimly. "Command will be handled by the three of us. As the House Guard commander, all the military crap goes to me, and from me to you as the bodyguard captain - and as the master tracker here, you're also good for patrols and what not. Kitrik handles all the maintenance, the upkeep of the armory, stuff like that."

"Three people trying to do the job of one." Kitrik shook his head. "I don't like where this is leading."

"I don't either, Kit," Kellik admitted. "But we don't have a choice. If there's not some kinda direction, we may as well open the gates and let the Iron Horde waltz in. Or worse, scum like Sputterspark and that dark priest." Kellik refused to use his name, Kitrik noted.

A commotion outside. The two goblins and the pandaren looked out the door to see what was going on, and saw a figure emerge from the Great Hall. He wore ornate robes with armored shoulderpads, burning with holy flame. He carried a glowing red runeblade, which looked to Kitrik like something taken out of a Titan vault.

The man's face was covered by a hooded mask, but the engineer-assassin could see enough of the ears sticking out to know who it was, and his heart sank. "General?" Ketiron - for it could be no other - looked in his direction, and said nothing. Kitrik decided to set aside formality. "Taeril'hane...are you alright?"

The blood elf gave a slight nod...then without a word, summoned his horse, stepped into the saddle, and rode out of the main gates, leaving the guards clamoring as they asked each other what the hell was going on, and where Ketiron was going.

The twin goblin brothers and the pandaren exchanged glances with one another, and wondered the same thing.

Nyah! I know! Grumpy else is off ta help us rebuild Kezan!

*Cheers for Ketiron*

Kneeling in meditation in the gardens of the Temple of Karabor, as he often did, Battlelord Velenkayn felt his consciousness fade as something else arose in his mind's eye...

A figure in fire-charged armored robes with a concealing mask, walking through a fortress in a land of of snow. He recognized it instantly as Saavedar, though he had never been anywhere near Frostfire Ridge. Three people looking out from the courtyard...one of them was the goblin Kitrik, another looking similar to him, the twin brother he had spoken of, perhaps...the third was pandaren.

"Taeril'hane...are you alright?"

The hooded man nodded, then without another word, he called his steed and rode away. Only one word was on his lips as he rode across the frozen desert.

"VENGEANCE."

Velenkayn cried out as he came to, staggering forward onto his hands and knees. One of the priest adepts of Karabor came up to hm, her expression one of concern for his well-being and disgust for his "wretched" state; it was a common treatment he got here. "Are you alright...Battlelord?" She hesitated on using that title, a title not granted by the Prophet or the Hand of Argus, but by the Scourge, by the will of the Lich King...a creature who had still existed here in his "original" form.

"I am fine," he said shortly, as he came to his feet, leaning on his truesteel battleaxe - crafted by his own hand - for support. "Just...an unpleasant memory in my meditations." He smiled. "I am well. Thank you." The adept moved away quickly, as if glad to be away from him. He recognized her as one of those who called him "monster" and said he should not be here, when she had thought he was not listening; she lamented "poor Vindicator Velenkayn in Telmor, whose face is worn by a creature like that".

He did not mind the insults so much now, even though they came from his own people. After more than six years in his current state, he was used to it; his father, Incarikayn, had disowned him when he had arrived from Acherus, only the Prophet's admonition staying his hand from killing "the beast that wears my son's skin", as the fire-eating Vindicator had once put it. He did the Light's work; when this temple had been attacked, he had fought in the defense of all of his people - those who insulted him in his hearing as well as those who welcomed him.

And now the Light had come to warn him that another friend had gone down a dark path, just as Artimus had done, under Sekhesmet's mind control...and just as Saavedro had done, when possessed by Sekhesmet's foul spirit. It was an all-too-familiar cycle for the battle-weary death knight, and he feared that Taeril'hane would fall in the same way as Saavedro had. He would become the very thing he fought against, and then he would die, his spirit consumed by the foulness of the enemy he fought. He could hear Sekhesmet and Sputterspark, laughing; no matter what the priest said, Velenkayn had no doubt that they were still plotting together. (Or more likely, Sekhesmet was using the warlock to his own ends. Either way, it mattered not to him.)

He considered sending a message through to Genevra, to ask for her counsel...and then just as swiftly rejected it. Like Saavedro, Taeril'hane was considered a friend and ally of Genevra, and her interference would increase the likelihood of the blood elf's death.

No. He would deal with this problem himself. He knew that Taeril'hane would make a move into Shadowmoon Valley, to possibly even attack Shadowgarde by himself. And for all that he would love to see the paladin try to rip Sputterspark's little sanctuary down to the foundations, he knew he had to stop his old comrade before he got himself killed. Yet the question lingered in the Battlelord's mind: How could he stop the grief-maddened paladin without killing him? Would he even recognize Velenkayn as an ally, in his current state?

There is only one way to find out, he thought.

Walking to where his talbuk was kept, he stepped onto its back and rode down the Path of the Light out of the temple, following the road west towards the border with Talador. Going through the thick woods in the northwest corner, he found the gates of Shadowgarde. Standing far outside of the gnomish guard patrols, he dismounted his talbuk, sending it back towards Embaari Village. Then he stood behind a tree along the main roadway, and waited...

Ketiron dismounted from his steed on the border of Talador, and walked into the woods the rest of the way. He could feel the darkness rising from the place, slowing his pace - as if he was walking through molasses.

Then he realized it was not Rakeri's magic he was sensing. It was something else, something equally familiar. The magic of the Scourge.

"The Light rarely grants me a vision of the future, but in this case, I was absolutely certain it was true...because here you are." The familiar form of Velenkayn appeared from where he had hid along the road, wearing the white armor trimmed with gold, carrying the beautifully-crafted battleaxe. "You follow in Saavedro's footsteps, and to the same doom. You blindly walk the path of vengeance, and it will lead to the precipice, and from there to your death."

Ketiron felt his rage coming to the boil. "You have no right to detain me, Velenkayn!"

"You are a warrior of the Horde encroaching on draenei lands, Taeril'hane," the Battlelord replied. "I have every right!"

The Blood Knight was incredulous. "You can't honestly tell me that this fel-tainted filth has the protection of the draenei! I thought you people were supposed to kill warlocks, not shelter them!"

"And what do you advocate we do?" Velenkayn demanded, anger entering his own voice. "We do not have the available manpower to march on Shadowgarde, Taeril'hane! Not when we have the Iron Horde on one front, the Sargerei on another, and your Horde fighting our soldiers in Ashran! And even if we did, we risk angering the warlock guilds in the Alliance, and his other patrons on Azeroth! Is that what you want? An idiotic internal war over a lowly gnome while we're supposed to be fighting greater foes?"

"HE KILLED MY WIFE!" Ketiron screamed. "I want his head hanging from my walls! I want to bathe my hands in his blood, and banish his soul to the lowest pit for all eternity for what he has done to me and my family! I WILL have him, Velenkayn, even if I have to kill you to get to him!"

"So be it," Velenkayn replied grimly, as he raised a hand, reaching out with a shadowy, frozen grip that left the Blood Knight locked in frozen chains. But it brought Ketiron close to his foe, and he swung out, slashing through the ragged tabard of the Hand of Argus, which fluttered away in the breeze rising through the trees. As the chains dissolved, blood elf and draenei met blade for blade - Ketiron's lithe form fuelled by rage, the Battlelord's armored bulk compensating with longer experience and a clear head.

Catching Ketiron's blade on the beard of the axe between the cutting blade and the haft, Velenkayn channeled frost energy through it, and into the burning red Titan-forged blade...and with a movement of his own weapon, shattered the sword's blade. Spinning around from the momentum, the Battlelord lashed out with one armor-clad hoof, knocking Ketiron onto his back.

"Yield, Taeril'hane! I will not allow you to persist in this stupidity any further! Do not force me to destroy you!"

"My sentiments exactly, death knight!"

Both Ketiron and Velenkayn looked over at the source of that voice - though Ketiron, lying on his back, had a much different perspective.

Rakeri Sputterspark's eyes were wide with mania, his face gaunt from malnutrition and lack of sleep. Two hulking figures stood behind him - one his ogre enforcer, Ekkrote, and the other...the unmistakeable figure of a terrorguard, a very powerful demon. Velenkayn remembered what Sekhesmet had said about draining his fel energies...but it seemed to only affect his ability to call upon the corruptive flame, not his mastery of the arts of demonology. Coming out of the woods around them were at least thirty armored gnomish guards, all carrying guns. Coming up at Rakeri's left side was Nessa Steelspanner, the garrison captain - a high-powered bolt gun in one hand, a longsword in the other.

"Well, isn't this just marvelous? Two of the biggest thorns in my side here at the same time!" Rakeri giggled insanely, but his amusement faded and was replaced by manic rage. "You have encroached on my fortress grounds, scum, and now you will sample Shadowgarde's hospitality! But unlike Tyvian, I will not let you leave with your lives...and unlike Alexithima, you will not be scurrying away! GUARDS, SEIZE THEM!"

Calling upon the dark ice that surged through him, Velenkayn became the center of a tempest that froze the gnomish guards solid, then charged towards the warlock - but the terrorguard got to him first, claws flashing, bursts of shadow magics launching at him. His white armor began to crack under the pressure of the foulness that assaulted him...even as he saw the bulk move to carry the prone Ketiron (his helm gone; Velenkayn assumed the ogre had smacked the Blood Knight in the head with a meaty hand to knock him out) into Shadowgarde's dungeons. Around him, the gnomish guards began to thaw and realized he could not save his friend.

Not alone, at any rate...

A slash of void magics cut through the truesteel haft of his battle axe, and he saw Rakeri charge at him - though the fel magics were removed from his body, his powers were still formidable. He felt his armor buckle under the assault, and soon gunshots rang out - the gnomish guards were able to use their weapons. He had no choice.

He began to run, staggering as gunshots took more chunks out of his armor. Then he was out of their range, and he heard Rakeri's guard captain shout the order to cease fire. Then Rakeri himself. "Yes, RUN, fool! Run back to your so-called people! They cannot help you now! I am defending their land against the Horde aggressor...that is all they need to know!"

Grimly, he realized that the gnome was right...

----

The guard captain at Karabor looked concerned as he watched Velenkayn don his armor. "Are you certain of this, Battlelord Velenkayn? It is difficult enough for some of the initiates to accept your...current state. Giving visual clues to it may not be helpful in that cause."

"I cannot hide behind what I am not anymore," Velenkayn replied. "I am a death knight, and I should look the part." I will not inspire respect from my enemies anymore, he vowed to himself. I will make them fear. Starting with that wretch of a warlock.

He had gone back to wearing death-inspired dark armor, with great ribcage-like structures from his spaulders and a great horned war-helm. He carried the dark hammer Ebonshard that Marennia Sputterspark had crafted for him before he left Azeroth...and deciding he could not shy away from it further, he donned his old tabard with the Conclave colors. He now knew what he had to do.

He had to reconcile himself with Genevra - somehow. And from there, he would plan the next move...and pray to the Light that Ketiron lived to see it. He knew she was at an Alliance settlement somewhere near Shadowgarde. He would start there...

Velenkayn stood waiting on the outskirts of Embaari Village as a helpful mage from Genevra's ranks teleported his men to Stormshield, so they could fly out here to meet him. Now they were arriving, a good thirty of them at least. Silent as ghosts, despite the heavy armor they wore, they looked to him for direction. And in equal silence, he called for his deathcharger, Iadara, and began his way towards the gates of Shadowgarde. The others did likewise, and followed. The horses made no sound save for that of their hoofbeats as they made the way into the woods on the western border of Shadowmoon Valley.

Directing two of them - a night elf and a dwarf - to move forward on foot, Velenkayn raised a hand to halt the group, just within sight of the fortress gates. The two designated "scouts" located all of the gnomish warriors patrolling outside the gates, reached out shadowy hands to pull them over, and then killed them in short order. In about ten minutes, they returned, having circled around the walls, and taken out all of the sentries. Their armor and weapons bore testament to that fact.

Velenkayn felt a twinge of regret, but ruthlessly suppressed it. These gnomes had sworn to Sputterspark, and they would pay the price for that association. Having to deal with the Sargerei just over the ridge, and in Shattrath, was bad enough. He would not allow his people's perception of the Alliance to be tainted so. He remembered what Genevra had told him earlier that evening, about rumors that both the professor and his dark priest master had bounties on their head. Though Sekhesmet had largely remained out of sight, he would now force Sputterspark to run for his life. He smiled coldly at the thought.

Raising his armored fist, the dark hammer held high in it, he turned to look at his chosen guards...and then pointed his hammer towards the gates, urging them forward. Once more, they made no sound, save for the clattering of hooves upon the cobblestone road. He circled around the fortress, entering through the lightly-defended side entrance that led to the mines...and then shouted for the charge.

----

Looking up from inside his keep, muttering and twitching as if under the influence of hallucinogens, Rakeri Sputterspark was clearly in the grip of madness. He had shed his finely tailored attire, wearing savage-looking fur-lined robes that looked more appropriate on an orc than a gnome, and carried his ornate staff of twisted wood, with a glowing sigil on its head. His hooded mask bore the visage of a skull, burning green eyes glaring from it; his red beard had grown thickly and hid his face completely underneath the mask.

At that moment, his garrison captain, Nessa Steelspanner, entered the hall. "Professor, the keep is under attack," she reported tersely.

"What? Nonsense. No one would dare." Rakeri giggled insanely.

"Death knights, Professor! Battlelord Velenkayn is at their head. They've already killed the sentries and are moving in on us! This keep is lost, sir, you must --"

Rakeri's hand shot out like lightning, catching the captain in the jaw. "Do not presume to tell me what I must, slave!" he snapped. "Get out there and die like a gnome. We do not bow before the tall folk simply because they're bigger than us! You're a disgrace, Steelspanner, a simpering coward! Now GET OUT before I kill you myself - and you won't like it that way!"

Realizing she was dead either way, Nessa turned and stormed out, off to meet her fate. But in the back of his mind, Rakeri knew she was right. He had to get out of there. But how?

The waygate, he remembered. He had gone into Frostfire Ridge and activated a waygate. The portal was inside his library...he smiled. He would let the warriors die, because that's what they were for. "Ekkrote," he said after a moment, and the hulking figure of his ogre bodyguard approached. "Come with me. We're leaving."

----

The unmistakeable screech of a dreadsteed alerted Velenkayn before one of the knights did. "Battlelord, the gnome is escaping!" the elf who had made one of the first strikes said, just before her head exploded from a high-explosive shell fired by Nessa, who stood in front of the keep with four of her similarly-armed troops. Two more had lost limbs, and he briefly wondered if the method the Forsaken used for "patching up" their soldiers would work on death knights.

Kicking Iadara to full gallop, Velenkayn raised his hammer to strike, but like a blur, the ogre gladiator tackled him. Iadara went translucent and faded as its rider fell to the ground in a crash of armor. Then, rather than follow up as most ogres would have, he followed Rakeri into the rudimentary mage sanctum where his library was kept. Getting back to his feet, Velenkayn shook his head to clear it and entered - just as a high-power bolt wrenched through his right knee, causing him to stumble and collapse to the floor.

Kneeling on the floor, Velenkayn looked up to see the gnome approach, as the sounds of battle rang outside. "I should have known you would make your move sooner or later. I had hoped, when you gave Genevra the finger and decided to stay here, that you might join my little enterprise. Unfortunately, I have no use for those of...overly sentimental mind." He raised his high-powered bolt gun to the draenei's bone-crested head. "So much for regrets...goodbye, Velenkayn."

A shot rang out, but it was not from Rakeri's weapon. Rakeri stumbled backwards, screaming in enraged pain as the bolt went through his shoulder. Nessa Steelspanner held her own bolt gun on him. "To think I listened to you, believed what you said about Mekkatorque and the Alliance," she hissed. "I am far more of a fool than you are, and you are the most incredible fool I have ever seen."

"Poor, poor Nessa. Finally developing a conscience. A pity." Rakeri fired into her gut, the obsidium bolt smashing through her steel plate armor.

But Nessa just laughed... as she revealed she had on a belt of explosives. Dropping the bolt gun in one hand to clutch her gut as she fell to her knees, her other held the detonator. Rakeri's eyes went wide. "Give my regards to the Void, Professor."

Rakeri ran for the portal as fast as his legs could take him, and Velenkayn scrambled out of the mage enclave as best he could on one leg, as the blast consumed the structure - throwing the death knight clear into the courtyard. Crumpled on the ground, the death knight felt the pain in his leg keenly - although, he thought with grim amusement, it probably would have been a lot worse if he wasn't dead already. Freezing the leg with a burst of frost magics, he leaned up against the decorative fountain and rose to his feet, using his hammer as a crutch.

One of the other knights came up to him. "Battlelord, are you --"

"It is nothing," he said shortly. "We will tend to it later. Any sign of him?"

"No, Battlelord. He must have gone through the portal."

Velenkayn nodded; as he said, even if he could not capture the warlock, taking his sanctuary was enough. He raised his echoing voice for all to hear, now that the defenders had all turned to him. "Your master has abandoned you," he declared. "He was willing to let you all die so that he could escape, so that he could have his power all to himself. I will not kill any more today unless I have to."

The gnomes' faces, those not hidden by the concealing helmets, were all grim. Velenkayn continued. "Shadowgarde is mine now. This den of slavery and dark magic will be retooled to a greater purpose - the defense of our lands. Any one of you who lays down your weapons now will be shown amnesty. You have my word, as a Knight of the Ebon Blade and a guardian of the draenei people."

Almost as one, every one of Rakeri's gnomish guards threw down their weapons. He nodded to the knight who had come up to him. "Help me into the dungeon, please. The rest of you," and he raised his voice again, for his knights to hear, "secure the fortress. We will have our base here now." He made a point to send word through to Genevra to send priests and others to assist the slaves worked damn near to death in Rakeri's mines, and then send word for volunteers to take over - volunteers to be well-treated and well-paid, not worked to death... Perhaps an armory, too, he thought.

But that would be later. As he limped - one leg frozen solid until it could be treated properly - with the aid of his associate down into the barracks dungeons, he was greeted by ranting. "...get out, I need to get out...he can find me here. The gnome has shown me, he is nothing! Nothing! Nothing! NOTHING! I have to get out, I have to continue the hunt..."

Velenkayn stared in stupefied horror - for lying in a filthy cell, covered in blood, bruises, and waste, was the gibbering form of Taeril'hane Ketiron...

Kept in the upper level of Shadowgarde's barracks, Ketiron was sedated and left with his nightmares. He had asked Tasera, Jaeden'laek's sister, to come from Outland to be garrison captain; she was as versed in the healing arts as she was in those of combat, and it was in her care that he had placed his stricken friend. She looked up as he entered, having returned from attending Genevra's sermon in Stormwind. Appropriately, it had been on compassion - and its potential risks.

Velenkayn was no stranger to those risks. He knew that tending to a servant of the Horde would bring accusations of treason. But he and Ketiron had served in the Argent Crusade together (he having worked with them willingly), and they remained united in their mutual loathing of the forces arrayed against them; they had done so since Northrend. They had fought together in the great cloud-realm of Skywall, in the crystalline dark of Deepholm, and on the battlefield at Wyrmrest Temple. They had continued in Pandaria, and again here on the new Draenor. Despite everything that had happened between Alliance and Horde, Velenkayn did not wish to sever his ties on the "other side" so easily...

"I have done what I can for General Ketiron's body," Tasera said. "His physical condition will heal, though he remains feverish."

"And his mind?"

She shook her head. "I cannot force him back to lucidity, Velenkayn. That is a journey he must take on his own, with the Light's guidance." She bowed her head. "I am sorry I could not do more."

Velenkayn smiled sadly. "You have done more than I could have asked for, Tasera. Thank you for coming out here."

"I could not refuse; when Khadgar left Shattrath, we knew something was wrong. It's hard to believe that this place exists in such...pristine condition, compared to the valley back in Outland."

The Battlelord nodded understandingly. "I know. I felt much the same way, walking in Karabor's halls again, and speaking to Restalaan near Auchindoun. A lot of it is very similar to what I remember...and much of it is very different." He chuckled. "I have an 'alter ego' here, now seeking to discover this strange world we come from."

Wincing as his injured knee bent, he sat down next to Ketiron's bed, his soul anguished to see the blood elf's face frozen in the anguish showing from within. He removed a gauntlet and gently put a scarred hand onto Ketiron's forehead, using the chill that followed him everywhere to cool his fevered brow. "Damn that gnome," he whispered.

Tasera nodded grimly. "He remains at large?"

"For now. He will either run into Sekhesmet's embrace...or worse, he may align with the Shadow Council. I thought depriving him of his sanctuary would break him...in my zeal to save Taeril'hane, I let him escape. It should have been Sputterspark left to rot in that dungeon."

"You have made this place into a proper bastion to protect the innocent, Velenkayn; this is a journey, not something to be done all at once. Sputterspark will get what is coming to him in time. I agree that desperation may make him far more dangerous, but man'ari like him always get what is coming to them. Always."

Man'ari. That word echoed in Velenkayn's mind. He remembered when his father, Vindicator Incarikayn, had declared him as such before the Prophet, when he had returned to Azuremyst after receiving Varian's clemency. "You may enjoy the protection of our Prophet, abomination, but the Light always wins," Incarikayn had said. "You are man'ari, not my son anymore. And you will suffer the same fate as man'ari, I promise you."

He had not seen Incarikayn since. He idly wondered how the old fire-eater was doing.

"Perhaps," he said at last.

Ketiron awoke, groggy and disoriented, in the Shadowgarde barracks, wearing only a pair of linen breeches to replace his damaged armor. His head hurt like crazy, like someone had impaled him in the skull with a white-hot spike. Sitting up, he felt a wave of nausea. Tasera looked up from the book of scripture she had been reading, seeing the elf move. "Easy there, General, easy. You've been sleeping the sleep of the dead; that is not something you just get up and go from."

The blood elf tried to speak, but his throat was so dry; Tasera, of course, had a beaker of water in her hand, and gently held it up to his lips as he sipped from it. Feeling moisture returning to his throat, he asked in a whisper, "How...long...?"

"Almost three weeks. We were able to mend the wounds inflicted by your captors. We feared your mind may have been lost."

No wonder I feel so out of it... Ketiron took the beaker from her and sipped at the cool water meditatively...and let out a tired grin. "Not yet..." He looked around, realizing he was still in Shadowgarde. "He's escaped, then."

Tasera could not lie; she nodded grimly. "Just before Velenkayn found you. He went through an open portal, an activated ogre waygate. Where, we don't know. We have regularly sent word to your people up in Frostfire Ridge; Chief Engineer Kitrik, and Captains Kellik and Trueflight have kept your bastion together in your absence."

"Light bless them," he whispered gratefully. He looked up at his healer and smiled, as he tried to come to his feet. She was there for him to lean on if need be, and he was glad of it; he felt a wave of dizziness as he stood up, but it soon cleared as he began to walk the room, working out the stiffness of his muscles. Tasera left him a wash basin and some clean clothes, then retreated to give him some space. Ten minutes or so later, feeling refreshed, he stepped downstairs and had a look around the place.

Shadowgarde had grown considerably as Velenkayn's forces rebuilt what had been destroyed or damaged when he had taken the fortress from Rakeri. Under the Battlelord's eye, the fortress had begun to flourish, becoming more a bastion of righteousness rather than the pit of evil it had been under the warlock's control. The only "dark" part of Shadowgarde was its guard forces and the banner they flew under - the sigil of the Knights of the Ebon Blade put up in front of the great keep, and hooded death knights patrolling the courtyard. Ketiron realized that Velenkayn must have called on his colleagues from Acherus to work for him here...

A healthy fruit tree had grown in the garden, the workers in the mines were paid volunteers rather than slaves, and the warlock's foul library had been replaced by a massive armory. The lumber mill, too damaged to repair, had been replaced by a trader's office, and Rakeri's engineering workshop and scribe's office had also been dismantled, replaced by a smithy and a great storehouse. A small tavern was set near the path to the east gate, which led to the mines and to the watchtower with a portal to Stormshield on the island of Ashran.

This was so different from what he had at Saavedar - mainly because it wasn't half frozen solid, for a start...

"General Ketiron?" One of the death knight guards looked up to him. "The Battlelord is up in the keep, if you'd like to see him."

"Thank you..."