World of Warcraft®

Taeril'hane Ketiron stepped from the saddle of the undead steed Velenkayn had given him to travel back to Frostfire with, as he approached the gates of Saavedar. The Battlelord had been kind enough to forge him a set of armor - inspired partly by that worn by the death knight's peers - and had also offered the Thalassian spear that Ketiron had given him in Northrend to replace his broken sword.

Standing at the gates, his lieutenants - Kitrik and Kellik, the goblin twins, and Lazhna Trueflight, the pandaren captain - all stared at him in shock. He smiled. "It's me, my friends."

"But...you look more like you should have blue glowin' eyes and no pulse," Kitrik commented.

"Compliments of Battlelord Velenkayn and his work at the forge...guess he didn't have time for 'paladin-y' armor or a 'paladin-y' mount...not that I'm complaining - the fur lining is warm, anyway." Ketiron's smile faded as he dismounted, and gestured for them to join him in a circuit around the fortress. "The Battlelord has taken Shadowgarde, and Rakeri Sputterspark has escaped. All signs indicate he had an ogre waygate opened that leads somewhere out here."

"There is a waygate here in Frostfire," Lazhna confirmed. "If he was able to attune to it, it means he's been out here before and knows the layout..."

"Which means he knows where we are," Kitrik finished.

"He knew where we were the moment we knew where he was," Kellik retorted. "But all he's got left is his pet ogre and what demons he can summon at us. What's he gonna do?"

"Think less about what he is going to do," Ketiron said, a coldness in his tone and a slight heat in his eyes. "Think more about what I am going to do."

"You're going after him?" Kitrik stared. "Taeril'hane, that's suicide. We thought you were dead after that last little hiccup, and now you want to make us worry some more?"

"No need for worry, Kitrik." He turned to Lazhna. "Captain Trueflight, please assemble a squad of your guards. You are Captain of the Phalanx, my personal bodyguards; I will entrust my safety to your hands." His jaw clenched. "At least until we find him. Then he is mine, and mine alone."

Lazhna didn't like the sound of that, but at least she would be there to protect him. She nodded. "Understood, General." She spoke in her sibilant tongue to some of the pandaren guards who had joined the House Guard when she had assumed her current role, and told them to mount up. She did likewise, as did Ketiron; it disturbed her that the death knight had rubbed off on him so easily, for all his good intentions. Now he seemed to want to look like the Battlelord... "He won't go anywhere near the Frostwolf camps or Bladespire," she said after a moment. "He'll probably try to hide in any rock formations near here, if he is in Frostfire at all."

Ketiron stared out of the gates, across the vast wintry desert. "He is here," he said in a low voice, almost a whisper. "Somewhere. I feel it."

Ketiron's party entered the mountainous terrain east of the Crackling Plains, close to the ogre waygate that Rakeri had likely used and attuned to, opening a portal to it in his mage tower/library back in Shadowgarde. The pandaren company, mindful of the conditions and terrain, had taken to using yaks, while Ketiron rode the undead horse Velenkayn had provided for his return journey from Shadowmoon Valley.

They went into the rocky terrain, wary of the ogres at the nearby settlement, as a voice echoed in the volcanic rocks. "Clever, clever little elf lord, with his dead friend there, and his dead friends here..." Giggling laughter followed the statement.

Ketiron dismounted, his spear in his hand. "Show yourself! Look upon the face of your executioner, butcher of innocents!"

"Innocents? Ha! You elves are damned, as damned as I! Damned as your Prince and all his demon friends! And soon you'll be dead, just like him!"

"Fine words from a stunted wretch like yourself."

"Words never won wars, Ketiron..." That voice was alarmingly close. Ketiron looked up and saw the gnome leap, demonic wings sprouting from his back. A huge curve-bladed sword of arakkoa make was in his hand, and only a quick reflex kept it from impaling into his skull. As it was, it stabbed deep through the shoulderguard and into Ketiron's left shoulder.

As the armored elf collapsed, Rakeri wrenched the sword free and leapt back, the wings dissipating into the icy wind. His robes were open, showing his chest and arms, but he did not seem to mind the cold. His hair was wild and his beard thick, hiding his sunken cheeks. His eyes were wide with madness, and glowing green with dark magic. He laughed as the pandaren moved forward to aid their lord, and he lashed out with a burst of shadow magic to stun them in their places.

"Just like you to bring more fodder," he sneered. "Bring your entire garrison army to me, Ketiron! I will destroy them with a wave of my hand." The flame that floated in his fingertips was bright green, pure fel magic.

Ketiron was aghast. "But how? Velenkayn said --"

"Sekhesmet could only do so much without destroying me...but he left me the option of finding greater sources. Fortunately, with Gul'dan's minions running amok in Talador, I found plenty." Rakeri laughed again. "Your little gambles have failed, Ketiron...and I still win in the end. Look at you. Wearing the armor of death, riding a steed of death, seeking death for yourself, and for your enemies as you do so. Do not bother to deny."

"I seek your death, wretch," Ketiron snarled, half in pain, half in rage, as he stood. He raised his spear, his left arm hanging useless at his side, but Rakeri did not give him the opportunity. A burst of fel-flame seared his armor, tabard, and cloak, and then another, and another after that. Screaming, the sin'dorei collapsed to the ground. As the pandaren regained their bearings, he rained fire down upon them, causing them to scurry away.

"You seek what you cannot have, Ketiron," he taunted, as he approached with his blade. "I bring you the death you seek for yourself, and for your friends as well...but I will not stop there. I will burn your little fortress to the ground, and let demons violate everyone in it. And then I will send them to find your boy, and extinguish your accursed seed from this existence for all time. Why, I hear you ask? Because I can, that is why! I am Rakeri Sputterspark, and I answer to NO ONE! You -- what the?" He looked down to see his body being wrapped in...void tendrils. His eyes went wide...not in madness, but in terror.

Mocking laughter echoed from the rocks...and it did not belong to the warlock. "Always thinking yourself to be the master," the voice's owner taunted. Lazhna, who had regained her bearings, had stiffened with fear herself, recognizing that voice, the taunting voice of her brother's killer. Not him, she thought. Anyone but him...

Levitating from a high crag and gently floating above the ground, Sekhesmet of Stratholme's gaze encompassed all assembled; he wore his ornate fire-enchanted robes, with one hand holding a strange strange staff of floating runes, like something found from the Firelands itself, the other his tol'vir khopesh. "Battlelord Velenkayn was kind enough to provide you with transportation, Taeril'hane," he said with a warm and friendly smile. "But he did not entirely realize where it came from. Is that not so, Antinnis?"

The undead horse whickered, and changed shapes to a variety of equine forms, before returning to its red-barded undead appearance. Ketiron stared at him in shock. "Oh, don't be so surprised, Taeril'hane," the priest admonished him. "I have had eyes on the both of you from the start. After all, you seek my demise. Some for more selfish reasons than others." His gaze now turned to Rakeri. "I warned you about who and what you were messing with, Professor. You chose to ignore me. I am a patient man when it suits my purposes, but I have reached the limits of my patience with you."

Before Rakeri could even raise a hand to cast a spell, Sekhesmet faded into shadow and let out a primal scream. The warlock shrieked in terror, dropping his weapon and holding his hands to his ears. "You resurrected me, and I will be grateful to you for that. But I will not bow my knee to you. I have pledged to Showdah, but he is master only for the sake of convenience. After all, I can hardly have people like you accosting me without some degree of protection, now, can I?" He laughed as the gnome gibbered incoherently. "But you refuse to accept that."

Raising his staff, the mad priest let loose a burst of pure void energies, knocking the gnome warlock back up against the rockface. But as he advanced, he felt the sting of an arrow as it thunked into his shoulder. Emerging from the shadows around him, he sheathed his curved blade and reached back to pull it out, tossing it aside, before turning to the one who had fired it. "Now why would you go and do a thing like that, girl?" he said in a honeyed voice.

"Thank you," Lazhna said with a cold smile. "Now I can aim for your head."

"I don't think so." Sekhesmet's eyes went deep black as he entered her mind, paralyzing her with fear. She cried out and sunk to her knees in the snow-covered rock, and he left her there for later. But as he turned, it was to see Rakeri flying at him with his sword in hand, screaming.

Time seemed to slow as a blur of red and black moved ahead of him. Ketiron's spear had flown out of his hand and took Rakeri right through the torso like a thunderbolt, pinning him into the rockwall. The warlock's eyes glowed green - and were wider than hen's eggs, as his sword left his hand, which then grasped the shaft of the spear that impaled him. He smiled. "You think...you've won...but I will be back. I am Rakeri...I....am...Rak..." With a shuddering last breath, the glow faded, and his head slumped forward.

On his knees in agony, Ketiron slumped to the ground, his injuries taking hold. Kneeling, Sekhesmet gently put a hand on his injured shoulder, another on his back, and began murmuring prayers to the Light. The healing energies coursed through his hands and into the stricken Blood Knight's body, mending the wounds with the patience and skill of a master. As he finished, he leaned close and whispered, "Now we are even."

Leaning on his staff, he stood, and with his free hand pulled the spear out of the rockface, letting the warlock's body collapse to the ground at his feet. Opening the pouch Rakeri wore at his belt, he pulled free a small, dark-glowing stone. "You say you will be back, Professor..." He smiled wickedly. "I don't think so." Light pulsed through the hand carrying the stone...which shattered into a thousand pieces. The soul within screamed as oblivion took it. Then he drew the khopesh from his belt once more - and with one blow, severed the gnome's head from its body. Taking the gnome's inscription pouch and emptying its contents next to the corpse, he put the head inside, closed it tightly, and hooked it to the saddle horn of the waiting undead steed. Then he put a foot into the stirrup and stepped into the saddle.

Turning to face the silent, wide-eyed pandaren, he smiled and gestured to the unconscious Ketiron. "Take him home," he said. He patted the neck of the horse with a smile. "To Fort Wrynn, Antinnis, then we fly for Stormshield. I have news to deliver to our friends back on Azeroth." Rearing up, the shape-changing horse galloped off across the desert of snow, leaving the pandaren guards to watch him go...