World of Warcraft®

The wind gave a sharp whistle as it pressed against the still-standing buildings of the ruins of the Scarlet Enclave. The remains of this besieged town gave a hollow and lifeless appearance to the Plaguelands, yet somehow paled in comparison to the floating station of Archerus, which lie just to the north. The grim atmosphere was almost palpable, as everything was bathed in red from the dusty sky.

Old Scarlet banners still clung to the fractured walls, some torn or burned partially, but all showing the dingy brown of being exposed to the elements of this land for too long.

Cyrus knelt before one of these flags that lay on the ground, taking a fistful of it and standing. A curious glance from Haelolin demanded an explanation as to why she, Cyrus, Lyrax and Sathrasa were out there, to which Cyrus responded. "These ruins are a suitable staging area..." He spoke quietly, as if thinking aloud moreso than answering Haelolin's expression. "For the Ocheliad's operations in the region."

Those last words drew Sathrasa out of the shadow of the wall behind Cyrus, her weapons comfortably at her side. "What is it you have planned, Captain?" She inquired, her training showing, as the enthusiasm she likely had was well hidden by the mask and even tone.

"Since the fall of Arthas, several small factions of the Scourge have been running free in the plaguelands. Most of them are just wandering around, it seems, and I have asked Imperon about the possibility of expanding the Ocheliad's resources to include some of these... aspiring followers," Cyrus said evenly, a small grin showing for a moment on his face. He'd clearly been looking forward to the green light on this assignment. "Now that the weapon has been recovered from Icecrown, I intend to use it and wrest control of a sizeable amount of undead to further a few Ocheliad interests. You never know how useful undead can be until you have a few of them in your pocket, after all."

Sathrasa, unable to find a hole in the logic, merely nodded, looking between Lyrax and Haelolin to gauge their reactions.

Lyrax still had his full mask on, so there was no deriving a reaction out of him. He was there to do as ordered, a quality Cyrus wasn't going to dissaprove of.

Haelolin just remained at Cyrus's side, grinning slyly at the situation. She'd been eyeballing Cyrus's new toy since it had been recovered from the frozen lands of Icecrown. Up until now, she'd yet to see what was so valuable about the weapon, aside from the alluringly brutal presence it gave off.

"The three of you are to secure the crossroad west of here that most traffic will pass through, if any *living* traffic really comes through these days. Be sure to contain any bands of Scourge or undead that you see. We can't have them wandering off. I need time to... figure out how to bring about this weapon's potential when it comes to such a large-scale command. Such a thing is new to me," Cyrus admitted, taking a few strides toward what had once been the town hall of the abandoned Scarlet settlement.

"Soon... we will be prepared..."

Haelolin, Sathrasa and Lyrax all nodded and scattered, likely to burn off some boredom by riling up stray undead. One thing was for sure. A significant presence of Ocheliad in an undead-dominant area would not go unnoticed for long.

((dun dun dun. great write up))

He didn't like heights, but he rather did like flying. A lot. So long as they were his own wings, and not those of a gryphon or proto-drake. Then it was nerve racking.

Lahkin swooped above Aerie Peak as a stone drake, looping, diving, twirling in midair until he almost lost it from the G-forces. He did it for no other reason than it felt good. Turning his wings just so, angling them with the wind or against it--depending on whether he was feeling harmonious or aggressive that day. It was meditation, by dance. A thousand feet up...

He wasn't watching where he was going, the wind gently tugging him several miles off course. He still didn't notice, until a sudden gasp of air blew straight up, bringing him the sickly sweet scent of rotting flesh to his nostrils. Lahkin clapped his wings and flipped right side up, shaking his head. Below was the orange and purple landscape of the Eastern Plaguelands, not the green of the Hinterlands.

Lahkin worried, but up here, not much could touch him. He circled, trying to get his bearings, before diving lower.

Then lower still when he noticed something...

The Plaguelands always had its stock of undead, but today there seemed to be more of them somehow. They were moving around a lot quicker than normal, too, running into each other, attacking trees, going after things like rats darting from the half-dead grass. One of them even still had a hunk of fresh turf caught in its ribs.

Lahkin alighted on top of a big mushroom, then opted for a dead tree when the mushroom sprayed nasty smelling spores in his face. Two of the undead rushed at the base of the tree when they heard its labored creaking, scrabbling helplessly at the bark below him. Lahkin reached down his tail and flicked one to the ground. It got up again...and started attacking the other. Eventually there was nothing but rattling bones dancing across the dirt.

Lahkin didn't know undead, but he knew enough to understand that this was unusual. He took to the sky again, noting their numbers, positions, activities...it wasn't much more than a mess. Snorting in frustration, Lahkin tipped higher into the sky.

Something--or someone--was messing with them. He didn't have to think very hard to get a good suspicion of who...

The strain was unreal.

In the chilling stillness of the former Scarlet Enclave, Cyrus sat against the ruined town hall. A lot had been done to make these ruins habitable for Ocheliad while they assisted Cyrus with his operations in the area. But nothing could really alleviate the new-found strain Cyrus was having trouble getting a grasp on.

Arthas did this with the entire Scourge? He managed to think all in one piece. Raising a ghoul or two was no large feat for a death knight or necromancer, but to extend one's will over a large, pre-risen group of undead was proving to be a task. To top it off, it seemed Cyrus was not trying to dominate free-will Scourge, but ones currently under the influence of a local necromander. At first, he hadn't been able to tell. Cyrus had never tried to exert such command of so many undead, which could easily stretch into the hundreds, so for all he knew this strain could just be natural when it came to influencing this many.

Only after staying at it for several hours did Cyrus detect that these Scourge were resistant not of their own accord, but by the will of another master.

"Hearing voices, Captain?" Raemas asked from the shadows of a nearby tree. The human had a particular knack of finding Cyrus only when he was thoroughly distracted.

"Hearing voices isn't the problem. The undead not hearing mine is the issue. I think I'm having a mental turf war with a necromancer," Cyrus responded, relaxing a bit as he took a rest from his attempts to take control of this band of Scourge from its master. He was secretly thankful Raemas had shown up, as it gave Cyrus an excuse to break from this mentally exhausting activity.

"Hm... you know, I'm sure that elf Haelolin is itching for some sort of assignment, again. She looked ready to pass out the last time you gave her the green light to kill somethin'. Not sure if that's a... good or bad quality," Raemas offered.

Cyrus considered that. "Hm... send the Ocheliad to find this necromancer. If they manage to take him alive, I could have a unique opportunity for questions..." He mused aloud, finally pushing off the wall to stand.

"Guess I can't argue with the direct approach," Raemas admitted, pressing a hand to the eye on his tabard.

The eye of the Ocheliad tabard took a soft glow as the Captain spoke, "Sereant Haelolin... you're wanted at the Eastern Plaguelands outpost."

Immediately upon entering the abandoned inn, the musty atmosphere invaded Haelolin's nose and permeated through her sinuses, leaving the unpleasant scent to linger far too long. The entire area was like this, even her own, small shelter. Those that were posted at the ruined scarlet enclave were all too familiar with the everyday stench of the forgotten past surrounding the doldrums. Sathrasa greeted her as she stepped through the entryway.

"Blood Guard. Our necromagus is bound and ready for interrogation."

The unusually short, armored elf nodded and made her way up the stairs to the second level of the inn. Disturbed dust danced and swirled in the fading rays of light that peeked through the decaying rooftop. The room ahead was just as barren as the rest of the inn. A dilapidated table made its last stand beneath a ruined window that had long since been boarded up and forgotten with the rest of the dwelling. Behind her, the attending Ocheliad closed in, sealing off any possible escape for their cornered victim. Wellian's hulking, hunched form flanked her on the left, and one of the Ocheliad's newer warriors, Carlette, stood to her right. The feral worgen sniffed and snorted restlessly, as Sathrasa stooped down to free the necromage's mouth from the spellgem keeping it ajar. Straightening herself once more, the rogue nodded to the sergeant. Nearby, Mireinder, Udesil and Aziriel kept a watchful eye on the unfolding situation, as they occasionally bickered back and forth. Haelolin approached the bound and gagged spellslinger on his knees, sizing him up.

"I just got done playing with your other friends back in that slop-hole you call Stratholme. They screamed a lot..but for the most part, I couldn't understand a word of what they spoke. For your sake, I hope you're up on your common."

The Necromage immediately spat at the armored feet of the warrior, stringing together a slue of vile, demonic words and fragmented common from behind a startling total of two pitch black teeth.

"Feh! Undead vrakkan worthless; you worthless, all zenn daz! No speak, man'ari worm. Anach kyree, you...Shadow consumes weak like you, filth-treading rat. Rakkan, Modas raka karaman. No speak. Shaza-kiel to Master Graves."

Haelolin exhaled an impatient sigh as one hand roamed to the small of her back, pushing her cloak aside and freeing her dagger from the sheath strapped to her belt. The blood guard was obviously growing just as restless as the feral worgen that flanked her. Of course, it never took much to entice the warrior into reigning down pain upon others, for the sake of watching them suffer. A sadistic grin twisted along her lips as she wrapped her grip around her dagger and knelt before the bound male, who still uttered obscenities and curses upon her name. It was time to play the game 'her' way.

"I once knew a man, who spoke to me, of ways to remove organs and bones, without actually killing the victim..."

The warrior murmured this, almost with disinterest as the blade found purchase in the area just below his ribcage. Pushing suddenly, she tore easily through the robes and ripped into the skin beneath. She angled the blade upward, at a slow, steady push as she twisted and churned the insides at her mercy. By the time she was done, there was a decent-sized gouge. The man screamed and spat out another inventive string of curses, starting to run out of words and speaking mostly gibberish.

With a rather spacious, bloody opening now, Haelolin removed the dagger and replaced it with a plated finger that burrowed deep into the wound, grasping around for something as she leaned in closer, going deeper still. With each inch, each cry of his pain, her smile only broadened. Deeper and deeper she drove her finger, finding it more and more difficult to push away the essential tissue and muscle, until finally..she managed to touch the stiff promise of bone. With a final, upward shove, Haelolin barely managed to wrap a finger around what seemed to be a rib. Through fruitless, relentless tugging, she grinned, in a madman's playground.

"You sure you don't speak m.." Her interrogation was cut off by the satisfying break of his will as the man began pleading through pained screams.

"RAKKAN RAKKAN RAKKAN! Daz rakir! I speak! Thoraman gul mordanas! I speak I speak I speak! Ticharamir!"

She couldn't have grinned any wider if she wanted to.

"Udesil! Front and center!" She summoned the nearby Ocheliad warlock to her side, still trying to maintain a finger's slippery grip on the rib she'd confiscated.

"You play dirty with demons. Summon one to translate."

Udesii nodded and began conjuring the vile energy and spellpower that encompassed summoning the demonic servants that often aided him. Nearby, Haelolin made sure to slowly remove her finger from within the gaping wound, leaving pain in its wake. She stood and began shaking off the blood and bodily debris from her plated hand.

"Now then."

She paused, using the remaining blood to 'freshen up' the blood guard's mark upon her forehead. She purposely kept that wound fresh. It was a proud symbol of the fanaticism she dedicated to the Ocheliad.

"How are you controlling the scourge in the eastern half of the plaguelands?"

The necromage's eyes threatened to roll in their sockets as the shock began to sink in,
threatening to claim his consciousness. His words came forth slurred, not nearly as pointed as before. Defeated whimpers accompanied them here and there, as he spoke, or rather, pleaded in the vile language he'd been slinging around with such hate only moments before. Udesil's succubus listened with rapt attention, translating what she heard to whispers that she spoke into her master's ear with a seductive grin.

"He says he was given the scourgestone by master graves.." Udesil paused for a moment, as his enslaved seductress whispered to him. "There are many of them, and they grow stronger with each shell that their control manifests within. They bide their time afar. He senses that some are in Scholomance, others hide elsewhere. They seek to expand their domination and influence over the discarded scourge left behind in the plaguelands, so the power of the scourgestones has been spread amongst those that are willing to participate."

"Sounds like we'll get to do more digging, then." The blood guard looked far too pleased with this mention.

The confrontation in the Eastern Plaguelands had been tense, but Cyrus was secretly relieved it was over.

Cyrus had been informed by an Ocheliad eye at Corrin's Cross that Terra Incognita forces were looking through the area, attempting to discover what it was that was causing so much unrest among the undead in that arena. As they had approached the eastern bridge into the crossing, a death gate had opened, and Cyrus stepped through.

Kaellar, Feyah and Arlston had stopped cold upon seeing Cyrus, and a brief exhange occurred, where Arlston inched closer to the bridge at Cyrus's warning that they were to go no further. Upon seeing what could turn into a conflict, Feyah retreated back the way the three had come, likely off to call for assistance in dealing with Cyrus.

"This area is under the protection of the Ocheliad. Your incursion into the area ends here. Turn back now before you are forcibly removed," Cyrus spoke firmly before anyone else had the chance. Arlston had glanced back at Kaellar, already deciding that fighting Cyrus here wasn't worth the risks. They had done what they came to do, which was to discover the source of the undead's unrest. Upon Cyrus's appearance, that question was answered.

Cyrus's weapon was drawn first and several ghouls erupted from the ground at his silent call, immediately setting themselves upon Arlston. The rogue turned to lead them away, which left Kaellar alone with Cyrus for only a brief moment until Lahkin, Erelyn, Voldarr and Cirae arrived.

This is a lot of Light-wielder to deal with... I can't let it be known I don't have full control of these Scourge, yet, Cyrus thought.

Cyrus stood his ground on the narrow bridge before his many potential opponents. Lahkin was assuming the form of a stone drake, a trick no doubt obtained from his exploration of the spirit world mixed with the shaman blood he had.

The weapon in Cyrus's hand hissed quietly, and all paladin eyes were upon it. Cyrus didn't know for sure, but he could almost feel the muscles tense in them. Lahkin, Erelyn and Arlston pressed forward onto the bridge, to which Cyrus responded with a horizontal weapon swing. "Back off!" He shouted, widening his stance slightly to prepare for retaliation. Lahkin had leapt back to avoid the swing, and Arlston had tugged Erelyn back upon seeing the initial signs of hostile intent.

Lahkin was clearly deciding something, shaking his head after he had decided. "You will be seeing us again, Cyrus. Terrans... get back to the Peak," He said, allowing the other Terrans to mount up and leave before departing, himself.

Cyrus gave an audible sigh of relief. He knew that had those paladins attacked, they would have easily overwhelmed him. What likely saved him was that none of the Terrans knew if Cyrus had control of the local Scourge or not. Soon enough, they'd see for themselves. The glowing axe Cyrus held gave off the aura of hostility, and soon the undead here would rally under that drive.

Damn any human that stood in his way.

There was no explanation for it.

Sathrasa had been doing a regular patrol at Corin's Crossing, making sure none of the undead were attempting to escape. She had noticed a few had begun to obey Cyrus' call, or at least they seemed much less hostile to Ocheliad guards. Then again, that could be simply through the fear that fully armed and armored Ocheliad warriors and assassins gave the damned.

So it was a surprise to the black guard, then, to find an abomination's hook and cleaver in the middle of the town.

Not only that, but a holy rune was glowing brightly right beside them, and there were faint traces of what was once obviously rotted flesh. There were no tracks, only the damned remains, or what little there was, of the abomination.

She eyed the city around her, full of the undead who trundled about unnoticing of their fallen comrade...

Just what the hell did this?

Whoever it was, she resolved to find out. Someone was poking their soon-to-be-cut hand where it shouldn't be.

Speed.

He had never flown like this before.

The wind whistled against Lahkin's face audibly as his wings pumped double-time. He felt light, weightless, cutting through the air like a knife cut through warm better. Ridcully was half winged blur upfront of him, half purple and black sparks to his Other Sight. Despite the urgency pounding in his head to rescue Ulthryn, Lahkin felt he was in a dream.

"Catch me if you can, pretender!" The words drove Lahkin's wing strokes. Ridcully wasn't lying, he could FLY. Miles were laid out behind them, and the other dragon showed no sign of slowing. Lahkin's wings began to feel heavier. He'd have to end it, and end it quickly.

Ridcully seemed to have the same idea. They climbed into the air together, Lahkin twisting outward, in hopes he could get a little more room. A little more altitude...

The real dragon was more agile, however. Without warning, he snapped his wings to his sides and dropped out of the air right upfront of Lahkin's nose. The stone drake wheeled to follow, wings creaking, not fast enough. Hundreds of feet below, Ridcully pulled out of the dive and continued, dipping in and out of the trees like a dancer. A natural. Lahkin leveled out above him, taking shortcuts when he could judge the direction the other drake would go. Right, left, straight ahead, and--

Another feint. Lahkin couldn't pull up soon enough and plowed into the ground. Winded, he shook off clods of earth from his wingtips. Ridcully had another few lengths to his lead. Lahkin cursed vilely and jumped into the air again.

The dream slowly turned into a nightmare. The air slipping in and out of Lahkin's lungs began to hurt. His mucles burned, weakening. He kept going. Light knows what the dragon would do to Ulthryn. If he could just get...a little closer...

Ridcully was climbing again, up the sides of what Lahkin sure hoped wasn't the Twilight Citadel.

It was. Lahkin heaved himself into the task, grabbing gulps of air with his wings and punting them behind him. Coming to the top, he grabbed the ledge of the tower with his claws and hoisted up just in time to see Ridcully's tail swishing through a portal. Lahkin dived forward. The portal closed on his nose.

Lahkin's legs shivered under him. It was over. Ridcully was gone. And his knight, Ulthryn, was with him.

He couldn't stay here, not with the remnants of the Twilight's Hammer all over. Lahkin fell off the tower more than leaped, catching the wind current to take him back to Aerie Peak. His body gave up the goat, and he blacked out seconds after landing before the gates.

((Tried to be true to the dialogue, though it's not exactly the same as what was RPed.))

Feyah was the first thing he saw, leaning over him and peering anxiously. She put a cup to his lips, and Lahkin drank. Too much...he threw up right after.

The others arrived one by one, with the last being Kordrion, flying in with Cray perched on his shoulders. The paladin didn't look well, but at least they were all still alive. Cyrus had had reinforcements this time. What seemed like half of the Lluchuu Ocheliad, in fact...

Lahkin decided against sitting up to greet them, his vision still speckled from overextending himself. Erelyn took over from Feyah, bringing back the cup of water and ordering him to only take a few sips at a time.

In the meanwhile, Ridcully appeared.

He set Ulthryn down gently, holding one wing over the paladin protectively until Harmarth could help him up. "I'm glad, though surprised you kept your word," the rogue told the dragon.

Surprised Cyrus kept his word, too, Lahkin thought, closing his eyes. The dragon rumbled an accord, and demanded they tend to Ulthryn immediately. Harmarth and Erelyn stepped forward to help the concussed paladin inside.

When Lahkin next opened his eyes, Ridcully was standing over him, again in human form, and offering him his hand. "Pretend to be that which you are not again and I will killl you," the man warned him. "You did well for a whelpling."

Lahkin grunted. "Not to be difficult or anything, but why is it wrong for my kind to masquerade as yours when you can masquerade as ours?"

Ridcully smiled. "Because your kind makes doors too small. Now, I must see to my charge."

"Ulthryn?" Lahkin frowned, the exhaustion slowing his thinking. Ridcully seemed honorable enough, but he was also Cyrus' lackey...

Cyrus, who kept his word about returning Ulthryn after the second confrontation in the Plaguelands, who had killed no one despite Terra Incognita bringing an army to his doorstep.

The world really had gone mad.

Thinking he'd probably be sorry for this later, Lahkin nodded wearily, and turned to escort Ridcully inside. Erelyn met them coming back the other way, pausing and looking over them uncertainly.

"Is Ulthryn in the bunkhouse?" Lahkin asked.

"At the bar."

"Oh. Figures."

Behind him, Ridcully laughed.

Ulthryn was indeed sitting at the bar, staring into his mug. Under Erelyn's disapproving eye, Ridcully approached and greeted him. Lahkin watched, also. Neither of them seemed aggressive, and Ulthryn even promised to destroy any dragon teeth left behind by Ridcully's attack.

"I've been enslaved once; I won't be so again, by bone or blood," the dragon said. "May the wind always be under your wings. Farewell."

Once he was sure Ridcully was gone, Lahkin slumped on to the bar himself. He heard Erelyn's retreating footstep, and reflected that he'd get a dressing down about all this later.

And Ulthryn...Ulthryn did what he did best, and refused healing. At least, he refused until they chased him into Kordrion's office, bowled him over with crates propelled by a charging druid bear, and jabbed him with a tranquilizer. By that time, Ulthryn was no longer in any position to refuse.

And that was just fine by Lahkin. He had other things to worry about, not the least, what to do now about Cyrus... With the show tonight, Lahkin was half-convinced to let the whole thing go, and not merely because digging the entrenched Lluchduu Ocheliad out of Corin's Crossing would be difficult...

"Hm..." Cyrus thought, "This is going to escalate faster than I thought."

He reflected upon what had happened not an hour ago, going through every possible way that encounter could have ended. As far as Cyrus could tell, the Ocheliad had come out with their territory intact, so the worst-case scenario hadn't been realized.

The Ocheliad had been meeting by the west bridge of Corrin's Cross, awaiting Cyrus to update them as to his progress in chaining control of the Scourge in this area. The meeting had hardly been underway when Ulthryn, a Terran, had stepped onto the bridge and called the Ocheliad out. It seemed to be a recurring theme with this human to get himself in over his head, particularly when it involved Cyrus.

Cyrus stepped onto the bridge, eyeing the human coldly before Ulthryn shouted "To arms!", and was joined by at least seven other Terrans. Cyrus had as many Ocheliad at his back but he didn't want open conflict here. It would heavily risk the Scourge he was still working to control here. Getting them into a frenzy wasn't somethin Cyrus wanted the headache of dealing with, yet.

"Why not settle this yourself, boy!?" Cyrus shouted, a shield of necrotic energy swiping outward to enclose Ulthryn and himself. The Ocheliad, as well as a few Terrans, had to step back to avoid getting caught in it.

"Ulthryn, get out of there!" Lahkin had shouted. But he knew what Ulthryn knew. To do so would distract him from Cyrus, and he couldn't afford that.

Cyrus's weapon struck first, cleaving horizontally, which Ulthryn tried to parry by turning his sword downward. At impact, a ringing sound sounded that was loud enough for both combatants to hear for several seconds following. Cyrus pulled back his arm, reaching back for a downward swing, which Ulthryn side-stepped. Cyrus followed him by letting go of his weapon with his left hand and swinging it to simply slug Ulthryn, which is where the paladin saw his opening.

Ulthryn struck precisely, running Cyrus's hand through with his sword, using a free hand to grip Cyrus's weapon, keeping it away.

Ulthryn chanced a grin until he realized his blade wouldn't come loose. Cyrus's damaged hand had clamped down shut on the hilt of the weapon in a powerful grip. Cyrus used it to pull Ulthryn forward, headbutting him. Ulthryn was clearly seeing stars for a moment, which Cyrus used to slide his hand off the sword and spin the human around.

Before anyone could object, Ulthryn's back was to Cyrus. As a hostage. "Captain Ridcully! Take this one on a trip to the top of the world!" He tossed the human to Ridcully, who swiftly changed into a blue dragon and caught Ulthryn on his back.

The moment he was settled, Ridcully batted his wings once and was gone, high in the air with Lahkin immediately taking pursuit. ((Described in post #9, above.))

With Ridcully darting away, Ulthryn securely on his back and Lahkin right behind him, Cyrus returned his attention to the Terrans that remained.

"Terrans! Retreat now, and that paladin will be returned to you! It doesn't matter a damn bit to any of us if Ridcully drops him from the upper atmosphere," Cyrus said, axe still drawn as he stood firm, Terrans at the front and Ocheliad behind.

Only a tense moment had passed before Cray Auchtin, of the Presidium, had stepped past the Terran line and tried to confront Cyrus. "We came here to end this, Cyrus," He said, trying to maintain some form of confidence even after one of his comrades had been abducted.

"Your mouth is starting to irritate me," He said, making a quick flicking motion with his hand.

Seeing the subtle command, Lyrax attacked from the shadow of a nearby railing, managing to bury a shiv somewhere in Cray's armor. The injured paladin shouted in pain, and Lyrax vanished just as quick as he'd appeared. Cray grimaced, but managed to keep standing, even with a poison coursing through his veins. Lyrax seemed ready to try another strike, but Cyrus waved him off, watching Cray intently for any sign of real recovery. Paladins did have an uncanny ability to keep swinging through things like poisons.

Damn light-wielders.

The paladin did eventually collapse, and Cyrus stepped forward to claim another hostage on Imperon's orders. A quick movement from Kordrion caused Cyrus to step back in case he needed to defend Imperon, and Cray was recovered by the Terrans.

Deciding that they at least had taken Cray from what would have been Ocheliad custody, Kordrion called the Terrans back to regroup at Aerie Peak, leaving the remaining Ocheliad to continue their work.

For now.

The commander was going to hate this.

Another one of the runes, though this time glowing vibrantly, was found in one of the homes. In a small shack just at the north end of Corin's Crossing. The rune was meant to be dispelled easily, a warning or a test of some sort. Whoever was pushing their luck in the Ocheliad's affairs was quite stubborn. Though it was not just the runes anymore.

A small pile of bones and rotted flesh were found, the bare remnants of what once was, within the torn shack, heavy traces of holy magic flowing along them. Though it was not enough to destroy the last of them, it was enough to cause lasting damage to the undead that were once there.

Granted, it was only a few bodies at most; two or three. But the fact that someone kept comming in and was not only slaying the damned but purifying the remains - ritualistically, in fact - was something to be concerned about. And still she couldn't trace the magic; it was wavering, as if the creature using it were physically repulsed by it.

The commander was not going to enjoy hearing this.

The weapon's influence remains.

The voice resonated in Gondorin's thoughts as he sat, meditating, in his quarters in the Ebon Hold. "Yes," he breathed quietly.

The Highlord is concerned, Death Knight. The actions of the banshee in Lordaeron are worrisome enough; we don't need someone repeating the path that brought those lands to their current state.

Gondorin breathed more heavily, his deep inner rage struggling with the quiet of the grave he used to control his worgen urges; the quiet of the ceremony at Lor'danel likewise held his murderous Scourge impulses in check. He was grateful for the synergy. "I spoke with him. The concern for his well-being was expressed. It was met with hostility and threats. He's fooling himself into believing it's merely his desire to protect his order's land claims."

Let them claim the lands. Worry for your own Ebon Sanction; you operate out of lands abutting theirs. Those lands are owned by the Ebon Hold, but have been left fallow for a reason. The Ocheliad are temporal; we are eternal. Worry more for the weapon he holds.

Gondorin nodded, the habit of breathing having never left him, even if he no longer needed it. He could feel unholy energies suffusing him, restoring him, forever keeping him in the curious state of undeath unique to Death Knights. They brought him comfort. Somewhere deep inside his psyche, a wolf howled, and a flash of the murder of his wife and daughters startled his eyes open.

The Throne maintains control of the Scourge left after Arthas' death. More localized efforts at interfering with them runs the risk of awakening horrors better left slumbering. It will not end well for this world if the Throne stirs. This weapon threatens that tenuous balance.

"We shouldn't make enemies of the Ocheliad. They'll support Cyrus if this comes to blows. They're allies, and with the current global political climate, we can't afford to split Stormwind's forces."

He could feel displeasure knifing through him. What is the first tenet of your Ebon Sanction, Gondorin Ragefang?

Gondorin sighed. "Loyalty to the Ebon Blade first, the Alliance second, personal goals last."

It would be a shame for your people to learn their Commander doesn't practice what he preaches, just as you're starting to gain traction with the Alliance. The Ebon Hold requires those connections, and you're aware of the consequences of Brynnara Matheredor's previous failure.

Gondorin nodded, shuddering slightly, trying hard not to notice a nearby shambling abomination. Was it merely a trick of the light, or did he see a blue horn tip subtly piercing the side of the thing's face?

Watch, but do not wait too long to act should it become necessary.

"Allies would be beneficial if things come to a head." His rage was settling into a place of warmth and drive; action was coming.

Look to the skies where the low dwell. The wings of light have contended with this before.

Gondorin rose some hours later. "The wings of light..." he muttered as he touched a glimmering gem on his breastplate; his frostwyrm, Shilygosa, would be waiting for him on the platform overlooking the Scarlet Enclave.

"Perhaps it's time to visit the Aerie."

Control had been hard-fought for, but it had been achieved.

The Scourge between Corin's Cross and the old Scarlet Enclave were loyal to the Ocheliad, now that the local necromancers and managers had been taken care of. However, Cyrus had begun noticing small differences in the undead that now knew him as master. Many of them were showing very subtle signs of individuality, like of them pulling off a helmet only for another to pick it up off the ground and wear it. Were all the signs of this free will so small, it would bother Cyrus, but it had escalated.

That morning, he'd had the first encounter with his own personal brand of Forsaken. One of the dominated undead guarding the gate had willingly left his post, approaching Cyrus near the Ocheliad command post in the ruins. "Return to your post, bones. Don't need your corpse stink on my armor," Cyrus had said passively, not aware yet of the will this undead was exerting.

"Ch-cha-challenge.... w-will of m--... self..." The standing corpse stammered, its whole body quaking as if just standing was enough of a task. The mental strain of breaking away from Cyrus' control was distracting it from its own motor skills, it seemed.

This drew immediate attention of Cyrus, who stepped down from the steps of the town hall-turned-command post. "What did you say?" He spoke in a harsh, demanding tone.

"Hu-hurt... mmh.... soul. Mi-mine," It rambled on, still trying to grasp at ways to string himself together intelligently.

"Oh. I see," Cyrus spoke rather calmly, stepping closer to the undead and resting a hand on its shoulder. "Go on. You can do it," He said as if encouraging such independent behavior.

The undead's eyes revealed a possible glint of hope. Perhaps its newly found master wished good things for those who served him, even to the point of empowering those who were willingly loyal. "H-hold he-heart. Self. Hold... own soul. A-am... Akrimos," It spoke, its confidence helping it get a few words in a coherent order under what felt like encouragement from Cyrus. "Akrimos... fr-free?"

"Freedom?" Cyrus asked, letting his hand fall from the undead's shoulder. "Why would you want freedom?"

The undead's head tilted fractionally, trying to understand what he was being asked.

"What good would it do you? What good would a name do you now?" Cyrus asked as chains of ice slip from the ground, coiling around the undead's legs to pull him to his knees. The large Draenei started a slow, hovering circle as he paced around the subjugated rotter. "There is no freedom for you. You don't have a name. You haven't earned it. You're too weak," He says, but not in a taunting manner. Cyrus' words come off almost as if he was teaching a student.

"Your purpose..." He continued, the chains suddenly constricting and shattering the undead's legs and sending it flat on its face. "Your purpose in this world is to die, undead. Akrimos lived a long time ago, but all that remains is a corpse to fight for my wants. Do you... understand that?" He asks, using his hoof to turn the undead onto its back.

(( continued ))

The glowing blue eyes of the undead staring up at him in a mixture of confusion and strain, Cyrus decided his word would not suffice. "You... cannot be allowed to continue inspiring other undead to resist me. So, there is one thing you have done with your small moment of free thought, undead," He says as he kneels and places a hand over Akrimos' forehead, covering his eyes as well.

"You have changed your fate."

Akrimos' decayed lips crooked in what could have been a hopeful smile as Cyrus lowered his voice to a whisper.

"Your fate is no longer to die fighting for my wants. Yours is to serve as an example to your undead comrades, to... drown in your despair. So the others will see what freedom brings. Rest assured that you will suffer doing a service to me. Let that be an honor you cling to, so that your eternal hurt will have meaning in your free mind," He spoke as if the notion was supposed to assuage Akrimos' fears.

Cyrus' grip tightened on Akrimos' forehead, and a blue necrotic energy illuminated the ground for several feet in any direction. After a moment, the dim light faded, and Cyrus stepped away.

All was still for several moments before Akrimos began madly flailing across the ground, everything gone from the waist down. The seemingly intelligent being from before was replaced by an absolutely incoherent, screaming ghoul. The shrieks were loud enough to draw two other undead guards from the gate. When they neared, they stopped and looked to Cyrus for instruction.

"Hang him above the northern gate, and give him an appropriate label. If he's too close to the western gate, the damn Argents might hear and bother me again," He said as if the whole incident hadn't had the first bit of impact on him.

As the guards were dragging away the inconsolable Akrimos, Cyrus just watched from where he was.

The undead was hoisted up by a chain wrapped around his neck and a wooden sign nailed to his chest. The very simple and clear message carved into the wooden slab might even chill the dead. Hopefully, the effect would be enough to dissuade any undead that managed enough coherent thought to read from trying to actually break from Cyrus' control.

The wooden sign read, "Freedom is a lie."

((War is peace, freedom is tyranny?))

07/31/2012 12:06 AMPosted by Lahkin

((War is peace, freedom is tyranny?))

(( Heh. Felt like adding an additional factor, where Cyrus is worried about losing his control. Might have reached into the creepy stuff a little. ))

07/31/2012 08:50 AMPosted by Çyrus

((War is peace, freedom is tyranny?))

(( Heh. Felt like adding an additional factor, where Cyrus is worried about losing his control. Might have reached into the creepy stuff a little. ))

((You say that like it's a bad thing. :P ))

07/31/2012 08:50 AMPosted by Çyrus

((War is peace, freedom is tyranny?))

(( Heh. Felt like adding an additional factor, where Cyrus is worried about losing his control. Might have reached into the creepy stuff a little. ))

((The creepy stuff is the good stuff! :D ))