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User:Joshmaul/The Soulless and the Dead

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Contents

Dramatis Personae

The Death Knights

The Alliance

The Horde

The Scarlet Crusade

The Scourge

Others

  • A'dal (naaru) - Master of the Sha'tar
  • Khadgar (male human) - Advisor to A'dal
  • Medivh (male human?) - Guardian of Tirisfal
  • Prince Keleseth (male Vrykul) - warlock residing in Utgarde Keep

Prologue

In the lull period after the Battle of Mount Hyjal, it was a time of great deeds...and even greater evils.

Long before the war against the Scourge reached Northrend - due in part to the Argent Dawn giving chase when Kel'Thuzad, once believed to be defeated, fled across the Great Sea in his great necropolis, Naxxramas - the land was still trying to heal itself, and the war had spread across not only our world...but onto another as well: the near-mythical lands beyond the Dark Portal.

As of this writing, much has occurred in the war in Outland. Illidan is dead, as are the majority of his lieutenants, through cunning trickery and careful planning on the part of the Broken draenei Akama. Prince Kael'thas, who betrayed all sentient life to the Burning Legion, sought to rekindle the flame of the Sunwell through the energy of the Twisting Nether collected by his manaforges in Netherstorm. Though he was defeated by adventurous individuals of both Alliance and Horde, the treacherous blood elf escaped his rightful fate. The naaru - the beings of light that aided the draenei in their flight from Kil'jaeden and Archimonde, millennia earlier - believe that though Kael'thas has been driven from Tempest Keep, his goals have not been slowed in the slightest. With the energy he collected, Kael'thas intended to return to Quel'Thalas and resurrect the Sunwell, not as the source of energy for his people as it had been, but as a mystic portal to summon the last of the three great lords of the Burning Legion: Kil'jaeden.

But even the Deceiver was not strong enough for the powers wielded by both the Alliance and the Horde, and he too was banished to the hell that spawned him. The Burning Legion is leaderless, the Illidari crushed...but a nearly forgotten threat still lurked in the frozen hell of Northrend: the Undead Scourge that destroyed the Kingdom of Lordaeron and very nearly the rest of the world as pawns of the Legion.

Over a period of nearly a decade, two men's destinies would be intertwined with the war in Northrend. One is human, and serves the Alliance; one is forsaken, and serves the Horde. Both, however, are united by a single factor: They both once served the Scourge, willingly or otherwise, at one point in their lives. This chronicles their rise to prominence among the Alliance and their fall to the depravity of the Scourge...and their eventual return to the ranks of the sane.

- Saavedro of Stratholme, Frozen Hell: Taking the War to the Scourge (written two years after these events)

Part 1

Caer Darrow - Darrowmere Lake
Approximately ten years before the fall of Lordaeron

"Quiet morning this morning, m'lord Baron," the gatewatcher at the entrance to Caer Darrow commented.

"Indeed," the nobleman approaching commented.

"From what I hear, neither his Lordship nor the family have left the palace in a week. Entertaining some Kirin Tor type."

Artimus Devaneaux took in this information with a frown crossing his face. "That is unusual. Usually Lord Alexei enjoys flaunting his power in the other towns in his control. But there's been no activity whatsoever...and that's partly why I'm here." He scratched his graying black beard thoughtfully, then dismounted, straightening the white tabard of Lordaeron over his blue tunic and trousers, tucked into thigh-length boots. Though he was a minor noble in the servitude of the House of Barov, he was also a royal appointment, named Magistrate of Tirisfal by King Terenas himself.

But his master, Alexei Barov, had been silent as of late. In fact, there had been no word from either him nor anyone in the family for some time, and Artimus was worried. Rumors abound of death cults rising in northern Lordaeron, not far from this area, in fact...could it be linked to the Barovs' lack of contact? Steeling himself, Artimus entered the palace...and was surprised to see none of the guards were at their posts, nor were there any servants bustling about. The place felt eerily empty. He unsheathed a pair of short blades from his belt, a black falcon engraved on the pommels. They were given to him by Aedelas Blackmoore after winning a tournament in Durnholde some years ago...and he remembered running one of them into the heart of a self-righteous northerner - the daughter of a high priest, he found out later - who had left a scar running down the side of his face after one of those bouts...right before smashing his face into the stonework and knocking him out. The blade was still stained with her blood.

He could sense something was here. Something...not quite right. Something you could call evil. Fading into the shadows with practiced skill, the nobleman could hear voices echoing from lower levels. Deep in the ancient catacombs beneath the palace. Wary but intrigued, Artimus crept down the stairs, blades in hand, and followed the sound of the voices. He could hear more distinct words...

"...been busy down here," he heard Lady Illucia say clearly. "But you have yet to tell us what you want from us."

"Very well," replied a deep, cultured voice. "My master has ordered me and my Cult of the Damned to begin operations in Lordaeron, to raise legions to do his bidding. There are living men and women who could be...persuaded to see things from our point of view. A...college, of sorts, a school of the art, is required to entice them. To that end, we need the use of your palace halls and catacombs, to become part of this...Scholomance. My master also asks for your allegiance."

"Allegiance? In exchange for what?" Lord Alexei demanded.

"Give yourselves willingly to my master, and he will gift you with power beyond your imagination...and grant the gift of immortality. Before you demand a demonstration...I have already given it to you."

Artimus detected a smell in the air that he didn't recognize. Something rotten. Something...dead.

Lord Alexei was silent for a moment, then he spoke again. "Very well, Lord Kel'Thuzad. The House of Barov is at your disposal."

Kel'Thuzad? The archmage of Dalaran? Artimus had encountered the man at least once before. And he's here to create a school...a Scholomance, he called it. School of what? He took a peek around the corner into the chamber. Lord Alexei and Lady Illucia were standing before a tall, regal-looking man in purple robes. That had to be Kel'Thuzad. And standing with him...Artimus' eyes widened in horror.

Undead! A necromancer! He was putting the dots together in his head. Cult of the Damned...Scholomance...necromancy! He is the source of these damn death cults...but he serves a greater master, he says. What could it be? And who will believe me if I tell them?


City of Lordaeron, Tirisfal Glades
Shortly before the fall of Lordaeron

Standing on one of the balconies, helm under one arm and listening silently, General Settra was biting his tongue to keep from saying something brash, or crushing a few of these idiot politicians' skulls with his battle hammer. At least the damned Kirin Tor had the right idea about what to do with this plague in northern Lordaeron.

"This plague that has gripped the northlands could have dire ramifications," the ambassador from Dalaran was saying.

"Plague? You wizards are just being paranoid!" one of the other ambassadors scoffed. Settra bit back an angry retort.

"Let's keep all this in perspective," a member of the Lordaeron court said. "Even if this 'plague' does pose a threat to us, what are you proposing that we do?"

"It is simple," the Dalaran ambassador said, with a hint of smugness in his voice. "As I have said, the Kirin Tor are already prepared to place the villages under strict quarantine --"

"I will not institute quarantine without proof of your claims, Ambassador," King Terenas interrupted, his voice dripping with scorn as he said "Ambassador". "The people of Lordaeron have suffered enough without becoming prisoners in their own lands."

Brave words, your Majesty, Settra thought sarcastically, turning his attention away from the aging King. His own territory, in the area between Hearthglen, Stratholme and the border of Quel'Thalas, had already been overrun by this plague, and yet the senile old fool did nothing. Settra thought that Terenas should abdicate, but Prince Arthas was too inexperienced and brash to take the throne now...though his service record with the Silver Hand was fairly impressive, the general had to admit. No, it was likely that the Magistrate of Tirisfal, one Artimus Devaneaux, would probably be made Regent until the nobility believed Arthas was prepared for the throne.

"Yet prisoners they are, good king," came a voice from inside the room - and not one he recognized. Settra turned his attention back to the floor, to see a wizard of some kind in patchwork robes and holding a staff with a carved crow perched atop it.

"What is the meaning of this?" Terenas demanded. "Who are you?"

"Humanity is in peril!" the stranger replied, raising a hand. "The tides of darkness have come again, and the whole world is poised upon the brink of war."

Wonderful. Another prophet telling us our kingdom is doomed, Settra thought scornfully. Didn't we hear all this drivel in the last war?

"Enough of this!" the Dalaran ambassador shouted. "Guards! Remove this madman."

"Hear me!" As the guards tried to pull him away, the stranger continued. "The only hope for your people is to travel west, to the forgotten lands of Kalimdor."

The ambassador looked like he was about to break out of his armored robes. "Travel west? Are you mad?!"

"Hold, Ambassador!" the King of Lordaeron commanded, standing. He pointed a finger at the stranger. "I don't know who you are, or what you believe, but this is not the time for rambling prophets. Our lands are beset by conflict, but it shall be we who decide how best to protect our people, not you! Now begone!"

The stranger was silent for a moment, glancing at the floor. "I failed humanity once before, and I will not do so again." He looked up at Terenas. "If you cannot take up this cup, then I shall find another who will." The man bowed and left the throne room.


"Our options are limited, General," the Dalarani ambassador said after the conference had ended. "You've said the plague has already taken hold in your territories, but of all of the leaders in this part of the world, only Lord Antonidas seems genuinely concerned about it. The Lightbringer is too loyal to Terenas, and Prince Arthas...too young and inexperienced. Stormwind is a good two weeks on gryphon-back, and even longer taking the sea. I don't know what we can do."

"For now, there is not much we can do," Settra said, his voice dripping with contempt. "Senile or not, Terenas is still my King, and he is still the leader of the Alliance. I will stand by him, as I am sure Lord Antonidas will as well."

The ambassador nodded. "If it comes to war with these so-called death cults," Settra continued, "I will be there, and I will kill anyone who subscribes to such disgusting drivel."


Road to Tyr's Hand, Eastern Plaguelands
Two years after the fall of Lordaeron

Artimus Devaneaux kept his mask over his face to keep from breathing the toxic fumes that had taken this land. Beside him, equally masked and attired in his gold-plate armor, was General Settra, leading a battalion of troops from the Lordaeron resistance - what remained after the death of Lord Garithos. When Artimus heard that Settra was heading into the Plaguelands, he asked for an escort as far as the road to Tyr's Hand. He had received an invitation...he was still re-reading it in his mind.

Lord Artimus -

We understand that you were once a vassal of the House of Barov and served as Tirisfal's Magistrate before the fall of Lordaeron. We have also heard that you have great skill with a blade, and an unshakable faith in the Light. Our new order could use such men to lead our efforts into retaking Lordaeron from the undead - Scourge or otherwise - and restoring it as much as possible.

We await you in Tyr's Hand. Do not keep us waiting.

- Abbendis
High General of the Scarlet Crusade

"This is where we separate, old friend," Settra said. "We must go on to Stratholme, and fight the Scourge there."

"Very well then." He held out his gloved hand to shake. "Light be with you, General."

"And you, m'lord." Settra took it (lightly, as he was in armor), then gestured to his men. "Move out!" With that, Artimus continued alone on the road, and to an uncertain destiny...

Part 2

Flashback: King Terenas' Study, City of Lordaeron
Three days before the arrival of Medivh

"Your Majesty, Magistrate Devaneaux requests a private audience," the Royal Chamberlain said.

King Terenas Menethil II was seated at his desk, rubbing his eyes tiredly. His desk was strewn with reports from Hillsbrad - Durnholde had fallen, and the orcs were regrouping. Perhaps this would be good news. "Send him in."

"Yes, Sire." The Chamberlain bowed and opened the door, and three figures entered the room. One of them was Artimus Devaneaux, the Magistrate of Tirisfal; one was Sekhesmet, a member of the Lordaeron high priesthood; and the third was clearly a warrior, bronze-skinned like the High Priest, but far younger, and with a full head of hair. "Ah, Artimus," the King said with a smile. "It is good to see you." Despite the fact he was a vassal of the House of Barov, Artimus had been one of Terenas' most loyal supporters.

Artimus bowed. "Your Majesty."

"Who is this you bring with you?"

The bronze-skinned warrior stepped forward. "I am called Settra, your Majesty. I...was...the royal magistrate of Borealis."

"Was?" the King asked quizzically.

"A plague has broken out in northern Lordaeron, my King," Sekhesmet said, speaking clearly and firmly despite his age (he was slightly younger than Terenas himself). "Something we have no knowledge to combat. My former apprentice, the High Priest of Stratholme, was sent to investigate these claims for himself, and it appears that Borealis has turned into a ghost town; the survivors could not even arrange proper burials for the dead."

"What is the cause of this...plague, Master Sekhesmet?" Terenas wanted to know.

"We don't know. All we can tell is that it is quick, and it is extremely volatile. When Lord Settra and his party arrived from Borealis, and he explained what had happened, I had them all examined. They have no traces of this disease with them...if they had, we would have had to kill them, to prevent this plague from infecting the capital."

"And your apprentice...Saavedro, his name was?" At Sekhesmet's nod, Terenas asked, "What were his findings?"

"He reported that the ground seemed...sickly, and that the trees were dying, rotting with tumors and disease." Lowering his voice, he added, "This is most dire news, Sire. I think it might be linked to these death cults that have been spreading throughout the northlands, and..." He fell silent, but Artimus spoke up now. "With the reports that the House of Barov has joined into these cults, we feel certain something is on the rise."

Terenas looked ready to slump over at his desk, but still spoke clearly. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Master Sekhesmet." He glanced at Settra. "If these death cults rise up to become a real threat, I want someone who knows the threat well enough to combat it. Are you up for the task?"

"I am, my King."

"Very well. I am hereby giving you a place in the Army, with the rank of General. You will report directly to Lord Uther. In three days time, the other nations will have ambassadors here to discuss the...increasing hostilities as of late. I would like you to be present."

"Of course, Sire." Settra saluted. "For the Alliance."

Terenas nodded absently and dismissed them with a wave of his hand.


Once out of Terenas' earshot, Settra shook his head. "I think his mind's almost completely gone. In three days, he'll probably forget we had this conversation."

"He might, but Uther won't," Artimus pointed out. "Besides, you have to consider, Settra. Terenas has ruled Lordaeron for seventy years - and he's been the leader of the Alliance for the last twenty."

"I think he has grown somewhat complacent," Sekhesmet remarked. "Thirteen years of relative peace, only a few minor squabbles - the Dragonmaw, Alterac, forest troll incursions, Anasterian thinking he did all he needed to...Genn Greymane telling us all to go to hell." He chuckled sadly. "Now this."

"If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I must report to Lord Uther immediately." Settra bowed slightly.


Tyr's Hand, Eastern Plaguelands
Two years after the fall of Lordaeron

"Halt, traveller." The Scarlet sentry looked him over. "What business have you here?"

"I am here at the request of your High General." He handed the sentry the letter from Abbendis. The sentry read it quickly, then nodded and handed it back. "They're waiting for you in the abbey," the Crusader said, pointing.

"Thank you." Artimus bowed slightly. He looked up, and could see the blue sky breaking through the plaguemist. He lowered his mask and breathed the fresh air deeply. He was gratified that he was not choking on the air here, as he had been when he passed into what was called the Western Plaguelands - the area around Andorhal and Hearthglen. Even the trees were still alive here, and the city relatively intact. Clicking his tongue, he urged his horse forward to the abbey.

Right at the step was another Scarlet Crusader, a young woman. "I'll take your horse, m'lord," she said, reaching out her hand to take the reins. Artimus nodded and dismounted. "It was a long trip...please make sure he has some water and something to eat," he told her. The Crusader nodded and led the horse over to the troughs. Breathing deeply again - but this time, to steel his nerves - he walked into the abbey. He straightened his clothing...and the Lordaeron tabard, now dirty and tattered but still proudly worn. That was how they would recognize him - he hoped.

"Lord Artimus?" A woman in red plate and wearing a different tabard from the rank-and-file Crusade walked up to him. A paladin, Artimus could tell. "High General Abbendis, I presume?" the former Magistrate said, smiling.

Abbendis nodded and returned the smile, somewhat tightly. "Welcome to Tyr's Hand. The Highlord is waiting."

"Then please, lead on."

Abbendis led Artimus into a side room from the main hall, and there two individuals were seated - one in priestly robes and a red chapeau on his head, holding a staff, and the other in ornate black plate armor, his hand resting on the hilt of an elaborate blade. The round crystal on the blade bore an imprinted hand - the symbol of the Knights of the Silver Hand, the now-defunct paladin order - and the hilt itself was in the shape of the L symbol of the flag of Lordaeron...but in the red of the Crusade.

"Lord Artimus, this is Grand Inquisitor Isillien, our chief spiritual leader..." Isillien nodded curtly. "And this is the head of the Crusade, Highlord Mograine."

"Mograine..." Artimus had heard that name before, becoming near legendary to the survivors of Lordaeron. He glanced at the sword in Mograine's hand. "Ashbringer."

Abbendis nodded. "Indeed. I'm not surprised you've heard of the Highlord...anyone from Lordaeron would have."

"Your willingness to travel across the Plaguelands is indicative of your...acceptance of Abbendis' offer," Mograine said, a smile on his face. "We have need of your skills in our ranks. You are probably aware, from your past, of the existence of the Monastery in Tirisfal?" At Artimus' nod, Mograine continued. "We are making that area into a major base, to contend with not only the Scourge in the area, but also these...Forsaken that have taken over the ruins of the Capital City. You are probably more familiar with the Tirisfal area than most of us. So I will send you back to Tirisfal at the rank of Commander, and you will be the military leader of the Monastery until such time as it is fully manned, in which case we will give you new tasks. The pass between the Western Plaguelands and Tirisfal remains surprisingly clear, but do not be fooled."

"First, we must attire you accordingly," Isillien commented. He stood, and handed Artimus a suit of leather armor and a clean white tabard bearing the red flame that symbolized the Crusade. "Wear our colors with pride, Commander Devaneaux. And be merciless in your quest."

"I will." With his free hand, he saluted.


Slaughter Square, Ruins of Stratholme
Around the same time

Settra's battle hammer smashed through the waves of abominations as he approached the so-called slaughterhouse that served as Scourge headquarters in Stratholme - or as he and his troops called it, the Burning City. The men were dying all around him, but Settra felt no fear. He would prevail, or he would die. Such was the fate of a man with nothing to live for.

Suddenly, the abominations ceased their attack, and indeed started standing to the side as the doors to the slaughterhouse opened once more. But instead of more abominations or skeletal troopers, a mostly-mortal man approached. He rode a skeletal warhorse in blue livery, his eyes black with glowing blue pupils, and he held a runeblade in his right hand. A death knight.

"Baron Rivendare," the warrior breathed.

"General Settra," the Baron replied, a wicked smile on his face. "So, you are the thorn in our sides, causing all of this chaos in our city."

"I am that and more, treacherous foulspawn," Settra hissed. "Are you still man enough to fight with me?"

"All who oppose the Scourge will die," Rivendare said coolly, "and be reborn in the Lich King's service."

Settra smiled grimly. "We will see about that." With that, Settra charged towards the mounted figure and - with a last-second leap - tackled the Baron off his foul steed. Death knight and bitter warrior wrestled on the cobblestones, both unable to bring their weapons to bear. Finally, Settra pinned the Baron under his legs and roared into the burning sky as he lifted his hammer.

Which then suddenly fell from his hands. Settra looked down into his chest. Rivendare's runeblade had come up without his realizing, piercing through his breastplate and poking out from his shoulderblades. His eyes widened in horror as he toppled to the side, the Baron's sword still impaling him. "Let me enjoy...the peace of death," he whispered. "If there is anything still human within you, Baron....give me a clean death!"

"A part of me is inclined to agree with your request," the Baron admitted, seeming to ponder about it. "You fight with great tenacity and strength...though you are also somewhat reckless." Then Rivendare grinned wickedly. "The Lich King could use such warriors in his service." The Baron's hands began to pulse with shadow energy. Settra had the energy to do one last thing.

A piercing scream echoed through the Burning City...followed by cruel, unholy laughter.


Necropolis Naxxramas, off the coast of northern Lordaeron
Two weeks later

Settra's eyes opened, and he glanced around the room. There was a strange feeling in his head he had not felt before. A voice whispering in his brain.

"Awake? Good! We thought that the Baron's ministrations had had an...adverse effect." He looked up to see a man with a long white beard, dressed in a blue robe, wearing a horned skull on his head. "I am Gothik...the Harvester. You have been chosen."

"By the Lich King?" Settra asked, surprised at how guttural his voice sounded.

The Harvester nodded. "By the Lich King, and by the Master. The Baron saw great potential in you, and so the Master allowed you to come here, to his citadel. You are to be trained here."

"Trained for what?"

"The Lich King's aspiring death knights are trained in this place. For the most part, the trainees are human. You will be among the first who have been raised as undead before undergoing this training - and thus, you will be tested far more than they, for you can now endure far more." Gothik smiled. "The Master is awaiting you. Come."


Led deep into Naxxramas, Settra walked into a frozen throne room. Gothik commanded him to wait, and then knelt before the glowing skeletal figure in front of the throne. "Lord Kel'Thuzad, the prodigal as you requested."

"Leave us, Harvester." The voice seemed to echo throughout the room. Gothik bowed and made his way out. Soon, it was just Settra...and the Master of Naxxramas.

Kel'Thuzad.

"So, you have finally come to," the Archlich commented. "We had thought the Baron's spell had...misfired. Alas, necromancy is not an exact science."

"What is it you want from me? The necromancer said you and the Lich King had...chosen me?"

"Indeed. The Lich King's greatest servant, Prince Arthas, remains in Kalimdor. We need a commander to help lead our legions in his absence. You know the ways of battle well enough, but learning the powers at your disposal will take time...and we do not have it. The Dreadlords left in charge at Archimonde's command have done nothing but run the Scourge into the ground. This must not be allowed to transpire." Kel'Thuzad paused to led that sink in. "I will give you one week, to learn the rudimentary powers at your disposal. Then we must travel to the ruins of the City of Lordaeron, where the power of the Scourge in this land is based. There..we wait."

"For Arthas?"

Kel'Thuzad nodded - as much as a lich could nod, at any rate. "Correct."

Settra seemed to consider this...then nodded. "Very well, Master."


The Bulwark - Between the Western Plaguelands and Tirisfal Glades
Four years later

Artimus had travelled these ways many times before and knew how to avoid the patrols of the Forsaken and the traitors of the "Argent Dawn" at their encampment, right on the border between Tirisfal and the Western Plaguelands. Through stealth, bribery and trickery, he kept the way open between the bases at Hearthglen and Tyr's Hand, and the Monastery in Tirisfal.

Accompanying him were a battalion of troops destined for the Monastery. Abbendis seemed to think that he was now nothing more than a ferryman who led the troops to their new posting, and came back and waited for his master's call. I am not one of Loksey's hounds, he thought contemptuously. Whatever happened to "We have need of your skills"? Any other thoughts he might have had on the subject were suddenly gone, as his acute rogue's senses picked up...intruders. A familiar aura of death. At that moment, out of nowhere it seemed, six robed figures stood in the road. Artimus recognized them instantly.

Barov necromancers - students of the Scholomance.

"To arms!" he shouted - just as a thrown dagger pierced his shoulder. From behind him, the column was being slaughtered by skeletal troopers and ghouls that had followed them from Dalson's Tears. His shoulder was burning like mad, and then he realized why. It was poisoned.

Artimus fell from his mount and onto the ground, and the Barov necromancers each took turns leaving slashes across his body, tearing and bloodying his Scarlet tabard. Breathing raggedly, Artimus could only stare at the necromancers, who stared balefully back at him.

"Leave him," one of them said. "Lord Alexei will be pleased that this traitor has been dealt with as he deserves."

Then they were gone.


Ambermill, Silverpine Forest
One week later

The Dalaran sentry looked up in surprise to see a pale, raggedly-breathing human trotting slowly on his horse. "Halt! What is your purpose here?" he said in a commanding voice.

"I require a healer," Artimus said, surprisingly clearly. The Dalaran sentry could see he was covered in bloody slashes, and black fluid trickled from a wound in his shoulder. "Poisoned blade...resisted as much as...possible..." With that, he slumped off his horse and onto the ground, dimly hearing the sentry call for a medic...

Part 3

Flashback: Tirisfal Glades
At the time of Arthas' return

Settra knelt before his lord, the embodiment of the Lich King's power in Lordaeron. "General Settra, I am placing you at the southeastern pass, with your master Kel'Thuzad," Arthas instructed. "Your duty is to prevent the humans from escaping through the pass. Show no quarter, no mercy. None must survive. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my King."

Arthas smiled, almost benevolently, at him. "You are what all who serve the Lich King aspire to be, Settra. Immortal, powerful...deadly. Prove our master's faith in you."

"I will, Sire. That you can count on."

Arthas nodded. "Then to your positions. Ensure that none survive."


Standing on a bluff above the pass, runeblade drawn, Settra held a battalion of ghouls waiting in ambush. The humans might think the pass clear, despite the nearby, malevolent presence of Kel'Thuzad. They were in for a rude awakening.

Right on cue, human villagers were making their way down the road. "The humans are nearing the pass. Stop them!" Kel'Thuzad commanded.

Settra raised a mailed fist in the air, and the ghouls bunched their rotted leg muscles up to spring. As the humans crossed the threshold, his fist came down. In perfect precision, the ghouls came out and began to tear into the humans. Leaping from the bluff, his runeblade flashed in the air as it sliced through human flesh. He decapitated, disemboweled, and dismembered the humans with swift, surprisingly graceful strokes...for being a rotting corpse himself, he had lost none of his strength or skill in combat.

When it was done, Settra screamed and clutched his head, as if what remained of his brain was on fire. Something was wrong. The Lich King's voice, an ever-persistent whisper that guided him, became an echoing cry of agony, and then...disappeared.

Gratefully, he disappeared into blessed unconsciousness.


Sekhesmet's Mausoleum, Brill Cemetery
Shortly after the King's Exit

Settra awoke in pitch blackness. He sniffed the air around him - with what remained of his senses, he could detect the sickly sweet smell of embalming fluid, attempting to cover up the rot of the corpse it preserved. He was in some kind of tomb. Coming unsteadily to his feet, he pushed open the doors to the mausoleum. He stepped out into the green-tinged skies of Tirisfal Glades, picking up his blade from the floor. Curious, he turned around to read the name above the door to the tomb: "SEKHESMET".

Now he knew where he was exactly: The graveyard just outside of Brill. Curious, he read the two plaques placed just outside the door. The first read:

Here lies Euphrati, Beloved Daughter of Sekhesmet
Taken From This Life by an Assassin's Blade
Aged Thirty-Two Years

The second:

Here lies Sekhesmet of Stratholme
Devout Priest - Loving Father - Gifted Leader
Taken From This Life by the Scourge of Lordaeron
Aged Eighty-Two Years

Settra sat down heavily on the plagued soil of the graveyard, and grieved for his lost friend, the High Priest. He found this odd. As a member of the Scourge, he was not allowed the luxury of such emotions...then he remembered what he had felt just before losing consciousness. The Lich King's scream of pain, and then...silence.

I am free of the Lich King's domination, he realized. But what can I do? Where can I go? Kel'Thuzad will no doubt hunt for me...as will his lackey who cursed me so, the damned Baron Rivendare. He looked down at himself, and shuddered. I am...monstrous. I eat the flesh of the living, my body is rotted...but my mind is my own...and I still possess the powers granted me in the halls of Naxxramas. How is this possible?

"Struggling with inner doubts, General?"

Settra's head spun around at the sound of the voice. He recognized the questioner instantly. "Sylvanas." He held up his blade in a battle stance. "You'll not take me, Scourge scum!"

"Stay your weapon, General. Like you, I no longer hear the Lich King's voice in my skull." Sylvanas Windrunner looked both sad and enraged. The banshees at her sides seemed to echo her perfectly. "Like you, I am damned to be what I am, forever."

"You lie." It was an instant retort, but Settra wasn't sure he meant it.

"Do I? I can feel your doubts about that as well." Sylvanas smiled. "What if I told you that despite the...rather shabby state of your homeland, that it could be liberated from the Scourge, and used as our own sanctuary? What if I said I needed the help of warriors such as yourself to do so?"

Settra considered this for a moment. Lordaeron would still be in ruins, but at least it would be free from those who ruined it. "What about Arthas?"

"What about him? Arthas fled like the cowardly dog he is." Sylvanas seemed to take pleasure in that, but there was something tight in her voice. Settra thought that she was probably disappointed she didn't get to kill him. And he was right. "He's fled to Northrend. It seems that whatever has happened that freed us from the Lich King, it's important enough to call his puppet back to him." Sylvanas chuckled lightly. "With him and Kel'Thuzad relatively out of the way in this region, the Dreadlords are our primary concern. They must die if we are to regain a foothold here. Are you with me, General?"

Settra gazed at her evenly. "If I refuse?"

"Then we will destroy you, as we will destroy any who stand in our way."

"You fight with great tenacity and strength...though you are also somewhat reckless," Rivendare's voice echoed in his head. Reckless...reckless made me what I am. I will not make that mistake again.

"Very well, my Lady. Tell me what you plan."


The Inn in Southshore, Hillsbrad Foothills
Four years later

Up in one of the rooms, Artimus Devaneaux lay semi-conscious, his wounds treated as well as the wizards could do, but they had to take him to someone who could do better. Fortunately, there was someone on his way back to Stormwind from the Plaguelands who could possibly take care of the injured man.

"His wounds are grievous, my lord," one of the Dalaran wizards was saying. "We treated him as much as we are able, but we are warriors and sorcerers, not healers. We were only able to do so much."

"You were able to keep him alive enough to bring him to me," the man he was speaking to replied. Out of the corner of his eye, Artimus could see him. He had brown hair going slightly to gray, worn in braids that rested on his shoulders. He wore heavy plate armor with a black tabard, on which a silver sun with golden rays gleamed majestically. The symbol of the Argent Dawn, Artimus' brain realized. How did he know this?

Who am I? he thought.

"Any idea who he is?" the man asked, his hand resting on the hammer that hung from his belt.

"Archmage Ataeric was able to recognize him, Lord Saavedro. He was the Magistrate of Tirisfal when Lordaeron fell, and joined up with the Scarlet Crusade. Judging from the severe wound he received in his shoulder, it seems he was attacked with a poison blade; the type of poison seems to be unique, from the alchemical labs of the Scholomance in Caer Darrow."

"He was the Barovs' vassal at one point, was he not?"

"Yes, my lord, according to what records we've been able to find."

Saavedro nodded in response. "Thank you, lad. I'll take it from here."

"As you wish." The Dalaran protector bowed and made his way out. Saavedro turned back to his charge, and removed his armored gauntlets. On his right hand was a silver ring, inscribed with the words "Esarus thar no'Darador" - meaning "By blood and honor we serve", a traditional motto of the Knights of the Silver Hand.

A paladin...

Saavedro placed his hands lightly on Artimus' scarred chest, and began whispering a prayer to the Holy Light. His hands seemed to radiate with the power he wielded, and Artimus could feel his body...repairing itself. He looked up at his savior, who smiled at him and said calmly, "Rest."

He needed no second urging.


Artimus awoke an hour or so later. Saavedro was there, calmly reading a letter. He was out of his armor, and attired in robes of runecloth, not unlike the robes worn by priests in Lordaeron. He looked up and smiled. "Awake at last. How do you feel?"

"Like I've been run over by a dwarven steam tank," Artimus said, flexing his fingers. He glanced around. "Where am I? And who are you?"

"Southshore, in the Hillsbrad Foothills. We're in one of the rooms in the inn - the largest old Anderson downstairs could provide." The robed paladin stood. "As for who I am...I'm not surprised you don't remember, I didn't visit Lordaeron City all that much. My name is Saavedro - Saavedro of Stratholme. I was Sekhesmet's apprentice, and High Priest of Stratholme until I was sent to Stormwind as an ambassador...just as the troubles were starting in Lordaeron." He looked sad. "I waited five years after the events in Kalimdor before I decided to take the oath of the paladin. So here I am...almost two years out, and still doing fairly well." He chuckled.

"Saavedro...ah, yes...I think I remember you. You and an elf...Kel'theris' boy." Artimus felt his memory returning to him...then he looked confused. "Who am I?"

"That fall from your horse must have done more than I thought." Saavedro nodded sympathetically. "Alright, I'll try to fill in the blanks. You are Baron Artimus Devaneaux, a former vassal to the House of Barov, who controlled four major towns in Lordaeron. This is one of them."

"Southshore...Brill...Tarren Mill...Caer Darrow." Artimus nodded to himself. "Yes...then I got a letter from some paladin in Tyr's Hand...Abb...something."

"Abbendis. High General Abbendis of the Scarlet Crusade."

"Yes...she and Mograine wanted me to help get the Monastery running. Needed someone of my skills, she said...then after Mograine died and Dathrohan took over, Abbendis made me a ferryman for the whelps. Reinforcements for Mograine's son." Artimus sighed. "Then...the Barovs sent assassins. Necromancers, students of the Scholomance...we were passing through the Bulwark. They ambushed us. Killed my men...left me for dead."

"And you appear to have made your way through Forsaken-controlled territory to reach Ambermill," Saavedro finished. "They patched you up best they could, then they brought you to me. They knew I was stopping in on my way back from Stratholme." He gazed at Artimus levelly. "Are you ready to hear the truth about your Scarlet Crusade, Lord Artimus?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"That was one of the reasons why I was in Stratholme. Confronting your Grand Crusader. But he is not what he seems..." Saavedro seemed to think about what he wanted to say...then he just said it. "The leader of the Scarlet Crusade is - or rather, was - a demon."

"What?!" Artimus sat up in his bed, his eyes narrowed to slits. "What trickery is this? I will kill you myself for speaking such blasphemy!"

Suddenly, Saavedro's hammer was in his hand, held within two inches of Artimus' nose. "No trickery or blasphemy. And remember I have the upper hand here." Lowering the hammer, he continued calmly, "I think Dathrohan was possessed by a powerful demon who was believed to have been killed by Sylvanas Windrunner during her war to take Lordaeron from the Legion-controlled Scourge. His name was Balnazzar."

"Balnazzar." That name sounded familiar. "Nathrezim?"

Saavedro nodded. "One of the three who ruled in Archimonde's name during the Battle of Mount Hyjal. One is dead, another defected to serve Sylvanas, and the third...I killed him myself, and delivered his head to the leaders of the Argent Dawn. Along with that of Kel'Thuzad's errand boy, Baron Rivendare." He sighed tiredly. "But my beloved city continues to burn, and remains infested with the walking dead."

Artimus was silent, his mind racing. The leader that Abbendis, who he thought was a friend, had taken orders from...was a demon? "What do I do now?" he whispered.

"I am travelling to Stormwind on another matter," Saavedro replied, choosing his words carefully. "I can take you to Northshire Abbey, if you'd like. I would remain and help you out more myself, but my duty calls."

Artimus thought about it, then nodded. "Very well. Lead on, paladin."


Flashback: Ruins of Lordaeron
After Sylvanas' victory

"My Queen." Settra bowed low. "If I may have a word?"

"Certainly, General. What is it you wish?"

"My Queen, I am glad to be your servant and am honored to have aided you in this endeavor, but I feel I must leave."

"Leave?" The Banshee Queen looked puzzled.

"I have no doubt in my mind that Kel'Thuzad and Baron Rivendare will seek to find me, and bring me to account for 'betraying' them. Rivendare was the one who resurrected me, and Kel'Thuzad was the one who took me in and had me trained to use my powers. Once they have restored their powers, they will not stand idly by as one of their own joins with the 'traitors'." He paused. "I am your servant, now and forever. But until the time is right...when the time comes to bring the war to Northrend, I must remain in hiding - for the good of myself, and of all Forsaken. I will keep my ears open for important events...and wait for the most important of them all."

"And that is?"

"The day we get our revenge."

Part 4

Chillwind Point - on the border between Alterac and the Plaguelands
Present day

The warlock continued his trek into the mountains. Today, like every day since he took up the dark arts, he had echoes of the past life of the being whose form he had taken.

Once he had been called Urgan, elder shaman of the Bleeding Hollow Clan. Once he had known the love and wisdom of the ancestors, the joy of serving the spirits, and knew the price that must be paid to gain their trust. He had lived on the edge of Terokkar Forest with his clan, and enjoyed the peaceful silence - exiling himself from Kilrogg and his clan when they joined the Great Betrayer, Gul'dan, and taken up demon magics in the place of pure shamanism.

Now that was all behind him. Urgan's soul now wandered with the ancestors, ejected from his own body by the force of a much more powerful being - the soul of a dead human sorcerer who called himself Joshmaul. It was an unusual name - probably taken up by a physically weak and feeble man, in order to sound "imposing" - but soon Urgan felt Joshmaul's power take his body from him. And the first thing the human-in-the-orc had done was take up the demon arts that he had opposed decades earlier. Thus, Joshmaul the Corruptor (or as some called him, the Corrupted) was born.

That had been two years ago. Only occasionally did Joshmaul experience these "echoes". And like every other time in the past, he dismissed them. His goal was clear this time.

Since he preferred the open use of shadow magics preferred by the Forsaken, Joshmaul spent the majority of his time in the Undercity, an ocean away from that weakling Thrall. The Warchief had attempted to ban necromancy and demonic magics in his Horde...but little did he realize how truly he had failed. Joshmaul's old master, Kaal Soulreaper, was one of quite a few orcs who shared this point of view - hence why he resided in the Undercity's Magic Quarter, rather than having to cower like a child in the deep cleft of Orgrimmar, as his early teachers had.

Dismissing that thought as well, the warlock continued on his way. Before Joshmaul left the Undercity - he had been planning on taking the zeppelin to Stranglethorn and continuing on his way to the Dark Portal, back to Outland - Varimathras had told him that an undead death knight had been freed from the Lich King's domination some years before, when the master of the Scourge began losing his powers. He had been a General in Lordaeron's army, killed by Baron Rivendare during a rather foolhardy assault on Stratholme, and resurrected by the Baron out of respect for his opponent's abilities - or so it was claimed. When the Lich King lost his control over him, he had fled to prevent Kel'Thuzad or the Baron from destroying the Forsaken just to reach him.

"With the rumors that the Scourge is stirring once more in Northrend, we need every available hand to combat Arthas' foothold in the region," Varimathras had said. "The Dark Lady intends to go to Northrend herself, and unleash the plague that our Apothecaries have spent years perfecting."

"The Lich King's control of the land is formidable, but it is breakable," the shadow priest at Varimathras' side, one of those aforementioned Apothecaries, said with a satisfied smile on his sunken face. The years of death had been relatively kind to Sekhesmet of Stratholme, though he still stank of rot and embalming fluid like just about everyone else in the city. Now that he was used to it, Joshmaul mused, the smell was actually rather pleasant. "But in order to break it, we must activate our alliances. The General is one of those alliances. You are another."

"What do you wish of me?"

"Go to the mountains of Alterac, to Chillwind Point, near the border with the Plaguelands," Varimathras replied. "My Deathstalkers report that he has maintained a camp there since he left us after the siege of Lordaeron. He is one of us now, after all...I thought it prudent that he be watched, for his safety - and for ours."

Something about the tone of Varimathras' voice made Joshmaul think otherwise. But he simply smiled and nodded. "As you wish, Lord Varimathras."


Settra poked at the fire in front of the ruined house he had lived in the last six years. Suddenly he stopped, and lifted his head; he had incredible sense of hearing even before he was killed; that was one of the things he was glad to still have. "You can come out, you know." He smirked. "I could smell you from a mile away, orc."

The warlock stepped into the death knight's view. "Ah, yes, there you are." Settra looked him over. He was dressed in simple clothing, his arm, leg and shoulder joints exposed. It seemed to be a side effect of the Forsaken wearing anything - it could look rotted away on an undead, but when given to someone living, it looked just fine. Joshmaul was never able to figure that out.

"General Settra, I presume," Joshmaul said gruffly.

"Depends on who's asking." Before the warlock could respond, Settra raised a claw-like hand. "Save your breath, Corruptor. I know who you are." He grinned, showing surprisingly perfect white teeth. "Even as a recluse, I'm kept informed. You may not see them, but they're there."

"Deathstalkers?"

Settra nodded. "Yes, indeed. Varimathras thought they could keep me safe." He snorted. "This close to an Alliance camp, and beyond that a howling pack of Scourge, what good can Varimathras' lapdogs do?" At this point, he didn't give a damn if they heard him. He was Sylvanas' "secret weapon".

"They are ideally trained for their job," Joshmaul said neutrally.

"Yeah, well, this gives me better piece of mind, sir." Settra held up his ornate runesword.

"Piece of mind? In this hellhole? Most people would tell you you're insane to even be here, and should run as fast as your legs can take you."

"Now you just shut up like a good gentleman, you're scaring the lads. If these Deathstalkers had anuses, they would probably be soiling themselves about now." Settra chuckled. "This is, as you rightly pointed out, a hellhole - why in the Lady's name do you think I picked this spot to hide out, hmm?"

"This close to Scourge territory? I'm surprised Kel'Thuzad hasn't noticed."

"Kel'Thuzad is too busy worrying about the little empire he has here in Lordaeron. Though mark me, it won't last." Settra shook his head. "I apologize, we're getting a little off topic. You obviously have a reason for being here other than chatting with an old veteran. What do you want?"

"I bring news from the Undercity. From Sylvanas herself."

That caused what was left of the death knight's eyebrows to raise. "You have my attention, warlock."

"Undoubtedly, since you appear to have an ear about the land, you've heard of the recent reports of increased activity on the continent of Northrend."

"Rumors only." Settra's glowing eyes met the warlock's burning red orbs. "There is confirmation of this?"

"Indeed there is. Forsaken scouts report interesting events around the area known as the Howling Fjord."

Settra dredged through his memory, remembering his history. "Ah, yes...the area around Daggercap Bay, where Arthas landed in pursuit of the Dreadlord who was corrupting Stratholme...Mal'Ganis?"

Joshmaul nodded. "There are reports of...a group of the native population we have not seen before has started to appear in that area. They appear to be...almost like half-giant dwarves, or something to that effect. I have yet to see this for myself; neither the Warchief nor the Dark Lady are allowing anyone other than the scouts there for the time being. There is also word that the remnants of Arthas' expedition have set up shop on the coast, and will likely have received scouts from the Alliance as well. The Horde's political focus, however, appears to be the battle with the Legion and the Illidari, in Outland."

Settra nodded, considering this. "I have no doubt in my mind that Illidan is a formidable foe, as is the Legion - they've proven that, despite the major setbacks...including the loss of control of the Scourge and the death of Archimonde. And this whole draenei thing too - twenty-five thousand years, they still haven't destroyed them?" The death knight General chuckled. "Not very methodical, no indeed."

"It's believed that once the scouts return - which will probably be somewhere within the next twelve months, give or take - they will open up transport to the encampments out there. Rumor has it there's a group of Mag'har - brown orcs - coming from Outland to settle there as well...though of course, my information about what happens in Orgrimmar is somewhat spotty, because if I'm not in Outland, I'm in Undercity."

"Personal preference?"

"Let's just say I think the warlock masters of Orgrimmar are cowering children who should get out of their deep cleft and show Thrall the truth - we are the true orcs, and always will be."

"You're not an orc. At least not in spirit." Settra's grin returned. "Yes, I know all about you. Varimathras' lackeys, amateurs they may be, have their good points." He stroked his chin with clawed fingers. "Very well, warlock. I will remain vigilant here...and when the Lady is prepared for her war in Northrend, I shall prepare myself for it. Thank you for bringing this to my attention." He bowed slightly. "Now go. In case the Alliance or Scourge agents are about, we don't want them seeing you."


Northshire Abbey, Elwynn Forest
Around the same time

The door was locked and the sounds of objects being thrown and broken could be heard even from outside, for almost a week. Now it was silent.

"How could anyone do this to me?" Artimus Devaneaux whispered, head in his hands as he sat on the bed. "Lordaeron has fallen, Abbendis and the Crusade have betrayed me, and now this paladin leaves me here to rot in this church while he goes off seeking glory in Outland."

Suddenly, a whisper echoed in his head. I can give you what you want...

Artimus looked up at the sound of another man's voice. "Wha...?"

The voice now spoke more clearly. It sounded more like two men speaking at the same time. I can give you all the power you desire, Artimus Devaneaux.

One of those voices he recognized. His eyes widened. "Arthas!"

A chuckle, and the double-voice spoke again. Yes and no...I remember Arthas Menethil, and everything about him. You know who I truly am now...

Artimus looked puzzled for a moment. Then he remembered - something he had heard about a while back. Arthas had become a true immortal, a demi-god.

He was the Lich King.

"What do you want from me, betrayer?" he said at last.

Come now, Artimus, "betrayer" is such a cruel term...do I look like Illidan to you? Another disturbing chuckle. I can see your heart. You are glad Lordaeron is gone. No more pandering to a senile King, who refused to see reality.

Damn him, but Arthas was right. He remembered the last conversation he had with Settra before the fall of Lordaeron, and the fact he had tried to defend Terenas.

"I think his mind's almost completely gone. In three days, he'll probably forget we had this conversation," Settra had said.

"He might, but Uther won't," Artimus had reminded him. "Besides, you have to consider, Settra. Terenas has ruled Lordaeron for seventy years - and he's been the leader of the Alliance for the last twenty."

Why did I stand up for that senile old fool anyway? he thought. He could hear the echoing approval of his potential new master.

You must return to Lordaeron, and travel deep into the Plaguelands, to Caer Darrow, the Lich King instructed. There you will offer your services to a...mutual acquaintance. Lord Alexei Barov.

"Lord Alexei?" Artimus was puzzled. "My lord, I do not understand. Lord Alexei has been hunting me as a traitor since the fall of Lordaeron."

He will understand his place soon enough. Have faith, Artimus. You walk with my blessing. He could feel the almost benevolent aura from the Lich King. How had he, Artimus, not accepted this before?

You have great potential as a death knight in my service, Artimus Devaneaux. When your time within the Scholomance is complete, you will travel to the fortress of my lieutenant, Kel'Thuzad. He will give you further instructions. But first, you must reach Scholomance. Find any means necessary to get out of the Kingdom of Stormwind. Now.

Artimus went to his knees, tears running down his face, kneeling before the air - but in his mind's eye, Arthas was standing before him. "It will be done, my lord. I swear it...I am yours."

Part 5

Terrace of Light, Shattrath City

Your service has garnered you much prestige among us.

"I do only what I can to preserve the Light, A'dal." Saavedro was on one knee before the enormous crystalline being at the center of the city. "That is my ambition, not...recognition."

Your ambition is to rebuild your homeland, lost to the former servant of the Legion you call the Lich King. A warm chuckle echoed in Saavedro's head. A lofty goal, but one that may, in the end, be futile.

"Nothing is futile if enough effort is put into it," the paladin argued.

I do not doubt the strength of your spirit, Saavedro of Stratholme...merely the magnitude of your task.

"Battling the Scourge is no harder than battling Illidan or the Legion."

"You say so now," came the voice of A'dal's human advisor, the Archmage Khadgar. "But have you actually been on the front lines against them?"

"Lordaeron IS the front lines. You have not been there since it fell, you could not know what horrors I have fought there."

"I can guess well enough," Khadgar said calmly. "Remember where you are, after all...and I stand by my previous comment. The Lich King's hold in Lordaeron is formidable, but his hold around his fortress is almost impregnable. Almost. Forget anything you have ever learned about fighting the Scourge in Lordaeron - for the foes you will face in Northrend will be far greater than even they."

The naaru was silent. Saavedro - and now Khadgar - were puzzled. Finally, after an agonizing few minutes, A'dal spoke once more.

A messenger approaches. From the place you call Northshire. A'dal's "voice" sounded somewhat troubling. Something terrible has happened.

"Northshire?" Saavedro was alarmed. He had left the injured Artimus Devaneaux there after taking him from Southshore, under the care of his early teachers. Sure enough, a moment later was a Northshire cleric in everyday travel robes. He recognized Saavedro instantly and bowed. "Master Saavedro, I bring word from Priestess Anetta and Brother Sammuel." He looked uncertainly at the glowing snowflake-like creature before him, as well as at Khadgar.

Saavedro nodded; these were the priest and paladin instructors at the Abbey. They were also requested by Saavedro himself to care for the injured Lordaeron noble. "Yes, what is it?"

Snapping out of his awe of recognizing one of the faces in Stormwind's Valley of Heroes, the cleric returned his attention to the paladin. "Lord Artimus has disappeared, Master. He left sometime during the night about three days ago. We would have sent word earlier, but the last person we sent through the Dark Portal was killed by the Legion assaulting it on this side. The fool decided to run through this so-called Path of Glory, thinking he could go untouched by the demons."

Even the normally taciturn Khadgar couldn't resist a smile at that.

"Three days ago?" Saavedro was not smiling, however. "None of the sentries spotted him?"

"They did, actually; I checked in Stormwind myself before taking the gryphon to Nethergarde. It seems he said he had pressing business with the Argent Dawn up in Lordaeron. They gave him a gryphon to take him from Stormwind to Ironforge, then again to the camp south of Andorhal."

"Which means if he left three days ago, he's already there by now," Saavedro said thoughtfully. "Damn..." He turned to the cleric. "There is a portal here leading to Stormwind, courtesy of our distinguished comrade here," he told him, referring to Khadgar. "Get to Fordragon, and tell him you've just spoken to me. Tell him to send the fastest man he can spare to Lordaeron immediately."

"Yes, Master."

"Go quickly." Saavedro pointed him to the open portal. The cleric bowed and ran over to the waiting portal. He turned back to A'dal. "Something terrible has happened, you told me...what could it be?"

Artimus Devaneaux is about to make a terrible pact. But not with the zealots you call the Scarlet Crusade....no, he prepares to sell himself to the very evil you fear, the very evil you fought before you travelled to this world.

Saavedro's eyes widened in horror. "No...."


The Scholomance, beneath the ruins of Caer Darrow
Around the same time

"You..." Lord Alexei Barov was quivering with rage.

"Yes. I have returned, my master." Artimus Devaneaux went to his knees before his one-time lord.

"Do not think you can sway me with platitudes, Artimus. You are a traitor to the House of Barov."

"I am, but I ask for your forgiveness, my lord. I have come to reaffirm my pledge to serve you."

Alexei laughed, a somewhat manic edge to his voice as he did. "And you lie as well. I know you serve the Scarlet Crusade. Even before the Scourge, you served Terenas before you served us."

"Such was the nature of my appointment, Lord Alexei. I told you so myself."

"So you did, but that does not excuse your action." Alexei unsheathed his runeblade. "However, since you have returned to me at last, I will grant you a quick death." He raised his sword to swing, preparing to take his former vassal's head clean off his shoulders. As he began to swing down, a loud voice echoed in both of their heads.

STAY YOUR BLADE, ALEXEI BAROV!

Alexei's hand froze just as the blade was about to touch his victim's neck.

This one has further value to me. He is prepared to give himself willingly, now that he has been...illuminated to the truth.

Alexei noticed that his errant servant had not even blinked and was not cowering in fear, even with the sword at his neck. In fact, he looked somewhat serene. The Lord of the Barovs shrugged and sheathed his blade. "What is your command, Master?"

He will go to the east, to Naxxramas. He will be given his badge of office by my lieutenant, Kel'Thuzad...and then he will come before me.

"Very well." Alexei glanced down to speak, but realized that Artimus had already left.

"Damned rogue," he said...like he had every time he'd said it before, he chuckled to himself. He will make a very interesting death knight, he thought.


Plaguewood, Eastern Plaguelands
Two days later

Tricking the Argent Dawn into giving him entry to the citadel, Artimus Devaneaux made his way through the gigantic fungi of the Plaguewood, until he stood at last before the teleportation spire that would take him into the ancient nerubian necropolis that floated above him. Like Arthas before he took up the helm of the Lich King, Artimus was filled with echoing self-doubt. Men and women he had met in his lifetime were shouting in his head, trying to dissuade him from his course. He hesitated from stepping onto the glowing runic circle that would teleport him into Naxxramas. Suddenly, a voice echoed in his head, drowning them all out. His own.

There is no going back.

Steeling himself, Artimus stepped into the runic circle. A second later, he was gone.

Part 6

Caer Darrow, Western Plaguelands
Present day

Saavedro led his party into the ruins of Caer Darrow. His companions were his adoptive daughter and personal assassin, Nyssha Swiftblade; his source from within the Cenarion Circle, Arrhae Leafrunner; a draenei shaman named Ammenkayn; and finally, an Ironforge emissary named Korogh Madeyes.

Saavedro had exchanged his hammer and shield for a two-handed battle axe, a gift from Oronok Torn-heart. Though he preferred maces, Saavedro took time to train in as many weapon skills as possible. The enormous, other-worldly axe had served him well in combat. He had flown all the way from Nethergarde to reach the Chillwind Camp, to the west of here; his companions had met him en route. When he arrived, he spoke to the commander of the camp, Ashlam Valorfist.

"We spotted someone matching the description of Artimus Devaneaux headed towards Caer Darrow," Valorfist explained. "He went in, but no one has seen him here. He must have left sometime, though, as he was next spotted by the sentries at Light's Hope, on his way to Stratholme."

"When was this?"

"Day or two ago."

"Makes sense, lad," Korogh commented, his eyes...well, mad as they met the paladin's. "Stratholme's a good day's ride from here - and aye, that's taking into account the damned Scourge from here to the Thondroril."

Saavedro nodded. "If he made it in and out of the Scholomance alive, that must mean he's somehow...reconciled with his old master, Lord Alexei."

"Which means he's sold himself out to this Lich King," Ammenkayn said with distaste.

"Why would he do this willingly?" Arrhae wanted to know.

"I don't know," Saavedro said honestly. "Bitterness? Jealousy? I did kinda leave him in Northshire Abbey so I could run back to Outland..." He smiled ruefully.

"Your duty to the Alliance is greater," Nyssha said firmly. "You couldn't just drop everything for one man, even if he was an important figure in your homeland, my lord."

"I am aware of that, child," Saavedro replied. "More than you could know." Nyssha inclined her head.

"What d'ye plan to do now, chief?" Korogh asked.

"I think it's time we paid Lord Alexei a little visit."


The Scholomance

Their armor and weapons splashed with gore, the five reached the lower chambers of the Scholomance where the Barovs resided. As they entered the Headmaster's Study, they found the Barovs awaiting them.

"So, you are the one who led my servitor down this path," Lord Alexei said with a thin smile on his face.

Saavedro said nothing, merely glared at the traitors before him. Only Alexei seemed to still have his body - his wife Illucia and daughter Jandice were ghosts. Alexei unsheathed his runeblade. "No words before your death, Lord Saavedro? Pity. I would have enjoyed watching you beg for your life."

"Keep dreaming, Scourge scum."

Alexei laughed and stepped forward, only to scream in pain as a large, single-head axe impacted with a sickening crunch right in the middle of his chest. Korogh, with a quickness often associated with his race, had thrown his axe with great skill, and now leapt onto the Lord of the Barovs, knocking him off his feet and on his back. Illucia moved to attack the others while Jandice dealt with the dwarf...

Then suddenly, Illucia was trapped in magical shackles, and Jandice looked up in surprise. That was all Saavedro needed. Speaking the Words of Exorcism, the paladin lashed out against the Barov daughter. Jandice screamed in agony, and then suddenly she was gone. Illucia's ghostly eyes had widened in fury, as she struggled in vain to escape the shackles.

Saavedro had known only one man strong enough to be able to shackle someone as powerful as Illucia Barov. The trouble was, he was dead...or was he? The paladin turned around and, to his surprise, realized that they had visitors.

Joshmaul the Warlock stood on the top landing, glowing blade in one hand and mystic tome in the other, a thin smile on his muscular green face. Next to him were his lieutenants - three blood elves and a Forsaken. The blood elves were Lord Kel'theris of the House of Whitehair, a member of the Convocation of Silvermoon; Kel'theris' son, Ordevaas Portalseeker, a member of Silvermoon's Blood Knight order and Saavedro's old friend; and Ordevaas' daughter, Areinnye, whom Saavedro had given his support to despite her being one of a member race of the Horde.

And standing next to them, as Saavedro had feared, was his old master, Sekhesmet of Stratholme...

"So, Saavedro, you have learned something after all," Sekhesmet said, his voice still as deep, rich and calm as it had been when he had lived. His bronze skin had turned a sickly white with his death, and his face contorted into a permanent mask of disgust, but it was (relatively) unblemished. He wore deep blue robes, and held a Thalassian staff in his hand. "You are powerful, more so than you ever could be under my tutelage. I congratulate you."

Caught off-guard, Saavedro could say only, "Thank you, Master." He glanced at Joshmaul, his old nemesis. "What possible reason could you be here for?"

"We received word from our own friends in the Argent Dawn that you had come here," the warlock said, shrugging. He smiled at Illucia in her magic shackles, and Alexei writhing on the floor, dark fluid spilling from the gaping wound in his chest. "Be fortunate we arrived when we did." The smile faded. "You were looking for someone, an Artimus Devaneaux, I believe he was?"

"Artimus." Sekhesmet all but snarled the name.

Joshmaul's eyebrow rose at the Forsaken priest. "You know this man?"

"I did. He was the Magistrate of Tirisfal shortly before the fall of Lordaeron. His master was that man there." He pointed at Alexei, motionless on the floor, his blade broken and Korogh's plated boot on his chest, axe held at his neck. Sekhesmet's face looked pained as he spoke the next words. "The bastard killed my daughter."

Artimus killed Euphrati? Saavedro glanced sharply at the walking corpse that was his old master. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kel'theris shifting nervously. He looked like someone with something to hide.

"I also received a message to return to Shattrath, where A'dal explained some of the situation to me," Joshmaul continued. "He said that Artimus had sold out his people, and indeed the living, to serve the Scourge as a death knight."

"If I may, lad," Korogh said from behind them, "I heard somethin' from the Argent Dawn lads in Light's Hope before ye called me. Rather shifty fella landed there and, without a word, went on towards the Plaguewood. Didn't think anything of it until just now, but per'aps it might be him?"

"Very probably," Saavedro conceded. He turned in Alexei's direction, and nodded to Korogh and Ammenkayn. "Bring him to his feet." The dwarf and draenei did as asked. Alexei swayed, but he remained standing. "Now then, Lord Barov, where has he gone? Stratholme? Headed into Quel'Thalas?" The gauntlet on Saavedro's right hand began to glow with holy energy, and he lifted a finger. Alexei balked and tried to recoil, but Korogh kept him in place with the head of his axe. The paladin's hand barely touched the skin on his neck, but the holy energy caused the unholy warrior to scream. "Alright! Alright!" Alexei whimpered. Illucia was kept in her holy chains by Sekhesmet, and could do nothing.

"WHERE IS HE GOING?!" Saavedro shouted in his face.

"Northrend! He's going to Northrend! Kel'Thuzad is taking Naxxramas back across the sea to return to the Citadel..." Alexei laughed somewhat maniacally. "You'll never be able to stop him. The Lich King himself will empower my old servant...he will be unstoppable! More powerful than even myself!"

Saavedro nodded to himself thoughtfully. "Thank you, Lord Alexei. Your service to the living has been noted."

With a flash, the Torn-heart battle axe took Alexei's head clean off its shoulders. Behind him, Sekhesmet spoke a word of power. With a scream and a flash of light, Illucia was gone.


The Bulwark
Shortly thereafter

"That went...well," Joshmaul commented.

"Should have taken the bastard traitors' heads," Ordevaas said darkly. Behind him, Areinnye flinched.

The warlock sympathized, but merely smiled. "Calm yourself, my faithful Blood Knight. They will be made to pay, but political necessities are paramount."

"Politics." Kel'theris chuckled grimly. "It's what got us in this damned mess in the first place."

"Quite so, but it's the Warchief's will," Joshmaul said with a tone of sarcasm. "The Horde is all that matters."

Sekhesmet snorted. "Idealistic nonsense, and you know it well, warlock."

"I do," the Corruptor agreed, "but for now, we'll play the obedient little servants. Once we travel to Northrend with Lady Sylvanas --"

"Praise her name," Sekhesmet said reverently.

Joshmaul grinned, and continued. "We will not have to worry about what goes on in Lordaeron or in Durotar. For the Forsaken will win this war with Arthas, and the Dark Lady's supremacy will be assured. Quel'Thalas and Lordaeron will unite, and rule the world of the living...and the dead."


Daggercap Bay, Northrend
One year later

The air was bitingly cold, but Saavedro of Stratholme did not seem to notice. Next to him, though, Ammenkayn shivered. He smiled and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Faith, young draenei," he said soothingly - though the "young draenei" was probably quite a bit older than he was.

The last year had not been kind to him. His hair and thick beard and moustache were grey going to white. Though he was only fifty, he felt a good deal older. Battling the Scourge in Lordaeron, the Legion and the Illidari in Outland, exploring the mysteries of Karazhan...

Now I know how mages feel, he thought.

"Lord Saavedro." The ship's captain came up and saluted him with a smile. "The port of Valgarde is ahead."

"Thank you, Captain." Saavedro turned to Ammenkayn. "Travel back with the captain, Amm. Send word to the Highlord and the Prophet that I have arrived safely."

"Yes, great Vindicator."

Vindicator. That's what the draenei called paladins. Doubly so because Saavedro was an exalted member of both the Aldor, the priesthood once led by the Prophet Velen himself, and the Sha'tar, the force of Light that the naaru had spent millennia trying to form into an army to battle Sargeras and the Burning Legion.

As the boat came to a stop, Saavedro stood and straightened the black-and-silver tabard of the Argent Dawn he wore, and picked up his battlehammer - a Hammer of the Naaru, the traditional weapon of draenei vindicators. With warring emotions in his heart, steel in his eyes and butterflies in his stomach, Saavedro stepped off the boat onto the dock. He was here at last. He was in Northrend.

The war was about to begin in earnest.


Vengeance Landing, Howling Fjord
Around the same time

Joshmaul waited patiently for the zeppelin from Tirisfal to arrive. The word had gone out to all Forsaken, and indeed all of the Horde as well as the Alliance, to make their way to Northrend. But this particular zeppelin, Joshmaul somehow knew, would carry the secret weapon of the Forsaken.

Standing with him, robes fluttering in the icy wind, was Lady Sylvanas. "He has been too long from the battlefield," she commented. "This will give him opportunity to test his mettle."

"Aye, Milady," the warlock agreed. "How long have we waited for this? The opportunity to take the war to the bastard Arthas..."

"Some longer than others," Sylvanas said sharply. Joshmaul silenced himself, and bowed slightly...as the zeppelin came to a stop before them. As the crowd of new adventurers stepped off the platform and made their way down to the Forsaken base camp of New Agamand, Sylvanas and Joshmaul waited.

They were not disappointed. Coming up from the lower deck came the one Sylvanas had awaited since the siege of Lordaeron. Long, dark hair ran to his back. He wore black armor and a powerful blade forged by Forsaken runesmiths. His face was unblemished, his expression youthful...and his eyes burned for vengeance.

"General Settra, welcome to Northrend..."

Part 7

Utgarde Catacombs
Shortly before Saavedro's arrival

The Vrykul were kneeling before their shorter, but much more powerful visitor. "Have you come for warriors to serve the Dark Lord?" one of them asked in their guttural tongue.

Artimus Devaneaux responded in that same tongue, one of the things he had learned coming here. "Indeed I have. Are the warriors prepared for their return?"

"They are."

"Good. Then let us begin the ritual, Prince Keleseth - time is of the essence. The living gnats who call themselves enemies of the Lich King come from across the sea. One in particular comes for me..."


Lake Cauldros, Howling Fjord
Directly across from Utgarde Keep
A week and a half after Saavedro's arrival

"How far to the Keep?" Saavedro of Stratholme asked his dwarven guide, Korogh Madeyes - sent by King Magni shortly before the lanes between the southern kingdoms and Valgarde were opened. Ammenkayn, now more sure of herself in the cold, stood at the paladin's other side. She had just returned from the Exodar after bringing word of Saavedro's arrival to Highlord Fordragon and to the Prophet Velen.

"Day's journey around the lake, unless ye want to brave the icy waters and swim across, eh?"

"Not a chance. I had my share of cold just getting through the front gates of Ironforge." And being at the Blue Dragonflight's beck and call in Winterspring, obtaining the Drakefire Amulet, he thought. He glanced at Ammenkayn, shivering at the thought of swimming an icy lake, and suppressed a grin. "No boats on this lake?"

"'Fraid not, lad. We don't have the resources. Everythin' is being used for the town's defense - it hasn't been here fer seven years fer nothing, ye know." Korogh stroked his white beard thoughtfully. "The boys from the Silver Hand have made quite an impact, though. Their return's a blessing, no mistake."

Saavedro couldn't argue with that. Like many paladins in the Alliance, he had been of the opinion that the formal Order of the Silver Hand was dead and gone, destroyed with Uther's death at the hands of Prince Arthas. But Tirion Fordring - like Uther, one of the first paladins - had taken it upon himself to refound the Silver Hand shortly after the death of his son Taelan. Saavedro had been there when Taelan died, at the hands of the treacherous Grand Inquisitor Isillien of the Scarlet Crusade. In a fit of rage, Tirion had killed Isillien and sworn that he would take up the mantle of Highlord of the Silver Hand. Rumor had it that Tirion had in fact travelled to Northrend, though none had seen him. However, as Korogh had said, its agents were here in Northrend.

Returning his thoughts to the present, Saavedro thought he spotted...structures at the base of the fortress. "Is there some kind of town at the foot of the Keep?" he asked.

Korogh snorted. "Aye, if y'can call it a town. Place is called Wyrmskull - one of the villages of the Vrykul."

"Vrykul?" Ammenkayn looked puzzled.

"A race of vampiric half-giants, native to the continent. Rumor has it they offer their dead to the Lich King to serve in the Scourge armies." The draenei shaman could barely hide her disgust at that. Korogh agreed with that sentiment, as he said, "Aye, it's an abominable business, that is, givin' yerself willingly to evil."

"Who does such a thing willingly?" Ammenkayn whispered.

"Not all beings can be protected by the Light as ours," Saavedro pointed out. "There are some among my own people, as I'm sure you know, who gave themselves willingly to the Lich King. Kel'Thuzad, the Barovs, Artimus - the list goes on." He didn't point out that some among the draenei - the Auchenai, for instance - had turned to darkness. Some, like Socrethar, had even become man'ari eredar.

"Come then. We have a long journey ahead of us."


Wyrmskull Village, Howling Fjord
At the foot of Utgarde Keep
A day later

Saavedro saw that Korogh had not exaggerated. These Vrykul were indeed quite large. And they were all staring balefully at him. Korogh had axe in hand, and Ammenkayn held mace and shield at the ready. The paladin unlimbered his draenei warhammer.

A barked command in the Vrykul tongue caused the rank of half-giants to part. The speaker had commanded, "Move back! He is mine." And suddenly Saavedro could see the speaker for himself - Artimus Devaneaux.

"Greetings, Magistrate," Saavedro said with a thin smile on his face. "What news from Tirisfal?"

"There's no need to be coy, paladin," Artimus snarled. He unsheathed his runesword, though he still kept the Blackmoore shortsword and poniard at his belt. "Are you prepared to die?"

"Always. Are you?"

"Of course not. I intend to live forever."

"We will see." With that, the paladin and the death knight charged into one another, holy warhammer and evil runeblade clashing - a recreation of the battle between Uther and Arthas years before. Only this time, Saavedro hoped, it would have a different outcome...


Flashback: Hall of Lights, the Exodar
Shortly before departing for Northrend

"My Prophet, Master Saavedro has returned."

The Prophet Velen, leader of the draenei, looked up to see the familiar face of the human. "Welcome back, young paladin. You have changed much since last we spoke." In more ways than one; now he was exalted among the naaru, having obtained the rank of Champion - undergoing trials at A'dal's command that culminated in destroying the foul corruptor, Magtheridon.

"Indeed, my Prophet, I have." Saavedro knelt before the draenei leader. "I seek your counsel before I depart for Northrend to battle the Scourge. I hunt for a traitor who follows in Arthas' footsteps...but I hope to free him from the Lich King's domination before he aids the Scourge in destroying us all."

Velen nodded and gestured for Saavedro to walk with him. "Ammenkayn has spoken of your quest. This Artimus has given himself willingly to the darkness."

"After being driven mad by grief...and greed," Saavedro replied, his voice almost a whisper. "I have discovered that he is a murderer and a powermonger, but...he was a major figure in my earlier years, and a friend of my old master Sekhesmet - who told me that Artimus had killed his daughter in a fit of rage for besting him in a dueling tournament."

"The shadow priest...he revealed his pain to you? Unusual for a Forsaken, as I understand it. They shun past affiliations as beneath them, now that they are functionally ageless." The Prophet carefully hid the distaste he felt about the undead. Scourge or not, they were an abomination to the Light.

"Sekhesmet was different. He had a bond with Euphrati that he swore would outlive the both of them." Saavedro looked uncertain. "Prophet...how do I beat him? With the Lich King giving him his power, he will be more than a match for me."

"The blade," Velen said almost absently. Saavedro looked at him curiously, and the Prophet spoke again. "The blade, young Saavedro. Destroy his runeblade - that is how the Lich King controls the death knights. Destroy the blade, you destroy the domination." The Prophet nodded to the warhammer in Saavedro's hand. "And you have the means to do so."


Wyrmskull Village, Howling Fjord
Back in the present

Saavedro discarded his tattered Argent Dawn tabard, shredded by the runeblade's blows, and swung his hammer again, knocking the breath out of the death knight as the crystalline head smashed into his black breastplate. He also heard an ominous cracking that indicated he had broken at least three or four ribs.

Artimus teetered somewhat under the impact, but recovered and swung again, narrowly missing Saavedro's head by a split second. Saavedro swung once more, causing Artimus to crash into the side of one of the Vrykul huts as he flew across the village square. Screaming in rage and pain, the death knight recovered and then suddenly charged with unholy speed, and Saavedro could not move fast enough. The blade pierced right through the paladin's breastplate and into his shoulder. The pain was unbearable, but his mind remained clear - and he realized this was the opportunity. Grinding his teeth against the agony, Saavedro swung his hammer upwards into the blade impaling his shoulder.

The runeblade shattered like glass, the power knocking both Saavedro and Artimus off their feet.

Ammenkayn and Korogh raised their hands to block the blinding light from the hammer's impact, which was gone when they lowered their arms. At that moment, the Vrykul warriors - who had been waiting silently as the paladin and the death knight duelled - charged in. Ammenkayn called upon the fury of the Spirit of Fire and lashed out with a lightning chain that went through each of the Vrykul warriors, causing them to cry out in pain. Korogh, with a speed that Saavedro had come to rely on, hopped nimbly around like a dueling rogue, his axe biting through the giants' muscular forms. The remainder, seeing that these were not easy pickings after all, made the wise decision: They turned and fled.

After they were gone, Korogh knelt beside the fallen paladin. "Y'alright, lad?"

Saavedro stirred, and brought himself to his knees. The blade tip was still protruding from his chest. He pulled it out, and spoke a word of power. Holy energy glowed from his hand, and the broken tip disintegrated to dust, blowing away in the wind. "I'll be fine," he assured his companions. Bringing himself to his feet with their aid, Saavedro walked over to where the death knight had fallen.

Blood trickled from the side of Artimus' mouth as he chuckled upon seeing Saavedro. "I figured you would be the one," he said weakly. "You think you can save me, but I am beyond salvation. This is what I am, and this is what I shall be." He stared into the paladin's eyes and nodded once. "Finish it."

Ammenkayn, face grimacing with disgust, handed Saavedro his warhammer, which had fallen to the ground when the blade was shattered. "Light, give me strength," he whispered as he raised the hammer to swing down.

"Stay your hand, paladin!" a voice shouted from behind him. Suddenly overbalancing himself, Saavedro fell backwards to the ground, the hammer falling from his hand to rest above his head. Bringing himself back up to his feet, he turned to see the speaker. It was not the orc warlock holding an ornate staff, but rather the Forsaken who stood beside him. He had long, dark hair and a boyish face despite being dead, and wore black plate armor...not unlike that of the man who lay at his feet.

"So you have given yourself up to the Scourge, warlock?" Saavedro sneered. "I thought even you had more moral fortitude than that."

"We are not Scourge, so be silent, Light-blinded fool," the Forsaken snapped.

Saavedro's face contorted in rage until a familiar voice called out, "Calm yourself, Saavedro." Sekhesmet stepped from behind the warlock. Beside him was a young woman, also undead, who wore a pair of ornate daggers at her waist.

Saavedro recognized those blades. "Euphrati..." He glanced at Sekhesmet. "So you resort to necromancy now?"

"That was my doing, actually," the undead death knight standing before him replied. "At the behest of Lord Kel'theris of the Convocation of Silvermoon, of course. The young lady served him in life, and now she serves him in death." Saavedro did not miss the murderous glance that his old master gave the blood elf magister. At Joshmaul's side, Kel'theris' son, Master Ordevaas Portalseeker of the Blood Knight Order, snickered quietly.

"Who the hell are you, anyway?" Saavedro demanded.

"Come now," Sekhesmet said with a smirk. "Surely you recognize him...look harder, and add a little meat to his bones. And a little tan to his skin."

That got Saavedro's attention as he visualized the figure in his head as Sekhesmet suggested. His eyes widened. "Settra!"

"Indeed." General Settra smiled thinly. "I came as soon as I heard that Artimus had come to Northrend. Apparently, the Lich King had him detailed to one Prince Keleseth, a Vrykul leader who resides in the catacombs of the fortress before us." He nodded in the direction of the Vrykul castle. "Then we heard from our agents near Valgarde that you had arrived here as well, and were searching for him. But we cannot permit you to kill him. He has further use to our cause against the Scourge."

"You intend to make him undead - just as you did Euphrati?" Saavedro was disgusted.

"Not at all. A death knight serving in the Alliance has just as much value as one serving in the armies of my Queen. They both utilize the Scourge's own powers against them. Surely you were aware of this?" Saavedro had heard the rumors, but said nothing. At the silent response, Settra continued. "We must reorient Lord Artimus in the ways of life as a death knight free of the Lich King." At that, Joshmaul and Ordevaas began to lift the unconscious Artimus. "Master Sekhesmet will tend to him, Lord Saavedro. Be assured that he will live...and that he will return to service."

"With powers like that? He should be killed now," Ammenkayn snarled contemptuously.

"Come now, blueskin, where's your common sense?" Kel'theris said, sneering. "Power is power, and if it is used for a common cause, what business is it of yours what kind of power is used?"

"We are sworn to the Light, and will not embrace this...abomination," the shaman replied, quivering with rage. "I will kill you myself for even giving it voice, blood elf!"

"Peace, Ammenkayn," Saavedro said, his own anger rising, but kept in check by years of careful self-control. He glanced at the blood elf lord. "Whatever titles you had in Quel'Thalas, Kel'theris, you're nothing more than treacherous scum to me. That applies to your cruel bastard of a son as well." He glanced at Ordevaas, once a friend and fellow apprentice, now an enemy. "The Light is not your plaything, you petulant child. The sooner you grow up and realize that, the sooner reality will come and slap you in the face." The Blood Knight Master's hand went to his sword at that insult, but Kel'theris held his arm. "But I am a man of honor," the paladin continued, secretly amused at his opposite number resorting to violence to make his point, and having his father shut him up to keep from making a scene. "I cannot kill in cold blood."

"You were about to do so to Artimus," Ordevaas' daughter, the ranger Areinnye Scourgebane, calmly pointed out. Ordevaas shot a venomous glare in her direction, which she returned.

"He requested peace," Ammenkayn retorted. "And it was about to be granted."

"He saw only Scourge!" Euphrati snapped. "As he sees only Scourge when he looks upon my father and I, or upon the General."

"I was Scourge once," Settra admitted. "Whatever freed the Forsaken freed me as well, and I am eternally glad of it. Listening to some maniac in a frozen chair whisper in your head all day has its drawbacks." He grinned, and Saavedro was surprised that the General still had perfect white teeth. "My companions will remain for a time, and probably travel west to the Borean Tundra. The warlock and I are returning to Lordaeron with Lord Artimus on the next zeppelin."

"Where are you taking him?" Saavedro wanted to know.

"Why, to Stratholme, of course. Where all death knights free of the Lich King go to begin their service." He was silent for a moment. "By the way, Lord Saavedro...I thank you."

That caught the paladin off-guard. "What for?"

"For slaying the bastard who cursed me to this undeath. I hope you made the Baron suffer as I did when you took his head." He smiled. "Oh yes, I've heard of your exploits in the Burning City. I may have been a recluse since Sylvanas took over Lordaeron, but I still had an ear to the land, as it were." He clenched his fist over his heart in a martial salute. "Farewell, Saavedro of Stratholme. We shall meet again." Cloak fluttering in the wind, Settra gestured to the others to follow him back to their town of New Agamand. As he walked away, Ordevaas turned back, green eyes staring at his Alliance counterpart. Then he grinned wickedly, and turned back and walked away.


Stratholme, Eastern Plaguelands
Some time later

Healed and rested on the trip back to Lordaeron, Artimus Devaneaux once more stood within the walls of Stratholme. He unsheathed his reforged runeblade, created by Forsaken artificers. Defileron, they called it - the Hand of Artimus.

"Are you ready?" General Settra asked at his side. His own runeblade was in his hands, held at battle stance.

Artimus nodded. This is where death knights were "trained", Settra had explained - by running a gauntlet through the Burning City, infested with ghouls, skeletons and zombies. But Artimus felt no fear. He had stared death in the face, standing before Kel'Thuzad, the Lich King whispering in his head, and conducting the vile ritual that raised dead Vrykul for the Scourge's growing numbers.

"I am a death knight of the Horde," Settra said solemnly.

"I am a death knight of the Alliance," was Artimus' reply.

"And we will raise the dead against the dead," they intoned together.

With that, the two death knights charged side by side as a legion of Scourge stood between them and the exit...

Epilogue

Artimus and Settra did in fact survive their sojourn into Stratholme. They were covered in the gory remains of the Scourge they had waded through; Artimus bled from several wounds, and embalming fluid leaked from several cracks in Settra's armor. But both would live; I bandaged Settra myself, while Saavedro tended to Artimus. Then, realizing that we had done what we came to, we all went our separate ways.

Lord Joshmaul thought that while he and I accept the powers Settra brings to our cause, Saavedro would not be so keen; he himself has killed his share of death knights, and believes that their powers would only damn the souls of their wielders. Artimus is practically soulless anyway, though not so much that he did not enjoy the comradeship with Settra. In fact, they seemed very comfortable with one another. Artimus, of course, was bothered by the holy auras projected by Saavedro (probably done on purpose, the spiteful son of a bitch), while Settra seemed to welcome my lord and I like old friends.

I must admit to being a little disturbed, however; a death knight - the death knight, as far as my people are concerned - was responsible for despoiling my homeland, destroying my city and killing my people, but yet we allow death knights into our ranks like nothing. But who can say what destiny has decided for us? We blood elves, of all people, know that in order to defeat an enemy, you must use his powers against him. In Outland, we used demonic forces and shadow magic; in Northrend, we will use necromancy. Even some among our own people - who hold the same reservations about using this magic as I do - have accepted this as a necessity, Lor'themar among them.

Perhaps the Forsaken have the right of it. Why not use such magics openly? Our capital and much of Eversong Forest is dotted with fel crystals. We use what we must to survive. The Light is my tool - but even in Light, there must be darkness, and Settra became the shadow to my light. As for Artimus, who knows what will become of him? Some say he will turn against the Alliance again, avenge the slaying of the Barovs at the hands of Master Sekhesmet and Saavedro; some say he will pursue his own agenda with the powers at his disposal. Whatever he does, it is bound to be gruesome; knowing the man's reputation as I do, Artimus with any kind of power is not a man to be trifled with.

As for me...I continue to fight the good fight, as I have for centuries against various foes; intruding trolls, the Scourge, the Legion, the Illidari, the Alliance, the Horde - race and faction do not matter when they invade our home, wherever that may be.

- Ordevaas Portalseeker, Crimson in the Darkness: The Memoirs of a Master of the Blood Knight Order
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