Because heavy metal zombies (death knights) are cool.
-Statyck
/*\
They were fucking everywhere.
Abominations fought alongside zombies. Zombies mobbed the armies. Skeletons swarmed the town as best they could. The damned things died easy enough, but it was like there were two more to replace each one that fell. His men hurled swords and arrows and javelins and whatever other resources they had and still made no progress. The waves of Scourge were seemingly endless, and even after calling a tense sort-of truce with the Alliance for the time being it seemed that the Scourge would not relinquish Andorhal without taking a few hundred soldiers – human and forsaken alike – with them. The Horde was fighting tooth and nail for control of the city, and still nothing at all was working.
It hadn't taken Koltira long to deem the endeavor hopeless. Personally, he'd have been inclined to wait until the Alliance had weakened themselves and the Scourge. He'd have permitted them time to exhaust each other's strength and resources, before the Horde came swooping in to capture the prize. But his Queen wished it that he fight in this three-way battle, so fight he did.
After all, there wasn't much else he could do. People didn't like death knights in the cities nor did they want them in the towns. Fighting was all they were good for.
It had been…unpleasant to say the least, to live in a waking nightmare as Arthas's slave. Still he recoiled from the memories of what he had been forced to do, what he had actually enjoyed doing. He'd committed crimes far worse than murder, yet he took comfort in the murder he committed against the Scourge and Alliance alike. It was quick, simple, and more merciful by far than any torture.
Had he been any less dead, he might have let the disgust take him over.
Faintly he could hear footsteps creeping up behind him, but he wasn't worried. He'd gotten word that reinforcements would be arriving. Or rather, a reinforcement. A single "hero", who had been adventuring throughout Azeroth. Sylvanas seemed to think well of this woman, so he'd figured it couldn't hurt to recruit the heroine into the battle. Even if she was less than promised, the fight was all but lost anyways.
A tiny voice piped up behind him.
"Hello." The woman borderline whispered. "I heard you had work?"
Koltira turned, and he was not impressed.
Before him stood not a heroine of any caliber, but rather a tiny woman. She was elf, like him, and she was so small that it was difficult to believe she possessed any kind of physical strength. She was adorned in simple mail armor, nothing fancy, and a pair of mousy brown eyebrows stuck out from beneath a plain silver circlet. She stared up at him expectantly, fel green eyes glowing in the light.
Well, he thought to himself, resigned, so much for Andorhal. All the same he gave her the mission and sent her off. Chances were she'd fail, but he wouldn't hold it against her. This was an odd circumstance. Even a young hero would find the task challenging and as she bolted around the small forsaken encampment, searching for other amounts of work, he wondered if she'd even survive.
/*\
She could see the contempt written all over the death knight's face, but he had the manners to remain cordial. It was nothing she hadn't seen before but it would still be satisfying to watch him stare at her, entirely shocked by her performance. Not only had she done well in her studies, but she'd done well on her excursions out into Azeroth. She had been a top student, and she was going to make Koltira Deathweaver eat his doubts.
She gripped her bow and bolted out onto the field, her cat close behind. The routine was flawless. She distracted the enemies while her beloved pet slew them from behind. She shot holes through the abominations and eliminated the zombies with ease. The largest problem was the skeletons, and she had been told where they were coming from.
She even had a bomb to destroy the source.
After all was said and done, and she returned to Koltira having eradicated a fair chunk of the Scourge army – what was left of it anyways – he couldn't stop himself from making a face. He appeared surprised, and just a little startled, and though it would have pleased the woman to be smug she knew better than that. He gave her one final mission.
Unlike most other people, she didn't find the death knights revolting. At least no more so than the forsaken. In fact probably less, they weren't rotting nor smelled of decay. They looked normal, but for the grayish complexions that gave them away for what they really were.
The Knights of Ebon's Hold had merely been the unfortunate victims of a psychopathic man, and that wasn't necessarily their fault. All the same, however, she found their monotone inflections draining. Koltira was polite, but that was it. She got no real sense of emotion from him, aside from that brief moment of shock. She saw no feeling in any other like him she'd met either. They were all so stoic that she could mistake them for golems, statues that might move and talk but never feel. The very nature of what they were was entirely unnerving, but the same could be said for so many other people.
She found him wanting in many different ways, but that wasn't necessarily his problem or concern. He was just a boss looking for temporary employees, nothing more, and yet the rogue couldn't help but to note the odd little differences she saw between him and the living.
For now her work had been done very well. They had driven away the Scourge, and now the battle with the Alliance could commence. Instead of a three-way stalemate, they could get down to the real work.
She was dismissed, and found work elsewhere.
/*\
Koltira had thought it to be a great idea. She had helped them before, and she could potentially do so again. She had turned the tides against the Scourge, so perhaps she could do the same with the light-damned Alliance.
If anything could be said for humanity, it was that they were persistent. They were like gnats, completely everywhere. And she had performed exceptionally. She drove back their forces, took them all down. One simple little huntress had made a small army look like a band of amateurs.
It was glorious. Up until he met with the enemy commander.
Like the elf, Thassarian had no desire to fight. They traded remarks, backhanded threats on each other's lives, but it was nothing more than talk. They were both relaxed, tired. No one was going to meet death for the final time today. Not them at least. Thassarian had chosen to retreat, let Koltira have the city. They both knew what would happen to him if he failed, and so this time the human man elected to let Koltira have this one small victory.
The confrontation had been quick but the dead elf was worried. He'd let a mere mortal – someone he'd met all of twice – bear witness to his greatest weakness.
He and Thassarian had formed a bond in their time as undead slaves. It made the mortals uncomfortable to realize that the undead – death knights in particular – could feel things like happiness, love, grief, all of it. In life Thassarian had spared Koltira's brother, and in death he had become a brother. He was Koltira's final connection to the life that had been taken from him and though now they were enemies he dreaded the day they'd finally be forced to end each other.
He'd given the order in his coldest, harshest tone. She was to tell no one of this interaction, and she nodded. She understood the consequences if she were to ever squeal, but the huntress didn't leave. She had lingered, staring at him intently. It was as though she were trying to figure something out, a small smile playing on her lips.
He didn't like it.
He returned to the city victorious. The Alliance had been repelled and Andorhal belonged to the Banshee. She would be pleased with his progress.
He was sitting down at one of the shoddy army tables, getting ready to down some ale. He couldn't get drunk, but it could be fun to try. It was like a game. He could see how much alcohol he could drink before he got bored or felt like he'd explode. The warmth, too, was somewhat comforting.
While he didn't especially like it, the burning sensations that sank down through his gullet to his stomach let him pretend that he was still warm on the inside, that his heart was still beating and his cheeks could turn red. The illusion could be nice once in a while.
It was then that he heard a voice calling for him. He didn't think she'd arrive so soon.
The Queen was furious with him. She'd been present from the very start. Though the Forsaken had won the day and secured Andorhal she was still displeased with his actions. Without the huntress they'd have lost. She knew that. He knew that. And when she brought up Thassarian, Koltira could feel it as his bluish vision grew red.
The huntress had betrayed him.
He defended himself, pleaded with her even, but the Queen would not relent. He was dragged down into the depths of Undercity, the dungeons where only the most dangerous and heinous of prisoners were kept.
All the while though, he could see her from the corner of his eye. The little elven huntress staring at him from the corner with her hands over her mouth. She hadn't expected this, and she was utterly horrified as she watched him get dragged away, never to be seen again. She looked like she wanted to do something.
But she couldn't help him now. If only she'd kept her mouth shut.
Through the ringing in his ears and the pain the metal had inflicted on him he could still catch a few of the Banshee's words. She promised him a release from fear and emotion, the erasure of all his weaknesses, and as he was flung into darkness he found that a part of him hoped she'd keep that promise. He'd like to take his vengeance. What was her name?
Oh yes. Ariella Arrowsong. As the doors to the dungeons opened and the light found him through the bars of an iron cage, Koltira promised himself this:
He would remember her. When he got out, when the Queen deemed him fit to be released from whatever tortures she had in mind for him, he'd find the huntress. He'd find her, and he'd end her for the torment she had just thrust upon him.
/*\
Ariella was all too eager to leave Andorhal. How had the Queen known? The huntress thought it was sweet, and maybe a little sad. She'd seen families torn apart by wars, wars started simply because some people had pointy ears and others didn't. Petty battles fought by warriors worthy of a better cause.
And in spite of all that the two undead – one elf and one human – had become and remained friends. If even they had hope in this broken and bloodstained world, then surely everyone else could have hope too right? It had been…uplifting to watch them reconcile. To see that they did not wish to harm one another. Perhaps there was hope for Azeroth and the people who resided within it. Right?
But then the Queen had ruined it all. Ariella was by far much more afraid of Sylvanas Windrunner than Koltira Deathweaver. But the Banshee hadn't demanded an explanation. She'd known. She'd known from the very start about Koltira and his brother-in-arms. She'd been at the camp in disguise for the whole battle. She made Ariella watch as she punished the wayward death knight, for having the utter audacity to cling to his life in a way that the rest of the Forsaken did not.
He probably blamed her, she knew that. She'd have made the same assumption and as she made her escape from that horrible tainted city on her mount, she made up her mind. Though she'd heard tell of more monsters in need of slaying down south, she couldn't do that just yet. Though she knew better she still felt as though this was her fault. There was still something she could do.
Before anything else, she needed to find Thassarian.
/*\
The human man took the verbal beating with the utmost dignity. His commanders were displeased by the loss, but it hardly mattered. Andorhal hadn't been the most important point for them to lose. All this meant was that nothing would change. There were other places in Hillsbrad Foothills where they could set up shop. Many of the human men and women had retreated into Hearthglen, where they were thriving. The refugees were safe. That was the important part.
Finally the living man was done with his speech and Thassarian was free. He was all too eager to leave the little campsite to wander a while. There were spiders and bears but such things had long since ceased to scare him. Now he was faced with things that felt much more terrifying.
He was immortal now. He had no idea what to do with the information. He was undead, and without help he would never truly "die" again. As a result his family was uneasy with him on the best of days, and the society he'd literally died for no longer wanted him. They were worried that he still carried the Lich's tainted spirit on himself, and so the authorities of all races did their best to keep him out of major cities, sending him on faraway missions and the like. He didn't think he'd mind it this much, but it upset him deeply.
But then, if he was immortal now they'd all die anyways. Severing the attachments now would offer him less pain later right? He didn't know.
But that wasn't the point. All he'd done, and this was what he got in return for it. He supposed he could take solace in the fact that he wasn't the only one. Just a few months ago in Stormwind he'd seen it happen: a draenei mother. He'd just been standing off to the side, working out the details for a few missions with his companions, but he'd heard every word as if he'd been part of the conversation himself.
Hopeful and afraid, the horned woman had managed to convince her still-living husband to come see her. It should have been a joyous reunion. The man had been afraid. He revealed that he'd remarried, and that he didn't think it would be a good idea to bring their daughter to see the undead woman. He'd insisted that it would be better if the young death knight were to stay dead in the eyes of their child, and that she should be content to let the stepmother take her place in his family. He wished he could've helped, comforted her in some way, but it would've only drawn unwanted attention.
She hadn't been the first of their kind to publicly break down into tears, and he doubted she'd be the last but the point still stood: How could they be so callous?
It was then that he heard it. There was something in the bushes. He readied his sword to strike when a small woman poked her head out. An elf.
The elf who'd witnessed his conversation with Koltira.
"If you know what's good for you," Thassarian remarked in Orcish, "then you'll get out of here before I draw my sword."
"I'm not here to fight." The girl retorted. Her face betrayed her terror, but her voice remained strong. "I came to talk."
Thassarian considered her words. She looked positively terrified. If it turned violent, he could break her in a manner of seconds. She posed no threat, so he decided to reward her bravery. Besides, a little bit of curiosity never hurt anyone. It could be interesting to see what it was she wanted.
"You have one minute." He decided.
"The Queen is holding your friend prisoner. I want to free him."
"If Koltira is in trouble, then it is his own doing."
The girl appeared baffled.
"…You don't want to help him?" She asked.
"I've already stuck my neck out for him once," the death knight smoothly replied, "why should I do so again?"
The girl was silent for a moment. She stared at the human's chest plate for a moment before she answered him.
"The same reason as the first time you did it."
"Which is?"
"You tell me."
The death knight moved after her final statement. He circled her, doing his best to frighten her further. How had Koltira already gotten in trouble? Technically he'd won. He'd secured victory for Queen Sylvanas, but now this girl was telling him that he was being held prisoner in Undercity?
He didn't buy it.
"Why did she decide to imprison him?" He inquired, casually stalking the tiny elf before him. She was a pretty thing, to be sure.
"She was in disguise in Andorhal the whole time. She knew about your friendship from the start." She said. He drew his sword. He knocked the girl to the ground.
"Because you betrayed him?" He continued for her. For a moment the fear left her face, and she glared up at him.
"Didn't you hear a word I just said? She was in disguise. She was at that camp the whole time. It was your own indiscretions that left him imprisoned." She snarled. He huffed. He returned the sword to its sheath and turned away.
"Don't concern yourself with the issue." He said. "I'll take care of it. Now begone before I really do kill you."
He didn't have to see her to know that's she'd scurried away.
/*\
Ariella was quick to jump away and summon her mount before bolting the hell out of there. Thassarian was even more unnerving than Koltira. Perhaps because he was technically her enemy? She practically raced back into Silverpine Forest and then into Undercity. She didn't feel truly safe until she used that teleporter and returned to her home.
Silvermoon had yet to fully recover but it was still beautiful. Though the upper half of the city had been completely annihilated the lower half had by some strange miracle remained intact. There were a few houses, but the training centers, the shops, the inns, they were all okay. They still provided the services that the sin'dorei so desperately needed and right at this moment Ariella was in dire need of a bed.
She was exhausted. She didn't think she'd gotten a full night's sleep for at least a week. The people in Hillsbrad needed so much help. It seemed that every which way she looked there was someone in need of a hero's help. She did what she could, but she hadn't realized just how tired she was. If that wasn't enough already, there was the whole situation with Andorhal.
The business with the death knights had been absolutely wretched. She wasn't sure how to continue on from here but she got the feeling that she'd done all she could. At this point her only option left was to wait, and even then she wasn't entirely sure why she was so invested in the issue. Koltira had been a one-time employer. That's it. But what had happened to him was wrong. She didn't think he deserved the Banshee Queen's absurd punishments.
She walked up to the bar in Wayfarer's Rest and ordered a bottle of wine. The barmaid raised an eyebrow at her. Ariella was momentarily confused, but not for long. Her armor was pretty plain. The barkeep was probably wondering what, exactly, Ariella could afford.
Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Ariella held out a few gold coins. Plainly, she could afford the good stuff. The barmaid's expression cleared and she retrieved a plain red bottle from the shelf. It didn't look like much, but one sniff of the cork was all it took for the hunter to be satisfied. She paid her tab and bartered with the maid once more. It only took a second to persuade the girl to offer Ariella a small stone. Something that would allow her to pass through a ward. The inn was unusually vacant, and she happily collapsed onto one of the beds behind the many sheer curtains.
They didn't need doors. Every room had magical protections on it.
Ariella took the time to change out of her armor into a plain nightgown. All she wanted to do was sleep, and she had no desire to return home just yet. Too many questions for her liking. Though she felt a tad guilty she immediately dismissed the feeling. Her parents were most likely fine. She was just exhausted. It wasn't like she was planning to stay in Silvermoon very long anyways. She just needed to catch her breath before venturing back out into the world.
Satisfied with the thought, Ariella crawled up underneath the covers and stuffed her face into a satin pillow. Contented, her pet soon followed suit. As the pretty white tiger curled up at the foot of the perfectly circular bed she found that her eyes were quite easily slipping shut. Ariella was exhausted, only slightly tipsy, and for now her conscience was sated. She'd done everything she could, and that was all there was to it.
So with dimmed lights, a guardian, and a half-full bottle of wine on the nightstand Ariella fell asleep. It was too bad that she didn't notice the pair of fel-tinted eyes watching her.
/*\
How about this?
-Statyck