Burden of the Heart

Well I've had this in my idea for some time now! Ever since the dungeon with the Lich King came out it has been growing. Frankly I haven't posted anything in a while. Blame school for that one. Anyways, this idea wouldn't leave me alone SO here it is. A world of warcraft piece.

It follows my favorite NPC leader who doesn't get enough love, Darion Mograine, Highlord of the Ebon Blade. It has an OC in it but don't worry...I'm doing my best to keep her from being a mary sue. She has flaws and one them perhaps being a general incompetence with life, I think.

This will update whenever I can write another chapter and have the inspiration. The setting is AFTER the fall of the Lich King and at preCataclysm as well...er...the Cataclysm is going to happen probably within chapter two or three .

Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

Le Pomme

…...

The rain gave the Plaguelands a nearly living smell. A fresh, muddy smell although the distinct stench of rot still clung underneath. It nearly reminded the Highlord of the Ebony Blade of times before the plague, before death, before many things that had come to pass. It brought an odd feeling of what Darion figured was melancholy to his being. Nostalgic feelings perhaps. Being a death knight began to tear at you and render you numb and confused about the most trivial emotions that stirred within.

The numbness was easy to deal with. Things just seemed to slide off of you, but it was the confusion that angered the Highlord. He understood the feeling of love for his father, the connection between him and his men that was some sort of affection and pride, but nothing else moved him like perhaps it once did. Darion knew he was missing things he once knew. It ate at him like maggots, pardon the pun. That was one positive aspect of being a death knight though. The insects and vermin companions of the crypt did not find a new home among your rip cage like was the case with the lesser undead.

The Highlord sighed and hunched over in his saddle, his mood black. He hated having to think about the past and feeling a mixture of emotion that he was trying to place to the world again. He hated the Lich King, now vanquished, that had cursed this living death upon him. Truly though, Darion hated a lot of things and he hated hating if such a paradox existed. He was growing tired of it.

"Twice curse and thrice damn them all," Darion growled although who the "them" referred to could be a number of things, he didn't elaborate. He himself was not sure what his ire was directed towards.

His deathcharger gave a whuffle giving a toss of its head as if in agreement with its master. The flashing blue steps of the beast left a thin sheen of frost where it stepped but the frost was quick to melt in the wet warm air. The entire place seemed to be silent. He leaned back trying to relax his grip, trying to find peace of mind. Restless dead...perhaps the greatest understatement of the year.

A shriek echoed through the air and broke whatever small scrap of tranquility Darion had managed to collect. His head snapped to the right and almost by instinct he pulled the reigns of his deathcharger heading towards the sound of distress. It didn't sound like any sort of banshee he had ever heard and it defiantly wasn't a ghoul. No, the cry was human. No doubt some damn fooled adventurer thinking to rid the Eastern Plaguelands of its curse. Still Darion rode hard eyes narrowed driven by some long forgotten ideal of protection. He didn't know why but he knew in his dead heart it was right. His father would've done the same thing.

The dead mass of flesh within his chest lurched painfully at the thought of his father and it almost seemed like it would try to beat. The Highlord sucked in a deep breath and held it. Breathing was more a habit then anything and he only did it now to remind himself he was no longer living. He no longer had a beating heart. He held that breath. Darion continued to hold it even when he saw the frantic horse tearing through the lands.

It was a chestnut brown horse with a simple saddle upon its back and traveling packs attached to the sides. The animal however was wild with fear. Darion could see the sweat frothing on the beasts fur as it ran headlong without a rider whinnying and squealing. With a kick to his deathcharger's sides he easily intercepted the beast grabbing a tight hold on its reigns. It fought and bucked but he dragged it along growling.

"Calm down you damn mule or I'll break your neck!" Darion grunted. He wouldn't have killed the animal at least without knowing its owner. Besides if the owner was dead somewhere in the Plaguelands, then someone would have to bring news and the horse would at least make it look like he had given a damn. Any little thing to aid in building the honor of the name of the Knights of Ebon Hold. Another shriek, louder and closer rented the air now. Darion was on the move before the cry had started to fade replaced with a softer hoarser one. Whoever it was seemed to be running out of air to fuel their cries for help.

He tied the bridal of the still jittery horse to his saddle and took off not carrying if he was dragging the tired quivering mass of equine behind him over the ground. Eventually he reared his steed, wheeling it to the side slightly leaning to the side slightly. One hand rose to the blade on his back as his eyes narrowed. It was a pack of slobbering ghouls that survived in the plagued lands even as the curse of the Lich King was slowly unraveling with his demise. The ghouls were getting in one last kill it seemed. They had cornered a human woman up on a hill were she shrieking raising her staff letting loose bolts of light to cut into the enemies below. A few dead ghouls already littered the ground but it was more a drop in the bucket for the pack that had found her.

A priestess no doubt. A foolish one. Darion scowled and drew his weapon dismounting his deathcharger. A simple task for him to handle. Ghouls were weak compared to his power.

The slobbering undead were smartening up , it seemed, as they quickly figured that the lone priestess couldn't put up a defense if they all came at her at once. Whoever this priestess was saw the danger and simply steeled herself letting lose with all that she could. Light laced out cracking into the ghouls as she shouted and hollered to drive them back. Darion had to give her credit for her perseverance, but it was time for him to step in before she ended up nothing more then ghoul feed.

He could have given some battle cry as he charged in or some sort of warning, but at the moment the Highlord could care less about being a knight clad in shining armor. The only word of his arrival he gave was slicing the nearest ghoul in two viciously. The fetid corpse gave a gurgle as its torso slide from its hips. The damn thing still clawed for a few seconds before finally shuddering and going still. The other ghouls in the pack turned but were too slow for his might. Soon they were nothing but ruined hunks of flesh steaming in the rain. Darion stood, blade glowing as the rune blade fed upon the spirits of the ghouls and charged the power of the blade. He looked to the priestess.

They stared at each other. Frankly he didn't know what to say to the woman or how to even start a conversation. It seemed the priestess was equally tongue tied and her entire form was tense with fear, eyes nearly bulging in her head. She had deep amber eyes that were slightly bloodshot and her light brown hair was looking more like a nest of wavy brown snakes plastered to her skull with sweat under her white hood. She opened her mouth licking her lips looking about to say something. A faint hoarse sound like a drowned kitten worked its way out of her throat before her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she keeled over in a dead faint.

Darion sighed and sheathed his weapon. The Highlord could not blame her for the reaction, really. Being chased by and almost eaten by ghouls then saved by a death knight wasn't perhaps something easy to take in all at once. At least she hadn't ranted or tried to smite him like a number of paladins and priests had tried to do in the past. Oh yes, Northrend was so much more pleasant when you got mistaken still as being a minion of the Lich King every time you stepped out of the camp for a bit of fresh air.

He knelt next to the woman brushing some of her hair out of her face. She was pretty as far as he was concerned. If that was one thing that still gnawed at his mind, it was young attractive women still had that bizarre effect to make him actually take a second look. It was perhaps the curse of dying and becoming a death knight at a young age. Or perhaps it was due to the fact he had died a...

"Milady, now is not the time to faint," he growled giving a slight shake hoping she would regain consciousness, "I figured that coward of a horse is yours?"

No response. Nothing but the soft slow breathing of a woman passed out. Darion frowned and looked about. He couldn't well just leave her lying in the Plaguelands and honestly he didn't want to ride to Light's Hope Chapel with an unconscious priestess in his arms...no doubt one of the blowhard newcomers would accuse him of some wrong doing. That left only one place to go...

The Highlord let out a low sound of annoyance and roughly scooped up the woman in his arms bridal style carrying her back over towards his deathcharger. The chestnut mare had calmed a bit and was pawing the ground giving nervous nickering, eying his mount up cautiously. The deathcharger only gave a snort stamping a hoof impatiently. Darion shared its sentiments.

He quickly mounted and pulled the woman into her lap adjusting her so she wouldn't be a nuisance getting in his way, "The things I have to put up with. By the light..." He grumbled giving a slap of his reigns.

Without pause or hesitation his deathcharger was running headlong over the familiar landscape of the Eastern Plaguelands pulling the tired mare along behind it. Darion kept his eyes ahead. When he finally returned to Acherus, the Ebon Hold, he would have one of the servants attend to the priestess's horse. As for the woman herself, he would have one of the female death knights get her cleaned up. When she finally awoke , then Darion would finally get answers from her such as why in the blazes had she even been in the Plaguelands alone.

The familiar silent sight of Acherus brought a bit of relief to the Highlord. At least it meant getting his mind back on the everyday operations of the Knights of the Ebon Blade for a bit. The work would help in clearing his mind. He looked down at the woman still unconscious against his chest and noted vaguely how pale and thin she looked. Undernourished. He would have to see about rousing the abomination and bone bags who ran the kitchen into cooking something decent.

Darion let out a sigh and looked up as he slowed his deathcharger down approaching the stone that would transport him into the belly of the necropolis. This woman was just a minor inconvenience. As soon as she woke up and gave him his answers and she would be gone. He gave a slight nod, satisfied with the thought and entered the familiar darkness of his home.