The death knight's sword angled down towards her broken body, as if extending the hand of death. The rogue that lay at his feet had fought hard; the sweat permeating his blue-black armour would be her only victory over him. His massive mace had been no match for the slight warrior. Looking down the length of his bloodstained weapon, he regarded his latest victim coldly. She does not possess my strength. She was lying on her side in the mud, choking on the blood that leaked from her mouth. Her leather garb was in shreds, slashed to pieces from the death knight's magic-imbued sword. For a moment she looked to him more like a child than a fierce rogue fighter.
He knelt beside her, his silver gauntlets clinking as he shifted the weight of his sword. The rogue turned her head to face the death knight; her delicate, bloodied features betrayed her pain. She refused to both surrender and die. He lingered a moment longer next to her, before rising once more and stepping back. He would wait for her to die. It wouldn't take long for her will to break.
"Beg for your life!" he commanded. His deep, throaty voice was ice-cold. He knew that he could frighten his victims into complete obedience. He could make them sing if he wanted them to. Then he typically proceeded to end their lives brutally and raise them from the dead to be his minions, which made controlling them much easier.
He waited. What he saw as he waited surprised him. The broken warrior before him rolled onto her knees, leaning heavily on her hands as she went. Breathing heavily from the effort, she managed to put one of her sandaled feet on the ground. She paused in an attempt to regain her breath. He watched as the blood dripped from the gashes that criss-crossed her entire body. He watched as she placed her other foot parallel to her first, lifting herself into a low crouch. He watched as, with a scream of agony and effort, she rose further, until she was fully standing.
It took all of her strength to remain on her feet. Blood leaked from every inch of the rogue's body; the pain was unlike anything she had ever imagined or experienced. She had no strength to hold her head up straight, so she looked up at her towering opponent as her head angled toward the earth.
Her words came slowly and quietly, but none of her ferocity had faded. "I… do not…beg." She spat the last word as her knees gave way and she tumbled toward the death knight.
Instinctively he caught her as she fell. He lifted her easily into his arms, for his own comfort, if nothing else. The metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils as he stole a glance at her wounds. The fact that she was still alive was nothing short of amazing. I did this to her. The realization shocked him to the core, shattering his carefully constructed wall of ice that had once chilled him into numbness. Feeling rushed back to the knight, smothering him in regret, sorrow and chagrin. So many people I have killed without a second thought. I won't be like that again, he vowed to himself.
Without deciding on a destination, the cruel death knight walked, carrying the rogue tenderly in his arms. The gentle rocking movement caused by his steps woke her from unconsciousness. She slowly opened her eyes and smiled up at the knight.
"Tell me your name, foe." The rogue's voice was just a raspy whisper, her throat raw from her cries of agony.
The knight looked away from her peaceful face, his eyes cold once more. "Names are weaknesses." Saying nothing more, she slid from consciousness once again.
And so the death knight walked. His victim did not wake again, but instead lay in his arms, vulnerable and bleeding. As he watched her, he was reminded of a moment in his childhood, when he came across a young bird that had broken its wing. It lay on the ground, desperately trying to move, but with limited success. He had picked up the little blackbird and wrung its neck, putting it out of its misery. For days afterward, the feel of the blackbird's neck breaking beneath his fingers had haunted him. To make himself feel better, he had justified it by telling himself that he had helped the bird by killing it. A flightless bird would never survive and would only die a slow, painful death. Flightless birds were weak and easy prey for stronger animals. Justifying it hadn't made him feel better.
The rogue was another flightless bird. But this time, he wouldn't kill her. This time, the death knight would help her to live again.
He hadn't walked far before he came across an abandoned hut that would be suitable for his needs. He was exhausted, not from the battle or from carrying the dying rogue, but from the newly awakened emotions that now coursed through him viciously. Walking to the only visible door, the knight noticed a well to his left. Couldn't be more perfect, he thought. He kicked the hut's door in, breaking the feeble lock that sealed it. Stepping through, the death knight quickly surveyed his surroundings.
It was a tiny hut, consisting of a single dust-filled room. Scrolls littered every surface except for the bed that filled the furthest corner. A scholar, the knight deduced.
He walked to the bed and eased the rogue down onto it. She was very pale now, and barely breathing. Realising he could not let her to lose any more blood, he jogged back to the well he had seen in front of the hut. Using the small, wooden bucket left there by the hut's previous owner, he drew up clean, cold water. Pleased with the quality of the water, he turned to go back to his patient, careful not to spill any of the bucket's contents. He knelt down beside the broken body of the rogue and began methodically cleaning and binding her wounds with rags made from the sheet on the bed. He was well experienced in this area, having bound up many of his own battle-wounds.
Despite the wounds he had seen and inflicted over his time as a death knight, he was sickened to see up close the damage he had wreaked on this petite body before him. He wished she would wake, so that he could tell her how sorry he was for causing her so much pain. A knot formed in his stomach when he realised that she may not wake again. Nevertheless, there was nothing more that he could do right now. She was in fate's hands now.
Knowing this, he rose from the bedside and removed his armour. It looked as though he was going to be here for a long time. He dragged an armchair closer to the bed, so that he could make sure the rogue continued to breathe, that her heart continued to fight.
The knight must have drifted into sleep, because he was woken by the rogue's groans of pain as she resurfaced from unconsciousness. He leant forward tentatively, unsure how she would react to his presence there. Why am I here? He wondered suddenly. It had seemed perfectly logical to stay and look after the woman he had nearly killed, until now. He wasn't so sure now. She would have been fine without me. Why didn't I leave her to it? I could be worlds away by now.
Returning his attention to the rogue, he realised that she was staring at him in utter confusion. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't. Assuming that she was confused as to why the death knight that had given her these injuries was sitting in an armchair by her bed, he answered her unspoken question.
"I don't know why I'm here. I thought I did, but I was wrong. I'm not here to kill you though. If you'll let me, I'm here to help you. Are you thirsty?"
The rogue blinked then nodded slowly, wary of the knight. That wasn't the answer she was expecting, obviously. As he rose to get her a drink, he smiled. It was the first time he had smiled in a very, very long time. He liked surprising people, although he usually killed them afterwards. He reached into his tunic and retrieved a water skin that hung around his neck. Unsure if the rogue wanted his help, he silently held out his water skin for her. She stared at it as if it was a precious gem. Then she looked back to the knight, her eyes softer.
"H-help," the rogue rasped, her throat raw and dry. She wouldn't be able to hold it, he realised. Moving cautiously, he slowly sat on the edge of the bed and lifted the rogue's head gently, so that she could drink. She gulped down the whole skinful. When she was done, she coughed and cleared her throat.
"Why didn't you kill me?" her voice was strange, the knight thought it sounded strangled, like she was trying not to cry.
He paused, searching for the right words. "Like I said, I don't know. Strange coincidence though, I can't use dark magic anymore. It seems my loyalties have been changed for me."
"That can happen?"
"It appears that way. I have never heard of any other death knight being forced out of the brotherhood because they just can't kill people or use dark magic any more. Are you in much pain?"
Again, the rogue blinked, taken aback. "Uh… not really, all things considered." She thought for a minute. "So, if you can't use dark magic, are you still a death knight?"
The knight smiled, as if at a joke. "Not a very good one, I'd say. All of my weapons are imbued with dark forms of magic, so I don't think I'll be able to use them. So I guess that makes me an ordinary knight, doesn't it?"
"A warrior," the rogue corrected. "A knight has allegiances, ones that never change. Considering what you told me, your allegiances don't seem very concrete. That makes you a warrior."
"A warrior, then." He agreed. "Tell me your name, rogue."
She narrowed her eyes at him, scrutinising the newly classed warrior. Seeing no trace of the malice that had haunted his green eyes, she answered simply. "Demo. Do warriors have names?"
The warriors eyes flicked away from her, looking for a way to avoid answering. Finding none, he looked back at Demo. "I have been known by many things. My first name, the one given by my mother, is Erebus."
"Thank you, Erebus, for not killing me. Hell, you even helped me. I think I'd be dead if it wasn't for your timely change in loyalties." She smiled mischievously, like a child doing something they know they shouldn't. "Wouldn't you agree?"
He didn't answer. He shot her a dark look, but it didn't displace the smile that lit up her bruised face, as he'd hoped it would. If not for the damage, he could see that she would be beautiful. Her hazel eyes were bright and portrayed every thought that crossed her mind. Demo's dark hair was long and pulled into a ponytail at the base of her head. Her features were delicate, her body battle-hardened.
"To whom does your loyalty belong to this week, Demo?" Erebus retorted, knowing the nature of a rogue, and what her answer would be.
"The highest bidder. The contract holder."
His eyes darkened as he thought for a moment. "Were you contracted to kill me, Demo?" Thinking back to Demo's ambush of him in the mud flats of Silithus, Erebus became suspicious of her motives for not exacting revenge for almost killing her. Which would have been completely justified, he thought to himself.