Note: The world in which my story 'The Ebon Blade' is based on, belongs entirely to Blizzard entertainment. SOME critical portions have the dialogue taken directly from the game World of Warcraft. That doesn't happen until much later in the story anyway. Thanks in advance for spending your valuable time reading my story. I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 1

Azrael crouched behind the debris of a wrecked wagon train that littered the side of the street. He was a small way away from the ghost town of Darrowshire. The wreck bore all the signs of an attack by the scourge. Material wealth was left behind without any trace of flesh. The scourge had no use for gold. An entity with only one collective goal- to convert all life to itself. No doubt the unfortunate beings who chose to risk travel through the Eastern plaguelands were now mindless zombies carrying out the will of the Lich King. Azrael sighed as he realized the hopelessness of the situation. Ghouls and Zombies posed threat only due to their large number. He had seen veterans of war overwhelmed by the sheer multitude and tenacity of their opponents. Slaughtering the pawns of the scourge was a truly fruitless task. One ghoul was soon replaced by ten, and the scourge was endlessly growing in number. There were scourge and then there were scourge. The disgusting pile of flesh sewn together that was patrolling the street ahead of him was an example of the latter. Nowhere as fragile as a Ghoul, an Abomination was a being of pure force. The lopsided grin on its face was in stark contrast to the sharp barbed wire that was barely holding together the rancid flesh and organs it was composed of. Nor was there anything funny about the giant cleaver it held in one hand, and a giant chained meat hook in the other. Yet, thought Azrael with a feeling of self disgust, not too different from what he had been transformed to. A Death Knight. A fallen soldier of the alliance, a human from the kingdom of Stormwind, and proud former member of the Stormwind elite. He had served under the direct command of King Varian. Raised in death to become more powerful than he had ever been before, his power had come at the cost of his humanity. When he was first freed from the bonds of the Lich King by the paladin Tirion Fordring, he had nearly wept at what he had become- Better to have died on the battlefield than become a monstrosity, the very kind he had despised and fought against. But in the shadow of despair that had engulfed him and many of the freed Death Knights, had come Darion Mograine. The leader of the Knights of the Ebon Blade. He had united them under a single banner and with Fordring's help had them reconstituted as members of the Alliance and the Horde. He had given purpose to their lives. Within themselves, Azrael and many other Death Knights had seen that Humanity was not defined by flesh, but by actions- by their service to their King and to the Light. Craning his neck, he caught sight of Acherus, the floating necropolis that served as headquarters of the Death Knights of the Ebon Blade and his resolve strengthened, his mind quickly returned to the tasks at hand.

The bulk of the forces, Both the Argent Crusade and the Ebon Blade, were now in Northrend battling the forces of the Lich King and preparing for a massive assault on Icecrown Citadel. While Azrael had no greater desire than to join his brothers in Northrend, him and a few other regiments of death knights had been left at Acherus to help 'clean up' the mess left by the scourge. The focal point of the conflict was in Northrend and the Lich King had all but abandoned his hold on the Eastern Kingdoms. Over the past months scourge activity was on a steady decline until now. Any action in the eastern plaguelands was limited to skirmishes between the Alliance and the Horde vying for control over a parched and dying land. But more recently, Azrael had received reports of Abomination sightings, and tougher-than-the-usual undead soldiers- which meant they were former elites of the alliance and the horde- Nowhere near as strong as Paladins or Death Knights, but Azrael knew for sure that they wouldn't have fallen to any remains of the original scourge. The Light's Hope outpost that stood directly beneath Acherus received fortnightly supplies from the town of Southshore. Relatively safe as the Plaguelands were compared to the time they were in the grip of the Lich King, supply caravans were heavily guarded. A stray attack by a plague carrying animal, some bad luck, and they would have to contend with a full scourge army in a very short time. No one took chances when it came to the scourge. Initially dismissed as an attack by the Horde, Captain Guirrin had taken a small contingent- no more than ten soldiers- to investigate the matter. They hadn't returned for two days. While there was fierce enmity between the two factions, supply chains were often left untouched, as a mark of mutual respect. Even more so, under service to the Argent Dawn, the Eastern Plaguelands was a sanctuary, where hostilities were forgotten- for most part- in the view of a common enemy. Azrael had a hunch that this had something to do with the increased scourge activity in the southern region of the plaguelands, and he had been right. The Abomination he spied on now was not the weak fare that they had been left with. It had runes branded onto its skin and reeked of foul magic that would, no doubt, enhance its abilities. The magic meant only one thing- Cultists. Azrael had only pity for the undead scourge- farmers, brave soldiers, even children, who had fallen prey to the plague and were now mindlessly serving the Lich King. Cultists however were another matter. Living beings that had forsaken the light to serve the scourge. Conscious beings who knew the difference between right and wrong. Azrael felt the remnants of his once human soul flare up in anger. They would pay for this.

Protocol dictated that Azrael send for reinforcements and a scouting party be arranged. A full scale sweep of this region was in order to prevent the Establishment of a scourge outpost. The Lich King had his eyes on Northrend momentarily and was fighting against the combined forces of Alliance and the Horde. But he would not hesitate to make use of an established Scourge Outpost to wreak havoc on the Eastern Kingdoms. He had done so before. No. Azrael could not take the chance, but he felt sure that he could handle this particular Abomination- as magically enhanced as it was- with ease.

A Death Knight had an array of magical attacks at his disposal, many of them common to all Death Knights, that made him a formidable opponent. Each Death Knight however, chose to specialize in one of the three major schools- Frost, Unholy or Blood. Azrael had been chosen to walk the path of a Death Knight of Blood. A near superhuman rate of healing, nothing short of a small sized legion could kill him. Azrael had survived the light manifested in the attacks of a thousand paladins when he was a servant of the Lich King. His choice of attacks were more...physical than his Frost and Unholy counterparts. Yet freedom from the Lich King had weakened him to no small degree. One of the reasons why Mograine had insisted that he stay behind. In the opinion of their leader, Azrael was too shattered and had lost his will to fight. There was something holding him back. While most of his brothers, like the Death Knight Thassarian had retained their strength- in fact he could go as far as to say Thassarian was stronger than he had ever been under the Lich King. Yet, Azrael and a few others had found it hard to come face to face with what they had become. Without the passion that fueled the likes of Thassarian and the others who were now in Northrend, Mograine suspected that they would once again fall under the grip of the Lich King. He had not explicitly said so, but Azrael knew it. And that was something he had never wanted. Disappointed though he was at not having the chance to go to Northrend, Azrael understood. Now, he had an opportunity to test his conviction. He knew that he would prevail and become stronger for it.

Even though he was undead and had no true sense of smell, Azrael could feel a familiar tingle in his nostrils as the overwhelming stench of putrefaction grew stronger. Azrael gripped his Rune forged blade tightly, the same weapon he used as a Stormwind Elite, a remarkable sword that was enhanced thousand fold and could now channel his power to devastate his enemies. The abomination had come as close as it would before it would begin moving away to complete its assigned patrol. Azrael leapt into action.

He felt his arm tremble as he gathered the latent power dormant within him and unleashed a blast of ice at his foe. Caught off guard the abomination took the full brunt of the blast and staggered backward. Besides causing some minor damage, the spell was designed to slow down an opponent for a short duration. Azrael lost no time in inflicting a wide gash on its stomach, with force that would have left an ordinary creature of flesh and blood in two halves. Bleeding and dripping its contents, though seemingly unhurt, the Abomination was quick to react and swung its giant cleaver in a frontal arc intending to behead him. Azrael ducked and scored another strike. This time at its legs. No sooner had he done so than the cleaver was brought back for a second try at his head. Azrael brought his blade up just in time to block the attack. He felt the jar of metal as the weapons struck. Having fought such enemies earlier, Azrael had anticipated the incredible force of the blow and prepared to move slightly so as to not try and oppose the whole impact. This abomination was far stronger than any he had faced before. He was swept off his knees and flew nearly a dozen feet away. He took a fraction of a second to regain his composure and out of sheer instinct rolled over to his side. The very spot he had been lying on the ground earlier now had a grim meat hook embedded in it. Azrael fell back into his fighting stance, and already the abomination had closed the distance between them. He narrowly avoided a few more strikes from the cleaver. This wouldn't do. The Abomination was incredibly fast- much faster than him. He leapt back putting some distance between them and launched an other blast of ice against his foe. Even with the slowing effects of his spell, Azrael was only narrowly avoiding the cleaver and inflicting only minor damage on the abomination. Azrael could see that the magical runes were slowly healing the more grievous wounds that Azrael had made. The only way to kill it was a lot of damage. In a very short span of time.

Bracing himself, Azrael concentrated on focusing his power to heal. A fraction of a second was all it took and he was ready. He leapt into the air holding his sword high above his head, as if to land an overhead strike at the abomination. The abomination took the bait and swung the cleaver at his exposed side, slicing through the armor and embedding itself in his side. The abomination let out a gurgle that sounded as close to a triumphant laugh as it could ever manage. Azrael moved along with the cleaver like a rag doll swung by an angry child. A wound that would have instantly killed anyone else- even another Death Knight. But not one schooled in the ways of Blood. Grimacing and tearing his mind away from the pain he felt, Azrael knew that he would live through this. The cleaver trapped in its enemy's side, the abomination had temporarily let down its guard. Azrael quickly regained the grip on his Rune blade and hacked away furiously at the Abomination, tearing through flesh and the barbed wire that held it together. It let out an unearthly scream as it tried to comprehend what was happening. Its efforts to pull the cleaver out failed, causing much pain to Azrael, but he continued hacking away. This was the best chance he would get, for he knew he could not absorb another blow like that one again without putting his life at serious risk. Increasingly growing frustrated with its inability to use the cleaver, and having suffered numerous cut and gashes from Azrael's sword, the abomination reared back and struck him with its foot, wrenching the cleaver free from his body. Azrael flew and fell a short distance away from the abomination. He got to his feet, the sword in his right hand and his left wrapped around his torso. The abomination was thrashing wildly and trying to pull itself back together, allowing the vile magic inside it to work on healing itself. Azrael could feel himself losing strength to the wound on his side. He had taken far worse and more mortal wounds than this one. He could live through this. He pushed away the pain and began to plumb deep within himself to call upon the powers of Blood to heal his wound.

As the healing began to take hold, his mind was flooded with visions of his days in service to the Lich King. Six Death Knights. Mograine was absent as were Thassarian and Koltira. Present were the four horsemen led by Baron Rivendare, Orbaz Bloodbane 'the hand of suffering' and himself. They stood over the ruins of Havenshire. Havenshire...Within moments Azrael lost complete control and fell to his knees. He let his sword fall away from his hand. For the first time since this fight had begun, Azrael felt pain like he had never felt before. His mind was filled with screams of the innocent. Azrael opened his eyes just in time to see a hook head towards his face. It connected with his face, breaking the bones in various places. Azrael flew through the air and this time crashed into the wreckage of the wagon he was hiding behind moments ago. Through blurred vision, he could make out that the abomination's leg was severed and it was dragging itself to him with one hand serving as its leg, and the other brandishing the cleaver menacingly. Azrael would not lift his hands this time. He doubted he could even if he had wanted to. The abomination was nearly upon him when Azrael saw something bowl into it. The 'something', Azrael could make out through his blurred vision was a Ghoul. It didn't make sense to him. A Ghoul attacking an abomination? unless...

His suspicions proved to be right. Seconds after the Ghoul had been ripped apart by the angry Abomination, as expected Azrael saw a blast of ice slam into the abomination followed by what appeared to be a bolt of shadow that resembled a skull- the Death Coil of an Unholy Death Knight. Where Knights of Blood focused their powers on healing themselves, the Unholy Death Knights were nowhere as durable as those from the school of blood, but were utterly devastating in battle. Armed with spells of shadow, Unholy death knights were often underestimated as they appeared to do very little with their weapons. But the bulk of their damage stemmed from the diseases they inflicted upon their enemies, slowly eating them away before they could understand what was happening. The same was the case with the Abomination, the runes crafted into its skin were fading, their attempts to heal the abomination becoming futile under this new foe's magic. Azrael did not need to turn around to see his savior, for merely seconds later a figure clad in the dark armor of a Death Knight, wearing a tabard of the Ebon Blade, rushed headlong into the abomination. From the way he crouched, Azrael knew for sure this was no human, not any member of a race of the alliance. The stooping form, the crooked legs and the very long arms. A troll. This one had fiery red hair cropped to the center like many of its race. Maintaining his distance, the Unholy knight slowly destroyed the abomination with a combination of his sword and unholy magic. The diseased abomination tried to do its best to hack away at its foe, but to no avail. The ghoul too had now risen again to join its master and began harassing the abomination. A short minute later the Abomination lay one the street, a pile of flesh and organs. The unholy knight was leaning over the remains as if examining them. Seeing the enemy vanquished, Azrael began to wonder if it was a good thing at all that he had lived through this. The last thing he remembered was the troll walking towards him as he lost consciousness.