((Author's Note: This short story was actually written before Post Tenebras Lux and was where I first hit upon the idea of a death knight antagonist/nemesis. Some of the action sequences, details, descriptions, etc, were borrowed for Post Tenebras Lux, so if anything seems familiar, that's why. :) I was going to expand this story into something more, but then I started writing about Cyros and Ashira and it kind of went from there.
I hope you enjoy my effort. Thanks for reading. :) ))
The Bond
Avoiding the gleaming light of the setting sun, Argor Grimfang crouched carefully in the shadows of a cluster of massive trees, deep in the heart of Eversong Woods. His red eyes were narrowed as he peered warily out from the darkness. Cautiously, he took two steps forward, his booted feet sliding easily across ground. Using years of training and a stalker's instinct, Argor skillfully avoided stepping on those dried leaves and dead branches that might give away his position. It was hard to believe the bald and hugely muscled orc, armored in mail and leather, could tread so lightly amidst the woods, but moving quietly was mere child's play for the experienced hunter, his boots padded and armor oiled to dampen any noise.
Even as he stepped forward, something chittered softly in question and agitation beside him. The hunter momentarily reached over to rest a large green-skinned hand reassuringly on hard and shiny carapace. Briefly the fading light lanced dimly through the trees to illuminate the orc's nightmarish companion. Two meters long and a little less than a meter and a half in height from the tips of its six legs to the top of its armor plated spine, the massive black and red scorpid chattered quietly to itself as it waved its huge pincer claws, pleased with the attention.
"Quiet, old friend," Argor whispered, his deep rumbling voice lowered to a gently chiding tone. "You know better than to attract unwanted attention."
Immediately the scorpid lowered its pincers and seemed to sink down slightly at the mild rebuke. It scuttled forward quickly, but quietly, taking its usual protective position before the hunter.
Despite the grim situation, Argor smiled fondly as he gazed momentarily on his insect companion, a savage expression further enhanced by his sharp fangs and thick tusks. Though many would have referred to the hulking scorpid as Argor's pet, the orc knew those same individuals would have been swiftly impaled by the long poisonous stinger had the giant scorpid truly understood the meaning of the word. He and Vrok were equals: friends and comrades. They had traveled, eaten, hunted, and fought together for many long years, ever since Argor had first learned from his mentor how to tame the beasts of the wild. As strong and steadfast as a mighty tauren, the scorpid also possessed a troll's predatory cunning and a battle-fury that rivaled an orc's when enraged. A true bond had slowly, but steadily formed between orc and insect over time and as it had strengthened Argor could have sworn he was on the verge of understanding Vrok at times in his chittering language.
Unexpectedly, a woman screamed in fear up ahead, snapping the orc from his reverie.
Cursing himself for his foolish thoughts, Argor quickly reached back over his shoulder with his right hand. He smoothly drew forth a black-fletched arrow from the quiver bound to the traveling harness secured to his back over his dark green cloak. The hunter strung the arrow against the bow of hardened ebony gripped tightly in his left hand. The beautifully crafted weapon was almost as long as the orc was tall, promising hideous power and deadly accuracy. He raised the weapon halfway up into a position of readiness. The enemy was close and his first shot had to be true, buying time for the others he would undoubtedly need.
"Let's go!" He said harshly to Vrok and the scorpid scuttled forward at once, easily keeping pace with the hunter as he broke into a swift ground-eating run. He raced past brown trees with leaves of bright yellow and fiery red, leapt easily over their thick roots, and pounded through green bushes, stealth ignored in the pursuit of his mission.
Argor burst from the forest into a small clearing, ebony longbow raised and ready. But he hesitated for a moment, his red eyes widening at the sight before him.
Clad in a red and gold robe that was torn and burnt, a beautiful blood elf priest with fair skin and long, but disheveled blond hair was stumbling back from a towering armored form advancing towards her. She turned to flee, but her clothing betrayed her, her feet catching on the edge of her robe to send her slender form sprawling in the dirt.
Her attacker had paused at seeing Argor emerge so suddenly from the woods, but the orc hunter found himself frozen in turn as he gazed upon an evil monstrosity that hadn't been seen in several years.
The figure had clearly once been a human man long ago, but no more. He was clad in black plate armor adorned with serrated blades and rusty spikes, giant skulls molded from the metal capping his shoulders and knees. A stained and ragged purple cloak hung from behind his shoulders, flapping in the chill breeze, the hood completely engulfing his head in darkness. From within the shadowy depths, two glowing red eyes blazed with unnatural fury. In his right gauntleted fist, the figure gripped a fearsome morningstar. The long haft of the weapon had been shaped from a large bone, the rusty chain was thick and spiky, and the bladed head looked to have been carved from a solid block of obsidian, dark purple energies crackling across its surface. On his left forearm the armored figure bore a rectangular shield as large as he was tall. It was wrapped in human skins, dried and desiccated, and reinforced with bands of black iron.
"Death knight..." Argor breathed in shock, before he repeated the dread title more firmly, the words now spat forth as a curse of the foulest sort.
The orc hunter had fought against these fallen warriors before in the past as the undead armies of the feared Lich King sought to expand their master's dominions to all corners of the world. At the end of the long and bloody Third War against the Burning Legion and the Scourge, it had been assumed the death knights had withdrawn their forces back to strongholds in Northrend to await their liege's orders. Clearly that assumption was false or else there was some other sinister reason for this undead commander to reveal himself, alone and unescorted, so close to a large and heavily populated city.
Argor drew back his arrow, pulling the fletching to his ear. The wood shaft quivered with the force that was waiting to be unleashed. But before he could fire, the blood elf pushed herself to her feet, stumbling inadvertently into his aim. The death knight started forward as well, his steps as slow and implacable as his title.
"Jaeline, get down!" Argor roared. Startled, the blood elf glanced up, only to drop to her knees a moment later in understanding. In the next instant, the hunter loosed his arrow. The metal-tipped projectile flashed across the clearing to slam into the death knight's left breast, piercing through the black armor into the withered flesh beneath. The impact rocked the undead warrior back two steps, his torso twisting back violently as it absorbed the force.
The death knight's left hand reached up to yank the arrow out, snapping it in half and tossing the pieces contemptuously aside. Argor quickly drew another arrow, nocking it as Vrok inched forward. The scorpid was hissing in deadly threat, its armor plated tail arched over its back in readiness, glistening poison oozing from the stinger.
"A fine shot, orc," The undead champion said, his voice dry and whispering, as frigid as a glacier. "I commend your skill in piercing my heart, though as you can imagine it ceased to beat long ago. But this matter between the elf and I has nothing to do with you. Leave now and I will spare your life, pathetic as it is."
"Argor!" Jaeline gasped in disbelief, her emerald-green eyes widening as she swiftly rose to her feet to scramble behind the orc hunter. She wiped away the blood that was flowing from a deep cut across her forehead. "How did you find me? How did you know-?"
"I heard of some greater evil arising in the Ghost Lands and that its influence was spreading towards Silvermoon itself," Argor growled in explanation, his aim never wavering. "You forget I know you, Jaeline; I knew you would eventually learn of this menace and seek to extinguish it."
"I-I'm sorry, Argor. I never imagined it could be...could be one of them."
The death knight took a decisive step forward as if on cue, sweeping his morningstar out to one side as he executed a mockery of a courtly bow from the waist.
"My lady, I crave your pardon. I introduced myself only with pain before, but never provided my name: Duke Greythar, at your service, formerly of the Kingdom of Azeroth."
Argor could almost taste the black sarcasm and loathing dripping from the undead warrior's whispering voice.
As he straightened, Greythar continued, "As a priest, I must admit you are indeed exceptionally gifted. However, as you've no doubt realized, the Darkness is more than a match for the Light, even against one as formidable as you."
Jaeline flinched as his scornful laughter lashed her like a whip.
"I tried," The priest whispered fiercely behind the hunter. She bowed her head as her small hands tightened into fists, trembling with the frustration of failure. "By the Sunwell, I tried, Argor! He was so strong... I... It was impossible!"
"I won't believe that!" Argor snarled defiantly, baring his fangs. "Any foe can be defeated!"
Before he could continue, Greythar interrupted him with another bout of harsh spiteful laughter.
"Brave words, orc!" The death knight took another menacing step forward, raising his morningstar. "But I've heard such emptiness echo across countless battlefields before. You arrogant fool. Death itself holds no dominion over me. I draw on strength the living cannot hope to match."
Instead of replying to the death knight's gloating words, Argor turned his head half to the left, though his red eyes remained locked with the blazing gaze of Greythar.
"Jaeline, you must go now," He said firmly, speaking over his shoulder through gritted teeth as he prepared himself. "Don't argue!" The hunter snapped as she began to raise her voice in protest. "If Vrok and I manage to destroy him, you can heal our wounds and bring us back if need be. But if you fall, no one will ever know what happened here today and this monster will remain unopposed once more. You must go and quickly!"
To his surprise, she hesitated only for a moment, before kissing him gently on the cheek and nodding in determination.
"I will return with help, Argor, I promise! Stay alive!" With that, Jaeline spun around and hurried off, tearing at her robe to give her the freedom to run.
Duke Greythar moved to pursue the blood elf, but found the hunter blocking his path, eyes narrowed in grim resolve.
"Stand aside, little orc!" He hissed, the barely restrained fury of a predator denied. "Or be slain and raised up as my servant until the end of time!"
The death knight's cold ultimatum sent a shiver of fear rippling down Argor's spine, but he shook his head boldly.
"I will not," The hunter snarled. "If you want her, then step forward and let's end this."
Greythar's eyes burned even brighter as he raised his morningstar high, swinging it in slow circles above his head. Argor tightened his grip on his ebony longbow, pulling back the arrow to loose.
"You will regret this evermore," The undead champion promised with grim finality. "Know that a moment of defiance has earned you an eternity of torment."
As his voice trailed off, he charged forward suddenly with a speed that almost caught Argor off-guard. His morningstar became a deadly blur of movement as it was whirled around, before the death knight sent it smashing towards the hunter's head. The orc barely managed to duck in time, diving to his left. He felt the rush of wind on the back of his neck as the weapon's obsidian head swept by in its deadly arc.
The hunter rolled up onto one knee, drawing back his arrow and loosing it into the back of Greythar's right leg. At such close range, the powerful longbow sent the arrow piercing straight through the back of the death knight's knee, the metal point bursting out the front of the armored joint.
"Low-born cur!" Greythar cursed as he lost his balance, dropping down onto one knee as well. "Hold still and your end shall be swift!"
The death knight spun around awkwardly, twisting around to the right, and swung the morningstar up high. He brought it down and across in a vicious backhand strike, the weapon head whistling through the air as it rushed towards Argor's chest. Before the morningstar could reach the orc hunter, Vrok crashed bodily into the death knight from behind. The scorpid was in a frenzy of rage, screeching as its pincer claws slashed and snapped at the undead warrior's armored form. The sudden and heavy impact sent Greythar sprawling on his chest, his morningstar almost flying from his grasp.
Cursing, the death knight wriggled and thrashed like a landed fish to dislodge the hulking insect. He managed to roll onto his back, bringing his shield up to cover his upper body as Vrok's long stinger lanced down. Even though it was wrapped in dark necromantic magic, the shield could do little to stop the stinger, as long as a short sword, from piercing through. The razor-sharp tip was halted mere inches from Greythar's head, the clear poison dripping down into the darkness of the death knight's hood.
"Your witless beast won't save you!" The black knight shouted. "And now it shall die first!"
Greythar raised his morningstar and swung it downward at Vrok's head, even as the scorpid scrabbled up further on the death knight's body, heaving on its stinger to dislodge it from the shield.
"Vrok!" Argor roared in desperation, even as he raised his longbow, but knowing with dread certainty he would be too late.
Yet as the death knight's eyes flared brighter in anticipation of the kill, he felt something seize his descending forearm in grip of iron...seize it and immobilize it. He glanced over to see the scorpid's left pincer claw grasping his right forearm, halting the blow with a terrible strength. Snarling, he strained against the claw, pitting his great strength against the scorpid's in an effort to force his arm to continue on its downward path, but it was useless. His arm wouldn't shift even an inch.
"Impossible..." Greythar whispered in disbelief, even as his forearm's vambrace began to buckle from the crushing force the pincer claw was exerting.
Hissing, the scorpid backed off of the death knight, dragging the undead champion bodily to his feet. Jerking left, Vrok threw Greythar over ten strides to crash back first into a large tree, the thick bark splintering and tearing from the impact. Before he could recover his footing, the death knight was slammed back against the tree again as a trio of arrows from Argor pinned both armored shoulders and his sternum to the thick wood.
Growling in rage, Greythar asserted his feet against the grassy ground and pushed forward, tearing free of the arrows, snapping off their wooden hafts in his body. Vrok scuttled forward to reengage and again the scorpid's stinger stabbed out, aiming for the death knight's chest. This time, the undead warrior was prepared and easily parried aside the stinger with his shield so that it impaled the tree instead. The wood admitted the natural weapon...and then gripped it fast.
It took a long moment for Vrok to comprehend this shocking information, before the scorpid began to tug madly on its armored tail, struggling desperately to tear the stinger loose. Greythar laughed coldly, raising his morningstar high.
"Witless beast indeed!" He exclaimed, even as Argor broke into a flat out sprint, the orc's heart hammering in his chest. The hunter reached back for another arrow, praying he wouldn't be too late. He had to buy Vrok time.
But then the death knight struck; the morningstar cleaving down like a woodcutter's axe. The scorpid raised its left pincer claw for a feeble shield, but the dark weapon smashed it aside, cracking the carapace like an egg shell. Green blood spurted from the terrible wound as jagged fragments of chitinous exoskeleton scythed in all directions like a deadly hail.
Even as Vrok screeched in pain, Argor roared in sudden agony as well, his longbow dropping from the nerveless grasp of his left hand. His arm felt as if every bone had been shattered all at once. What... What was happening to him?
As the orc hunter collapsed to his knees, clutching at his left arm, a starburst of pain exploded in his forehead. His mind suddenly filled with thoughts and images that were familiar, but not his. Sounds, smells, tastes, even emotions, all threatened to overwhelm him in a titanic wave of sensation. Fresh pain ripped through his left arm, driving these alien thoughts momentarily from his head, as Greythar battered aside Vrok's pincer claw a second time, still aiming for the scorpid's head.
"Stop resisting, pathetic worm," The death knight growled as he raised his morningstar up again, the scorpid still struggling weakly to free itself. He glanced over at Argor, his glowing eyes narrowing as if noticing the orc's agony for the first time. "And what's this?" For a long moment, he looked back and forth between Argor and Vrok, before at last chuckling harshly in horrible good humor. "Ah, I understand... A pity you only managed to achieve this now, moments before your demise. You might have proven to be a worthier opponent." The orc could only imagine the leering grin splitting the death knight's near fleshless features.
At last, in a single searing instant, Argor understood as well. The orc hunter closed his eyes as fierce pride warred with soul-sinking despair in his heart. His mentor, the wise tauren hunter Zofar Ironhorn, had spoken long ago of bonds that would form between some beasts of the wild and their chosen hunters. For it was, he had said, that the animals themselves would choose who would be their companion, not the hunter. And if the bond was strong, if the kinship and fellowship were rooted deeply against all obstacles, then each would come to know the other and share in all things. Though of separate bodies, they would combine to become of one mind and spirit.
Thus would the rare Spirit Bond form to make both together far greater than each alone. But as with all things, there was a price to pay. Just as joy and elation would be shared, so too would be pain and anguish. Each would experience what the other felt and Zofar had warned the Spirit Bond would create the gravest of trials for both hunter and animal companion, for how true was their camaraderie? Would one abandon or, far worse, betray the other due to what was being felt through the Bond? Or would they bravely weather any storm together, sharing the burdens evenly, with each forming a steady rock of support for the other?
And in this instantaneous revelation, Argor suddenly felt clearly Vrok's pain and fear, the giant scorpid's desperate struggle for survival, as if it was he fighting for his life only twenty strides away. And he knew what had to be done.
Rising slowly to his feet, the death knight's contemptuous laughter still echoing in his ears, he reached back over his shoulder with his right hand and pulled forth a magnificent two-handed battle-axe from its oiled leather sheath. The main blade was formed from a single curved piece of lustrous multi-colored crystal, expertly carved by its crafter to be both wondrous to behold and deadly when wielded, with razor-sharp edges. Two more curved shards of crystal were attached to the central blade by arcs of crackling blue-white energies, flanking the long haft of the battle-axe that was forged from the finest gold and adamantite.
Legacy, the weapon was called, bequeathed to the orc hunter by a dying draenei vindicator in Shadowmoon Valley. Argor had arrived too late to save the nameless paladin from death, but he had seen with mouth agape the veritable mountain of demon bodies the draenei had heaped up before finally being cut down by his foes. When he had tried to return the weapon to Ishanah, high priestess of the Aldor in Shattrath, he had been rebuffed. Ishanah had explained with an almost reverence that throughout the Legacy's long history it had been wielded only by those worthy. If the Legacy had been freely given to Argor Grimfang, Ishanah understood she was not one to stand in the way of such a mighty gift.
"So, still some fight in you after all?" Greythar sneered, carefully watching Argor's slow movements. Snorting in derision, the death knight landed an almost lazy kick against Vrok's left side, his armored boot splintering more carapace plating.
The orc hunter stumbled, almost dropping the Legacy as the ribs along his left side erupted in pain as if they had just been smashed in. He bit back a scream of agony, clenching his teeth so hard that blood flowed down from his gums, staining his sharp fangs and tusks scarlet. The scorpid was torn loose of the tree by the force of the kick and sent rolling into another tree six strides away, crashing into it before settling in a cloud of dust and tangled limbs. Vrok didn't move from where he lay in a crumpled heap.
Argor knew the massive scorpid was still alive, had to still be alive, for if Vrok had died then assuredly he would have perished as well. He knew their lives were now linked more deeply than he could have ever imagined. But he was still standing, still facing down the towering death knight.
My strength is yours, old friend, Argor thought desperately, trying to reach out to the unmoving scorpid. My will is yours. While I yet live, so do you. Our enemy still stands, Vrok, and I need your help. I can't do this alone.
"Did I not promise you, orc, you would regret challenging me?" Greythar asked as he stepped forward, his icy whispering voice impassive in its assurance. "Did I not say your beast would die first, crushed like the puny insect it is?" A murderous laugh echoed throughout the clearing as he raised his morningstar to point at the trembling hunter. "And now to fulfill the rest of my vow: you will die and then you will serve me until the stars themselves burn out!"
Argor didn't waste his breath replying, instead raising the Legacy slowly into a position of readiness. He gripped the thick haft tightly in both green-skinned hands, trying to ignore the liquid fire that seemed to flow along the entire left side of his body. The hunter knew he bore no real physical injury, but the Bond that linked orc and scorpid transferred the pain. He felt as if he'd been fighting for days, leaden exhaustion sinking into his limbs, his arms and legs trembling involuntarily.
As the death knight started forward, Argor felt something touch his mind briefly, faintly. It almost... It almost could have been a chittering question. Glancing over at Vrok's crumpled form, he saw the armor plated tail twitch, the legs spasm with sudden movement. Elation swelled the orc's weary body as he beheld the pincer claws open and shut slowly. There was still a chance! At the back of his mind, he felt the scorpid's presence press reassuringly against his consciousness. The hunter reached out, focusing on the energies that would heal and mend as he had been taught by Zofar long ago. The awful pain subsided as Vrok asserted his own will, accepting the energies and then amplifying them so that both could be healed through the Bond. They were both still alive and they would remain so as long as their resolve remained intact.
In an attempt to keep Greythar's attention diverted, Argor stepped forward into a fighting crouch, the Legacy raised and ready.
"You said before death holds no dominion over you..." The orc snarled. Behind the dark knight, he saw Vrok rising quietly onto all six legs, raising his stinger once again for the battle to come.
"What, you desire for me to somehow prove it to you, orc?" Greythar asked as he continued to advance, whirling his morningstar over his head.
The hunter smiled grimly as he saw the scorpid crouch low, preparing to charge. He couldn't help, but laugh aloud. He saw his unexpected reaction had startled even his merciless opponent, Greythar's advance momentarily faltering.
"No," The orc replied quietly. "But-" And his voice was raised suddenly to a roar. "I think we'll put that statement to the test!" With that, he charged forward even as Vrok sprang forward as well, the two attacking in tandem.
Greythar, so focused on Argor, never even realized Vrok had recovered. Even as the death knight swung his morningstar down and out in an arc towards the orc's left shoulder, the massive scorpid's right pincer claw smashed into the back of his legs. His strike spoiled, Greythar tried to keep his balance, stumbling forward. Argor easily dodged the flailing obsidian head of the morningstar and slammed his left armored shoulder into the death knight's chest. The unexpected attack knocked Greythar back to land with a crash of plate armor against the ground. Both poisonous stinger and crystalline battle-axe descended in the next instant in twin strikes at the death knight's torso.
Rolling to the right, Greythar managed to use his enchanted shield to deflect the stinger aside, but the Legacy hewed into his left shoulder as he moved, opening a deep gash in the armor that spewed black ichor. Roaring in rage, the death knight rose quickly, lashing out with his morningstar in a backhand strike to drive back both orc and scorpid. Even as Argor ducked beneath the swing, Vrok plowed his right pincer claw into Greythar's stomach, sending him staggering. As the undead champion fell back, Argor was already spinning as he ducked, the Legacy lashing out like the blade of a whirling circular saw to slash across the back of the death knight's right leg. The blow would have crippled a normal opponent.
Greythar recovered quickly though, raising both weapon and shield in preparation. Argor and Vrok stood side-by-side, stalwartly meeting the death knight's burning gaze. The hunter's hands flexed almost imperceptibly on the haft of the Legacy, the powerful muscles in his arms and shoulders tensing as he took a firmer grip on the battle-axe.
Greythar gestured sharply with his flesh-wrapped shield.
"Come then!" He hissed, red eyes flaring brightly. "Both of you together do not suffice against me."
Argor glanced down at Vrok and found the wounded scorpid was watching him in turn, narrow red eyes focused up at him. He smiled grimly as he looked back at Greythar, baring his bloody fangs.
"Are you ready, old friend?" He asked softly and the reply was instant: firm, steadfast, and determined.
Without another word, Argor broke into a run, rushing at the death knight, the Legacy sweeping out in a deadly beheading strike. But the death knight reacted unexpectedly. With a sharp gesture of his shield arm, Greythar unleashed an eye-aching comet of foul green energy that took the form of a skull.
Moving too quickly to evade, Argor was struck in the chest by the tainted bolt of necromantic magic. A howl of agony was torn from his throat as the green energies rushed over his body. The orc faltered in his charge, almost collapsing to the ground. He felt...drained. More than mere physical or mental exhaustion, this feeling was the most overwhelming sense of emptiness he had ever felt before, as if some bottomless pit of darkness had opened deep within. He couldn't describe it, but it felt as if something had reached inside him to tear away a piece of his soul.
Renewed by his death coil spell, Greythar lunged forward with a bark of harsh laughter, his morningstar sweeping out. Argor regained enough of his wits to throw himself back just in time, but the bladed obsidian head still slashed across his chest, tearing easily through his armor to leave deep bloody gashes filled with black corruption. The orc hunter managed to tuck his body into an awkward shoulder roll, cracking and splintering the arrows in his quiver, jagged shards of wood scattering across the ground. Regaining his footing, his head jerked up to see Greythar almost upon him, the death knight roaring in triumph, morningstar raised high in his right hand.
Vrok's stinger suddenly tore into the ground under his right foot, a final desperate plan to swing the tide. Agony consumed the hunter's mind, almost blinding all of his senses, his vision blurry, but he knew they had this one last chance. Argor thrust himself into a leap forward and upward, Vrok aiding his jump by heaving his tail up as well, propelling the orc hunter up and out with tremendous speed. He arched his back, raising the Legacy so high and so far back the ancient crystalline battle-axe brushed against his armored spine.
Argor descended on the charging Duke Greythar like a juggernaut, an unstoppable thunderbolt falling from the sky. Through eyes wide in a mixed frenzy of fierce exultation and hopeless despair, the hunter saw the death knight's own blazing eyes flare brighter in surprise and fear. He began to raise his shield.
As the Legacy was driven downward in a tremendous two-handed blow directly at Greythar's head, Argor screamed an age-old war cry.
"Lok'tar ogar!"