Snow. That's what it had been called. The word came back to what was left of Aethes' mind seemingly out of the blue. He realized now it was all around him, falling endlessly to collect on the frozen ground. Cold. Another word he recalled, as it must have felt around him with all the snow that was falling, though he could not feel it. His sense of feeling had gone with his flesh and his mind so long ago. It felt as though he was seeing the world in earnest for the first time, and he felt… different.

From where he stood the world was dark, he stood upon a glacier over-looking the frozen valleys of sacred Icecrown, though he could not see far, the darkness that was the atmosphere of the top of the world blocked much of his vision, and the snow. The snow, it brought back something to him, memories; feelings perhaps? Aethes could not tell, but it reoccurred to him that this sensation had been happening for a few days, or was it weeks? The blind rage that once consumed him seemed to be leaving his body and a new strange feeling was replacing it.

Around him stood his brothers in arms, a gruesome group they were. There armor was of a hundred armies, scavenged mail, dented plate, rotting boiled leather, rotting… just like their skin. Flesh still clung to some of their bones, but most were simply skeleton covered by their aged armor. For those who wore breastplates beaten enough to see through, Aethes could recognize the eerie glow that always radiated from the center of his brothers, though there was something strange about the glow now. Had it changed? Blue. Yes, it had been a color, the same as the ice and rock around him, sad and lifeless… but now, it was different. The undead meandered around the top of the glacier, glancing out from time to time to the valley below. Aethes could see it now. The light that shone from their chests, eyes, mouths, it was… a fiery orange, a red. But what did that matter? Why did this catch his eye?

As if by instinct Aethes turned to one of the undead nearby, some power of recognition drew him to the lichling. The being was tall, slender and skeletal like all the rest. He wore the tattered robes of a mage, ragged after years of ware, all seemingly held together by chains coiled around his thin figure. The illumination from this one was much greater than the rest of his brothers, and the color of fire. The lichling's mouth opened.

"You sense it too do you not, faithful one?" the voice echoed in Aethes head.

"I feel… different, the voice, its gone." Aethes did not recall hearing his own chilling voice for quite some time.

"Not gone, not completely, no. I still sense him there. Do you recall what we were sent to do?"

Aethes could hardly remember anything, but at the same time he remembered everything. What was happening to him? Was he finally drifting into mindlessness, the only death his kind could look forward too? Perhaps not, the captain, the lichling, would know.

"My thoughts are my own, but they seem to betray me, I cannot recall what we were sent out to do."

It was impossible for an undead to smile, but the red, orange energy that swirled around the lichling distorted his face and a grin like shadow crept across his skull.

"Then welcome to your new… unlife." The lichling turned to the group of undead standing about the glacier.

"Brothers! What was it the Lich King commanded us to take?" Most of the skeletons standing there simply looked back at the lichling, it was obvious they were in the same state as Aethes, however, a few of his comrades raised their grisly weapons.

"Death to the Knights of the Ebon Blade!" The call came up from the few who knew the answer, and the lichlings smile persisted.

"As foolish in freedom as they were in chains. Aethes, kill them." The lichling commanded.

Kill. The word made the old rage within Aethes boil up again, but his rotted hands did not move to the sword resting at his hip bones. I am in control. He stared at the lichling for a moment, studying him. The delay to follow orders seemed not to bother the specter. Aethes realized what was happening, in that moment.

His hand flew to the hilt of his sword and he ripped the rusted metal from his scabbard. As he did he noted those who had not taken up the call earlier did the same, and for a moment the glacier fell into a song of singing steel. Aethes rushed at the nearest skeleton, sword still raised above his skull, cutting across his once brothers elbow he separated the weapon from his foe. He kick out with his iron boot and heard a crunch as he smashed the skeletons rib cage, the fire within it flickering all along. As his opponent began to crumble to the ground Aethes pressed the attack, leaping with his sword raised high above his head. He brought down the blade on the skull and split it in two. The broken bones fell to the ground with the rest of the once whole skeleton and the fire died away from its heart.

Aethes glared around, the poor undead who had shouted their cry were being viciously beaten to dust by their once brothers-in-arms. Nearby, one of the largest skeletons within the company held one of the defectors in his massive claws, shaking him so violently armor and bone alike were thrown across the glacier, until the fires of undeath died away from the skeleton. There was no need to find another opponent, and the only undead left standing had taken part in the slaughter of the few.

In the beginning there had to be some fifty of them, and four broken bodies lay on the ground, slowly being consumed by the falling snows. There had never been any feelings in Aethes, and certainly not after battle, but for the first time Aethes had a sense of them. It was not remorse, no. It was accomplishment, pride, victory. The lichling, Yjarim, that was his name, had said the command, but Aethes had carried it out; by his own will, his own free will.

"You see they were useless." Yjarim said to him, and the surviving undead.

"They had yet to adjust to the change in the winds, and there is work to be done that they would impede."

Aethes was unsure of what he meant exactly, but he knew he was right, the time of change had come and he was a new undead.

"And where are we to go, Unhallowed one?" Aethes asked of the lichling.

"To the friends of death and living servants of the Lich King, to Ymirheim."