Silent. Cold. Dark. Musty.
Boring.
So many words in the thesaurus to describe life in Acherus, yet so little motivation to bother describing it. Such was the life of those called back from death to combat the Burning Legion.
High above the Broken Isles, the necropolis of those sworn to an existence between black and white hovered. For countless hours they watched, eyeing the Broken Shore to ensure that the demons they'd finally conquered remained within the confines of their ruined world. Long after the final war against the demonic entity had come to an end, the Ebon Blade remained in stasis both literally and figuratively. Between factions, between continents, between life and death, they continued their vigil of political neutrality. In doing so, they condemned themselves to irrelevance, fading from the memory of the living and the dead.
Deep within the confines of the library of Acherus, one of their rank carried out his monotonous ritual of analyzing every log of field combat he could find. Scrolls from different eras and civilizations laid out before him, organized on an ancient table which every other inhabitant of the Ebon Hold knew was permanently reserved. Nearly every armed conflict in the history of Azeroth and Outland was detailed in that library, as well as in the black-clad reader's personal journals. Annotations and diagrams filled new volumes as if the lone reader was uncovering a great secret to how wars were won and lost. Alone in the dark with only an hourglass and a single candle as companions, the black knight scribbled away.
After a period of seventy-two straight hours throughout which the warrior-scholar didn't leave his seat, the weathered door of the cramped claustrophobic's nightmare that was the library swung open. The uneven gait of a geist reached his ears, muffled by the common courtesy of shoes and gloves that he'd forced his minion to wear. Not wanting to lose his train of thought, he ignored the undead serial killer until he finished the passage he'd been penning.
Only when he was finished did he look up into the geist's one good eye. He tapped his gauntlet on the table expectantly.
A sound like a broken water faucet sputtered inside of the burlap bag tied around her face, causing him to consider hiring a surgeon to give her a more functional vocal organ. "Bring news, news," the geist spat. "News for master, news about news."
Although he hadn't spoken in three days, his own voice came through clear and deep, functioning well like most of the rest of his body. "You've interrupted me. I assume this is breaking news, in that case."
The geist rubbed her hands excitedly. "Bring big news, best news. News about the Queen."
An old, cold heart felt a pinprick of warmth. He found it strange how both joy and sorrow carried the same feeling of heat within him. Not wanting to pull open an old wound, he shook his head and tried to wave his minion away. "She is not my Queen...not anymore," he sighed. "My citizenship with the Forsaken isn't likely to be reactivated."
Rather than cower away, his minion bobbed up and down eagerly. "Best news better. Bring best news, Brittany does. News about new war. News about call for action. News about warring factions." Her garbled words caught his attention, and when he leaned back in interest, she began to wave her hands. "Yes, master listens! Good news, Brittany bring good news. Brill destroyed!"
The chunk of ice that was his heart stiffened and grew brittle. "What!" he gasped, closing his journal. "What on Azeroth are you talking about?"
Oblivious to any sentimental connection her master may have had, the geist rolled off her entire laundry list of current events. "Yes, yes, Brill destroyed! Undercity ruined! Tirisfal lost! Revenge by Alliance!"
"What in the blazes...how is this even possible?" The studious death knight braced his head with his hands, trying to cope with the speed at which the information was coming. "Brill was my city, once...wait, what do you mean by destroyed? What happened?"
"Hhrrrnnmmm, destroyed, destroyed, yes! Horde destroyed dark elf cities, burn dark elf tree city, Queen's orders! Alliance take revenge, destroy Undercity. Destroy Brill. Survivors found, but very few, yes!" The geist sputtered into her bag mask again, but her master was too shocked to think of ways to fix her speech impediment.
"By the shadow...my former life...I still had friends there. I don't know if they would have spoken to me again, after what my kind did to the dragonflights, but damn it all. What about survivors? Do you have any more specific news?"
The geist shook her head. "No more. Just that survivors exist, and not many. Most of Tirisfal Glades, uninhabitable. Poisoned for the living and the undead. Forsaken relocated to Durotar. Kalimdor for Horde; Eastern Kingdoms for Alliance."
Shooting away from the table, the black knight pondered his former life and the loved ones lost. As if his servitude to the Ebon Blade couldn't be any worse, he now had to cope with the fact that all of his bridges outside had truly been burned. Without any connection to another soul outside of Acherus, he was stuck without much of a purpose beyond fighting the battles of politicians he despised.
Unless...
"You said the Horde and the Alliance have attacked each other?"
More bobbing up and down signaled his geist's delight, as well as her obliviousness. "Yes, yes! Factions united to fight the Legion, destroyed peace thereafter!"
Slowly, the death knight rose from his chair. On instinct, he felt his ring finger for a long lost signet taken from him. A gift from Sylvanas Windrunner, it was, years prior when he'd sworn fealty to her throne in Undercity. He'd given it up when the Ebon Blade's politics had led to his exile from Tirisfal, through no fault of his own. Even beneath his plate gauntlets, that finger felt colder than usual without the signet ring. Memories of a new life rebuilt taunted him, reminded him of the multiple losses he'd suffered since the opening of the Dark Portal. But he'd suffered those multiple losses because he'd rebuilt his life multiple times.
Taking his great helm from a nearby shelf and strolling toward the weathered door, the black knight paused briefly before exiting. "Brittany, collect everything I own and lock it in my chest. Except for the candle - I don't need that. Wait by the portal to Dalaran when you're finished."
The geist's head twitched oddly, but the one good eye lit up and the defunct eye nearly opened. "Yes, wait by the portal I will!" she sputtered.
Moving with as much purpose as an unsleeping, undying being could, the undead knight swept down the narrow halls of Acherus. Despite the swelling in population following the Legion's defeat, those halls could hardly be called busy; with most of the Ebon Blade's ranks concentrated in the arena in the top level, the majority of the necropolis was empty. Uninterrupted on his stroll, he found his thoughts well organized by the time he reached a lesser-used balcony toward the backside of the floating ziggurat.
Set apart from the other categories of minions, a flock of val'kyr loitered on that isolated balcony overlooking the ocean. By the standards of undead, the partially incorporeal spirits of bonded vrykul warriors were talkative with one another, and a few separate conversations took place simultaneously. One singular valkyrie warrior, seated rather than hovering, occupied a corner far away from her fellows. The stoic outcast almost didn't notice the death knight approaching until the other val'kyr began to whisper among themselves.
The lone val'kyr stood to receive them, obviously upset by the reaction of the others but working to hide it. After saluting with a fist over her heart, she stood at attention and waited for her commander to speak first. Despite the mount of thinking he'd done, his final statement was relatively simple.
"I'm leaving," he told her.
Simple words, but the weight they carried was considerable. Even when her face from the nose up was concealed, her cheeks, mouth, and chin were like an open book. Confusion transformed into a distant sense of apprehension, and he soon regretted his brevity.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
He shook his head, unable to contain the many long months of frustration building up. "I'm leaving the Ebon Blade, Runa. I've had enough. I'm going to tell them right now."
Disbelief marked her visible features to the point where he imagined she'd gone cross-eyed beneath her helmet. "But...there's nowhere else to go. We've already discussed this. The dragonflights...the infiltration of Undercity...the death knights have burned too many bridges. The rest of us associated with this place are just as screwed."
"Undercity has fallen, Runa."
"I know that; I already heard. Everything we'd had in Brill, our whole community is gone."
"Think of it, though: Brill is gone. Undercity is gone. The factions are at war. These class order halls, they're useless now. There's no more truce to fight a greater threat. Both sides have bled and they need reinforcements. Sylvanas leads the entire Horde now. This is the chance to get out of this place - to request our citizenship be reinstated."
For a brief moment, a glimmer of hope appeared in the way her black lips parted, but she couldn't let herself believe such luck to be possible. "I don't know...we're safe here, so to speak. Out there," she said while sweeping her hand toward the waves southward, "we have no idea what to expect. We could lose what we have here."
"What do we have here, Runa? Really?"
"I...we...well..." She sighed, more in sorrow than defeat. "You know how I feel about being forced into this. About being here. At least you had the dignity of being sent formal communication to give you the illusion of choice; I was jumped in the woods and had a bag tied over my head by these bitches," she said while nodding toward the other val'kyr, who'd already began to snicker in their little cliques. There was obviously no love lost given how Runa had essentially been kidnapped by her fellows in order to increase the Ebon Blade's ranks of the winged warriors. "It's not like I want to stay here."
"So why not leave?" he asked.
"Because there isn't anywhere else we can go. We're still under pariah status."
"We can't continue like that forever. I won't continue like that. We served and did our time, and achieved more than the rest of these fools have. I'm done being a pawn for an irrelevant organization. If leaving puts me at risk of being completely factionless, then so be it. We faced down Argus; we can face down Azeroth too, if need be."
He paused momentarily, waiting to see if she'd at least be receptive to the idea. Her interest was as clear as her anxiety, which was about as much as he could hope for. "Will you come with me?" he asked softly.
Like his initial statement, his final question caught her off guard. She spent a few seconds just standing there trying to process the question, having barely processed the prospect of her only true ally leaving. A measure of conflict played out in her surprisingly animated expressions, and she frowned deeply by the end. For a few seconds, he wondered if he'd overestimated how much they trusted each other. Doubt crept into his mind in spite of her success as his flag bearer and shieldmaiden on the battlefield, and he worried that he'd miscalculated his odds for the first time in many decades.
As soon as she spoke, however, she dispelled any fears he may have held. "I'm offended that you even feel the need to ask," she replied, still frowning. She held out her larger hand to his - although he was big for an undead human, she was still about a head taller than him - and allowed him to take it. "You're the only commanding officer I'll accept."
He bowed his head graciously, happy to have the only connection to his life with the Forsaken joining him. "You're the only standard bearer my armies could ever have," he replied. She smiled at their agreement but then winced at the continued comments by the other val'kyr on the balcony. "The geist is waiting for us at the portal to Dalaran. We must make haste."
Her irritation at the others on the balcony disappeared, and she grinned wide enough that she tried to suppress it. "Absolutely," she said, more confident than she'd been before.
She followed him as they reentered the building proper, walking toward the main hall. The sound of voices reached them early, and the black knight donned his helmet just as they entered the main atrium. Though a handful of minor officials and notables stood near the walls and silently observed, the discussion was taking place around the strategic planning table in the center. There, those considered the decision-makers for the Knights of the Ebon Blade stood. The Four Horsemen, top adventurers of both factions, and a few significant recruiters stood around the table bearing maps of the same paths already secured in the Broken Isles. In the center was a single speaker holding everyone's attention, so much so that nobody noticed the upstart death knight and val'kyr approach the table without permission, breaching all unspoken rules of decorum at Acherus.
Pompous and pretentious as always, the Deathlord dictated to the Four Horsemen as if there was still activity of any import happening in the Broken Isles. None of them realized they'd been interrupted until the intentional faux pas could no longer be avoided.
In one fluid motion, the black knight removed a single glove from his belt and cast it down. The felt garment without a twin struck the table with a loud patting sound. Ink splattered across the organization's plans, breaking everyone's concentration. Too taken aback to even be offended, the Four Horsemen backed away from the table to regard the newcomer. Their leader paused in mid sentence, failing to take initiative.
"General Garamonde reporting," the black knight said in front of everybody. "And I challenge the Deathlord to a duel."