The trade district of Stormwind was a bustling throng of people as usual, despite the chill wind in the air. The threat of full winter was on everyone's mind as they hurried to their errands. Concerned eyes glanced to the ominous looking clouds clustered over the harbour. Even the vendors looked anxious; their shouts to hock their wares seemed half-hearted, and many were already packing up or securing their booths against the incoming storm. One lone draenei death knight perused the stalls flanking the side of the street. The crowd parted automatically at her approach, but she took no notice. People standing near her felt the temperature drop an immeasurable amount, and shivering, moved aside. As such, she was not hassled by vendors or passersby, and she preferred it that way. Her thick cloak did little to conceal her battle-worn pitch black armor: it was more of pretense, really. She seldom needed to cover herself from the elements anymore. Her ears caught the faint sound of whispers behind her as she perused a fruit vendor's cart. Stealthily, she turned her ice-blue eyes to the sound as she reached for an apple. Two human adolescents, priests-in-training from the look of their robes, stared at her from behind the corner of a booth. Her lips curved in a half-smile by way of greeting, and both of their eyes grew big. The taller one ducked back down behind the booth before taking off in the opposite direction, but the shorter one met her gaze, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. She shyly waved at the death knight, then turned and dashed off down the street after her friend. Maerciless smiled slightly to herself as she placed the apple back in the vendor's bin. The child's shy curiosity was a reflection of another priest she knew. Finished with her shopping, she turned and headed north out of the trade district just as the first few snowflakes began to fall.

Her hooves clicked on the wet pavement softly as she made her way home. Out of habit, her ears tuned into the sounds around her; the slap of water against the sides of the canal, the wind whistling through torn awnings that adorned the sparse shops lining the water. A few people hurrying home before the snow got too deep. The almost silent clink of her own armor as she turned down a narrow street. Rows of doors set in houses crowded so close together they seemed to be suffocating adorned this neighborhood. It was a strange location: it was set slightly apart from the canal, and yet it wasn't quite in the cathedral gardens. It gave the appearance of a street that didn't fit in exactly with the other neat lines and architecture of the city. The decorations visible in the windows of the various apartments revealed the diversity of the residents therein: night elf lanterns strung on a rope beside wash on a clothesline, crystals hung over doorframes to purify the air, even a mismatch of tools and cogs lay forgotten on the windowsill. This neighborhood was a catch-all of various races and professions. It was easy to be anonymous here.

The draenei turned the key into a door that was completely devoid of adornment and stepped inside. The main living area was a better reflection of the inhabitants. Although mostly clean and well-kept, little details scattered at the edges; sharpening stones and beeswax for bow strings were shoved onto a side desk, while stacks of books, papers, and quills were piled onto the coffee table. Maerciless pushed aside a well-worn mortar and pestle and set the market basket on the counter next to the sink. She methodically put away the groceries, snagging a golden apple and biting into it as she made her way back to the living room. Its flesh was firm and juicy, but like all food, fell flat on her tongue. Taste, and a desire to enjoy food, was one of the many casualties of the change wrought on her in Northrend. The cold emptiness that burned inside of her was not hunger, at least not a kind that could be quelled by a hot meal. Her piercing eyes closed briefly in memory.

She was an instrument of destruction, of death. She belonged to him, mind, body, soul, and what was left of her heart. His presence was a cancer that burrowed into her, flooding every thought or feeling she had with his will. He was always silently behind her, his icy lips whispering into her ear: too quiet for her to make out the words, yet impossible to ignore or resist. She had no desire to resist though, she only wanted to please him. No, want was too weak: there existed nothing but him, and she willingly gave her life to him every morning when she woke. His touch on her mind was as intimate and personal as a lover's, and inside her now existed nothing but the icy hollow that remained when his dominion was forcibly ripped from her body.

Maerciless shook her head a bit as she resurfaced from the memory. Thinking of her time in Northrend left her feeling empty, like an addict pining for his drug of choice. She glanced down in disgust at the half-eaten apple in her hand, and tossed it into the trash before dropping down on the worn couch. She picked up the pile of mail and rifled through it. Two official looking letters lay on top, with the seal of the Stormwind Military. One was addressed to her, the other to Aeschlie. Nothing for the hunters. Frowning a little, she ripped the envelope and read the thick paper within It seemed the military was heading out to the newly discovered continent in the southern hemisphere, and she had a personal summons from Admiral Taylor to be a part of the landing crew. She brushed her thumb against the letter thoughtfully. She was unofficially retired from the military. She, along with the other members of the Ebon Hold, had been instrumental in bringing down the Lich King (master) and she had been repaid with a certain amount of freedom. If she was being personally sent a letter, this must be a very important operation. She glanced down at the other letter. Aeschlie, on the other hand...she was still very much at the beck and call of the army. And if they were mobilizing to send an expedition to this new continent, she would surely be sent with them.

She stood and entered her sparse room in the apartment, dropping the letter on the bare dresser. Automatically she returned her things to their place: her cloak to the hook behind the door, outer armor to its rack, weapons to their holders. Within moments, her room was back to its immaculate appearance. She sat down lightly on the bed and glanced around the room. There was no visible trace of the unexpected chaos from a few weeks ago. The priest had stayed for five days, until that filth that assaulted her had been locked in jail. She had been an incredibly messy roommate, at least to the death knight's standards: quills and papers all over the dresser, clothes piled on the floor, the bed constantly in disarray. After the first night, they had hardly seen each other: Shirelle worked the night shift at the Stormwind Infirmary, and Maerciless dutifully slept on the couch for that time. The last evening though, Maerciless had returned to the apartment from an errand to find her carefully cleaning up and packing her things.

Maerciless leaned against the doorway with a faint smirk on her face, watching Shirelle half under the bed, dragging out errant items.

"I can help," she called, trying to keep the amusement out of her low voice. Shirelle gave a tiny shriek and bumped her head against the underside of the bed. She backed out carefully, rubbing the back of her head, clutching a scarf.

"No, I don't mind," she said, leaning back on her hooves and offering a timid smile. "You've put up with my disorganization for days, I can at least clean up before I leave." Her silver eyes met hers for only the briefest of moments before she added the scarf to a growing pile of clothes and she bent to retrieve more things. The priest had gotten more at ease around her in the past few days, but it was obvious her presence unnerved her still. All the amusement dropped from the death knight's face, and her grip tightened around the hilt of her sword as she stared darkly at a random spot on the wall. Reminders what she had become, when unexpected, still stung. The cold air that surrounded her, as well as her ability to intimidate with one intense look were, like her inability to taste or enjoy food, a souvenir of her time in Northrend. It made her military operations easy. It made existing comfortably with the living damn near impossible.

"Am...am I doing everything alright?"

Maerciless was started from her revelry by the quietest of questions. Shirelle stood by the bed, holding tightly to a wrinkled shirt. She bit her lip and stared at the floor under the death knight's steady gaze.

"You looked unhappy. I-I don't mean to bother you. I just wanted to help after you'd been so kind to me..." The priest's voice trailed off.

Maerciless instantly felt a pang of guilt. She approached the priest, gently taking the shirt out of her hand. She tried to compose the features of her face be as non-threatening as possible.

"You're doing fine. Here, I'll help you," she said, keeping her husky voice soft. The other draenei only nodded, but her eyes met hers with less fear. Together they tidied the small room, speaking little, until Shirelle's things were neatly packed in her bags and the room was nearly to Maerciless's standards. The space between them grew awkward as they both ran out of things to do. Finally, Shirelle hoisted her bags over her shoulder and turned to the death knight.

"Thank you again for watching out for me the last few days, and for...saving me the first time." Shirelle swallowed hard. The outer bruises had healed, but the inner damage was going to leave a scar. Maerciless started to brush it off, citing her duty to help others, when the death knight felt something being pressed into her gloved hands. It was a tiny devotional prayer book. Maerciless looked up at Shirelle in surprise. The priest had a slight flush to her cheeks but otherwise held her gaze steady on hers.

"You have a good heart. I don't care what other people might say about you, or what you say you've done." She nodded to the slightly worn book in Maerciless's hands shyly. "I don't have much to offer you in repayment, but maybe my prayer book will help you remember the good in the world."

Without another word, she scurried out of the room, perhaps nervous she had said too much. Maerciless stood there a long time, staring at the place where she had been standing, then finally she sat down in the room filled with emptiness and opened the book.

Reaching under her pillow, she pulled out the small devotional and ran her fingers along the leather strap holding it closed. It was mostly blank, instead meant to be filled with personal prayers. There were a few notations in Shirelle's looping handwriting, mostly passages on peace, and the pursuit of purity. In the days since her departure, when the solitude of her room was too loud on her ears, she would pull out the book and carefully thumb through the pages. Sometimes she would just hold it and look at it. She wasn't exactly sure of the priest's purpose in giving her the book, but if nothing else, she appreciated her gratitude. Now, she held it as an anchor for her thoughts as she contemplated her choices.

At one time, the battlefield exhilarated her. Now each time her duty brought her into combat, she grew more weary at the deathtoll: her hands were bloody enough. But it was difficult to find enough to do to focus her mind: an idle mind was one beleaguered with memories. Memories she would rather remain hidden and crammed into the empty space inside her. She needed something to keep her occupied. And then there was Aeschlie to think about. The paladin would surely be shipping out soon, although not likely in the first wave. Maerciless's grip on the book tightened. Aeschlie may not want her around, but she had promised to watch out for her, back when she still had a soul and promises meant something. She shoved it back under her pillow. Now was the time to put away thoughts of the quiet priest and focus on her duty.

She stood and pulled the dark curtain back from the tiny window high above the bed. Darkness was already rushing in, blowing and scattering snowflakes before it as it overtook the tucked away residential area. She pressed her other hand carefully to the glass: even through her thick leather gloves, she could feel the chill of the night. A normal person might shiver, withdraw their hand, and wrap up in a blanket. Instead she held her hand there, feeling the numbing cold seeping into her gloves, into her bones, permeating and blending with the ice already running through her veins. Her fingers began to ache, but she held them one minute more, pushing her comfort level. It was that reckless, daring feeling that pushed her into battle every time: the feeling she was tempting fate. Finally, she dropped her hand, shaking the numbness out of it. When you no longer fear death, you feel nearly invincible. Without bothering to change, she laid down on the bed and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. In the darkest crevices of her mind, she knew it was the "nearly" that drove her to play chicken with death: she knew one day she would lose, and she would be free.

She closed her eyes against that thought. Tomorrow she would go down to the harbour and talk to the commanding officer and see when Aeschlie was going to be deployed, and arrange to be in that company. She would do her duty until that time.

Shirelle collapsed wearily onto a pallet of grain sacks. After days of packing and loading medical supplies and provisions, they were almost done. She was to report to the ship at 0500 in two days. She had spent all morning going through the remaining crates of bandages on the dock with the other low rank healers, doing a final check for moths and mouse nests. Shirelle rubbed her arms through the thin sleeves of her wool robe. She would definitely be sore tomorrow from lifting crate after crate after crate.

"Are you getting nervous about shipping out?" Elluriel, a cheerful shaman that occasionally did shifts at the hospital with her, settled herself cross-legged beside her and handed her a flask of water. Shirelle accepted it and drank gratefully. She did not wait for the priest's reply, and kept on talking animatedly, her pigtails bobbing in the wind off the harbour.

"I can't wait! I mean, yes, I'm a little nervous as well, but how exciting is it to be the first ones on a new land? Can you imagine, existing this long on a planet and never knowing there was an entire continent south of you, waiting to be discovered? We're so lucky to get to go out in the first wave. This is my first deployment, how about you?"

Shirelle smiled at the draenei's enthusiasm, but her stomach started doing flip-flops at the mention of leaving harbour. She wasn't just nervous about deploying: she was terrified. She had been practicing her defensive spells since the incident at the hospital (that you were saved from, you ninny) but the fear that had immobilized her was still on her mind. She had no idea how she'd react in a fight, and she already had one mark against her. She tried to tune back into what Elluriel was talking about. She had not waited for her to join the conversation, of course, and had moved onto the care she was taking to pack her totems. A cold wind gusted around them, and Shirelle pulled her cloak tighter against her. The shaman suddenly shifted position, and leaned in to talk quietly.

"I hope she's not in our company. I hear she tortures the underlings who get out of line." She glanced up and nodded at the temporary command post erected in the center of the dock. The knot that had started to form in the pit of Shirelle's stomach at the mention of deploying turned into ice: there, talking casually with one of the commanding officers, was a figure in black armor that had grown familiar to her. The commander seemed to know the death knight well, and they appeared to be talking tactics as they left the tent and started a stroll down the bustling port.

"She's not right, you know..." the shaman leaned forward conspiratorially and tapped her own head. "Ever since Northrend. They say she can't feel anymore, she only knows how to kill." The draenei leaned back against the pallet lazily. "I know if it were me like that I'd throw myself off the first cliff I could find. Who would want to live like that, really?"

Shirelle's cheeks flamed in anger and her posture was stiff as she thrust the drinking flask back at Elluriel. "That's not fair at all. You have no idea what she's living for, and you have no idea what she's been through!"

Gathering her cloak around her, she stomped away from the shaman, who was staring at her with her mouth open. The wind gusted around her, knocking her off-balance, and she pulled her hood up against it. Across the dock she reached a large pile of crates and leaned against them out of the wind. Angrily she bit her lip and blinked tears back from her eyes. She was not going to cry now. Not when she was going to war in two days. Elluriel was just, vapid. She didn't think any further than herself. Shirelle sighed and rubbed her hand over her wet cheeks. The shaman simply reflected what everyone else thought either way. The death knights serving in the Stormwind Military were not very respected by the living, although none had built a reputation around them like Maerciless had. Powerful, cold, and intimidating, they were kept for the elite missions in the army, but no one liked traveling with them. Images came to her mind: Maerciless taking care of her roommate, when it was clear the paladin wanted nothing to do with her. Carefully unbraiding her hair with cold fingers so she could sleep. The surprised look on her face when she had given her the old prayer book. Shirelle straightened her shoulders and prepared to get back to work packing. No, it was clear that some death knights, at least, were misunderstood.

As she stepped out from the shelter of the crates, she felt the temperature drop around her and she shivered. She would never get used to the chill of this planet. Staring at her hooves and lost in thought, she ran right into the small group walking down the length of the dock. Two black leather gloves grasped her shoulders as she stumbled, and she stuttered out an apology as she looked up to see who she had nearly trampled. Two piercing blue eyes locked onto her silver ones. She found herself staring into the face of the very person she had been thinking of, who looked just as surprised as she felt. Commander Teegan cleared his throat pointedly. Shirelle took two steps back, blushing furiously.

"Sorry, sir, " she squeaked.

"How is the loading of the medical supplies going, Healer..." he squinted at the nameplate around her neck. Shirelle cleared her throat.

"Shirelle, sir. We're almost done, sir, we should be done by this evening." She stood nervously at attention, trying to not glance at the cold figure beside him.

"Then you'd best get to it. Dismissed." he nodded in her direction, then turned to speak to Maerciless. She rushed off to join the other healers, not looking back. She didn't have to: she could feel the death knight's eyes burning into her back as she ran.