Chapter 4: Malice Bound

The Lich King's voice was imperious as it was commanding. It could not be disobeyed.

The elf once known as Xephyrien Flamehawk was dead. In his place was risen a new creature, entirely subservient to the dark will of the Lich King. One who didn't care about the past, erasing his old regrets and sorrows.

Lord Malicebound was born. His new liege commanded him to travel North along with three others of his Death Knights while the Prince Arthas was to remain in his kingdom.

Upon his arrival, he was brought to an altar made of a slate-like grey-blue metal; cunning in form and in function, two skeletal hands grasped a heavy greatsword etched with unholy runes.

A ponderous blade with sharp edges after a heavy sweeping bevel, in his previous life he could never have lifted such a weapon.

The voice compelled him to do it. He took the blade by his right hand and frost began building up on the blade and nearly up his arm.

'I have granted your new weapon dominion over the frosts of this land. Now destroy the creature behind you to grant your blade a taste for the darkness,' commanded the Lich King from within his mind.

He turned and saw a giant of a man. The creature looked human, but was at least thrice the size in proportion. The thing, a vrykul he would later learn, was in the throes of undeath. Pulsing green energies burst forth from the creature's rotten flesh, decaying and reknitting wounds in varying degrees of speed. The whole spectacle was almost amusing as the thing grew and shrunk in different places at once.

The vrykul swung an arm as Malicebound defended. The blade required two hands to use, but it was surprisingly fast as it cut through the air. He succeeded in severing a leg after a few minutes of fighting, and it was enough to open the vrykul up for an upward slash that parted the two halves of its chest and head. The ten foot tall bulk of the giant humanoid faltered and fell over.

The resurrected elf stared at his runeblade as a surge of malevolent power shot through it. A bluish wisp rose from the torn corpse and entered his blade. It flashed a sickly green.

'Good. I was right to place faith in one such as you. I see your mind. You are old beyond the reckoning of many. Now you will be timeless. A lasting crescendo whose name will inspire fear and terror upon those who hear your name.'

"I live to serve, my King," he replied in a hushed whisper, cold breath fogging.

'Now all that is left is to see your willingness to serve my dark will, my grand scheme for this world'

"What is your bidding?"

'Take your blade. It must now feed upon blood. Still your heart beats. You were brought under my command not because you died, but because of your hate, your suffering. Now, the blade must be etched with this sorrow, this madness which is in you. For you to truly become its master, the only way is for you to die by your own weapon.'

"As commanded." Malicebound held the runeblade by the middle with both hands, bleeding with symmetrical cuts on his palms from holding the edge. Without any trace of hesitation, he stabbed the blade into his throat and out his back, severing his spine, his arteries, and his windpipe.

He didn't bleed a single drop. The runeblade had frozen his blood, his heart, his soul. He was now bound by it, to the Lich King's will. Lord Malicebound had been forged into death itself. He pulled the blade out and a chill glow, pale and ghostly, emanated from his once bright green eyes. To another, it would have seemed a perversion of the Sunwell's arcane, blue light.

A strange elation hit him.

'Now you shall take death's mantle, sow decay and terror, become the tip of my spear.'

"As you wish."

'Now, Death Knight, take your oath to the dark powers. Repeat as I instruct you now... I take up the mantle of the power of decay, of death, and oblivion...'

Darkeye uttered the oath, aware of the power each syllable held.


He named his runeblade, Necromundis. A reflection of how the world had died in his eyes.

After his initiation, he fought many battles, killed many opponents, all in the Lich King's name. His troops swept through the land, razing town after town of the last bastions of Lordaeron's defense. Malicebound's assault force took down orc internment camps, levelled the fortresses, and turned their inhabitants and their prisoners into reinforcements.

He was even part of a small skirmish force that probed the edges of Dun Morogh, testing the dwarven lands before being recalled to Northern Lordaeron. It was at that defeat that Necromundis had broken. The Lich King's voice assured him that it would be reforged and bade him return to the frozen north.

After the failure of the Burning Legion and the death of Archimonde at the World Tree, he was secretly recalled to convene with the other great servants of Ner'Zhul. He was given the charge of the Death Knights' runeforges: what would eventually form the rear guard and logistics of the spearhead formed by the forces of the dread citadel, Naxxrammas.

At first he chafed at being placed in such low regard by his liegelord. It was almost menial work. Almost.

It was during this time that he felt the personal desire to recreate Necromundis, to reforge it and make it better than it ever was. His purpose had been determined, the reason clear as to why he was left to tend to the supply force. To serve his lord better, he must remake his blade.

He bade the forgemasters to teach him their art. Knowing the basics of their craft from ages past, he drank in their knowledge easily. The seigesmiths and the saronite creations all looked at his wiry but knotted muscles, admiring each new work. Yet all of them were mere copies of Necromundis, all of them inferior to the original. He needed a new weapon. One which would rival even Frostmourne itself.

He needed something pure and holy that he could break. Something that he could bend to the dark will of Ner'Zhul.

After obtaining permission from the voice of the Lich King, Malicebound left command to a senior Scourge acolyte. Boarding a sky terror zeppelin he planned to create one of the greatest weapons that his new skill could create.

He was going back to the Sunwell.