Chapter VI
Standing at the front of Slaughter Square, Dreadsorrow watched in mild indifference as the abominations milled about aimlessly, waiting for the day that someone would be suicidal enough to directly assault the Slaughterhouse.
By any means necessary…take what you think you'll need. Rivendare's words repeated inside his head. He was going to do just that, follow the orders to the letter, just like a good little death knight should.
"Abominations!" His mental shout carried across the square and touched all the minds of the fleshy constructs. "By Baron Rivendare's command, you have all, as of this moment, been reassigned to me. You are to all form up into a single unit and accompany me to the other side of Stratholme where we crush the Scarlet Crusade." His powerful mental commands pressed themselves in the simple minds of the abominations, ensuring their obedience.
After his conscription, he heard several abominations talking about being hungry he swore he even heard one of them mention something about 'playtime'. Ignoring it, he turned and started to march towards the living side of Stratholme with the massive Scourge shock troopers thundering behind him.
Seerath Shadewalker was crouched behind one of the many stacks of wooden, half rotted crates scattered throughout Slaughter Square. Slowly, he raised himself up and peered over the top. Around fifteen horrific abominations by his count meandered around the open ground, patrolling in random and uncoordinated directions. Muttering a curse to himself he crouched back down and turned to the others with him. They were a mercenary team with talents as diverse as one could expect. Therian, another male night elf, was a druid specialising in the healing arts, although he was currently shapeshifted into his cat form, stealthy scoping out the square. Next to him was the exotic female draenei shaman, Magma, a nickname was given to her by Seerath that had stuck like glue – more or less because it was easier to remember and pronounce that than her full draenei name. Sitting and meditating towards the back was the human priest Seranda, who was extremely proficient with the shadow arts. The last member of the band of infiltrators was the dwarf paladin, Glormek. Clad in thick, blessed armour and a wielding a shield nearly as tall as him, he was constantly on the front lines in the thick of battle.
Normally Seerath worked alone, assassinating targets solo, but for this mission he had to recruit several acquaintances for the job. They didn't work for free, but it was a moot point. The client who wanted Baron Rivendare assassinated had agreed upon a 'half now, half when the job is done' deal, which meant the first half would nicely cover his acquaintances' expenses and the other half would still leave him with a nice tidy sum to retire with.
"There are quite a few abominations," stated Seerath, "but if we tackle them in small groups, we should be fine. Ok, here is what we will do."
Picking up another report, this one from the Noxious Vale, Baron Rivendare sighed and quickly scanned the contents. A small Argent Dawn incursion, a few Cultists killed and one abomination destroyed. These whittling attacks were getting...abomination? For some reason, that got his attention more than it normally would. Then it hit him like an adamantite hammer. His could no longer sense his abominations outside! Broadening his mental senses, he found them; along with a presence he knew all too well. Dreadsorrow!
Rivendare's fist slammed down onto the desk. Damn that death knight, thought Rivendare, he took my abominations! He sent a quick mental command to his Black Guard to secure the Slaughterhouse and call in the reserves. That should at least keep it under control until that damnable death knight gets back. If he gets back that is. Assaulting the Scarlet Bastion by himself and a few abominations is madness. Perhaps the zealots will beat some sense into him. Still, Dreadsorrow has too much independence he decided. There has to be a way to keep him reined in and yet still possess enough intelligence to be useful. He promised himself he would look into that matter after he finished reading these reports.
As Seerath laid out his plan, Therian quietly stalked forward and gazed around the side of their cover. "Seerath, I like your plan, but I have a better one."
The rogue frowned. "Let me guess, just waltz in?" He snapped sarcastically.
The large cat grinned, revealing a mouth full of razor sharp feline teeth. "As a matter of fact, yes. Have a look."
As Seerath stared at the scene before him, he could not believe his luck. All of the abominations were moving away from the Slaughterhouse, and even more astonishingly, in a cohesive formation to boot!
"Quit your slacking and let's go while we still can." Glormek said gruffly.
Seerath closed his jaw and drew his two vicious looking daggers. "I'm right behind you."
The group moved out from their hiding spot and into the square, only to have the elite Black Guard exit from the Slaughterhouse and also from a nearby building, creating a rough perimeter surrounding them.
"I knew it was too good to be true." Seerath grumbled.
The Scarlet Crusade had barricaded the plaza rather well. Crates, sandbags and sharpened logs blocked off the main gateway and created a maze of obstacles that meant attackers would get picked apart bit by bit and any force with greater numbers would lose their advantage. Crusaders, magi, priests and the elite praetorians all stood guard and patrolled the area, ever-alert for another Scourge onslaught. Today would be that day.
A lone figure slowly walked towards the front barricade and was seen by one of the sentries who shouted a cry of alarm and within moments the entire plaza was alerted and at attention.
"Halt!" Shouted the sentry. The figure stopped. "In the name of the Grand Crusader, who goes there?"
"I am Dreadsorrow, Death Knight of the Scourge and I am here to kill each and every one of you." Boomed Dreadsorrow's voice across the plaza.
"Your arrogance is astounding, dark one. You are alone and going to kill all of us? Hah! Fire!" On the sentry's command a flurry of arrows flew from behind him and sped towards their target. At the last possible second Dreadsorrow summoned several bones that spun furiously around him. As the arrows went to pierce his armour, the spinning shield of bone got in the way of each arrow, deflecting them and shattering the bones to tiny pieces in the process. None of the arrows made it to their intended target.
"I would advise you to lay down your weapons and let me grant you a swift death." Shouted Dreadsorrow.
"We will never surrender to the Scourge!" Cried one of the zealots in response.
An evil grin formed on Dreadsorrow's face. "Very well, we shall do this the hard way." Standing with both legs apart and firmly planted to the ground he raised his right arm into the air and then made a single downward chopping motion and yelled a single command. "Chaaaarrrge!"
At first nothing happened. The crusaders started to laugh at this lunatic death knight, and then one of them noticed a pebble on the ground start to bounce up and down. The ground itself was starting to vibrate and shudder. Horrendous noises and nightmarish sounds could be heard and they grew louder and louder. Suddenly, a building to the left of the plaza exploded in a hail a wooden splinters and fiery stone. From the ruins abomination upon abomination burst forth, all whipped into a frenzy and ready to rip through the Scarlet Crusade's lines.
The barricades were as nothing to the massive shock troopers. Brushed aside like paper and completely smashed to pieces, the abominations waded into the Scarlet defenders, ripping apart crusaders. Oversized meat hooks were flung into magi and gutted them like swine. Huge bloodied meat cleavers swung through the air, slicing the defenders to shreds. It was an utter bloodbath. Caught completely by surprise by the unorthodox entry by the undead behemoths, the Scarlet Crusade quickly succumbed to the full scale assault. After several minutes it was over; the zealots lay dead and broken beneath the Scourge.
On Dreadsorrow's order, several of the massive stitched horrors had moved up towards the main door of the Scarlet Bastion and started to throw their considerable bulk at it in an effort to break it down.
As Glormek used his shield and mace to batter the last of the Black Guard into a pile of broken bones, the group started to ascend up the stairs and then down into the bowels of the Slaughterhouse. The paladin joined them at the massive doors, beyond which the Baron lay in wait, as Seerath outlined his plan to take the target down.
"The four of you will approach him from the centre, spread slightly out, but in clear view. Engage him, distract him, and make him focus on you."
Glormek grunted. "And where will you be throughout this?"
A sinister smile played on the rogue's lips. "Stealthily encircling the room so that I may assassinate him from behind. After all, who expects to be stabbed in the back in their own private sanctum?"
"Someone who is highly paranoid." Magma answered.
Although Seerath couldn't tell whether the shaman knew it was rhetorical or not, he had to give the draenei credit; he was right. "That would normally be correct, except Rivendare is too arrogant to be paranoid."
"Arrogant or not, he is still extremely powerful and must be given our full attention." This from Seranda.
Magma had her hand on the door and her eyes closed as if in a trance. "Very true, I sense a lot of dark power coming from that room." She frowned. "But there is another, somewhere else in the city that is yet stronger still. This troubles me."
"A lich perhaps?" Suggested Therian.
"Maybe, but I don't wanna be standing around to find out for me self." Stated Glormek gruffly.
"He's right; we get in there, kill the Baron and get out. Clean, quick and efficient." Seerath's tone of voice told the others that no more conversation was to be had. "After you" he said, gesturing towards Glormek.
The bulky paladin pushed open both massive doors and started to radiate the Light. "Baron Rivendare!" His voice bellowed across the room. "We come for you!"
Rising from his high back, almost throne-like chair, Rivendare chuckled to himself. "How amusing, the gnats seek to challenge me! I think it is time to properly show you my hospitality." With that, his clenched his fists, shadow energy coursing through them and then splayed his fingers and sent a volley of shadowbolts from his fingertips towards the attackers. They never reached their targets.
As the shadowy tendrils of dark magic sped towards the group, they started to waver halfway across the room before they just simply dissipated all together just a mere foot away.
Rather than be angry or surprised, Rivendare just simply narrowed his eyes. "Shadow wards. So you have come prepared at least. But the four of you against the one of me? That is hardly fair. Let me even the numbers somewhat." He sent a quick mental command to Dreadsorrow before turning to face the massive collection of bones to his right and sent billowing necrotic tendrils of purple energy into them and waited. Scythe-like skeletal claws burst forth from the bone mound, followed by the body of some deformed humanoid skeleton that seemed to be fused with that of an animal. They loosed a bestial howl before charging towards the group of mercenaries.
Dreadsorrow watched them in fascination as they became makeshift rams - albeit extremely pungent ones - throwing themselves against the reinforced door, with a sickly thump and then stepping aside for the next abomination. As he walked towards the Scarlet Bastion, stepping over broken zealots and splintered barricades, a tingling sensation started to form in the back of his head. He tried to ignore it, but it instead turned into a dull thrum, reverberating throughout his skull. He pressed his hands to his temples as the noise coalesced into a familiar voice.
"Dreadsorrow! Come to my aid!" Rang the voice of Rivendare in his head.
Still under the Baron's command, he could not disobey the order. Well, thought Dreadsorrow, not directly. Perhaps a little subtlety is in order... He let the thought trail off as he shouted new orders to the abominations.
"Hurry and break down that door! Kill everyone inside! Slaughter them all and fight to the last!" Dreadsorrow knew that the abominations alone would not kill everyone inside the Bastion, but it was a win-win situation for him. On one hand, they just might kill everyone inside the fortress, thus earning him a respectable victory. On the other hand the abominations would kill quite a few zealots before they were destroyed which meant the Scarlet Crusade would be irrevocably weakened by their losses and ripe to be finished off.
Satisfied that they would carry out his orders, he started to run back to the Slaughterhouse, hoping that he wouldn't be too late to miss whatever was going on with Rivendare.
To deal with the new threat, Glormek charged at the Baron to limit his effective control over the ravagers by forcing him into direct combat and making him divide his attention. As the dwarf countered and parried the Baron's furious blows and blocked with his huge shield, he could hear his allies taking care of the ravagers behind him.
Magma, indicative of her name, called upon the elements and even this tainted land and cursed city, they answered her in the form of a burning gout of lava, erupting from her outstretched hands. The superheated glob of magma flew at the ravager with enough force to knock it back and into the one behind it, taking both of them to the floor. Bones clacked against each other and both howled as they tried in vain to get back, but the lava that had splashed over them was already eating away at the bone, quickly dissolving it. Before long, only their legs and limbless claws remained, the rest of their frame had been eaten away by the lava which had already seeped through the cracks in the floor, returning to the earth from whence it came.
While this was happening, the shadow priest was gesturing with her hands, weaving a powerful spell. The three remaining ravagers were close enough to raise their scythe-arms to strike down the human, but stopped short as Seranda ceased moving her hands and spoke the final word of power to complete her spell. The ravagers suddenly slowed to a crawl, so slow, it almost appeared like they had stopped entirely. Cracking sounds could be heard as large fractures started to appear all over their frame and purple slime started to seep out of the cracks. The shadow magic was slowly melting the ravagers from the inside out. The skeletons started to bend and sway as they could no longer support themselves and began to fall down on broken, half liquefied bones. Apathetically clawing the air in front of them as they disintegrated, the ravagers ceased to exist and became nothing more than a purple pool of mush shortly thereafter.
With that immediate threat taken care of, Magma and Seranda turned their attention and focus back to Baron Rivendare and assisting Glormek.
With Glormek shouting obscenities at Rivendare to keep his attention mostly directed at him, Seerath was methodically making his way around the perimeter of the room, slowly edging towards the Baron. He weaved silently in between the heavy iron cages, moving just outside of peripheral vision and getting ever closer to the target he stalked. He allowed himself a second to look over to the battle to evaluate the situation. Glormek had several nicks on his armour and a rather large dent in his shield, but otherwise seemed fine. Therian was swaying slightly, like a young tree in a light breeze, deep in a healing trance, keeping the others' wounds in check. A bolt of white-blue lightning made a sharp crack as it sped from Magma's hands towards the Baron, who deflected it at the last second on his runeblade and it harmlessly impacted against the roof. If he didn't act soon, the tireless Baron would soon whittle them down and kill them mercilessly when they wore out. For that second that he watched the battle unfold, it steeled his resolve and he again crept forward towards the Baron of Stratholme.
As he approached Rivendare, he reached for the foot long sheath that was strapped tightly to his left leg. Inside was an ordinary dagger, mass produced by a weaponsmith, with nothing that innately made it stand out from its counterparts, except for the golden glow that surrounded the blade.
The reason this dagger was bathing in the Holy Light was due to the conflicting reports and relative unknown nature of death knights, Baron Rivendare in particular. It was acknowledged that quite a few of them were once living beings that had either been converted or lured to the Scourge, but what exactly they were after that was still debatable. Whether they were still living breathing humanoids, or had become soulless undead, or even if they were stuck in some kind of horrible midway limbo, was unknown to pretty much everyone and had them at a loss for an answer. While Seerath had been doing his research for the mission, he had been unable to procure any definitive proof that Baron Rivendare was either alive or undead. A lot of the reports he'd read contradicted each other and made bold, often exaggerated statements, leaving the status of the Baron's disposition shrouded in mystery.
So to be safe, before leaving on this mission, Seerath had visited a long time friend, a priest of the Holy Light, and she had blessed the dagger and anointed it with a holy oil, creating a weapon capable of taking down the Baron of Stratholme, should he prove to be no longer amongst the living, which Seerath suspected.
Silently drawing the dagger from its sheath, Seerath took another step towards the exposed back of Rivendare before raising his arm up ready to bring it down upon the bare neck of Rivendare.
At the same moment Seerath had started to plunge the dagger downward, Glormek managed to take advantage of a weak parry from Rivendare and thrust his shield and bash it into the Baron's side, knocking him slightly off-balance. The minor victory for the paladin turned out to be a fatal problem for the rogue. The holy dagger, no longer aligned with the Baron's neck, pierced his black armour easily and sunk deep into his left shoulder instead. It may have missed the neck, but the damage had still been done. The dagger, infused with the holy energies, tore through the shoulder with ease, tendons disintegrated, muscles were destroyed, wherever the dagger touched, righteous fire burned away the cursed flesh and muscle.
In that instant the dagger penetrated his body, Dreadsorrow, making his way through Stratholme towards the Slaughterhouse suddenly felt a wave of emotion pass through him. He stopped in his tracks as dizziness threatened to topple him. As he leant against a nearby broken lamp post for balance, a name suddenly emerged in his mind. Gavrin. He spoke the name, letting his memory try to find any connection. Friend, best friend, known for years, fought side by side, patrolled the Plaguelands, killed by Soulbane… The revelation of these newly surfaced memories stunned the death knight. Where had they come from and why? Then, as if someone has lit a candle, all the pieces fell into place. Rivendare, Dreadsorrow thought, frowning. He had heard his telepathic shout of pain just before the memories had flooded his mind. Somehow the damnable Baron held control of his memories and more than likely would have used them against him should he ever become too independent. If injuring him severely could bring some of them back, then killing him… Dreadsorrow left the thought unfinished as he hastily started again towards the Slaughterhouse, this time doubling his pace.
Normally, pain was something Rivendare would never feel, but as the Light burned through him, he experienced it in the extreme and he roared in a furious agony-fuelled rage. With his left shoulder now utterly ruined, his arm hung limp at his side, his fingers dangling like some kind of revolting set of wind chimes. He lashed out at Glormek with a powerful kick, which the dwarf caught on his shield, but still knocked him back, granting a brief respite. Rivendare threw up a quick spell shield and spun around to face his rear attacker. With his runeblade still in his hand, he put all his strength into bringing it to bear; whipping it around and letting momentum carry it with enough force to cleave a person in two.
Unfortunately for Seerath, that person was him. Were it not the fact that years of combat had honed his reflexes to near instantaneous, he would not have brought his two small daggers up in time for a quick defensive block. As quick as his reflexes were however, they were no match for the power behind the Baron's swing which knocked the daggers aside and embedded the runeblade deep into the rogue's stomach.
Seerath succeeded in not letting Rivendare have the satisfaction of hearing him cry out in pain by the sheer virtue that at first he didn't even realise he had been wounded. Only when the runeblade was violently wrenched back out did he succumb to the intense pain that washed over him like a wave of burning water. He couldn't take it anymore. The pain was too much. Collapsing in a pile on the cold floor, he lay still, waiting for death to take him.
An evil sneer formed on Rivendare's mouth and he turned to face the other attackers again. "Do you think one pitiful night elf can bring me down?! I have had enough of your pathetic antics!" Purple energy started to swirl and pulse around his hands and he thrust his hands outward, letting a volley of shadowbolts fly forth.
Glormek managed to block two of them with great effort and Seranda hastily erected a shadow ward around herself and Magma, absorbing the purple skull-shaped bolts of death just in time. Rivendare took a step back to put more distance between the group and himself and let loose with another round of dark energy, seemingly intent to gun them down, per se, with his powerful volleys of doom.
"I can't stop these forever," Seranda shouted frantically over the din of the howling shadowbolts, "they are coming too fast!"
"And I can't heal all of us should they get through…" Therian added.
Glormek frowned as he blocked another unholy bolt. Sparing a second to glance over at Seerath's body, he made a snap decision. "We have to retreat, now! This is a lost cause." He angled his shield and deflected yet another shadowbolt.
"But what about Seerath?" Magma asked concernedly.
"He's dead and we will be too if we don't leave this second!" Glormek countered.
Obviously distraught, but realising their current plight, Magma voiced her agreeance with the paladin. Glormek told them to start moving and that he would cover them. First Magma filed out, followed by Seranda, who threw up her last shadow ward before leaving.
Therian was hesitant to leave, but Glormek was insistent. When he turned for the door however, there was a figure clad in purple-black armour standing off to the side. It was a death knight, Therian realised. Hope fell from his heart as dread and despair gripped it. They were trapped in the damn room with enemies on two fronts. But the death knight did not attack. He just stood there watching. Wary of a trap, the druid took a small step forward to see if the armour clad figure would react. He did, but not in a way Therian ever thought imaginable. Rather than draw a weapon or throw a spell at him, he simply turned his head to look at him and spoke one simple word; 'run'. Not one to question his luck, he put a hand on Glormek's shoulder to signal him to start to back peddle. The paladin did so, and together, they ran past the death knight who watched them leave in a rush.
Rivendare lowered his arms, seeing the last of the cowardly gnats scurry away in fear. As his eyes tracked them, he saw Dreadsorrow at the door, waiting. "You let them live?" he asked the death knight.
Dreadsorrow merely grunted in retort, not belying any of the new knowledge he had gained on his way over. "They were not worth the effort." He narrowed his eyes. "You let them live too."
A smug look briefly flickered across Rivendare's face as he answered. "If you kill every single person that faces you, rumours and stories of your great power and ability cannot spread. By letting them live, you can spread a web of half stories and misinformation better than any spy or infiltrator could ever hope to."
Dreadsorrow was actually surprised – he didn't think the Baron could be that devious. Perhaps he had underestimated him? Dreadsorrow ignored such thoughts and concentrated on the scene before him. A severely injured night elf, an assassin by the looks of him, lay crumpled on the floor behind the Baron. "What about him?" Dreadsorrow asked, inclining his head slightly towards Seerath.
"Ahhh, our would be assassin." Rivendare said, turning to face the rogue. "I am very surprised by this one; he came so close to actually killing me." The Baron leaned closer. "Your skill is something that I cannot let go to waste – you will become an excellent addition to our cause."
Seerath opened his eyes to look up at the Baron. Weakly, his hand clenched around one of his personal daggers, which he had been drawing slowly ever since he hit the ground, waiting for this moment. "I think not." Spat Seerath at the Baron as he thrust the dagger towards him as hard as he could with what strength he had left.
With a swift movement of his good arm, Rivendare reached out and grabbed Seerath's wrist and held it in a vice-like grip. Looking over the weapon, then back to Seerath he slowly started to push it back towards the rogue, blade first. "I will be the death of you."
Seerath lay there, unable to put up any meaningful resistance and watched as his own dagger slowly came closer and closer to releasing him from this tormenting pain.
"And I will be the death of you." The death knight next to Rivendare stated.
Seerath watched as the Baron's eyes nearly popped out of his head in surprise and he instantly forgot about him and turned to face his attacker, which did him no good. Two gauntleted hands yanked him by his throat and held him solidly in place, ensuring no escape.
"What is the meaning of this insolence?" Rivendare roared in anger.
"You have something that belongs to me." Dreadsorrow said evenly.
"And what would that be, you fool?"
Dreadsorrow's eyes narrowed and his voice took a deadly tone. "My memories."
"Ha, and you think I would willingly give them back?"
"Not yet." Dreadsorrow let go of the Baron and in the blink of an eye, he had one of his axes in hand. In a one graceful swing, he brought his axe up and it sliced through the elbow joint of Rivendare's armour where it was weaker and straight through his arm. The pale arm clad in armour dropped to the floor hand first with a sickening thump followed by the clatter of armour.
"Now, I won't ask again."
Rather than crumble under the threat of losing more appendages, Rivendare actually started to laugh. "Do you think me beaten? Do you think me broken? All you have done is damn yourself! My last act will be to destroy what you cherish!"
Dreadsorrow felt it, like a hand in his brain, grasping at everything until it found what it was looking for - a small part of his mind that had been hidden from him until now.
"Get out of my head!" Dreadsorrow snarled, shaking the Baron violently.
Rivendare just chuckled in response. "You memories are mine to do with as I please."
The hand's fingers closed around the space as if it were a delicate egg, applying pressure before it yielded and was crushed, being destroyed utterly. Dreadsorrow felt no pain. It was just a blank, empty spot in his mind, where something should have been, yet wasn't.
"NO!" Dreadsorrow cried out in anger.
The Baron's evil laugh filled the room, echoing slightly of the walls.
Now in a furious rage, Dreadsorrow directed his anger towards the man in front of him. He threw him forward and wielded both his axes before lunging at the Baron, hacking away until his blasted laughing stopped. Before long, the once powerful Baron Rivendare of Stratholme, now sprawled across his desk, was utterly dead. It was then, in the silence that followed, that Dreadsorrow felt the tingle in the back of his head. It felt like a massive weight that had been lifted – a weight that didn't even know he had. But now it was gone, and in its absence, a flood of images and feelings and emotions poured into him. It was overwhelming. He took off his helmet and put a hand to his head as if it would help relieve the intensity of it all. Gradually, the flow slowed then stopped altogether as all of his memories were restored. Everything except that one black hole in his mind that still hung there, empty and taunting. Maybe, if he -
"Thank you…" rasped a nearby voice, interrupting his thoughts and reminding him he wasn't alone.
It was the assassin. Somehow, he was still alive, albeit barely. "What?" Dreadsorrow replied, walking over to him.
"The…Baron. He was my…last mission." Seerath said, pain clinging to his every word.
Dreadsorrow glanced over the Baron. He still lay on the desk, his chest a bloody pulp from when Dreadsorrow had vented his anger. Looking back to the night elf, he knelt down on one knee and spoke softly. "Then your mission is complete. You will die with honour."
Seerath weakly nodded a thank you. Now, with a sense of accomplishment at having his last task completed one way or another, Seerath finally gave up on the struggle and he embraced the pain, letting the darkness swallow him and he passed on.
Dreadsorrow leaned forward and closed Seerath's eyes. "Suffer well, brother. You've earned that much"
Silence fell over the room and Dreadsorrow contemplated what he would do now with his newfound freedom. It didn't last as long as he would have liked.
"Congratulations, you killed the Baron of Stratholme, now can you get me the hell outta here?" a voice shouted, following by the noise of metal rattling.
Across the other side of the room, where all the iron cages were, was one at the forefront, containing a still live prisoner. Dressed in a fraying cultist robe and covered in bruises, he clung to two of the bars, shaking them as hard as he could. "C'mon pal, a little help?" he asked again, rattling the bars once again for good measure.
Dreadsorrow grunted with annoyance but decided he would be 'charitable'. "As much as I don't care about one measly cultist…" He started before he approached the cell and smashed the lock cleanly off with the pommel of one of his axes. '…you are still a witness, and that, I cannot have."
Horror spread across the face of the captive and highlighted the nasty gash on his right cheek as the death knight's intentions were made clear. He put his palms up in front of him in a gesture of peace. "Hey whoa, don't kill me – look, I'm not even a cultist, I'm with the Argent Dawn!" This however, made Dreadsorrow stop in his tracks.
"Prove it. Right now or you die." The grip on his axes tightened, wary of treachery.
The supposed Argent Dawn agent immediately started to rip off what as left of his left sleeve, tearing it off completely, before raising his arm high in the air. It was so small, Dreadsorrow almost missed it. On the underside of his arm, just above his armpit was a tiny tattoo. Closer inspection revealed it to be a sun with eight interspaced triangles coming out of it - the symbol of the Argent Dawn.
"We get the tattoo so that we don't have to carry around anything material that would betray us to Cult inspections." The agent explained.
Dreadsorrow nodded in agreement. It was a good concept. "So how did they find out you worked for the Argent Crusade?"
The crusader snorted derisively. "They didn't. I screwed up a Cult of the Damned ceremony and earned the ire of him." He nodded in the general direction of the Baron. "But enough about me. You killed Rivendare and the enemy of my enemy, as they say. So look, sooner or later, someone is going to come in here searching for that overrated corpse and when they find him, this city is going to be locked down tighter than a Sentinel's bow string."
"What do you propose?" Dreadsorrow inquired.
"Well, when you killed him, pretty much anything that he exerted direct, personal control over would have broken free. I think you'll find your means of escape over there." He pointed to the massive pile of bones on the other side of the room.
Looking over the stacks of bones, Dreadsorrow could see nothing obvious that he could use to get away with. Opening his mind, he remotely searched through the bones, using his will to see if there was actually anything of use there. The mental screeches of ravagers invaded his mind as he brushed past them, but they faded as he moved on in his search before he heard a noise he was all too familiar with. Grinning to himself, Dreadsorrow concentrated on the sound and wrapped his mind around it, exerting his mental strength and binding the weaker will to his own.
With the task completed, Dreadsorrow commanded his new subject to come forth and almost instantly, bones and the odd piece of armour flew from the massed pile of bones and started to form a spinning ball of bleached bone and blackened armour. After a brief burst of necromantic energy enveloped small group of bones, it quickly dissipated as fast as it had come, revealing Dreadsorrow's escape plan. He was going to ride out on the skeletal steed of Baron Rivendare which was now bound to his will. It brushed the floor with its front hoof and let out a ghostly whinny, approving of its new master.
Dreadsorrow briskly walked over and inspected the steed before patting it on the back of the head. "She is a fine mount and will serve me well." The skeletal horse let another whiney loose, apparently satisfied with his assertion. Dreadsorrow turned back to the undercover crusader. "Tell me, what is your name?"
"Velieros" He stated.
Dreadsorrow smiled – not quite enough to be friendly, but it held no malice regardless. "Well Velieros, today is your lucky day. Now I shall help you as you have helped me. Go to the Armoury and within is a blacksmith by the name of Fred. Tell him what has transpired here and that you are a friend of Dreadsorrow. He will be able to hide you until it has quietened down."
"Thank you, friend." Velieros said, bowing slightly to show his gratitude.
Putting a foot in one of the stirrups, Dreadsorrow deftly threw himself up and over and mounted his new steed. "You can thank me by telling anyone who asks that is was a paladin by the name of Anadelias who killed the Baron and got away. It will help throw off any pursuers I might acquire."
Velieros gave the death knight a half lopsided smile. "Consider it done." He ran a hand through his ragged hair. "I better be going before someone stumbles upon us here."
Dreadsorrow nodded in agreeance before he kicked a heel into his steed and it took off through the massive double doors and out to freedom.
Velieros watched him leave and silently wished him luck. Almost as an afterthought, he remember the nasty swipe one of the Black Guard had taken at time for not moving into his cage quick enough. He tentatively touched the wound on his right cheek and found that the blood had finally congealed, but was still very painful to the touch.
That's going to leave a scar. He thought to himself.
Looking over his Baron's room, Velieros moved over the body of the night elf. He wasn't going to leave him here without letting his relatives know what had happened to him and the sacrifices he had made. A quick search of his pockets turned up a few gold coins, an assassination contract and what appeared to be a small pendant that had a few words inscribed on it that he wasn't able to translate. Probably in his native tongue, thought Velieros. Gathering up the effects and placing them in a small satchel he had also scrounged, he said a quick prayer to the Light for the night elf's soul and left to find the Armoury, leaving behind the sanctum of Baron Rivendare and never looking back for a second.