Stroll through Stormwind

He lands before the gate. The guards are understandably tense watching him, a lone death knight, walking a bone gryphon through the Valley of Heroes. His runic sword strapped to his back, grim plate armor gleams in the sunshine, runic eyes squinting in the blinding brightness, striding with purpose to the Stormwind city guard astride his steed.

"I am General Marcus Jonathan, High Commander of Stormwind Defense. State your business or be run through, impudent death knight." The General speaks through gritted teeth; each city guard surrounding Cybrind have their hand on the hilt of their sword. Cybrind looks up at him and slowly pulls a scroll from his belt to present to him. The General takes the scroll and stares wordlessly at the official seal. When he finally relents, his words drip with disdain. "And I am to simply allow you access to my King because you have a note?"

The seal is familiar to him, it taunts him; he grits his teeth and hands it back to the death knight. Cybrind tucks the scroll back into his belt and waits silently. Their eyes are in constant struggle with each other, a silent battle of wills. The General growls knowing what he must do. Every fiber of his being is warring within him, every instinct crying out warnings yet to ignore that seal…

At long last, the General points to four guards. "Escort him to the Keep." He peers at the death knight. "You will not enter my city armed, scourge."

Cybrind nods. He turns to the bone gryphon and runs his hand gently down its beak. "Go." Cybrind's deep reverberating voice causes a city guard to stumble back in shock, earning a glare from the General.

Pulling his sword from his back, he grips it effortlessly in his hand before reluctantly holding it out to the General. The General nods to one of his men who will escort Cybrind to the keep. A city guard steps forward and takes the sword, his eyes widen momentarily at the aura of dark runic power surrounding it.

With a curt nod, Cybrind waits to be escorted through the city. The four city guards look at him expectantly. Cybrind quirks an amused eyebrow at all of them. "I do not know where your Keep is or where your King sits, so unless you intend to stand all day in the sun staring at me, I suggest one of you lead the way."

The four city guards look at each other, faces contorting in an attempt to communicate without words. The General needs this abomination away from the gates, he quickly barks out the order. "Jaxon lead the way."

Jaxon's head snaps up at the command. "Yes, sir!" He salutes sharply and begins walking stiffly, amusing Cybrind further.

They round a corner leading into the Trade District where Cybrind's amusement comes to an abrupt halt. He walks silently through the streets of Stormwind, from the gates at the Trade District to the long winding canal works, skirting Old Towne to the doors of Stormwind Keep. Along the way the citizens are shocked and dismayed by the sight of him. Some cry out in fear, others cry out in anger, some simply cry.

A messenger had been sent ahead to the Keep. The King awaits their arrival. The city is abuzz with questions. His head held high, his back straight, all seven foot four of the death knight is stoic. The citizens are confused and weary of his presence. He is guarded but not heading towards the prison. He is not chained yet unarmed. Whispers follow as well as citizens. Children laugh and run around them until a guard puts a stop to their antics. Still he remains silent, through their laughter; the fear in their eyes is apparent.

At the steps of Stormwind Keep the city guards hold back the citizens that gather. At this point the royal guards take over. Cybrind stands at the entrance, allowing his eyes to adjust to the sudden change before continuing forward. "Do not keep the King waiting."

He hears the guard's words and reacts yet keeps silent. His face is set and hard, showing no emotion. Cybrind walks swiftly with purpose. His eyes never leave his goal. The only sound is the rhythmic clank of plate boots striking the stone floor as he moves. A royal guard steps forward to challenge him, calling him petty names, bracing himself to face him down. Gritting his teeth, Cybrind's hands ball in to fists as he sneers at the guard, giving him a low guttural growl. Cybrind's eyes narrow watching the man back away a few steps before he completes his approach to the king.

As Cybrind stops at the base of the steps to the throne, King Wrynn glares at him coldly. "You have mere moments to live."

His lip twitches with a hint of a grin, toying with him. Hesitating for only a moment, Cybrind kneels before King Wrynn as is protocol, refusing to bow his head in deference. "I was tasked to bring this message." His deep reverberating voice carries down the great hall. Hushed voices can be heard from the citizens behind him, held at the entrance.

From within his belt he pulls the same sealed scroll. He holds it out on an open palm. Someone takes the scroll; he doesn't know who as he watches the king steadily, their eyes clashing as each weighs the other's worth. King Wyrnn's gaze does not falter until the name of the author is read to him. "M'Lord, it is a letter from Lord Fordring on behalf of Highlord Darion Mograine."

"Naturally it is, why else would I allow a death knight before me?" King Wrynn's annoyed voice booms, bouncing from the rafters. He holds his hand out for the scroll impatiently, the man immediately relinquishes it and the king begins reading in earnest. "Knights of the Ebon Blade…"

King Wrynn affixes his cold, calculating gaze upon Cybrind. "Were it not for this letter from Tirion, you would be a stain upon my floor. Only an endorsement from one of the greatest paladins to ever live could have ensured your survival."

Cybrind's lip twitches again, highly amused by the idea of death, his death, at the hands of this man, this king, "Your declaration means nothing to a death knight. Death knights do not fear death. We embrace it."

This time it is King Wrynn's lip that twitches, whether in amusement or disgust, Cybrind is unsure. He remains impartial, watching intently and silently. "What is your name, death knight?"

"Name?" The death knight's gaze flicks momentarily to the king's right at the movement beside the throne.

"Yes, your name." King Wyrnn glances briefly at Prince Anduin beside him before returning his gaze to Cybrind.

Cybrind openly stares at the young prince. "We have little use for names."

King Wrynn is growing impatient. "Surely you had a name at one time? You weren't always a death knight."

"I was once known as…" His eye twitches once as he ponders his response, giving the name that was told to him. "Cybrind."

King Wyrnn nods at the death knight before him, "Welcome back to the Alliance, Cybrind. Inform Highlord Mograine that we… we will work together against the Scourge. Against the Lich King." Wyrnn looks quite conflicted with this choice as he dismisses the death knight. Cybrind stands before the king, nodding once in acknowledgement. He makes eye contact with the prince and quirks an eyebrow when the boy shows no fear, only curiosity. Cybrind gives the prince a nod prior to turning on his heel to depart the keep.

King Wyrnn's voice is raised for all within hearing to be witness. "People of Stormwind! Citizens of the Alliance! Your king speaks! Today marks the first of many defeats for the Scourge! Death knights, once in service of the Lich King, have broken free of his grasp and formed a new alliance against his tyranny! You will welcome these former heroes of the Alliance and treat them with the respect that you would give any ally of Stormwind! Glory to the Alliance!"

Cybrind has already tuned out the others. He has been released and is on his way back to the plague-filled lands where he belongs. This keep is foreign to him with its grand entrances, brightly lit hallways and colorful tapestries. Not to mention how warm it is in Stormwind.

Upon reaching the exit he stops. The city guard reluctantly hands him back his hefty sword. Cybrind takes it in his right hand, swinging it with ease to set it within its holster where it belongs across his back. He nods in understanding to the city guard, the weapon not the person wielding it is something to be awed.

He steps outside, past the gathered citizens who part a way for him and allows his eyes to adjust to the bright sunshine that surrounds him. Sounds and fragrances of the city assault his senses.

"Cybrind?" Cybrind turns his runic blue eyes to the man addressing him. The Kal'dorei is a head shorter than him, with long green hair, blue skin and the telltale golden eyes of a druid. "Elune! It is you."

Cybrind stares as he towers over him. An awkward silence lingers between the two men. The druid sighs sadly, his shoulders droop, deflated. "You have no idea who I am."

Cybrind doesn't respond. He simply stares impatiently. "I'm your brother. Still nothing?" He steps forward, looking him in the eyes willing him to remember. "Cy it's me, Cayllar."

Cybrind simply stands staring at the man who calls himself his brother, Cayllar. The words don't awaken any feelings within him. He doesn't expect them to. "Who I was is no longer who I am. While I am Cybrind, I am no longer anyone's brother." His curt words, his reverberating voice cuts him. Cybrind sees the pain in the man's eyes even though Cayllar's expression remains unchanged. Cybrind admires his show of strength. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Cayllar stares at the death knight before him. "You were once a druid, a healer by choice." He shrugs his shoulder and smirks. "You hated fighting… how ironic that you've been turned into a killing machine."

Cybrind's back stiffens. "Yes. Death knights are heartless killers, murderous scourge and mindless drones sent to slaughter innocent, helpless women and children. Tell me, did I leave anything out?"

Cayllar winces visibly. Closing his eyes briefly he takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry. You're free of the Lich King, but it isn't as if we've had more than a few minutes to comprehend that news before you came out. I can't imagine what you're going through, dead, reanimated, being controlled to being free…" He lets his words go unspoken. "I'm just glad you're alive."

Cybrind stares at the man baffled. His head tilts ever so slightly and his eyebrow rises despite himself. He's always been one to hide any emotion for as long as he can remember and really, how long has that been? Cybrind has no concept of timeline when it comes to his life, death and reanimation. "Why?"

"Well, you're my brother, so of course I'm glad you're alive." Cayllar chuckles and shakes his head. "I only have one older brother, and while you used to beat me up when we were young and gave me a hard time about things and I made your life as difficult as I could… but that's what brothers do."

"Yet I am not alive. I am reanimated. I am a death knight." Cybrind stares at the man with a twinge of amusement and something more that is on the edge of his mind refusing to be analyzed. "I suggest you forget that you've seen me. Cybrind as you knew him is dead."

Cybrind nods curtly and turns on his heel to an out of the way corner. Standing there concentrating, he begins chanting. Smoke, thick and black rises from the stone. From the ground erupts a summoned portal, a death gate, frightening any citizen happening by.

Cayllar reaches out to him, "Wait! Where are you living? How can I contact you?"

Cybrind pauses. He turns to the man unsure of a response. Contact? Why? For what purpose? "I stay in Acherus." At the blank look, Cybrind tries again. "The Ebon Hold, high above what is now called the Eastern Plaguelands. We have no need for post. If one needs to communicate they simply… do." The clock tower begins ringing the current hour. His eyes tense. With a nod Cybrind steps through the portal.

Cayllar calls out. "Cy!"

Any other words he may have spoken are cut off as the gate abruptly closes behind Cybrind. Without another thought to the man he left standing in Stormwind, Cybrind moves forward through the portal to Ebon Hold. "You're late."

He looks down at the woman standing before him. Her runic blue eyes glaring up at him, her arms crossed before her chest as she peers at him. Her reverberating high pitched squeak of a voice takes on an amused tone. "Come on, Darion doesn't like to be kept waiting."

His breath is visible before him. Cybrind steps over the Gnome knowing how much it irritates the woman. Her growl behind him confirms her annoyance, causing him to grin. "Always a pleasure to see you, Toots."