Author's Note: Again, I'm sorry for the delay. I've had quite a bit on my plate lately. Here's Chapter 11. It's sort of a filler chapter. That is to say, it provides some backstory into my OC. I hope you enjoy it. XD

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

MEMORIES

The glaciers of Icecrown stank of death and decay. Nothing moved in the desolate land—at least, nothing that wasn't held under sway of the Lich King. The harsh terrain was a blight in the backdoor of Northrend. There were no trees or lichen, merely snow and ice that stretched as far as the eye could see. Mindless servants of the Lich King wandered these forsaken lands, lost within their own torment.

Through all the corruption trudged a lone figure, his boots cleaving permanent indentations into the snow. The cold stung his eyes, and a particularly violent gust of wind plastered his hair against his face, freezing some of the locks there.

Ixchel took no notice of the weather as the death knight topped a high glacier and gazed out at the impressive display that was Icecrown Citadel. The resurrected former hero of the Alliance paused. To an outsider's uncaring eye, there was no way down. Ixchel pulled one of his swords free of its sheath and heaved forward with all his might, burying the weapon up to the hilt in the ice right at the edge of the cliff wall. The ice held firm; it didn't even crack.

With an exasperated sigh, the death knight catapulted into the air, throwing himself over the side of the cliff. His shoulder collided hard with the rock wall of the formation and he grunted from the impact. Without looking, Ixchel grasped for the artificial hand hold that he knew was there, carved right out of the ice. He was rewarded when the protruding block of ice met his fingers. The shard warmed at his touch.

Quickly, the death knight wrenched his sword free of the ice and began to make his way down over the cliff wall, working his hands back and forth over the hidden grips until he felt solid ground beneath him. He replaced the blade in the leather scabbard on his hip and continued on.

So his journey had gone for the past two days. He had almost fallen to his death when his griffin abruptly dropped dead from the cold. The bird's heart had literally frozen solid. Luckily, his trajectory and the speed at which he was flying at the time was enough to project him and the bird over the next bluff, so he hadn't been that far off the ground.

He didn't really want to do this, but the alternative was worse. The Lich King would hunt him down and kill him if he failed to report in. No, Arthas wouldn't kill him. He wasn't nearly important enough for the Lich King to seek a vendetta against personally. But he would send agents after him.

He had failed to capture the Druid and bring him here. The Lich King wanted the night elf for some unknown purpose he would not share with one such as Ixchel. The death knight had assumed it would be a simple mission. He had not anticipated that the Druid would be accompanied by others. Blinded by his duty to his master, he carried on.

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The blaring of the complex's alarm jolted Ixchel from his restless and fitful night of sleep. For a long moment he lay there, uncomprehending the situation. He could barely see anything, besides the vague outline of a large circular room. There were dark shadows against the wall—perhaps furniture of some sort. And then he remembered where he was.

The young death knight sat up and rubbed the haze from his eyes. There was a murmur from across the room and a slight stir as his roommate roused himself. He blinked the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes and squinted in a vain effort to see something. He could just barely make out the other bed that was crammed against the far wall, and the shadow that was sitting atop it.

"What d'you reckon it is this time?" A slightly bored voice drawled.

"I don't know," he replied. "Could be anything, I suppose. The Scarlet Crusade has probably rallied another ultimate weapon against us."

The other death knight scoffed at him. "Those fools will soon feel the harsh bite of the Lich King. C'mon, we should probably go. I'll bet you anything that Mograine is waiting on us."

Ixchel didn't doubt it. The Highlord had once murdered one of his own Scourge because the poor sap had been attacked and failed to deliver a message on time.

Floating in the sky above Light's Hope Chapel, in the far eastern region of the Eastern Kingdoms, resided Acherus. The stronghold of the Scourge was the headquarters of the Knights of the Ebon Blade, and served as a thorn in the Argent Dawn's foot.

Scattered about the halls of Acherus were mounds of bodies. Under the watchful eye of the maniacal Instructor Razuvious, Scourge necromancers raised bodies chosen by the Instructor and gauged for their worthiness. Also present inside the structure were runeforges, where death knights would emblazon their weapons with runes to better aid them in battle against their enemies.

Ixchel stepped gingerly across the room, still unable to see much. He groped blindly for the door handle and pulled it open, emitting in a slanting ray of light. The other man was still sitting in bed, peering at him with bleary eyes. The other's human features were completely unremarkable, with the exception of his shiny white hair that stood up in spiky locks and his exceptionally pale skin. His lips were blue, but it wasn't from the cold. His lips were always blue.

"Ryrr, are you coming?" Ixchel almost pleaded at him. It would be better if they weren't late.

The alarm bleated three more times in quick succession before the other death knight answered him. "You go on," he replied. "I'll catch up."

Ixchel shook his head but didn't voice an argument. He brushed his fingers back through his flowing white hair in frustration and slammed the door in the other man's face.

The corridor outside was a jumbled mass of people. The other soldiers of the Scourge had roused themselves from their own quarters within the barracks and now proceeded towards the sound of the alarm. Ixchel blended in with the swarm and let the flood carry him upward into the training section of the fortress.

They passed Amal'thazad's chamber on their way to the Highlord's room. The frost lich was leering at one of his disciples, a diminutive female night elf. "Should you have done so, you would have killed everyone in this room, Aluena," the lich rasped coldly. He extended a skeletal arm and the offending student was encased in chains of ice. She screamed and struggled, but the cage would not budge.

Darion Mograine stood imposingly, arms folded before him, as they approached. He was completely shielded in ebony plate armour. The man himself was a weapon. His armour was covered in spikes, and his helmet had horns protruding from it. His massive greatsword, Corrupted Ashbringer, was slung over his back.

They gathered around him in a circle, some of their ranks still rubbing sleep from their eyes. He stood eerily silent for a moment, studying them. Or rather, Ixchel assumed he was. He couldn't be certain what the Highlord's eyes were doing behind that ethereal helmet.

"Had that been a real alarm," Mograine uttered finally in a voice colder than death, "we all would have been murdered in our beds. I expect better performance in the future."

Ixchel had forgotten about the alarm in the rush to get to the training area. He noticed now that the sharp keening noise had ceased. Feeling slightly ashamed that he had disappointed the Highlord, he kept his eyes to his feet.

"Now, who can tell me why we are here?" Darion asked in the same dead voice.

Ixchel's eyes shot upward. "Why we are here, sir?" He asked incredulously.

"Yes, Ixchel, why we are here. Anyone?"

A timid-looking young man with grizzled black hair raised a hand into the air hesitantly. Mograine's helmet turned towards him ever so slightly. "Yes?"

"Ours is not to question," he said in a small voice. "Only to act. We are the arm of the Lich King. His will is our device."

"Oh, well done, Dowtry," the Highlord said in mock jubilation. He heaved a sigh. It sounded odd from behind his visor. "Don't memorize what I say, you incompetent fool. Next time, I will kill you.

"This is just about the worst band of knights I have ever trained," Mograine went on, turning in a circle to regard all of them stoically. "I hope the task I've set before you tonight doesn't prove to be too troublesome."

A few among them shuffled their feet nervously, but nobody said anything. "Now then," Mograine held up a finger, but before he could go on, Ryrr bolted into the room, brushing past the knights in the back to take his place next to Ixchel's side. The Highlord's helmet turned towards him. Ixchel could feel the glare radiating from behind the armour.

"Ixchel, do you like your brother?" Mograine asked him suddenly.

The death knight was slightly taken aback. "Hmm? Oh…he's alright, I suppose."

"Too bad," Mograine said in a slightly disappointed tone. "Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted. Your task tonight should suffice to tell me which of you are fit to progress into the ranks of the Lich King's dark order. We are going to take New Avalon."

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Mayor Quimby let his monocle fall from his eye, where it dangled loosely on the thin chain that was wrapped around his ample neck. A small piece of parchment was curled tightly within his fist. He sat back in his chair and sighed, calmly regarding the woman that stood facing him on the other side of his desk. "What am I supposed to make of this?"

Amagny clasped her hands firmly before her and pursed her lips. "That, unfortunately, is up to you. I was simply asked to bear the message to you. The Ghost in the Machine is prepared to offer our services in this matter."

Quimby abruptly dropped the letter onto the desk and rose from his chair, turning his back on her. Amagny was startled that someone of such wide girth could move so quickly. Quimby stood facing the wall for a moment before he spoke finally.

"We do not have the means for such an assault," he said quietly.

"Better to try and fail than to have done nothing," Amagny said sternly. "It just so happens that we have a plan we can easily put into motion that will cripple the foundation of Acherus, leaving the Scarlet Crusade to purge the Scourge from the ruins."

"Amagny," a darkly toned male voice sounded behind her at the same time that a hand gently gripped her shoulder. "It's no use. He's not going to do it."

Reney turned to go, pulling her along after him, but Quimby broke the silence. "Wait," the Mayor said. He turned back to face them, his jowls quivering. "I'll do it."

Amagny heaved a sigh of relief and Reney clicked his tongue impatiently. "Watch for us," the Rogue said. "Two days."

Quimby nodded absently, but at that moment, a Crusader sped into the room, careening around the corner and knocking over a chair as she ran. She saluted briskly, but did not wait for permission to talk. Rather, she spoke so quickly it was difficult to understand her.

"Sir, the death knights have reached the inn. A whole battalion. Your orders, sir?"

Quimby just stared at her. He had not expected this. The soldier rocked back and forth on her heels, waiting for his response.

"Sound the alarm," he said in an authoritative voice. "Get the citizens across the mountains. Do not let them cross the square, at any cost."

She nodded and broke off at a run, gone as quickly as she had come. From somewhere far off, a horrible shriek cracked through the air to meet their ears.

Reney groaned. "They have a frost wyrm."

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"Please don't!" The pitiful old farmer was backing away from him across the grass. "I've got a wife back home, a-an' an' three kids an' everythin'!"

The man grunted as Ixchel planted a jewelled dagger in-between his ribs. He groaned and fell over, clearly dead. The death knight pulled his blade free with a distinct popping sound and wiped it clean on the man's tattered clothing.

"Nice one, brother," Ryrr called from where he stood not twenty paces away, his sword sticking out of the back of one of the Crusaders. He gave it a twist and pulled the weapon free. Ryrr did not bother to clean his blade.

The sound of hooves galloping against the cobblestones of the town square met their ears. The two brothers turned just in time as a Crusader raced towards them, polearm extended. "Bloody Scourge dogs!" The man screamed as he rode, and his horse whickered.

Ixchel winked at his brother and snatched the end of the lance as the man rode on by. The death knight heaved with all his might, and managed to unseat the Crusader from his horse. The animal seemed to take no notice of its now absent rider, and hurried on towards some unforeseen destination.

The Crusader hit the pavement with a resounding clink of armour and clambered to his feet just as swiftly, withdrawing a long knife from his belt. The man sneered at both of them but made no move against them. Ixchel realized he was still clutching the polearm, and let the weapon fall to the ground.

Upon seeing the supposedly disarmed death knight, the other man charged him with a violent roar that he didn't recognize but supposed must have meant something. Ixchel almost lazily cast out one arm and flicked his fingertips in the general direction of the other man. Instantly, a buzzing swarm of insects appeared from nowhere, engulfing the doomed Crusader in their mass. The man screamed for a long time before the cloud cleared. Nothing remained but a bloodied skeleton inside a heap of armour.

Fire blazed across the grass, cutting a path directly between Ixchel and his brother. Ryrr shouted a word of protest, but could find no way through the flames. And then the Mage was upon Ixchel, the accursed woman in her billowing Kirin Tor robes. She was on his right, her hands weaving as she began to cast another spell. He caught movement from the corner of his eye and discovered that she was on his left, too. Another projection of the woman walked out of the flames toward him, completely unmarked. All three were smiling at him.

Suddenly, his brother's voice cut across to him, calling his name. Ixchel looked across the raging firestorm just in time to see a dagger collide hard with Ryrr's spine. The other death knight grunted from the impact and dropped to his knees, mouth working soundlessly. He turned his head towards Ixchel, sharing a knowing look, before falling on his face in the grass. A man in dark leather and a swirling cape strode out from nowhere and retrieved his knife from Ryrr's body. He kicked over the corpse with his foot and spat.

Ixchel screamed. The woman on his right had almost finished her spell, but he didn't care. He screamed with fury, at the loss of his own blood. He threw his head back and howled at the sky, or what had been the sky a second ago.

Mograine's frost wyrm had swooped out of nowhere and descended from the heavens. All three images of the blasted Mage gazed up at the reincarnated dragon as one, now trembling in fear. The behemoth gingerly collected the death knight in one of its talon's and swept off towards Acherus. The death knight barely noticed, too consumed by grief.

He looked back and saw the fire still razing the grass. The Kirin Tor woman had coalesced back into her own body, and the speck of the man who had killed his brother was still visible on the other side of the flames.

They would pay, he thought to himself grimly, tears staining his face.

They would all pay.

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Author's Note: Comments, questions, praise, critique? ~ Denmar