A/N: Here we are, in the lovely Scarlet Enclave! Now, I'm going to admit it right now: I'm kind of playing with the death knight starting zone. While I absolutely adored that zone, it doesn't exactly translate perfectly well into a storyline where more than one knight is a badass rising through the ranks. The timing of certain events is going to be skewed, and not everything is going to be completely true to source. Nevertheless, you're getting Zoen the death knight. Isn't that what we've all been waiting for?
Drmonicblood: You were close. The little girl was Zoen's soul (remember Matthias Lehner?), which is why she lost her to the brambles at the end. The glade is Zoen's peaceful rest, and she lost that, too. The cold dark is definitely Arthas, though.
Warning: The next few chapters are following soldiers of the Undead Scourge, and all warnings that one would expect from that nightmarish army apply. Reader discretion is advised.
Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.
- the Bhagavad Gita
So, a dwarf walks out of a bar...
I've heard this one before. From you.
Well it's not like you give me a lot of time to make new material, do you?
"Are you going to eat that?"
Sharp ears pricked up as yellow eyes turned towards where she sat, bloody jaws hanging open while a pink tongue lolled out, licking at the blood on its chops every now and then, nose flicking every time a particularly large raindrop fell upon it. Zoen shook her head, stroking an armored hand along the damp black fur atop the wolf's skull. With her other hand, she pushed back the soaked strands of her own bone-white hair that had fallen into her eyes. The storm clouds that had been looming earlier in the day had finally broken about half an hour ago.
Tiris moved his muzzle upwards, licking the blood and rainwater from her gauntlet and leather glove. The arm beneath his paws was temporarily ignored. Zoen grinned, offering up her other hand when he finished as she motioned towards the arm. Through their connection, she sent a flick of amusement. "You don't know where that's been, you know."
That was only half-true. The arm definitely belonged to - or at least, had belonged to - a Havenshire peasant. Which, the death knight did not know. Four of the fools had thought to rush her all at once after the rainstorm started, wielding pitchforks and bare fists against her runeblade. For a last stand, it had been incredibly pathetic. If there was any glorious battle to be had today, it had eluded Zoen. Questioning her wolf's choice in cuisine was perhaps the highlight of the day.
Tiris did not seem to share her concerns, nor was he of a mood to humor her. After licking her hand clean, he turned back to the arm, tearing at it with all the gusto of a ghoul. Shaking her head, Zoen crossed her legs and leaned against a tree stump, laying her sword in her lap. The blood that coated it was starting to dry, and while she liked the idea of wielding a blade stained with the blood of her enemies, the reality was much less impressive. A runeblade turned brown from dried blood was less terrifying than one expected. Reaching to her left, she tore off a scrap of a dead peasant's shirt, holding it up for the rain to dampen it a little more. When the cloth was saturated enough, she brought it back down and began to wipe her sword clean.
Footsteps neared her, heavy and familiar, dragging along the sound of metal clanging against metal. She heard the sound of a blade being drawn from a sheath, and said without looking, "That's not a very nice way to say hello."
"I'm not." There was a sound like a knife slicing through meat and a gasp, and she finally looked up from her blade to see Markus Tarren step on the back of what she'd thought was a corpse to yank his sword out of its spine. Luminescent eyes turned to her. "You missed one."
"So I did." He took a step away from the corpse, and she imagined the sound of thunder. "You know, a little subtlety wouldn't be remiss." Glancing up at the human mountain, she eyed the thick plate armor and the massive runeblade he possessed pointedly. "I mean, no one ever said we had to make the ground quake with every step we take."
"Not all are suited for silence, little knight." Was that humor? Was Markus making fun of her? She didn't know; outside of the occasional run-in, they never really interacted. She had been one of the death knights he'd fought to complete the Death Challenge (and it had taken far, far too long to recover from that particular beating), but that was weeks ago. She hadn't seen him since. Why seek her out now?
Am I in trouble? She didn't think she'd disappointed or angered the Master (that much) lately. Wary, she wiped the last of the blood off of her runeblade before throwing the cloth to the side. "Is there a reason for this little tete-a-tete, old man?"
He did not reply instantly, instead pointing his sword at the fresh corpse. The runes on the blade glowed a bloody red color as tendrils of darkness slithered from the body, up the blade to disappear beneath Markus' armor. The corpse began to desiccate before their eyes, leaving only dry bones and dusty skin once the dark tendrils ended.
Show-off. The Lord Thorval, it seemed, instilled in his students a flair for the dramatic as well as teaching them powers over the blood.
"We have orders."
We? "From whom, may I ask?"
"Prince Valanar." Zoen sat up a little straighter, her curiosity piquing. Orders from the Blood Prince were not uncommon, but the knight was usually sent off to work alone. This we business was unprecedented.
"And we are to… what. Burn down the mill? Murder a few children? Place red shirts in with the white socks?" She reached to the side, tearing off part of a corpse's scarlet skirt. "I'm ready if you are."
His fingers tightened around the grip of his blade, but otherwise Markus did not react to her words. Zoen pushed away Tiris and the gory humerus he was shoving at her as she stood up. The wolf moved over to Markus, presenting the bone to him instead. After a pause, the death knight reached down, grabbed the bone, and flung it far away. As Tiris shot after it, Markus said, "We will destroy Light's Point."
A beat. Then: "Is that so…"
Markus fixed her with a look. "You are not honored?"
Zoen barked a laugh, shaking her head. Soaked tresses of hair slapped her face, and she pushed them back as she said, "Oh, I have no doubt it'll be fun. Blood and death as far as the eye can see, and us in the thick of it? Utterly marvelous. I'm just wondering how two death knights are supposed to slay a thousand soldiers and burn down… what, three, four warships?"
"There will be others, little knight."
"Enough to take on a thousand soldiers and four warships?"
"You will see," said Markus vaguely. The other knight resisted the urge to snort. A flair for the dramatic indeed…
As it were, she simply sheathed her clean runeblade at her side. "Fine. Be mysterious. But I have to do something first."
The juggernaut tilted his head. "What?"
She leaned to the side, looking pointedly at the stables behind him. "I need a horse."
Lightning flashed and thunder roared through the sky. Tiris trotted back to the two death knights, tail held high, and dropped a bone at Markus' feet. It was a femur.
The rain began to clear sometime after Markus and Zoen separated. The Havenshire stables were a sodden mess, and the horses weren't much better as they tramped through, chewing on grass and stirring up mud wherever they passed. The Stable Master Kirtik patrolled his territory fanatically, his zealotry zealotry heightened by the sting of failure. An intolerable number of horses had been spirited away by knights of Acherus only to return to the battlefield as darkly armored deathchargers. The man took each loss personally. He would not suffer another stolen horse.
Spreading suffering was Zoen's whole job description.
The rain was softer, but the darkness of night had fallen with only the stars twinkling brilliantly overhead. (Such a strange feeling the stars inspired. She would call it longing, but that was ridiculous. Why yearn for the stars when she had the world at her fingertips?) Zoen ghosted over to the corral and leaned down, wincing at the rustle of her own armor. She pulled the hood of her cloak down further, hiding the glow of her eyes. Kitrik's torch shone like a beacon as he rounded his horses up, leading them towards the stables. It'd be too much work to steal them from there. She had to get one while it was out in the open.
Movement near a motherless foal caught the knight's eye; she grinned, and tensed in preparation.
Bite it, she ordered. Now.
A sharp, piercing scream split the air, followed by snarls and barks. Tiris lunged at the foal and snapped at its legs as the horse jumped away, shrieking in fear. Kitrik reacted instantly; he pulled hard on his pinto's reins, unsheathing a sword as he bore down on the wolf and foal, shouting, "Filthy animal!" Tiris backed away from the pinto, baring his teeth at the stable master when he attempted to decapitate him. He tried to circle around back to the foal, but the pinto stamped its hooves, forcing the wolf to jump back to avoid being trampled.
Zoen had not been idle after she issued her command. The second the foal had screamed, she'd leaped over the fence and sprinted across the breadth of the corral, aiming for the nearest horse she saw. Kitrik didn't notice her, too engrossed in the wolf still trying to circumvent him to attack the youngling.
Grabbing the lead, she climbed up the animal and shushed it when it squealed quietly. For a moment, she wondered: Have I done this before? She couldn't remember riding a horse ever before, or learning, but did she? Had she?
(rust on the tongue, an itch under a bandage)
She had to have, because the horse responded to her commands, cantering towards the entrance to the corral before bursting into a gallop. Scarlet soldiers holding torches guarded the opening, and at her approach they shouted, drawing their swords. One was decapitated by Zoen's runeblade; the other was grasped by an arc of purple light, pulled towards where Markus awaited. A ramp up to Death's Breach was close; she could hear the ghouls near the base moaning.
Almost there…
A yelp behind her jarred Zoen, and she twisted around to see Tiris limping away from Kitrik, one paw held up and twisted at an odd angle. In the light of the stable master's torch, the knight could just see blood, not rainwater, dripping from the wolf's side, and a quick brush along their connection confirmed he was hurt. Badly.
Kitrik's horse trotted over towards the wolf, and the stable master kicked at Tiris' ribs, eliciting another yelp. "Disgusting beast!" Zoen heard him shout disdainfully.
The knight ran a hand through her sopping hair, glancing between the wolf and the ramp. Tiris was undead; he could survive a beating. But that torch… was his fur wet enough not to catch on fire? Would the stable master do it? She needed a deathcharger – she was not walking forever – and she'd never have a chance like this again, but Tiris…
Tiris is a minion. Minions die. His only purpose is to live and die for me.
Kitrik's laughter floated over to her ears as he kicked Tiris again, and she could just see him raise the sword, ready to plunge it into the wolf's head. Tiris whined, ears flat against his skull as he closed his eyes and tensed.
Oh, hell no.
"Hey!"
The shout startled the stable master. His head swiveled around, and Zoen pulled at the horse's reins, forcing it to gallop back to the corral. "Look what I got, old man!" she shouted. "What kind of stable master can't even protect his own horses from a thief?!"
Kitrik roared, pulling the pinto away from the wolf to face the knight. "Dirty thief!" he yelled in rage. "Filthy animal! I'll flay the flesh from your bones!"
His anger would have been frightening, but Zoen was a death knight of Acherus. Some high-strung, mortal stable master was not going to scare her. Or kill her dog.
She dropped from the horse when Kitrik neared, his sword slicing the air where her head had been just a moment before. Rolling, she came back up and flung a death coil at him, missing and hitting Tiris instead.
I used to have better aim. Had she?
That chain of thought died as Kitrik bore down on her, sword raised for another strike. Zoen parried it, swearing when the pinto took the opportunity to try to bite her face. It was a horse; it was no fair to use your mount in a fight!
"When I kill you," she said, grinning up at the Scarlet, "I'm stealing your pony's soul. It'll be my deathcharger." Kitrik growled at her, lashing out with his foot to kick Zoen in the ribs. Though her armor absorbed the damage, Zoen still staggered back, slipping in the mud. When she regained her footing, the damn horse tried to bite her again.
Snarling, Zoen placed her hand on the horse's neck, the icy touch seeping through its flesh into its veins, slowing its blood. Zoen grinned when the creature staggered, and she hopped backwards when Kitrik slashed at her arm, infecting him with the blood plague in revenge. Power rushed through her dead veins, flowing like blood and the knight laughed in delight. People fought against experiencing this euphoria?
"Come on!" she shouted as she parried his latest strike. "I'm right here, hit me!"
He did.
Tiris had whined from behind her, and it was instinct that made her turn towards the sound, blade lowering as she took half a step back. Kitrik reached down and slashed at her inner left elbow, tearing through her black undershirt and destroying the strap of her couter to slice the tendons underneath her skin. Dull pain radiated from the wound, muted compared to what a living creature would feel. Zoen's fingers fell slack, from surprise or the broken tendons she didn't know, and her runeblade fell to the muddy ground. The pinto reared, his hoof clipping Zoen on the cheek and she staggered, slipping in the mud to fall hard, the back of her head slamming against the ground with a sick crack! Dazed, she could only stare up at the newly-cloudless sky and admire the Bear constellation.
A hoof clopped beside her ear; Kitrik leaned down to press his blade against her throat. Amazingly, he still held on to his torch.
Wish I could ride no-handed.
His teeth glinted in the firelight as he sneered. "Last words, thief?"
Zoen blinked. "I already said them." Movement caught her eye. She grinned. "How about you?"
Where the living are harmed, the undead are healed; Tiris lunged out of the shadows, lame no longer as he barreled into Kitrik, knocking the man off his horse. Snapping out of her shock, Zoen grabbed her runeblade with her right arm and surged upwards, stalking towards the fallen stable master. He'd dropped the torch and his sword when Tiris hit him, and the knight kicked away the former when he tried to reach for it, the sodden ground quickly extinguishing it. When Kitrik tried to reach for the later, Zoen sliced off his hand.
Was there any sound sweeter than a scream of pain? And Kitrik's was so much sweeter to her ears, a pretty shred of music to enjoy after the thrill of a battle. Tiris still stood on the Scarlet man's chest, fangs bared and claws digging into his breastplate. Crouching down, Zoen wiggled her fingers at him, smiling unpleasantly. He spat at her and growled like an animal, and the knight chuckled as she reached forward to run her fingers through Tiris' fur, smoothing over the healed ribs and reknit flesh.
"You really shouldn't have touched my dog," she informed the stable master pleasantly. One finger tapped against Tiris' skull. "Feed."
Screams really made for such pretty music.
"That is Kitrik's horse."
Zoen blinked, rearing back. "Seriously?" she demanded of Markus, glaring down at him from atop the pinto. "Are you – did you really not see me?!"
He stared up at her, glowing eyes emotionless. In the wan light cast by the torches at the bottom of a ramp to Death's Breach, his expression was unknowable. "You are covered in mud," he noted. "You are missing a couter. Did you fall?"
"I – well, yes, but –" Zoen growled, running a hand through her hair, flinging away the mud that coated her fingers. "I just killed Kitrik, and you weren't even watching!"
"Congratulations."
"You didn't even kill Kitrik!" She pointed behind herself heatedly. "I pretty much just won us the stables on my own, and you weren't even looking!"
"The wolf?"
"He's eating shellfood!" She threw her hands in the air, giving up. "Fine," she muttered. "I'm going to go find the Horseman."
"Covered in mud?"
"I'll clean up later, Markus!" snapped Zoen irritably, already tugging the horse up the ramp. Reaching for the thread that bound Tiris to her, Zoen followed it down to where the wolf was currently twisting Kitrik's arm off at the elbow to hide and bury it away from the greedy mouths of the ghouls and geists. It'd been the third time she'd checked up on him since the stable master's murder not fifteen minutes ago. Lady Alistra would skin her for such concern.
(Was it concern?)
Zoen shook her head, spitting out blood that had dripped down her cheek and into her mouth. She wasn't letting some little stable master kill her wolf. It was insulting.
The stable master has… been stabled. Zoen bit back a grin. He's been knocked off his high horse. He has been… extinguished? Equineguished?
She could do this all day.
Stop.
Or not.
(Markus was subjected to snark and sarcasm; the Voice was obeyed. This, Zoen knew, was universal. Belligerence was saved for one's lessers and fellows. Respect was afforded to one's superiors. Worship was given to the Voice. It had never been any different.)
(Never.)
Zoen tasted rust on her tongue, and spat again. Under the makeshift bandage she'd crafted, her wounded arm itched.
The Voice did not speak again as Zoen ascended to Death's Breach. She took in the base as she and the pinto passed through it. Some Scarlet band must have managed to break through the defenses; three of the dark tents had been damaged, the fabric burnt and torn and some of the bone stakes cracked or ripped out of the ground. Geists were busy with reparations, shoddily patching the holes and scouring for new bones to replace the broken stakes. One came near the pinto to sniff curiously, scuttling back when Zoen kicked it in the eye.
"Find your own meal," she growled after it, eyeing another of the wretches darkly when it tried to sneakily grab a bite of the horse. The pinto snorted, throwing its head up high and holding its ears backward. Zoen patted at the animal's neck; she knew how to ride a horse (where had she done this before?) but not how to comfort one. Of course, she supposed she never really needed to know; a deathcharger would never need to be soothed, now would it?
And speaking of deathchargers...
"Death knight." Coppery armor melted from the shadows as the Horseman appeared before the pinto, his voice muffled slightly by the large red scarf he wrapped around his face and neck. The Horseman reached up with his free hand to touch the beast's neck. In the other he held a wicked axe, bringing to mind images of executioners or butchers. Zoen dismounted quickly, backing away from the animal when a Dark Rider blinked into existence, grabbing the pinto's reins before leading it to the Shadow Realm. "You have returned, and with the beast in tow."
Zoen swallowed thickly, suddenly very, very aware of the mud caked into her hair and her armor and smeared across her face. She clasped her hands behind her back to keep them still, and jerked her head in a nod. "Yes, sir," she stated needlessly.
"My Dark Rider has taken the beast to be slaughtered and raised as a deathcharger in the Realm of Shadows." He paused, as though awaiting a reaction. With none forthcoming, the Horseman said, "You must follow them and slay the Rider and return the charger to Death's Breach to claim your prize."
"Yes, sir." Kill the Rider, steal the horse. Again. It would border on redundant if she didn't enjoy it so very much.
"Few succeed."
Markus did. So did Salric. "I do not wish to walk forever, Horseman." She could feel Tiris loping his way back to her, Kitrik's arm safely buried away. Her revenge against the man included stealing his horse. To leave the creature now would render her vengeance meaningless.
Beneath the coppery, horned helm, the Horseman blinked his green eyes. Zoen's stomach began to twist and bunch (is this nausea?) uncomfortably, her vision darkening around the corners. She blinked once, and the Horseman was there; blinked twice, and he was gone, replaced by empty air and a Death's Breach that was not Death's Breach.
The world had become murky and shimmery, as though seen through a warped pane of glass, straddling the line between corporeality and ethereality. Vibrancy had been leeched away, and anything not gray or white or black was a darker, dimmer hue than originally. Looking up, the knight stared at the black-and-white swirling vortex that encompassed the entirety of the sky.
"Welcome to the Shadow Realm, I suppose," she mumbled, gaze returning groundward as she came to another realization.
Everyone was gone. As Zoen walked atop the plateau, she became more and more certain of this. All the material components of the base were still there - the books, the weapons, even Razuvious' poster to the geists was exactly where it was in the real world – but the occupants were absent; and, in their absence, Zoen noticed the dead silence of the Shadow Realm. No wind stirred the bone chimes or the tent flaps, no ghouls moaned and keened for meat. The voice of Prince Valanar did not carry through the base, issuing orders and delighting over the feast below. Sounds the knight had long taken for granted were gone, and in their absence she felt –
She felt?
Nothing. She felt nothing. Scratching her injured arm, Zoen jogged down the ramp from the plateau to the killing fields, unsurprised (if slightly disappointed) by the lack of prey. Shades haunted the fields in their stead, floating like smoke over grey-green grass. The shadowy tormentors, Zoen recalled. Creatures who would tear at the souls of death knights were it not for the Master's protection.
Zoen had a feeling that protection did not extend to this little foray.
The tormentors ignored her largely as she searched for the Dark Rider, only attacking her when she strayed too close. They were slain easily enough even with her injury, for which Zoen was glad. Lover though she was of the fight, she had no desire to linger in the Realm any longer than necessary. The promise of a navy's blood was still hot on her mind, generating all sorts of fantasies to entertain herself with as she searched. Slaughtering shades was nothing like murdering the living.
Now. Where was that Rider?
A cold, hollow neigh reached the knight's ears and she grinned, pivoting on her heel as she stalked towards the sound. She could just see the charger trotting by a group of tree stumps, the Dark Rider a red stain atop the blackness. With a jolt, she realized their path would take them straight to where she currently stood in the shadows of half-real trees.
Well. That was unexpectedly easy. The knight slammed the end of the runeblade into the ground beside her so that it stood upright on its own before crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the trunk of a tree. The Dark Rider and his – soon to be Zoen's – charger were close enough. She could wait a few minutes for them to get to her. In the meantime, she could try to figure out the quickest way to kill the man.
As expected, it was only a few short minutes before the Dark Rider noticed her and urged his – her – mount forward, the charger trotting over to her. Zoen smiled and waved her fingers at them.
"Good evening," she chirped, though the swirling vortex of a sky gave no inclination of the actual time. Reaching around her neck, Zoen lifted a bronze pocket watch she'd awoken with up to her face, flicking it open to squint at the little metal hands. "Ah, sorry. Technically, it's day. Two in the morning." Snapping the watch shut, she stuffed it back down her armor. Holding it for long periods of time made her feel… strange. She didn't dwell on it.
"You are here for the charger," intoned the Rider. The knight nodded.
"I don't suppose I could convince you to just give it to me?" She ducked, a death coil exploding against the trunk she'd just been leaning against. Ripping her sword out of the ground, Zoen laughed. "Good. I was afraid this would be boring."
The Rider wielded an axe, not a sword, but otherwise he fought similarly to Kitrik as he slashed and hammered at the knight. The close trees provided Zoen with an advantage of mobility, but the Rider took advantage of Zoen's injury, keeping his attacks primarily focused on her left side. On a swordsmanship level, the Rider had the upper hand.
Zoen, however, was a death knight. Icy touches and plague strikes infected the Rider with frost fever and the blood plague, the magical diseases unhindered by his state of undeath. Insidiously, they crawled through his dead veins, tearing at him from the inside out. It wasn't long before the Rider's strikes began to slow, his arm to waver. Zoen smiled when the axe dropped out of his hand, the bones shattered when he'd been too slow to move away from her pommel strike.
"I'm sorry," she lied. "But I really want this horse." She reached forward, impaling him on her runeblade and watched in curious delight as the Rider seemed to dissolve, the Realm devouring his essence.
"Nothing's very solid here, is it?" she wondered aloud. The knight smiled when the deathcharger nickered at her. "Hello, there…"
She strode forward, admiring it. What was once a pinto was now a dark gray nightmare, unholy blue light emitting from its eyes, mouth, and lower legs. It was armored in dark, jagged barding, and Zoen was pleased to note that skulls had already been tied to the beast's flanchards. She ran a hand down one of the bony horns that curled down its champron, wondering. Was its barding actual saronite? That would be grand – the metal was so rare outside of the North that Zoen hadn't even seen any, unless one counted those arrows she'd fetched for the Sky Darkener, and that had been weeks ago. Not even Markus was armored in it, and he was one of the favorites of this generation.
She was so engrossed in her new mount that she didn't even notice it sneak up on her.
Foolish mistake.
The cold claws of a tormentor rent through her, passing by body and armor to attack –
There's a woman with brown hair, lying on the ground with her chest just barely rising, breath rattling with every inhale. Blood pours from one of her wrists, staining the wooden floors below. The imp beside her has his own torn palm clasped to where the wound is deepest, his smile feral and evil. He sees her at the doorway and holds his other hand to his lips, fangs bared as his mouth stretches wide.
"We're filling out a contract right now, kiddie," he snickered, burning eyes returning to the woman. She inhales once more, then starts to convulse –
Shrieking, Zoen wrenched away, swinging her sword wildly. It connected with the shade, and the fiend dissipated like the Rider had. As the creature dissolved, she noticed she was breathing hard and instantly stopped the practice altogether, refusing to inhale or exhale. She stood stock still, staring at where the tormentor had floated.
That - that was - what was that? The woman was a warlock, obviously, and the imp must have been her first minion, but why show it to Zoen? They meant nothing to her - no matter the disgusting (concern, love, fear) emotions that had stirred. Why -
She felt the horse nudge her back, heard it snort softly. Shaking her head, she climbed up into the deathcharger's saddle, taking the reins and leading it back towards where the Death's Breach that wasn't Death's Breach lay. She banished the scene from her mind – it was nothing, just a stupid little trick by a stupid little ghost.
She'd bitten through her cheek; swallowing back the taste of rust, she scratched at her wounded arm and continued forth.
It was nothing. Just an illusion to confuse her.
Besides. She didn't even know any warlocks.
(In the darkness, a little girl sobs.)
A/N: It is totally coincidence that Zoen is left-handed. It has nothing to do with the stupid superstition that left-handed people are agents of evil. Nothing at all.
Carry on.