It took Necri almost an hour to find her way through the tunnels and staircases to the elevator that would take her up to the ruins of Lordaeron City. Fortunately, the Orc guard who had given her trouble on the way down was no longer there; he had been replaced with a female Orc who looked no more pleasant than her predecessor. Necri avoided eye contact, and proceeded on her way without incident.
Soon, she was back under the open sky and amongst the ruins of the city. She wound her way through the dead marketplace with its cheap and broken goods, then passed through the gate and turned eastward, along the road that Ropart had brought her to the city by.
As the road passed under her feet, the sun inched across its zenith to begin its slow descent toward the horizon. The cloudless day had warmed considerably since she first exited the tomb in the predawn darkness. The mist, though still present, lurked primarily in the shadows between the trees, as though it was stalking her. The lack of life in the forest remained painfully obvious.
She arrived at the tomb approximately two hours after midday. It was just as she had left it, with the door slightly ajar. She held the scythe before her and slipped into its cool interior. Her dead eyes needed no adjustment time; even without her enhanced aura-sight, the magical orbs could effortlessly pick out detail in all but the darkest of environments.
She quickly found the coffin that had been her prison for so long. With her enhanced vision, she could clearly see the remnants of the spells that had been cast on it. Even now, the magic was fading and the wood was crumbling away; the stake and garlic had already been devoured by time and lost to dust. Though she had little time, she forced herself to analyze the spells cautiously and thoroughly, for she had begun to fear that she -recognized- some of the patterns.
After half an hour, she had her answer, even though it was almost impossible to believe.
Before she could ruminate on it further, however, a shadow flitted past the door, briefly obscuring the ray of mid-afternoon sun that spilled through it. There was the thunder of approaching horses, then their whinnies as they were forced to stop.
Not wishing to be caught inside the tomb, Necri returned to the door, just in time for it to be forcefully booted open. Surprised, she stepped back, allowing her instincts to raise the scythe defensively.
The figure framed in the doorway was a muscular, mail-armoured human, a giant axe grasped in both hands. Even silhouetted as he was, Necri could tell that his tabard was bright crimson.
His voice boomed, the accent strange but understandable. "Here be the unholy creature! Forward, my brothers and sisters! The Crusade shall destroy all who carry the Scourge's taint!" With that, he stepped forward and swung the axe in a silver arc around his head, obviously aiming at Necri.
Necri had little in the way of physical strength, but she had a wealth of combat experience from the Amani war to draw upon. As the axe descended toward her, she caught it against the haft of the scythe and smoothly deflected the blow. Her counter-attack was instinctual; she used the momentum to bring her own blade around. The enchantments sliced through his armour like paper, leaving the blade buried in his chest. As he began to fall, she yanked the scythe free, stumbling back a step and returning to the defensive stance to see what happened next.
Two more figures - both female and wearing the same crimson tabard - ran up to the doorway, obviously not expecting their comrade to already have fallen. Shouting warnings, they both leveled their crossbows at Necri. The wide-open door illuminated Necri as well as silhouetting them, and she knew they'd have a clear shot. Summoning the power within her, she extended her arm and allowed the dark energy to lash out at full force against the figure on the left.
The painful touch she had used on the Orcish guard in Undercity had been just a taste of the agony she now unleashed. The warrior's veins turned black and distended as the corruption took hold within her body, and every muscle went rigid as her nerves were set aflame. Her scream echoed through the tomb, cut short after only a few short seconds when her heart gave out.
Distracted by her companion's sudden demise, the other attacker nevertheless was able to fire her weapon. Necri was even driven back half a step by the impact on her chest, but the blunted bolt then fell to the dusty stone floor, having been unable to penetrate Necri's enchanted wrappings. Necri lashed out with her agony spells again, watching dispassionately as the corruption took hold. But not only did this one not die right away, she didn't even scream. Even when she fell to her knees, hardly able to move, she kept her hate-filled gaze focused steadily on Necri.
Surprised and curious, Necri knelt down in front of her. From here, she could see that the woman's spirit was stoically fighting the corruption. No, not -fighting-. She was -enduring-.
Seeing an opportunity, Necri held the woman's gaze and whispered, "why did you attack me?"
Her reply came through gritted teeth. "Scourge ... must ... die."
Now Necri was even -more- confused. "I have heard of this Scourge, but I was not part of it."
"-All- ... undead are ... tainted!" Despite the obvious agony that the movement brought, her hand inched toward the dagger at her belt. Necri knew there was no way the woman would be able to mount an effective attack in this state, but the spell's energy had already begun to fade. Soon, the pain would dissipate as well, leaving her once again capable of fighting back.
So, these 'Crusaders' thought that all Undead were to be destroyed? And not very far from Undercity. Perhaps the Queen did not have complete control of her territory?
Shouts echoed through the clearing outside, distracting her from these considerations. It sounded like at least a dozen more Crusaders were organizing for an attack. This would be too many for her to handle, even if they continued to underestimate her capabilities. With a sigh of regret for the necessity, she placed a hand over the woman's heart, breathing a short phrase in the Demonic tongue. Briefly she felt the organ under her palm quiver and darken. The seed of corruption thus planted would be much stronger - and more virulent - than the one she had used before. In less than a minute, it would spread to nearby living creatures, and from there cause the same boiling, painful death to all around.
Then, she looked deep into her enemy's eyes, which had already started to clear as her agony subsided. Delving into her mind, Necri found what she needed almost instantly - a great fear of becoming undead, just like her father and elder brother had. Tapping into such a visceral fear was easy; a quick spell and Necri made her worst nightmare a reality in her mind. She would feel her skin oozing from her body, colour draining from the world, and a hunger for flesh gnawing at her belly. Necri stood up and backed away.
The hateful glare finally crumbled in the face of abject terror. She clawed at her cheeks, leaving rivulets of welling blood, and scrambled backward before finally regaining her feet and staggering back towards the only people she knew - those who were once her friends. Necri knew what was coming next - she didn't have to watch.
The screams were bad enough on their own.
When the noises of the dying had finally faded, Necri strode outside. A score of blackened bodies - human and horse - lay scattered around the clearing, their poses a frozen testimony to the agony and fear of their last moments. Even the grass was wilted and dead.
There was a quiet noise behind her - a scrape of leather on stone. Necri barely had time to wheel around and raise her weapon before the sword-strike fell. The scythe's enchanted shaft flexed, and she was driven back several steps by the force of the impact.
Before her stood a tall, lithe human wearing heavy crimson armour that clung to his body like a second skin. His eyes, the only part of his face visible through his helmet, burned with hatred and fury. The speed and grace that he moved with betrayed his comfort with both weapon and armour - Necri knew she was in trouble.
She tried to back away enough to cast a spell, but he advanced as fast as she could retreat. Repeated blows of his sword threatened to overwhelm her. Several of them landed against her enchanted wrappings and she felt their magic beginning to weaken.
She jumped back to avoid a particularly vicious strike, but bounced against an unseen tree. Her opponent took advantage of her momentary distraction, and lunged forward. With a single motion, he knocked the scythe from her grip and impaled his sword right through her abdomen, pinning her to the tree.
Another benefit of being dead was the lack of pain.
Necri immediately grabbed her attacker's arm tightly with both hands. She would have very much liked to know more about these 'Crusaders', but survival was her first priority. Without the immediate threat of his weapon to stop her, she took a moment to summon her internal power and convert it to a bottomless, draining pit, using her hands as conduits into his aura. Whispered phrases in Demonic spilled from her lips as he struggled in vain to free himself from her grasp.
The spell caused very little sensation. The victim simply started to feel weaker and slower, and their world faded to darkness as the energies of life were pulled out of them. Exceptionally vibrant and passionate people took longer to drain, but there was no way to resist it. She watched as the hate and anger in his eyes turned to panic, then faded into dull nothingness. He fell to his knees, then slumped sideways to the ground, gravity yanking his arm from Necri's hands. He wasn't quite dead, but had sunken far into unconsciousness.
Leaving her impaled on his sword.
The hilt of the sword was within reach, so she squared her back against the tree and pushed against the handguard as hard as she could, but it did not budge. Again and again she tried, but to no avail. She knew she had to free herself soon, before any more humans came to follow their comrades. As loathe as she was to give up the power that the Shivarra had granted her, there was only one way to remove the blade.
She closed her eyes and reached her mind out into the Twisting Nether. Without a summoning circle, it was too dangerous to call something as powerful as the Shivarra, so it was her Voidwalker's spirit that she sought. As one of the first demons she had bound to herself, its aura was very familiar to her, and she did not take long to locate it.
She channeled the Shivarra's stolen power into the spell, pulling the Voidwalker into the physical world by sheer force of will.
In front of her, shadows rushed together and flowed into a form of indigo darkness. Outlined by daylight, the Voidwalker's shape was vaguely humanoid, though below its waist, the shadows drifted in chaotic patterns in place of legs. Its eyes burned with smoky flame. It called itself Galarax, which she understood to mean something like 'rotten-heart-corruptor' in the Demonic tongue.
The binding spells were easy, in comparison to those she'd cast for the Shivarra; the Voidwalker had much less of an independant spirit. Pull out this sword, she ordered telepathically. The unspoken addendum, that the demon should follow orders in a manner so as to cause the least possible amount of damage or hardship to her, was part of its contract of service; set when she had first bound it.
From long experience with Galarax, Necri knew that it was amused at her predicament, but it still followed her order and grasped the hilt of the blade. Even made from pure shadow, it still possessed uncanny strength, and it pulled the sword - smeared with her black ichor - free without effort. Mindful of the damage she had taken, she let gravity pull her down to her knees beside the unconscious warrior, then placed her hand on his shoulder. Without hesitation, she drained his remaining life and used the energy to heal the wound he had caused. He didn't even twitch as he died.
Next, she prodded the cloth wrappings. Their enchantment was weakened but still intact. She would have to spend time reinforcing it, but first, she had to get away from here as fast as she could.
Crossing the clearing to one of the dead horses, she ordered Galarax to drag it clear of the other bodies. With the scythe, she quickly scraped a summoning circle in the dirt around it and cast another spell.
She had only tried creating a Felsteed once before, and it had been an unnerving experience. This time proved no different; the horse's skin and flesh rotted to dust even as spikes and horns grew from its bones. Green flames flared to life in the empty eye sockets. The unnatural beast rose smoothly to its feet and pawed the ground as she finished the bindings.
She tightened the saddle across the Felsteed's exposed ribs, then climbed up into it. There was no need for her to return to Undercity. Instead, she'd have to find her way to Quel'thalas, and there, confront the one who had kept her dead for two thousand years.
And now, she had a name to attach to the deed, a name that was all too familiar to her.
Magister Quithas Dawnspell, the Elf who had taught her, and many other humans, how to use arcane magic. During her training - which, she corrected herself, was two thousand years ago - he had been a pillar of the High Elven community. She remembered him as being noble and fair in his teachings, yet challenging and unforgiving of laziness in his students.
A forceful mental command to the Felsteed, and they were off at a tireless gallop, the Voidwalker flitting from shadow to shadow behind them. The road ahead would be a long one.