The Felsteed's hooves clopped jarringly on solid stone. The sound snapped Necri back to the present. In front of her rose the white stone towers of the Thondroril Bridge, and the weak-willed sun was, once again, rising over the Eastern horizon. The confluence with her memories left her momentarily disoriented.
Slowly it dawned on her that she had wandered along the road for two entire days, lost in the memories of thousands of years before. She engaged in the uniquely mortal and human habit of shaking her head to clear it, not even realizing she was doing it. Discomfited by the realization she had missed two whole days while lost in memory, she spurred the Felsteed across the bridge to survey the land before her.
On the far side of the river, the eastern Plaguelands had decayed even further. The trees existed in a twisted parody of life. They seemed to be merely waiting for death to take their mutated limbs and rotted leaves,so they could finally return to the soil and no longer have to struggle skyward toward the anemic, distant sun. The animals, she was sure, counted more as undead than alive, with inflamed patches of skin hanging from diseased, skeletal frames. Bats and birds listlessly drifted between the trees on the shreds of wings.
Her steed trotted along overgrown paths, the miles slowly eaten away underneath its bony hooves. In the distance to the north, a gleaming stone tower loomed. It was obviously built to have a commanding presence atop its hill, where its guards and scouts would have no trouble surveying the surrounding region.
Even though it represented the Argent Dawn's foothold in the area, Necri declined to approach the tower. Derrington had assured her of their alliance with the Forsaken, but she found that much trust difficult to come by. As well, she wasn't exactly known for her diplomatic manner. Derrington's admonishment against alienating the Forsaken's only allies in the region loomed large in her mind.
Eventually the path turned lazily from east to north, and reached the shore of a wide, dark lake. A low mist hung over the opaque waters. The path met the lake at its narrowest point, a drab stone bridge arching across it.
Halfway across the bridge, the Felsteed's hooves clicking regularly on the stone, Necri was suddenly assaulted by a cacophony of whispers so intense that she threw up her arms in surprise. The mist rushed toward her, enveloping her in a cold miasma, and her steed stumbled and collapsed, spilling her to the cold stone.
She climbed swiftly back to her feet, sweeping up her weapon as a dark figure loomed silently out of the mists. The mists themselves seemed to leak from his heavily-built form, and silver runes crawled, insect-like, cross the surface of his black sword.
The Scarlet Crusader she had fought had worn his armour like a second skin, moving with fluid grace and speed. This one, however, moved with ponderance and strength, forcing the thick, overlapping plates of spike-laden iron to follow his will, despite their obvious weight and bulk. His eyes, like Necri's, burned with golden energy from within his grey helm.
His lips parted, but his words echoed in Necri's mind, rather than her ears. [Greetings, Sister.]
"Sister?" Necri was instantly wary. "I am no sister of yours."
He reached out toward her, but she backed away, raising the scythe's blade between them.
[Really? You are dead, and yet you move. I sense the taint of demons around you. Is your obedience to -them- any different than our obedience to the Lich King? Come, join us. Even though our King has fallen, we may still carry his vision forward from these cursed lands.]
Behind her, Necri could hear the shuffling, lurching approach of several creatures. The figure before her raised his sword and tapped it against her scythe's blade. She felt a spiritual shock, as if his runeblade's energies were somehow interacting with her weapon's enchantment, and she recoiled a step.
"We are not as alike as you think," she hissed. "The demons obey -me-, not the other way around."
[Are you so sure?]
A mental command to Galarax sent the demon to 'investigate' the movements behind her in the mist. She allowed herself a half-smile. "Quite sure."
There was a tearing noise, and a rotted, dismembered arm flew past her to land at the knight's feet. The sounds of combat that followed were brief but entirely one-sided. Galarax slipped silently up beside her, his pale eyes shining brightly in the mist.
Necri's whispered words were loud in the subsequent silence. "And now... you are in my way."
The knight hissed in annoyance. [You deny the strength that the Scourge could offer you, and you mock the strength the Lich King blessed me with!]
The sword flashed up, but Necri was ready to parry the blow. The weapons met with sparks both real and arcane. Briefly, she wished she still had the Shivarra with her; the demon's own swords would have been a great asset in such a fight.
Galarax did his best, flowing forward and plunging his incorporeal claws through the Scourge knight's armour to rend the dead flesh within, but the knight merely laughed. [There is no corruption, no pain you can cause me, that I have not felt a thousandfold greater. I am Marduk the Black, champion of the Scourge, and I have destroyed countless 'heroes' greater than you!]
Once again the sword hammered against her scythe, and Necri felt herself being pulled free of the physical world, her spirit drowned in black corruption. She released a spell of pain toward the knight, but it seemed to have no effect on him at all.
She failed to block the next blow, and it landed heavily against her enchanted bindings. She felt their magic fail, and knew she had to do something quickly. Though she could little afford the distraction, she took a moment to open her spiritual eyes - a difficult task, now, having given up the Shivarra's stolen power - and allowed the mists and illusions to fall away from her vision.
Before her, there was no knight; only the sword itself, hovering in midair. Twisting, snake-like lines of pulsating black energy connected it to the surface of the lake, drawing power from somewhere deep within those dark depths. Seeing the runeblade ready itself for another attack, she leapt forward, slicing the scythe down on the conduits of energy with every ounce of strength her decayed frame possessed. Her weapon bucked in her grip at the impact, but it failed to penetrate the ethereal lines of force. Distantly, she felt the sword slash deeply at her side; the tearing of muscle and sinew causing her to stumble.
The assault of whispers returned even louder; dozens of individual voices hammering against her skull. She could make out words and phrases now, offers and temptations that all wove into a tapestry of images that spoke of the great power the Lich King could provide to her.
She envisioned herself marching into Silvermoon City and confronting Magister Dawnspell, the one who had staked her and left her dead; overwhelming his defenses and taking her revenge for the lost centuries.
She felt the fantastic energies coursing through her - the ability to shape the world as she deemed fit. No longer restricted to enslaving demons, she could take control of any creature she desired, even the greatest of dragons. Nobody dared to attack her, least of all the weak remnants of the Amani Trolls. She would be free to study; to learn the greatest spells the world had ever known.
Almost lost in this fantasy, one shred of her conscious mind remained intact; the part of her that had bargained with demons for hundreds of years. The part that knew beyond doubt that no power is ever offered without cost - a cost that is inevitably greater than what is offered.
She had been tempted like this before.
The scythe flashed down on the lines of energy, biting into them. The spirit of Marduk howled in response, and his blade plunged viciously through her body.
Feeling herself weakening, she redoubled her efforts, hacking repeatedly at the dark lines until finally, the enchanted blade clove through them.
In the physical world, the knight - or at least its ghostly memory - screamed and faded away. The sword dropped to the stone and shattered like glass, then even the shards burned up, leaving black stains seared into the surface of the bridge. Around her, the mists began to clear.
She heard a coughing up ahead, and the sound of running feet. Conscious of her vulnerability, she wearily hauled her weapon up to a ready position, in time to see a trio of thick set Dwarves appear through the thinning mist. They wore heavy armour, and the silver tabard of the Argent Dawn was displayed proudly across their chests. The Dwarf in the lead, his helm more decorated than the others, frowned when he saw her, but then paused, taking in her weapon and ready stance. His voice was guarded and suspicious, his accent atrocious as he struggled with the language of the dead. "Are you one of the Forsaken, missy?"
She nodded, daring to hope that she might not have to continue fighting. "I am indeed."
"Well that's good." The Dwarf looked relieved. "Even these days, ya can't be too sure. Fortunately, the Scourge zombies don't usually talk back, they just rattle and moan at ya." He bent down to examine the marks on the stone where the runeblade had fallen. "What happened? We saw the mist come up as you rode onto the bridge." He pointed to a tower on a tall hill, about half a mile distant.
She gave a brief rundown of the encounter, and the Dwarf's eyebrows climbed steadily into his hairline. "Marduk! He was the bastard that destroyed Darrowshire during the invasion! The story goes that his sword was shattered during a battle on this very bridge, and fell into the lake. That's why we don't drink the water here - makes ya sick. Still, never had anything like this happen before. The spirit must'a thought it could use ya, somehow. Glad it was wrong!"
"As am I." Necri felt no need to tell him how close it had been. She bent down beside the scattered bones of her Felsteed, finding its demonic spirit weakened, but intact. She used a quiet spell to infuse it with raw mana, knitting the skeleton back together. The creature climbed noisily to its feet.
The lead Dwarf eyed Necri's ragged wound. "If ya want, y'can come back to Light's Shield Tower and rest up." The pride in his voice was obvious. "We're all Argent Dawn there - nobody's going to attack you."
"That is probably a good idea," Necri whispered, gritting her teeth at the necessity. Wandering these infested lands while both unarmoured and wounded sounded like an exceedingly bad plan.
Unable to climb on her mount due to the severed muscles, Necri allowed the Dwarves to lead her along the winding road, then up the hill to the white tower. Galarax and the Felsteed followed behind her, needing no commands or reins.