"All that I am: anger, cruelty, vengeance - I bestow upon you, my chosen knight. I have granted you immortality so that you may herald in a new, dark age for the Scourge."
That feels like… movement.
She opened her eyes, golden orbs veiled by blue looking up at the grey clouds slowly zipping by. Yes, we’re definitely moving.
Finally.
She sat up, her platemail clanking as she shifted, and pulled a fair amount of dusty blond hair away from her face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d brushed it, or the last time she’d even cared.
She watched the dockyards go by from the front as the ship, The Kraken, left the docks and began to pick up speed. It was a cold winter’s morning, and it was only going to get colder as they got closer to the Frozen Sea.
In life, she’d always enjoyed seeing the sea. She’d taken a vacation by train a long way to the east once just to see it, and could still picture the day clearly in her mind… but it felt like such a long time ago.
A month had passed since Stormwind had come under siege from the Scourge, an attack which had delayed the departure of the Valiance Expedition to Northrend by a week. At the end of that week, just when they had been ready to launch, the emissaries of the Ebon Blade had come, delaying it further, as King Wrynn had brought the most senior knights into his war council to ensure that none of the enemies’ strengths were left unknown and none of their weaknesses were left unexploited.
The Kraken was an icebreaker, one of the first of its class of ships, and a marvel of dwarven and gnomish engineering combined with human shipbuilding. It was equipped with guns and deck defence, crewed by thirty experienced sailors, but its main mission was as a transport for the roughly one hundred soldiers who would fight for the Alliance in the Northrend campaign. It fell into formation with the four other ships, all carrying similar amounts of crew and passengers, as they slipped around contested waters and steamed north.
For the officers, men and women of the Fourth Company, Second Battalion The Goldshire Rifles, the journey brought about mixed feelings.
On the one hand, they formed the main body of a noble crusade to destroy a force that threatened the lives of all they held dear. On the other, their survival chances on the frozen continent were not particularly high… and death would not be the worst fate that could befall a mortal man in this campaign.
For the woman sitting alone at the bow, however, their departure couldn’t have come soon enough.
She had wanted to be on one of the first ships that had sailed from the port for the frozen north, but no. “We can’t risk concentrating our forces.” Thassarian had said as he’d boarded The Stormbreaker with two of their brother knights. “You’ll accompany the second wave.”
And yet the vanguard had still contained significantly more death knights than were assigned the later waves. Most of the cohort who had joined the Alliance, were, in fact going first. She just wasn’t one of them.
And that grated tremendously.
It should have meant an two weeks of sitting in Stormwind twiddling her thumbs while they waited for confirmation that the expedition had established a beachhead at the intended landing site in the Borean Tundra, or indeed if it had survived at all. She’d lasted about an hour in the city before returning to Acherus. At least there were scourge to reap in the Plaguelands.
Thirteen and a half days passed and she’d duly reported early to the Stormwind Army headquarters, then to the Third Legion headquarters, then to the Goldshire regiment headquarters, then at last to the 2 GOLDS barracks where the sergeant-at-arms had turned white as a sheet upon first catching sight of her as she strode through his door.
Three hours of running around the city picking up random deployment orders had not done wonders for her temper, and upon realising this from the way she slammed down the stack on his desk he was quick to direct her to the company and ship she needed.
She’d kept herself to herself upon finding The Kraken, and upon boarding gave the ship’s crew and passengers as wide a berth as they gave her. She'd taking up residence atop the brass eagle, removed her twin swords and their scabbards from her belt and laid down out of boredom until they were ready to go. She’d left her helmet off but was sorely tempted to put it back on just to try to lessen the stares she knew she was getting. They, too, were beginning to grate.
She had no desire whatsoever to interact with the soldiers anyway.
Once upon a time she’d have cared. Not just what they thought about her, but also about them. Their wellbeing, their hopes, their dreams. She’d once felt that way about everyone.
But then she’d died, and had risen again.
She remembered her past life, remembered everything – but could no longer summon the positivity she’d once been able to feel.
Now she felt pain, rage, hatred and hunger. These things she could control, and sate through action. Bringing death worked wonders for that.
But what she felt above all else was loss. She’d lost her life, her friends, her family. Her world.
And they no longer even mattered to her – what hurt was that she had lost them, not because of exactly what she had lost. Above all, the most important thing she’d lost along the way was herself.
She tilted her head over to the side to watch Fourth Company’s commander, a major, give his briefing to the troops assembled on the deck.
It wasn’t a bad speech, she had to give him that, and like his men he seemed competent enough. She wondered how many would survive the coming days.
She’d never been taught military tactics or martial prowess back home – why would I have ever needed them there? It was so peaceful… so warm – but as a death knight she’d found herself to be an oddly quick learner in the arts of war, and had been given ample opportunity to practice them against the Scarlet Crusade and the Argent Dawn.
It was funny – well, odd, anyway. She hadn’t laughed out of genuine amusement for a very long time.
Back home, she’d been so… slow. Others had feared to give her the simplest of tasks, expecting that she would fail them or complicate matters for them further. Don’t want to do any more damage than you’ve already done, they would say. Nothing ever quite went as she planned, even if it all worked out in the end. Not that it always did.
Here, after coming back from the grave, everything had been so clear. First it had been his voice, urging her on, but even with him gone, the clarity remained.
By all rights she should have died her second death immediately, becoming one of the many rejects that Acherus had churned out at its prime. But somehow she’d survived.
Memories of her first trial flashed through her mind; a duel to the death with another potential acolyte, a blood elf. He’d been beating her relentlessly with the training blade when she’d stood up and exploded, channelling her fear and hurt into a wave of shadowfrost magic that flash-froze him solid. She’d picked up his blade in her other hand, and the feeling of a weapon in each had somehow felt good. Right. But not as good as when she’d shattered his body into a grisly ruin of ice, gore and bone.
And she’d gone from strength to strength thereafter, from depravity to fresh depravity.
Then… Light’s Hope. And now, a few weeks later, here she was.
Hungry for vengeance. Driven by the only emotions she could still feel.
There was no hope for redemption, but maybe she could achieve some measure of peace in the frozen north. Maybe his death would end her hunger, or salve her pain. Diminish her loss as no light could.
Or perhaps not. They probably wouldn’t even succeed. But she had no other purpose, no other recourse.
I can worry about that when the Lich King falls, she’d long since decided.
She sighed, watching the waves splash harmlessly into the side of the ship. Two weeks at full steam, and full steam they would go; they had to hurry to reinforce the expedition in the tundra before it was wiped out. It would be difficult for her to control herself that long, but she was strong enough to cope. The wait would be worth it.
The knight reached a hand into the bag containing all of her worldly possessions, feeling around for one of the few things, perhaps the only thing that still comforted her. She wasn’t wearing her gauntlets – there was no point sacrificing that much dexterity when battle couldn’t possibly loom. Just two weeks of boredom instead.
She found what she was looking for and pulled it out, careful not to squash it. She raised it up so that she could see it and sniffed. Nothing.
Her senses of smell, touch and taste were dulled by undeath, so that wasn’t too surprising. She always liked to check each time, though. Just to be certain.
She bit a large chunk out of it, rolling the baked treat around her mouth for a few seconds before swallowing.
There it was.
But was it a true sensation, or just a memory? She couldn’t be sure.
Just the slightest taste.
Just the slightest hint of blueberry.