Hellfire Peninsula burned, as usual. Great plumes of fire erupted across the land, bursting from the weakened crust of chasms and cave-ins and scorching the barren, rust-colored ground. It was appropriate, the whoosh and roar of these exhalations ringing through the dry air like the gasping, wheezing last breaths of the dying. The gasping, wheezing last breaths of Draenor.

As she had many times before, Sedrai perched atop the ruins of Honor Hold’s original Keep, her hand dangling limply over her knee. Her soulless gaze skimmed the crumbling horizon, raking coldly over the imposing façade of Hellfire Citadel. Its battlements of stone, wood and rusted metal crouched over a deep ravine, menace dripping from every line and angle. From this distance, the fel orcs that manned the fortress looked like angry, red ants, scurrying in and out of sight along its labyrinthine levels of portals and pathways.

Frantic and furious, she thought, idly watching as a pair of guards rushed across the catwalk to challenge an approaching adventurer. They were both dead in a matter of seconds, culled by the flash and flare of some unknown mage. Like the disturbed hive that surges forth in a futile attempt to attack the rain that is washing them away.

Sedrai shook her head, finding no sympathy for the corrupted orcs. The Bleeding Hollow clan would soon be extinct, crushed between the righteous fury of the Alliance and the smoldering disdain of the Horde. It was, by all accounts, a thorough victory for the forces of Order, for those who oppose the Chaos, but the Death Knight found little comfort in the thought. The past few weeks had shown her too much of the other foes that stood against them.

Frustrated at the direction of her thoughts, she slipped off her plate gauntlets and set them aside, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. Where there is life, there is hope, the draenai reminded herself, clinging to a litany that seemed less capable of comforting her with every repetition.

“There is no hope. Chaos is inevitable, the natural state of an existence twisted by the arrogance of those who called themselves Shapers.”

Sedrai gritted her teeth, slamming the door on her memory of the deep, calm voice that had answered her assertion mere days before. Moontreader. Her quarry. Her assignment.

The Grey Seer had warned her, if belatedly, of the true nature of the creature called Danal Moontreader. Nathrezim, the ultimate manipulator, the hidden enemy inside the nightelven shell she’d come to know. Tens of thousands of years of her own people’s history screamed to her of the menace in his every word, the unimaginable peril in letting his ideas reach her ears. And rightly so. She felt it. Already, he spoke far too loudly to the desolation in her soul, the dark places left when her death and reanimation at the Lich King’s hands scoured the Light from her being.

“No.” She said the word aloud, lending it strength to silence his echoes. She would not be swayed. She would not be twisted. She would do her duty, complete her task as she always did, and move on to the next.

This is our chosen path, she declared for the thousandth time, leaning back against a shattered stone block. No past. No future. Only this moment, this day, this mission. One to the next to the next until there is either peace or oblivion. Staring up into the void that was Hellfire’s sky, Sedrai pondered which of those two she desired more, feeling the weight of too many days without rest. And too many battles without victory.

“Conflict is Chaos. What makes you think the so-called heroes of these worlds can use war to bring Order?”

She’d hated the question when he’d posed it. No doubt, as he’d intended. It struck at everything she’d done since the day she was freed from the Lich King’s will, and its logic was diamond-sharp. Every swing of her Runeblade was chaos and death… how, then, could she bring peace and order to the worlds? Was she working against her own goals alongside every other misguided hero?

The Death Knight grimaced, recognizing the danger of these doubts but helpless to fully lock them away. Clearly, Danal Moontreader – no, the nathrezim Xonath – knew just where to strike to chip away at her resolve. It was something that she recognized this, sensed her slow slip down the path he built to trap her. But it was so little. So weak.

Slamming a frustrated fist against the rough stone of her perch, Sedrai closed her eyes and latched on to the pain as a tool to clear her storming thoughts.

“This moment is our anchor,” she whispered to the darkness in her mind, building the image of circling like a hawk above her own identity. “This is our self. This is who we should be, who we wish to be. When the river of his insidious words rages around us, this is the boulder to which we will cling.”

A few moments later, her eyes snapped open. Moontreader. Far below, a familiar figure in crimson and white strode across the ruined floor of the keep, his gaze already fixed on the view of Thrallmar and the mountains to the north. He had not yet seen her.

Taking a deep breath, Sedrai gathered her gauntlets and helm, slipping them on with the ease of the practiced. Tonight, she would convince a demon that she had chosen to join his cause. Tomorrow, she would pray to whomever would listen to help her keep it a lie.

(( If I may, I would like to comment in that this is a very well written piece and I enjoyed reading it. Are you intending to keep this a closed RP adventure or is it open to others? As another Death Knight of the Netherbane, I'd love to see Sedrai in action! ))

(( Thank you, Khelandros. I'm really glad you enjoyed it.

Sedrai has gotten herself wrapped up in Greyseer's Massacre arc, so this is just a tiny spinoff exploration of some of her part in that. While I may add other explorations, later, depending on in-game RP events, this thread at least is pretty closed. It's bound tightly to game sessions with the toon called Moontreader.

I am hopeful that, one way or another, Sedrai will have some sort of future... association with the Netherbane, but a lot is still up in the air and dependent on the culmination of the arc.

So that's a longwinded way of saying "Not this time, but hopefully, there will be a next time!"

Until then...

PS: But be sure to say hi if you see me in-game. There are always little excuses for interaction outside of the story arc. ))

(( New Post #1 of 2 ))

“Here it be, lass, good as promis’d.” Though the burly craftsman slurred his words, already well into his fourth Nethergarde Bitter of the morning, his hands were steady as he passed the leather-sheathed bundle to his customer.

She took care examining the workmanship and design, her soulless gaze tracing the small grooves that ran down the blade and disappeared under the hilt. The grip was strong, a netting of titansteel rods protecting the delicate-looking crystalline core. The Command Rune, engraved on a pounded steel medallion near the crossguard, shimmered slightly with the fresh enchantment bound behind it.

The dwarf across from her watched her perusal, his face bright with a maker’s pride. “Go on. Try th’ release,” he prompted.

Sedrai shrugged and brushed her thumb across the Rune. The spell triggered with a pulse of magic, a reaction that was visible only as a weak waver in the air. More obvious was the way the core darkened, its edges blurring as it shifted out of phase with the physical plane and dropped straight through the solid cage that held it in the dagger’s grip. She caught it as it fell, her hand ready a few inches below the weapon.

“Aye, lass. Jes’ like that.” Brandig grinned, pleased with himself for his handiwork.

The death knight nodded appreciatively, triggering the spell once more to shove the orb back through the solid bars. She slipped the dagger back into its sheath before she returned her attention to the blue-skinned dwarf before her. The weapon was a masterpiece. “And the spare cores?”

He waved a negligent hand at a pair of small crates near the lean-to, plonking himself down on the stool by the forge. “Ever’ one ye asked fer is there, luv. Enchanted jes’ as this’n an’ ready fer yer use.”

“Good,” she said, her breath frosting in the frigid air of the Storm Peaks. “I trust the armor is ready as well?”

He scoffed, fixing her with a scowl that said she’d just pricked at his pride to consider otherwise. “O’course, though I dinnae ken why ye’d want th’red. Sh’inna yer color, lass.”

Sedrai raised a brow, but decided not to point out that he was hardly an expert on fashion. Though the banter might be enjoyable, she wanted nothing more than to get this trial over with.

“As promised,” she said, dropping a pouch of gold beside the crate of Bitter she’d already given him. She felt his gaze as she turned and gathered her goods, but she did not care to see what it contained.

Now that her tools were ready, there was work to be done.

((New Post #2 of 2.

If you've not read #1, please back up a post.

Also, you are forewarned: This segment of the story is not for the faint of heart. If you do not wish to read unpleasant things, feel no obligation. The summary of this will be part of the weekly update.))

There are ways into Orgrimmar, if you know where to look. Places to hide. Patrols easily avoided with a bit of inside intelligence. And as ever, the ease of finding those willing to sell the secrets of their city was astonishing.

Sedrai crouched in the deep shadows of the night as another oblivious guard passed below, her boots hissing against the well-worn path. Kor’kron Elite though she was, the orc was clearly tired, her steps lazy and her waraxe drooping in her grip.

Too easy. The death knight barely realized she’d moved, instinct making her reach for the polearm strapped to her back. But there she paused, her grip white-knuckled on the weapon’s leather-wrapped hilt while she reminded herself that the Horde warriors were not her quarry. They would not serve her purpose, and if she made a mistake… Well, she could not afford an outcry that would ruin her mission.

Forcing her hand back to her side, Sedrai relaxed against the stone ledge, sinking deeper into the shadows. The guard continued past, never knowing how close she came to oblivion.

Oblivion. The draenai held on to the word as she slowly continued her creep along the hidden ledges above the shops of the Drag. It was such a superior word to “death”. Death meant gore and blood, the stink of offal and rotting flesh. “Oblivion”, on the other hand, meant something much sweeter – peace and serenity, restful darkness, unburdened nothing.

Or so she told herself.

Drawing reign on her wandering thoughts, she slipped quietly onto a wooden roof, circling the flickering light that reached up from a brazier on the street below. Two buildings closer to the Valley of Honor. Third window on the left. She would begin there.

The maw was dark, the room beyond still and silent as those within slept through the deepest hours of the night. Nothing stirred when she dropped on soft hooves through the window. No one moved as she crossed to the first bed and stared down at the figure twisted around its blanket and pillow. Sedrai reached under her gauntlet, glad for the darkness that obscured the middle-aged orcish woman’s features, hid the peaceful repose of slumber. Her hand closed over the hilt of her dagger.

It is as though I am walking in my sleep, a part of her mused idly even as her body moved, feeling detached and numb. She watched the blade descend, barely recognizing that she held it, buried as deeply now beneath her own cold determination as she had once been beneath the Lich King’s. There is only this one moment. This task.

Slip. The blow was light, the weapon’s edge exceedingly keen. A smooth drive straight through the sternum to pierce the heart. A silent, instant death. Painless and pure, even if the blood that seeped down the channels carved in the dagger and into its hollow crystalline core was not given willingly.

She watched, her gaze as dead as her body, as the receptacle drank every drop. Then, with a swipe of her thumb, she triggered the cantrip that released the blood-filled core. She held a life in her hand, its warmth reaching through her thin, mail gauntlet to touch her skin. Trapped somewhere between grief and relief, she glanced from her hand to the mother’s pale corpse, wondering if it was peace she saw on the orc’s shadowed face.

“There is no peace. Only oblivion. Chaos, unfettered and unfeeling.” The still air whispered the words in her mind, a voice she could neither ignore nor silence. Xonath. It brought a chill to her blood that had nothing to do with her body’s undead state. “Send them to Nothingness.”

Sedrai grimaced, covering her ears in a futile motion. The demon was bound to Moontreader; she should not still hear his whispers. Was her own mind playing dark and dire tricks on her? Her troubled gaze falling on the body laying still before her, she shuddered and entertained the notion that she was going mad. Already.

No. She shoved anger into the thought, using it to burn away any doubts. This is nothing more than nath’rezim tricks and games. We know who we choose to be. Focus on the task at hand.

Gritting her teeth, Sedrai withdrew from distractions, wrapping herself in unfeeling ice. She watched her hand slip the filled orb into her pack, bringing forth a new one to replace it. She watched her muffled hooves move to the next bed, where one of the children slept on, unaware that his mother had just been culled. It was a little easier, this way, as if the actions were not truly hers. As if she were still a puppet.

But it was a lie. She did not hide from that fact, even as she used it to give her the dispassion required to fulfill her duty. The innocents deserved no less than perfection from their murderer.

***

Two hours later, Sedrai slipped silently into the last chamber of the last hovel, her bulging pack strapped tightly to her back. One last empty core filled the handle of the bloody dagger in her hand, and one last bed greeted her from the predawn gloom. It was almost over.

The death knight stared down at the two figures curled together, her brow furrowing. The young woman she’d expected. The young man, the warrior, was supposed to be on assignment in Terrokar. Her source had been wrong.

One last empty core to be filled.

Her frigid gaze memorized the lovers, her mind and heart far beyond sympathy. Instead, she strategized the best way to harvest the woman without waking her mate. His arm, thick with bulky muscle, draped across his woman, cradling her to him and inadvertantly shielding her heart from a painless death. Sedrai cursed silently, her careful gaze revealing nothing she could use to do this the easy way. She would have to kill him, first.

Tapping her thumb against the dagger’s Rune, she released the last empty core so as not to waste it on worthless blood and, without allowing herself to pause for doubt, plunged the weapon into his barrel chest. Unfortunately, the dainty blade had been made for much smaller prey. Digging deep through corded muscle and sinew, it fell short of fully piercing his heart, instead only ripping a hole. It was a wound every bit as deadly, but far less pure.

The warrior jerked, his agonized eyes snapping open as his life’s blood spurted through the empty handle, soaking his chest and Sedrai’s gauntletted hand. He opened his mouth to cry out, his left arm moving on instinct, reaching into the darkness beside the bed. It emerged with a huge axe, a beast of a weapon meant for cleaving skulls and felling mountains, and while Sedrai ripped the pillow out from underneath his mate’s head, stuffing it over his face just in time to muffle his cry, he swung his arm, sinking its blade deep into her undefended side.

Beside him, his mate stirred, groggy and confused.

Doubled over, the death knight ignored the injury with the ease of someone forged in the fires of a necropolis, using all her weight to drive the dagger tip deeper.

Stop. Stop. Stopstopstop. The word became a mantra in her mind, filling the few short seconds it took for the orc’s struggles to weaken and finally cease. His fist slipped from the haft of his waraxe, letting it slide free of Sedrai’s side with a sickening squelch. It came to rest against the foot of the bed, where she watched the growing pool of blood on the floor lap against the fouled blade. She may have gone on that way long after he died if not for his bedmate’s sharp gasp. The sleeper had realized what was happening.

Sedrai moved more quickly than she had in all her life and unlife, clubbing the young woman with a mail-clad backhand to the side of the head. The move stunned her mid-breath, stopping the scream that had built in her throat, and bought the draenai one precious second to load the last core into the dagger and plunge it into the girl’s heart. Shocked, the orc grabbed a fist full of her killer’s jerkin and yanked her close, forcing her to watch as the last spark of Light faded from her eyes.

Trembling from head to toe, Sedrai eased the young woman’s hand open and gently laid her corpse back against her mate’s. “Rest well, children,” she whispered, closing her glassy eyes.

The last core was filled. It was over.

It was over.

***

The final gryphon ride was nothing but a blur, lit gently by the first, weak hints of the coming morning. She barely felt the bandaged gash in her side. She barely acknowledged the chill from her wet armor. The only thing that mattered was that the blood was gone, washed off in the sewers of Dalaran, far away from prying eyes. It was a purely practical concern, of course, as bloodsoaked heroes were not permitted into the sanctuary of the inn.

She wanted nothing but rest. A short period of her own personal oblivion. Her thoughts fixed only on this, she did not notice the pressure of eyes upon her, nor catch a glimpse of the young nightelf that hid in the corner of her room.

She wanted nothing but rest, but Sedrai wasn’t going to get it, quite yet.