Of Death and Discourse
Anguished moans echo in the distance. The ravenous undead’s cries shattering the silence of the fallen necropolis. The cold winds of Northrend calling back in response, echoing through empty halls. Among the ruins sits a solitary Death Knight.
The undead is of elven origin, quel’dorei perhaps? He sits, upper body exposed, his armor sundered from his recent conflict with the roaming undead. He bites his lip, grunting as he dresses his injuries.
“Looks like I won’t be dying tonight,” he muses, “But the night is still young and the dead still roam.” His muttering is interrupted and he snaps back to reality as he hears the a death rattle from the next room pierce the night. Curious he approaches, unsure of what awaits him.
“Unexpected.” He finds two elves like himself; females, engaged in combat. One light haired and heavy armored, the other with locks of black clad in ornate rodes of gold and white. He was unnoticed, and deeming his assistance unnecessary he merely observes the pair.
The last remaining of the undead shrieks in agony as they incinerate it with holy fire, its smoldering corpse being all that remains. “A paladin and a priest,” he whispers bemused, “This should be fun.” He makes his approach, still unnoticed, “Quite impressive, you two have quite the knack for dispatching the undead.” His voice rings out cold as steel, as the pair quickly spin around noticing the approaching Death Knight.
The priest addresses him first, timidly in his presence, “But o-of course . . . keep your distance, the Light w-works just as w-well on your kind as it does the m-m-mindless Scourge.” He smirks, his confidence unwavering. “No need to worry about me, I mean you no harm. I’m here for the same reasons. If anything we should probably work with one another, I’m sure should we get to know each other that we’ll get along real well.” She responds quickly, “Work with o-one of you? A-an undead?” He approaches, making no sudden moves. “What?” He inquires, his voice a whisper, “Never been with an undead before?”
She gazes upon him at his remark, flushing red and unable to avert her gaze from his chiseled form, but her companion steps in, “Oh, you wish to assist us? And what can you offer? I won’t deny that you have confidence . . . “, she pauses eyeing him up and down,“. . . But most men can’t keep up,” she finishes with a smirk. His lips curl into a grin, “Well . . . I’m not most men, one of the advantages of being dead, we never tire.” The priest beside her flushes deeper at his words, eyes still locked upon him, as the other woman grins wickedly at his proclamation.
“Well then . . .”, she speaks in musical tones, walking towards the man, pausing to stroke the steel of his blade, “We’ll have to see about putting your tool to good use.” She tears the other woman’s gaze from him as she saunters off. Their discussion having attracted the attention of more mindless undead. The elf readies his blade, not wishing to keep the ladies waiting and follows quickly behind. “Oh I’m sure my performance will be quite . . . satisfactory.” The howls of the dead ringing out into the night.
The remaining pages seem to have been obscured by some unknown fluid, better it remain unknown . . .