Secret War

[A L I V E]

Greetings!

For those of you who have not met me, I am A L I V E. I shall engage your delicious minds with tales of mirth and mayhem! Come closer morsels, and let me tell you of the days of high adventure!!


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Silvermoon City

Elara stepped up her pace as she strode through the capital city of the Blood Elves. The city’s arcane guardians were difficult to avoid, especially at night. She did have several tools working in her favor of course. The first of many being her formal training as an assassin and thief, and then there was the time she spent working as an informant and spy for the now defunct Hand of Tirisfal.

The auburn haired rogue sneaks past a roving patrol of heavily armed spell breakers, distracting them with a small device she keeps hidden within the folds of her dark clothes. It’s well past curfew, but she was ordered to move, and to be at a certain place at a certain time.
She’s past the bazaar now, and she pauses to glance upwards at the full moon. The moon light glimmers in her deep emerald eyes and in a blink she’s gone again.

Elara stands before a huge sealed section of the city, a large and hastily placed concrete slab. This construction was placed here as a temporary fix to a growing problem within Silvermoon: the increasing numbers of the Scourge and Wretched. She conceals herself within the shadows, and awaits her contact. Moments later, she spots a large wolf patrolling near her hiding spot. She instantly knew it was a druid, for Quel’Thalas was not known to harbor that particular type of beast. Now, she had to discern if this was her contact, or a wayward Night Elf.

“I can see you Elf, your simple tricks won’t work on me” the wolf spoke to her in Orchish.
The wolf howled, and a metamorphosis began. Its shape lengthened, and enlarged to several times its former size. Huge black horns sprouts from the head and a bovine like snout can clearly be seen. The black furred Tauren eyes Elara warily, and snorts loudly shaking his nose ring. “I am Singe Grimtotem, you and I have business” he says in a booming voice.

Elara bristles at the arrogant tone of the tauren male, and her hands soon find themselves resting on her daggers. Singe notices the movements beneath the rogue’s cloak, and takes a cautionary step back. “Peace, Rogue, I didn’t travel across the world to fight with you” he says to her in a lower tone of voice.

Elara relaxes a bit, and throws back the hood of her cloak, as she steps into the moon light.
“Your clan has requested my services; payment has already been received; so I suggest you get on with it as I do not provide refunds.”

“Very well. The Elder Crone has retained your services to assist us in accessing one of the Scourge’s most heavily fortified strong holds.” He reaches into his backpack and takes out a neatly folded parchment. He unfolds it and places it onto the ground, “…do you recognize this place?”

Elara’s emerald eyes widen in disgust, “I know of it Grimtotem, who does not know of the vile Naxxramas?” she says. “It’s suicide to venture into it.”

Again, Singe snorts, jingling his nose ring. “Calm yourself. Magatha only desires that you help to gain access, another will take up our cause from that point.”
Elara rolls her eyes, and folds her arms under her dark cloak. “…another? Your mission brief told me nothing of a second party member” she says.

“Your knowledge of this was not required Elara. As you said, payment has already been made; now you are expected to uphold your end of the bargain.” he says to her. Singe folds up the map and hands it to the rogue. “Your next contact will meet you in the ruined shire of Northdale in two days. He is a Forsaken warrior.”

Elara sighs heavily and puts her hood back onto her head. “What is this warrior’s name?” she asks. Singe just smiles at her and says, “…you will know him by his tabard. He wears the mark of the Scarlet Crusade.”

The rogue shakes her head and spits onto the ground. “Is that all? Can you not provide me with a name?”

Ignoring her pleas, Singe morphs into his travel form, and begins his long trek out of the city.

Left alone, Elara again melts into the night and stalks her way back to “Murder Row”.
[/b]

[A L I V E]

The Plaguelands

Elara adjusts her position atop a ruined and decayed tree just outside the northern edge of Northdale. She’s trying to find a comfortable seat, but is failing horribly. From this vantage point, she can clearly see several ghostly figures milling about the abandoned houses of the small town. It’s nearly mid-day; however the skies are a sickly brown in color; and smog like haze moves slowly over the land. She’s been here since just before dawn, awaiting her mystery contact.

Several more minutes pass…each dreadfully uneventful. Elara sighs, and begins to absent mindedly to play with one of her daggers. Her guard is momentarily down as she carves out a random design onto the branch she is perched upon. A low rumble can be heard in the distance, her long elven ears perk up, and she turns her heard towards the direction of the sound. It’s the sound of hooves hitting the cobblestone of the streets on the western edge of the city. She does not move, and uses her trained ability to meld into the shadows of the tree, opting to observe to see just who this visitor, or victim, really is.

Moments later, the sounds of battle are clearly heard. With her curiosity piqued, she jumps down from her vantage point, and silently moves through the streets and toward the chaotic sounds.

“I…AM…ALIVE!!!”

…shouts a Forsaken warrior. She watches in bewilderment as he hurls himself into a crowd of three heavily armed Scourge Champions. The warrior head buts the closer scourge, knocking it back a bit. He simultaneously draws out his enchanted sword and mace. Moving in a single fluid motion, the warrior double slashes the scourge on his right with his sword, decapitating it and removing its arm at the same time; then returns to the first one, and head butts it again. The third enemy raises it’s two handed sword high, apparently seeking to enter combat with the furious warrior. The Forsaken fighter seems to only be getting more agitated, and howls in anger. Elara can see from where she is that there is a small amount of foam forming in the corners of the mouth of the Warrior. She begins to wonder if this madman is truly crazed or just has a death wish.

The warrior engages the rapidly approaching Scourge Champion with his off hand weapon, parrying the heavy strike of the two handed sword. The Power of Madness, which is the result of a certain trinket (the Lunacy Deck), now in full effect grants the warrior a surge of unnatural speed. Elara watches as the warrior trips up his enemy, and impales it still falling body on his sword. The first enemy is coming up behind him, and the warrior leaps toward the Scourge. He grabs it by the shoulders and head butts it again, and again, and again. He continues to do so until the creature falls to the ground, dropping its weapon. He refuses to release the creature’s head, and still strikes it with his own. When he does stop, the twisted mass of dead flesh and crushed bone that was the monster’s face is strewn all over the warrior’s face and armor. Satisfied at his work, the warrior begins to devour the exposed flesh of his enemy. Elara nearly looses her lunch at the sight, but manages to remain hidden.

The Forsaken warrior turns and wipes his face, allowing bits of meat to fall to the cobblestone street. Elara immediately recognizes the bloodstained tabard of the Scarlet Crusade on the warrior’s chest. Realizing that this was her contact, she emerges from stealth mode, and makes her presence known.

“Greetings, Forsaken. I am Elara Songfire; I believe we have business together.”

The warrior tilts his head to the side and observes her for a moment.

“I am Alive.” He says, and offers her a slight nod. She cocks her eyebrow high, and ponders whether or not she should inquire as to the strange nature of the undead’s name – but, she ultimately chooses not to engage him in that manner.

“Makes sense” Alive says after some moments pass, “who would be better suited to get me inside Naxx than a rogue?”

Elara shrugs indifferently at the warrior. “Good, then I don’t have to waste my time briefing you. Stratholme is not far from here, we’d best be going.”
“Agreed. We’ll proceed on foot, be easier to avoid the patrols.” He says. Alive turns to his similarly ‘life-challenged’ steed and gives it a slow nod. The creature snorts, then slowly trots away, as if it somehow understood the silent command from its master.

Alive’s eyeless skull turns again to the rogue as he unsheathes his weapons.

“I’ll scout ahead!” he says to her as he begins a slow jog, that bursts into an all out sprint, as he charges out of the decrepit town, yelling and shouting all the while.

Elara pulls her hood over her auburn hair and sighs.

“I must screen my contracts better from this point forward.”

[A L I V E]

Bad Habits

The two heroes make their way across the ravaged landscape, the Forsaken Warrior, who calls himself ‘Alive’, leads the way. Elara is bemused by the seemingly haphazard fighting tactics of her curious associate; but after the third or fourth skirmish she begins to understand the mentality of her companion.

She correctly deduces that Alive is physically gauging the strength of his foes. As a Master Rogue, she would of course prefer to view her enemies from a relatively safe distance; and perhaps slay a few here and there. She takes up a defensive position, a few meters to Alive’s left – from there she can take care of any runners (whom she notices Alive won’t even bother chasing) and stay a safe distance from the berserker’s quick moving weapons.

Dusk is quickly approaching, and the two take a much needed break at the decrepit Northpass Tower.

“You have some…interesting moves for a warrior, Alive” Elara says to him as she pulls out leather bound satchel from one of the many folds in her long dark cloak, then spreads the cloak onto the floor, with the soft velvet side up. She gently unpacks it contents, and sets them neatly on the dusty limestone floor. The pack contains some Alterac Swiss, a small flash of enchanted water and three bluish green mana crystals.

“I do what I must” Alive says to her dryly, as he takes up a sentry position near the entrance to the tower. He turns his body slightly and watches her as she takes up one of the mana crystals and mumbles something in her native tongue. Her eyes are closed, and she is sitting cross legged on her cloak, when the small crystal sits up and levitates in her palm of her delicate looking, but deadly hands.

It begins to spin, slowly at first, then increases its speed rapidly. Soon it begins to glow an angry reddish orange, and just as suddenly it explodes! Alive continues to watch as the rogue siphons the latent magical energies of the object into her body. She seems to be engulfed in a fiery aura for a few moments; but there is no heat and she is unharmed. She takes a deep breath, and her large emerald eyes open to see Alive still staring at her.

“What? It is no different from the spectacle I witnessed you perform on the Scourge earlier today.” She says as she quickly snatches up a piece of cheese.

Alive adjusts his facial carapace and smiles a sickly grin, “It’s not in my nature to pass judgment on the curious practices of the living…You just let me know when you need to take another hit Missy” he says to her, allowing a bit of verbal venom to hit the mark before speaking again.

“Gather your things, we’ll be moving out to Naxx under the cover of darkness” he says to her as he walks out of the tower.

Elara’s face flushes with anger at the tone of the warrior. For a moment she considers backstabbing the arrogant fool right then and there. After all, they were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by enemies. Who would know? It would be so easy to sever the head of this Forsaken and return to the civility of Silvermoon…

No. If nothing else, Elara was a professional. She thinks back over the centuries to all of the dark deeds she’s performed for the promise of coin or status. Besides being rude, and obdurate, Alive’s presence could be tolerated she supposed.

As she gathered her items and tucks them back into the folds of her cloak, she takes pleasure in the thought that the fool warrior would likely die once he made it inside Naxxramas.

[A L I V E]

Battle at The Gate

“I…AM…ALIVE!!”

…called the Forsaken Warrior as he and his reluctant accomplice, the stunningly beautiful and deadly assassin or thief for hire, Elara; made their way past the first of the sentry ziggurats of the Lich King’s Scourge.

Elara holds her short gladius low in her left hand, and rushes in quickly with her poisoned tipped Kizlyar style dagger towards a Scourge Mage. The dagger connects solidly with the rotting flesh of the Mage, and it reflexively it swings at her; but she’s much quicker and easily dodges the boney fist. Leaving the dagger stuck inside the creature’s body, she spins to her right, changing blade hands from her left to her right in one swift motion, and cleaves the top half of the mage’s skull clean from its head. It lurches forward awkwardly, and then falls silently to the ground in a pile of worn bones and tattered robes.

Alive tackles a monstrous gargoyle who’d foolishly come too close to the ground. The two combatants roll on the ground for long seconds, each trying to establish superiority over the other. The gargoyle gains the upper hand and pins Alive to the dusty earth; but soon loses all its mirth when it realizes the warrior has bitten out a large chunk of its neck. The beast tries to flee from the warrior, but only manages to flop clumsily about with one wing as it tries to prevent all of its life force from rapidly draining from the vicious wound.

Alive rolls to his feet, ready to engage the next target. He looks to his flank just in time to see Elara fade into the shadows. The Forsaken warrior can’t help but to form a sardonic smile on his face, for he’d never understood what he considered to be the sneaky and subversive nature of the rogue class. He was of the opinion that death should be known to all, similar to the manner in which the living announce births. To kill silently, leaving the victim witless to what has transpired was an affront to his undead principles. Focusing on the here and now, he squares off against a hulking Flesh Golem, rapidly approaching from the eastern wall of the ziggurat.

“YOu…NO…PaSs!” it managed to stupidly shout out to Alive as it closed the gap between them. It raises a meaty arm, and strikes out at the warrior. Alive rolls forward, under the heavy strike, with his sword’s spine pressed firmly against the shoulder of his plate armor. His enchanted blade slashes the arm pit of the monstrosity, and gelatinous green black goo spew out from the gash. Unfazed, the monster spins on its heels and swings a bloody looking meat cleaver from its other arm at Alive. The warrior parries the attack with his mace, but the power of the blow knocks him down to one knee. The golem kicks out at Alive with a stubby, but powerful leg; knocking the warrior off his feet and onto his back several feet away.

Dazed, Alive looks up to see he’s been slightly out-maneuvered by the lumbering creature. He rolls onto his side, and then continues rolling to avoid another devastating stomp. Elara tosses a dagger at the back of the creature’s ugly head, getting its attention. It turns on her and begins a full charge, swinging a large hook and chain with its third arm. It lashes out at her with the chain like a whip, but she anticipates the movement and somersaults out of the way. As she lands on her feet, she tosses two more knives at the beast’s chest, both landing squarely in the center and just inches apart from one another.

Alive is back on his feet, and roars with bestial fury at the distracted golem. He charges it from behind, dazing it momentarily. He follows up with a heroic strike from his sword, and then continues on with a massive flurry attack; opening up many wounds on the behemoth’s back. The flesh golem again turns on Alive and tries to grab the warrior, and as it reaches down, Elara leaps up and climbs the back of the creature. She narrowly avoids the haphazard swing of the third arm and reaches for the dagger imbedded in the monster’s head. She pushes it deeper and deeper until it gives way, past the bone and tendon, down to the spinal column. With the flick of her wrist, she twists the dagger 180 degrees, severing the connection between what passes for a brain on the golem and its horrid body. She positions herself in a fashion similar to that of a surfer, and rides the beast as it wobbles to the left and then to the right before finally falling down paralyzed.

Alive moves over still grunting golem and bashes in the skull with his mace. He turns to walk away, then runs back over to the creature and bashes it again.

“Good work, now all that is left is the ziggurat guardian. Should be a cake walk” he says as he shakes off bits of bone and brain matter from his mace onto the ground.

“Oh lovely” Elara says as she rolls her eyes. The moon is rising now, and there is a clear path between them and the entrance to Naxxramas. She tightens her cloak around her as she watches the Forsaken stalk off into the night and towards their objective.

[A L I V E]

Enemy at the Gate

Alive grasps at his weapons so tightly he nearly splits open the rotten skin covering his knuckles. The duo has covered a fair amount of terrain in a few short hours, and their primary objective lays just a small number of meters ahead of them. Elara draws her cloak tighter over her head as if to shield her from the evil emanating from the huge ziggurat before them. She glances at her accomplice; and notices his hesitation.

“What is it Alive? Why aren’t you all ‘blood and thunder’ now?” she asks in a whisper, injecting a bit of sarcasm into her voice.

Alive slowly raises his sword arm towards the ziggurat, forcing Elara’s eyes to what he’d been looking at the whole while. At the entrance to the portal, a heavily armored Scourge warrior stands. It immediately notices the pair, and similarly gestures at them by pointing its cursed spear at them.

“Lord Darkscythe, a Death Knight of some renown.” Alive hisses at her through clenched teeth. The Death Knight’s soulless glowing eyes are fixed on Alive, and it motions for him to come forward. Alive growls at the challenge, but makes no move towards the Scourge.

“Well, I’ve never heard of him, and quite frankly I’m getting tired of waiting for you to confront him!” Elara says to him, as she draws out her dagger and sword and starts for Darkscythe’s position. She’s suddenly blocked by Alive’s outstretched left hand, which has his enchanted mace at the end of it. Her emerald eyes flash wild with anger, and she says to him, “Remove yourself from my path Undead, or you’ll lose that arm.”

Alive sneers at her evilly, and says, “This ain’t no ordinary fight. That one uses powerful necromancy. We can’t just go charging in all wild and eager.”

“Pfft! He’s a mindless zombie like all of the Lich King’s minions!” she says to him.

Alive lowers his arm from her path and sighs, “…no. Arthas lost his grip on the ranks of the undead years ago. Those that serve him now, serve him willingly. And this one, is known to me, he’s a sadistic butcher.”

Elara rolls her eyes at the statement. After watching the bizarre and unorthodox methods of Alive, she could hardly see what could be more unsettling than that. Unconvinced, she takes a step forward and shouts, “Darkscythe! Stand down or be destroyed! Our business is not with you!”

Alive frowns at the over eager Rogue, but does not attempt to block her again.

“I have had the pleasure of killing many of your kin, Elf. I have feasted upon their flesh slowly, savoring each delicious bite. What a wondrous meal you will provide for Darkscythe!!” Lord Darkscythe responds in a cold, soulless voice.

“You’ll choke on my steel as I cut through your disgusting frame!” she screams at him as she melts into the shadows. Darkscythe slowly descends down the stairs of the ziggurat, with his fauchard at the ready. He moves cautiously, but at a determined pace down the stairs. He stops at the base and breathes deeply, looking to his right and to his left.

Elara moves slowly, but predictably to his rear. She watches her intended victim, looking for the best angle to strike from. Satisfied she’s in the favorable spot and confident in her abilities as Rogue she commences her attack.

KA-KLANG!!

Darkscythe blocked the dagger thrust by taking his polearm and quickly snapping it behind his back. All that Elara struck was the upper shaft of his weapon. Not waiting to see what the Death Knight would do next, Elara opts instead to gouge the undead, and buy herself some breathing room. Darkscythe shrugs off the attack, seemingly unaffected. He responds with a quick back hand to Elara’s head, but only connects with the stagnant air of the plaguelands, as she dodges the strike. Her momentum and the element of surprise stolen, Elara squares off against the Death Knight.

Seeking to retake the advantage, she rushes in with her off-hand sword leading the charge. But this is just a ruse, and she’s not surprised when the attack is parried. She follows up with a quick eviscerate scoring a minor hit on the undead’s plate armor. She spins to her right and moves in low, getting in close to him. While inside his defenses, she hits the undead again with a ghostly strike, and even though she is able to avoid the Death Knight’s counters she soon realizes that she is doing little if any damage to the scourge.

“Your feeble attacks will not bring me to my knees. Give up your fight; lay upon my table so that I may feast upon your fair skin!” the Death Knight taunts.

Elara grunts in anger as she prepares another attack. She kicks up a rock at the fast advancing Darkscythe. He does not attempt to block it and takes the fair sized pebble directly to the forehead, it makes a odd noise as it ricochets off. She follows the pebble strike with her own combination of swirling sword and stabbing dagger. But for each successful strike, she found herself being forced to dodge and parry more of his counter attacks. She nimbly leaps away with a series of somersaults, putting some twelve feet between her and him.

The air around her begins to swirl in aphotic green vapors. She is immediately sick to her stomach, and nearly vomits. Elara is suddenly overcome with dizziness and drops to one knee. Her complexion pales (even more so for a very fair-skinned Blood Elf), and the vibrant emerald color of her eyes is replaced with a sickly aquamarine color. Negative energy infuses the area in visible puffs, and what little life that was able to spring forth from the ground instantly withers and dies. She begins to realize that she’s somehow victim to one of the Death Knight’s more deadly necromantic abilities, ‘Death and Decay’.


“Yes…that’s it. Lost all your fight have you dear? I can help to ease your pain woman.” Darkscythe teases her as he closes the gap. Elara is nearly motionless as she struggles for air. The Death Knight moves in for the kill, with an exaggerated grin on his overly toothy smile. He raises his fauchard high, and comes down swiftly splitting her cloak in two.

He looks down at the ground and roars in anger, as his victory is stolen from him. Elara used her ‘cheat death’ ability to remove herself from the spell the Death Knight cast and ultimately avoid the death strike. Darkscythe found her several meters away, limping towards Alive.

Alive tosses her a flask of ‘major combat healing potion’, which he keeps in his large backpack.

“Had your fill of fighting for the day miss?” he asks her as he passes by, ensuring that the Death Knight is not following.

“Save your comedy, meat shield, I’m in no mood.” She hisses at him as she drinks down the pungent fluid. Almost instantly her sickness is removed, and she’s ready to go another round.

Alive turns his head and says, “Stay here. I will fight him.”

“I am fine! I underestimated him the first time!” Elara protests as she draws out her weapons and goes into an offensive stance.

“No. The living have a weakness against this type of magic. I do not possess this flaw. Guard my flank, keep to the shadows.” he instructs her, turning all the way around so that she knows he’s serious.

Defeated, but understanding of the Forsaken warrior’s logic she steps back and melts into the shadows.

“Kill him Alive, tear that foul grin from his wretched face!” she whispers to him as she crosses his path then moves off to his left. The moon is high in the evening sky, and the two warriors move to within striking distance of each other.

“What happened to your friend? I am getting hungry…but then, one thing I am not is a picky eater.” Darkscythe says with an impossibly wide grin on his face. “…but then, you already know this don’t you, ALIVE??”

[A L I V E]

A Rage in the Plaguelands

Alive slowly closes the tight gap between him and the Death Knight; his weapons are drawn and he is ready for a fight. As he approaches, an eerily dense fog begins to mist up around his ankles as he approaches.

“Weave yer spells on someone else…are has Arthas’ influence turned you into a weak willed caster?” Alive says to him, sending traces of spittle flying from his mouth and landing onto Darkscythe.


“That is why I liked fighting with you “Alive”. You are a true warrior; but you know who is the better here.”the Death Knight replies in his cold, other-worldly voice. The two perform a military style ‘about-face’ movement, both spinning on the balls of their feet and turning, while simultaneously stepping off on their respective left feet and concluding by walking away about 6 paces from each other. Facing each other again, they give a ritualistic bow to one another.

“I haven’t forgotten yer cowardice in the Tirisfal battle.” Alive says to him.

Darkscythe spits on the ground and replies,“Cowardice!? Ubi major, minor cessat!! Or have you forgotten your teachings since you joined that stupid dead Elf’s band of weaklings??”

With that, Alive leaps at the Death Knight, full of rage and fury. The insult cut him deep, for he, as do many of the Forsaken, have a near fanatical devotion to their ‘Dark Lady’ Sylvanas Windrunner. He thrusts his mace high, fully expecting Darkscythe to block it. When the shaft of his enemy’s fauchard comes up and connects with his weapon, Alive leans forward abruptly, head butting his opponent. Darkscythe shakes off the blow, and retaliates with quick action by jabbing Alive in the throat with shaft of his spear; knocking him back full step.

Alive recovers from the hit, and quickly spins to his right; as he does so, he brings up the flat of his blade and strikes the back of the head of Darkscythe. The Death Knight grunts in anger, and retaliates with a right backhand to Alive’s ribs; causing deep scrapes against his plate mail armor.

Undaunted, Alive continues to press his attack looking for an opening in the Death Knight’s defenses. He moves in closer, swinging his mace over his shoulder, connecting with Darkscythe’s forearm. The force of the impact sends sparks skittering across the two fighters. Darkscythe mumbles an incantation in Demonic, embracing Alive in a silhouette of darkness.

The Forsaken warrior, has seen this trick before, and recognizes the nefarious spell as Unholy Embrace. He knows that the Death Knight is trying to prevent him from using any of his healing potions, which means Darkscythe is getting ready to make his move.

Alive, however, is determined to interrupt whichever spell the Death Knight may try to cast next. Darkscythe smiles wickedly as he parries another of Alive’s murderous strikes.

“I grow weary of this dance Forsaken! Time to die!!”the Death Knight taunts, as he successfully sweeps the right leg of Alive, tripping him up and forcing him to the ground. With a single motion, Darkscythe thrusts his runed spear into Alive’s abdomen, cutting away his plate armor like butter.

The warrior grunts in pain, as thick, dark green ichor flows slowly from the wound. Elara sees an opportunity to strike, and throws a knife at the Death Knight. Darkscythe moves as if he’s got eyes behind his head, and turns around in time to bat the well-aimed knife harmlessly to the ground with his plate mail glove.

“You annoying little wench! When I’m done with this one I’ll kill you…slowly!!” he bellows as he takes a step towards the Blood Elf rogue. Moving quickly, Alive grabs at the cursed spear, removing it from his gut; the action generating a disgusting flesh sundering sound. The item burns within his hands, as the enchantments placed upon it were meant only for its true wielder. Alive rushes the Death Knight from behind, stunning him briefly; he then brings the fauchard up high puts all of his rage into his attack, so much so that he nearly flips himself over. He takes the polearm, and strikes at the Death Knight, slashing diagonally from left to right.

Sparks fly as the evil curved blade cuts through steel and then through flesh and bone; Darkscythe drops to one knee, and from Elara’s vantage point seems to mouth something; but she can’t quite make it out. The Death Knight turns his head around to look at Alive; and the force of the movement causes his splintered frame to split in two. He falls over, his torso barely held in place by a few strips of torn muscle.

“….this…is not a defeat…my Master will resurrect me…I will….have…my…” but his words are choked off, as Alive takes the runed polearm and thrusts it into the skull of his old foe. As he does so, the body of the Death Knight is engulfed in a heatless purple flame; and the fauchard soon disintegrates as well.

Elara rushes over to Alive and inspects the damage done. She notes the still oozing abdomen wound, and sees that his hands are severely burned from his handling of the Death Knight’s weapon.

“I’ll be fine…” the warrior assures her, “…I’ll grab a quick bite to eat inside the fortress...” he says to her with a sick grin on his face. Unnerved, Elara tries hard to block from her mind the mental image Alive just gave her. She tosses him some bandages, and draws out her weapons.

“As you wish Warrior, bandage yourself quickly; dawn is fast approaching.” She replies.

Alive nods in agreement, as he begins to bandage up his cut mid-section. He sheathes his weapons and moves up the steps to the entrance of Naxxramas.

[A L I V E]

Once more, unto the Breach…

Naxxramas, the ominous dark citadel of the Scourge floats silently above the two heroes. The guardians of the gate room have been defeated, and for now, entrance to the portal lay wide open for any battle hardened adventurer to explore its secrets.

“This is where we part, Elara.” Alive says to her, in a cool even tone of voice.

The Blood Elf rogue nods, although, she’s secretly reluctant to leave the foolish warrior on his own. She knew he spoke the truth, her assignment had been to get her cargo inside Naxxramas; and that is what she had done.

“I suppose so”, she replies in an aloof manner. “…I must admit, my curiosity is piqued, Forsaken. What is it that calls you to this hell hole?” she asks as her emerald eyes reflexively look up towards the structure in question.

Alive snorts at her, and adjusts his blood stained tunic. “…just yer routine suicide mission. The Death Stalkers are convinced Naxxramas will be moving soon.”

“Moving? To where?” she asks as some slight movement in a deserted house behind the ziggurat catches her attention.

“…Northrend, for re-enforcements.” Alive says as he adjusts his gear and his back pack one last time.

“hrumph. You will die Alive, this is a fool’s errand.” She replies.

“Who's more foolish, the fool, or the fool who follows him?” Alive responds without even looking at her. Elara’s eyes narrow and a slight smile forms on her face at the pointedly smart remark made by the curious warrior.

“…and, I have this…” Alive says, as he pulls out a faintly glowing flask of a portentous looking concoction. The vile liquid bubbles, and churns angrily within its container, yet it gives off no noticeable heat. Alive smiles sheepishly at the flask, as he raises it up to her eye level.

“What is that?” she asks.

“…a test from the Royal Apothecary. This, my dear, is the new plague” Alive says with pride.

Elara’s eyes widen in horror at the revelation. Her anger bubbles to the surface as her mind reels at the fact that she’s been traveling for the better part of a day with a walking plague carrier. Alive notices the change in her demeanor, and quickly tucks away his precious cargo.

“You don’t approve? Would even you go against the wishes of Lady Sylvanas?” he asks as he rests his plated hands easily on the hilts of his sword and mace. The subtle, yet hostile movement towards his weapons further unnerves the rogue; and she instinctively steps back.

“This flask carries the hope of revenge for both our people. I go to the north, to turn Arthas’ cursed plague against him and his army.” He explains, although he is uncertain if her feeble living mind can comprehend the significance of his mission. Elara just stares at him, her emotions showing plainly the disgust and contempt at Alive’s words.

Alive snorts, and adjusts his facial carapace; then shakes his head in disapproval of the Rogue’s reactions. He turns and walks into the portal, without saying another word.

Dawn has finally come to the plague lands; and Elara is left alone at the ziggurat. She looks up at the floating citadel once more, and questions the judgment of her traveling companion. She shrugs off the thought, and sighs deeply.

“You are a fool Alive,” she mumbles “…but I wish you luck none-the-less” and with that, she turns and heads toward the Ghostlands.

[A L I V E]

Death Becomes You

Alive crosses the threshold of the gateway into Naxxramas. It takes a few seconds for his ‘eyes’ (truth be told, he has no eyes in the true sense of the word) to adjust to the dimly lit span that acts as a foyer to the greater keep of the citadel. Alive finds himself greeted by a trio of Warriors, two of them obviously ‘life-challenged’; the third being more or less human.

“You! Why are you here Warrior?” the human, a ‘doom-touched’ warrior inquires rudely.

Alive is slow to respond, as he is trying hard to remain emotionless, else his mission ends here and now.

“I…am…Caice, I have been ordered here from Stratholme as an augment.”

“Is that so?” the doom-touched warrior replies, as his two companions begin to flank Alive.

“Truth. I was a part of Baroness Anastari’s elite guard. With the coming redeployment of the High Citadel Naxxramas, it was suggested my skills would best be used here.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone. He reaches inside his bag, causing his interrogator to flinch, and produces a parchment.

“…here. These are my orders, signed by Lord Rivendare himself.” Alive tosses the orders to the human; who then carefully breaks the seal and unfurls the scroll. After a brief inspection of the document, he throws it back at “Caice”.

“…You will be working in the Death Knight wing. I trust you know the way?” he says to Caice.

The Forsaken warrior snorts at the human. “I have been inside many necropolises before, Raz’lin.” Alive says as he switches his dialect to the undead gutter speak, and emphasizes the last part of his sentence to the two scourge on his left and right. He’d actually only called the other warrior a ‘human’, but in gutter speak it’s a derogatory and insulting word.

The two undead warriors visibly relaxed, then chuckled at their new friend “Caice” and urged him to follow them. As they walk down the corridor, Caice/Alive notices the walkway is adorned with the bones and tattered remains of Humans, Elves and Dwarves. Towards the archway leading into the Death Knight wing, are two cages; one each side. To the right, a massive Tauren hunter lay prostrate in his container. His pale brown fur was mottled and dry, and one of his great horns was ripped from its socket. The poor hunter’s arms were covered in boils and open wounds. His large eyes were yellowed and caked over with sickness. The other cage held a Draenei mage; around her neck a strange boney talisman hung. The necklace gave off its own eerie glow, and was obviously causing her some sort of internal torment.

As Caice neared the two cages; the hunter turned to the trio and begged them to slay him. The closer scourge warrior kicked at the cage, and motioned for the captive to be quiet. Caice looked to the mage and noticed she was locked in an intense, but completely silent conversation with an unseen entity.

The second chamber is filled with sparring warriors, with a few Death Knight Captains here and there instructing on form or technique. Caice is momentarily impressed; the 3x3 battle formations are a tried and true foundation for any squad sized element in combat. In his mind, he postulated that the Lich King is obviously ramping up his offense. Perhaps he’ll find an entire fleet of ships docked in Northrend, waiting for the “go command” from Arthas.

Caice is lead to another training area, this one filled with stables.

“…Wait here Caice” one of the scourge escorts commands him. Caice snorts at the order, but complies anyway.

“He’s going to present you to the Master.” the other scourge warrior tells him.

“…I await the “master” with bated breath” Caice responds dryly, drawing a puzzled look from his rotting companion. He snorts again, realizing that his quirky sense of humor will probably only get him killed.

Moments later, a Death Knight confidently strides towards Caice/Alive and his associate. He’s a rather large and well-built individual, dressed in ornately decorated azure colored plate mail. He wears his hair in a short, military style buzz cut, and his graying beard is trimmed to perfection. Across his back is strapped a massive two-handed sword, this is the signature weapon of the death knight class.

“I am Instructor Razuvious. You must prove yourself worthy of our unit before you can call yourself a ‘Dark-Touched’ Warrior!” he says to Caice, loudly enough to draw the attention of the other sparring warriors and Death Knights.

Razuvious flexes a bit, and then slowly draws his cursed rune sword.

“Now, SHOW ME WHAT YOU’VE GOT!!” he shouts at Alive/Caice.

[A L I V E]

Elephant in the Room

Alive draws out his enchanted sword and mace; then roars with blood curdling fury at the fast approaching Death Knight.

Razuvious reciprocates with is own magically disrupting shout, temporarily stunning the berserking warrior and stealing his mirth. He follows the shout with a swift boot to Alive’s chest, knocking him backwards and into the whooping crowd of Scourge. Alive rolls to his right, and scrambles to his feet; barely dodging the cursed sword as it splits the dark stone floor, sending sparks and chips of stone flying into the crowd.

Alive uses his momentum to his advantage and kicks Razuvious’ behind the leg, sending the Death Knight forward on one leg with his arms flailing out. But the ‘Instructor’ is quick to recover, and slashes at Alive with his menacing sword; but the Forsaken warrior narrowly parries the powerful blow, shifting the weight of the attack to his off hand weapon.

Razuvious presses onward, shoulder blocking Alive to put him off balance again.

“Hah hah, I'm just getting warmed up!” the Death Knight taunts, to which the crowd begins to cheer louder in favor of their ‘Instructor’.

Enraged, Alive rushes in with a lazy thrust, followed by a feint, then suddenly bursts into a flurry with his sword; moving him forward and inside the sweeping range of his opponent’s two handed sword, forcing Razuvious to block or dodge to prevent Alive from scoring a major hit with either of his weapons.

“VAE VICTIS!” Alive shouts as he comes down hard with both weapons onto the flat of the Death Knight’s sword.

“You should've stayed home!” Razuvious taunts again as he easily tosses Alive off of his weapon with one great sweep of his sword, throwing the warrior back several feet. He throws his shoulder into the rolling Alive, and then matches the fast attacking warrior’s fury, anticipating his moves and offering his own counterstrikes; which further interrupted Alive’s rhythm even though the warrior was able to parry half of the Death Knight’s strikes.

Seeing calamity ahead of him, Alive reverses suddenly, bringing his sword across hard instead of forward then drives his mace down hard directly over the pommel Razuvious’ sword in an attempt to disarm the Death Knight.

“You disappoint me, Caice!” Razuvious shouts at Alive. His eyes flash wildly for a split second and the runes on his blade rearrange themselves. He spins to his right and back hands Alive, sending the warrior sprawling into the crowd once more. Razuvious follows up the attack with a full on assault on the warrior. Alive is unbalanced, and is running out of room to back up and prepare a counter.

Angered, Alive tries his best to keep up his defenses; but in a moment finds himself tripped up by the Death Knight. Seconds later, Razuvious hits Alive with his signature finishing move; the Unbalancing Strike. The crowd goes wild with shouts and cheers for the ‘Instructor’.

Razuvious sheathes his cursed sword and looks down at the dying (re-dying?) Caice/Alive.

“You lasted a full two minutes against me. Commendable.” He says to Alive.

Alive responds with unintelligible gurgles, no doubt cursing the Death Knight as the world begins to grow dark around him. Razuvious smiles, an evil knowing smile at Alive, then casts Death Coil on him, healing Alive from his mortal wound.

“You will not be granted the bliss of true death here, student.” Razuvious says to him, as Alive begins to stir once more. He waives for two of his Understudies to collect the heap of plate armor and rotting flesh. They roughly grab Alive and force him to his feet.

“Take him to the berthing area, have one of the necromancers tend to the rest of his wounds.” Instructor Razuvious says, as he turns and walks away.

[A L I V E]

Training Day

Alive awakes to find himself tucked neatly away in a simple wooden sarcophagus in the common soldier’s area of the Necropolis. He slowly slides the unlocked lid off of the casket, guiding it down so that it does not make a noise as it hits the cold stone floor.

He sits up and sighs, and the pangs of defeat quickly wash over him. His gear rests eagerly to his side, unmolested; and his trusty sword and hardy mace were placed in cross-wise position in a neatly assembled weapons rack just above his coffin.

“You did well, better than I did at least” a cold and raspy voice speaks to him.

Alive snorts and adjusts the metal bands that are holding his face in place.

“I am Baron Morte. I have been assigned as your Regnant Abecedary while you are here in Naxxramas.” He says as he extends a boney arm to Alive.

Alive accepts the offer of assistance and is surprised at the strength of Morte.

“Caught you off guard I see? I am a newly risen Death Knight, and as such I am still getting used to my enhanced physical strength.” Morte tells him with a lipless grin.

“I see.” Alive responds coolly as he quickly recovers his items. “So, ‘Abecedary Morte’, where do we begin?”

Baron Morte smiles again, this time a darker more sinister grin and replies “…at the beginning.”

Some time later, Morte and Alive arrive in a secluded training area not far from the stable house. It’s a relatively large room, filled with an ornate assortment of weapons placed smartly in racks on each of the four ebon colored walls. In the center of the room, the floor tiered down two small steps to for a miniature arena of sorts. In each corner of the square, stood slender black lamps in the shape of skulls, illuminating the room with blue-black hues. The floor was of red marble, the red color in endless swirls which reminded Alive of smeared blood.

“You have a deep seeded rage Caice, I see it in you…” Morte said as he motioned Alive/Caice to select a weapon from one of the many racks, “…problem is that it comes in cycles.”

Alive smirked at the Death Knight as he selected two fine talwars from the rack.

“Yours is the hatred which surges from the depths of your shattered soul, and when it is satisfied, then it ebbs away like the tide” He says, as he too picks a great two handed battle axe from the racks.

“How is your lecture supposed to help Me?” Alive says to the Scourge. He then shifts his stance quickly as Morte leaps ahead, stabbing furiously with his battle axe, Alive takes note of the runes on the edge of the blade as they burst to life, dancing across the axe in swirls of red, blue and green.

“It would help many things, Caice. In fact, by embracing my power, embracing the power of the Lich King, is the only way you have to turn a sure defeat into victory!”

The battle axe came slashing across, forcing Alive to retreat. He quickly regrouped and continued his attack, slashing wildly, rushing ahead. Morte measured Alive’s every step, letting his fury play itself out. He was using less energy than his incensed opponent; in retaliation, Morte feints a stab that becomes a sudden reversal into a downward chop, catching Alive by surprise.

“Caice, the power of the Death Knights comes from passion. You have that. The glory of the Death Knights comes from our ability to punish and to achieve revenge. With the Lich King’s power and glory, you WILL have victory!” Morte shouts at Alive.

Instead of trying to parry the downward chop, Alive opts to take the vicious cut to the left shoulder. He then comes in suddenly and wildly, charging at the Death Knight; who easily side-steps him and dives into a shoulder roll arriving at the far end of the arena.

“…you have great power but no discipline. And that is not our way.” Morte tells Alive.

Alive howls in anger and again rushes the Death Knight, cutting the air furiously and forcing Morte to parry. Both his blades slapped against the battle axe, but Morte was considerably stronger. As the Death Knight countered Alive’s attacks, the shock of blocking them sent waves pain through his injured shoulder.

“Why? Why do you continue to resist?” Morte questioned Alive as he sweeps the warrior’s leg, forcing Alive onto his back defeating him.

“…we are what we repeatedly do Morte.” Alive says flatly as he concedes defeat.

Morte snorts at the other dead man, and offers him a hand up.

“Have you ever been to Kalimdor Morte?” Alive asks as he begins to bandage his shoulder. Morte simply shrugs and takes a seat.

“Every morning in the Barrens, a gazelle wakes up. It knows it must outrun the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning in the Barrens, a lion wakes up. It knows it must run faster than the slowest gazelle, or it will starve. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a lion or a gazelle-when the sun comes up, but you’d better be running!” Alive says, chuckling to himself.

“Point taken Caice…come, there will be no further instruction today.” He said as the two replaced the weapons on the racks and exited the training room.

[A L I V E]

The Beatings Will Continue Until Morale Improves

Over the next few days, the duels became more grueling between Alive and Baron Morte. There were prolonged bouts in the training room, one lasting nearly 2 hours. By the end, both Alive and Morte were exhausted. On the most recent occasion, Alive had collapsed on the floor after they agreed to stop, his energies being spent, feeling as if the necromantic aura permeating the necropolis had begun to affect him physically. Morte did not look in much better shape. Still, the Death Knight had won again, but he patted Caice/Alive on the shoulder and congratulated his improvement.

“Very, good, Caice! You nearly had me that time!” Morte teases.

Alive just snorts at the Death Knight as he inspects his nearly ruined talwars.

“The Lich King has…awarded…you with great power” Alive says after some time.

The Death Knight stares at his student from across the room, sighing deeply before responding.

“You are even more melancholy than the average zombie Caice. Is it not obvious to you the power King Arthas commands? Or shall I trounce you in another round of combat?”

Alive snorts again, and shakes his hairless head ‘no’. He stares at the swirls of red on the floor for a moment.

“…why did you choose to remain in the service of the Scourge after the Battle of Tirisfal?” Alive asked.

Morte laughs out loud at Alive, not a simple chuckle mind you; but a boisterous insane laughter. Alive’s eyeless sockets narrow at the Death Knight, as his rage begins to slowly bubble up inside him. When he regains his composure, he responds:

“…Power. I am a being who has achieved perfect strength, perfect power, and a perfect destiny. When the Scourge army begins its final march from Northrend, all the lesser races will be crushed beneath its advance.” He says as his soulless eyes go wide with fervor,“The Lich King will change you. He will transform you. Some fear this change. The teachings of the Light and other backwards religions are focused on fighting and controlling this transformation. That is why those who serve the light are limited in what they accomplish.”

Alive listens intently to his cohort’s rant. In truth, the philosophies Morte had been impressing upon him were not so different from those taught by the Cult of the Forgotten Shadow (of which Alive is a very active member). The ultimate goal of practitioners of the Forgotten Shadow is to ascend.

Ascension occurs once a person achieves complete control over himself and the power to transcend death. A Forsaken who ascends becomes invulnerable, invincible and eternal. In essence, he becomes a god; however, in the case of those free willed undead who continue to follow the Lich King, that ascension is muddled; hindered even, by his overbearing and malignant spirit.

“Come, Caice. We have business to attend to.” Morte tells him suddenly. The two replace their weapons and exit the training room. They move about the outer courtyard and see other initiates and trainees as well as many Death Knights all moving toward a high balcony some forty feet above them.

As they move closer, Alive clearly sees the individuals gathered on the balcony. In the center, a bearded dark robed necromancer can clearly be seen. The Forsaken Warrior surmises that this must be Gothik the Harvester. To his left, a rather short and stout looking dwarf stands, who seems to be wielding a maul nearly as tall as himself.

Alive pokes Morte and points up at the two above him.

“Who’s the short one?” he asks.

“That is Thane Korth'azz, one of Kel’Thuzad’s Four Horsemen”, he replies, not bothering to hide the fact that he was less than impressed with the notion.

“Servants of the Lich King, hear me!” Gothik says, “As we speak our forces are being assaulted by minions of the demon Kil’Jaeden on the Isle of Quel’Danas. Lord Kel’Thuzad has instructed that a contingent of you be sent down to hold the lines near the Dead Scar.”

“Ye bastards are gunna see some fightin’ at last!” Thane Korth’azz chimed in, “Time fer ye to earn yer keep, earn yer titles as Death Knights!!” he shouts down to the crowd, to which they replied with cheers.

Baron Morte turns to Alive and pats him on the back.

“Now we will see what you have truly learned Caice. By this time tomorrow, you will either be dead; or you would have made it back here to complete your training. Make your way back to the barracks, gather your gear. The troop will muster at the portal in one hour.”

Alive nods then walks away.

Fighting or being told to fight was never an issue for him. But now he was expected to group up with sworn enemies to defeat a group whom he disliked only slightly more than the ones he’s associating with. As he collects his sword and mace, he begins to wonder if Elara’s last words to him were true, maybe he was a fool to accept this mission.

[A L I V E]

Practice random acts of intelligence & senseless acts of Self-control

Alive moves quickly with the crowd of potential Death Knights, or DKs as is the common term amongst them. They are a silent bunch, but he can tell they are ready to taste demon and elf blood. Alive takes a head count of those who are to battle with him, “23” he silently mouths.

Twenty-three highly trained acolytes of the Lich King; all ready for true death and bloody glory in ‘his’ name.

“Children, your time of ascension is at hand!” echoes the voice of the Lich King’s most trusted aide, the lich Kel’Thuzad. “Go forth, crush the demon army! Let none survive!”

To this, twenty-three dark warriors shouted and cheered eager to fight and die; one lone warrior snorted and adjusted the metal bands that hold his face in its place. The warriors jumped through the gate in groups of three, with each group landing and defending a separate rally point of their own choosing along the path known as the ‘Dead Scar’.

Alive finds himself with paired with a jawless Undead with the ‘clever’ moniker of Gumms and a fallen human noble by the name of Buzan the ‘Fearless’. Gumms who was unable to speak (surprise!) had developed an intricate system of hand gestures and grunts to communicate. Buzan was a former Paladin from a minor order called the ‘Champions of Truth’ who were formally stationed near Brill. Apparently, they were a detachment of troops under the command of the Silver Hand – but that did not impress Alive. In fact, both of the DK wanna be’s made Alive giggle within himself, but right now he knew he had to put up a good front.

As the trio teleported to the surface they were immediately greeted by a swath of mindless skeletal ravagers.

“…ORDERS?” spoke the closest ravager in a dead and otherworldly voice.

Alive started to speak, but was interrupted by Buzan. “…I am in command here. You ravagers will set up a defensive perimeter there at that destroyed sanctum.” Buzan points to a barely standing building some 150 meters to the west.

The large group of ravagers growl in acknowledgement and dart off towards the building to begin their defensive assault.

Gumms and Alive looked at each other perplexed. Gumms was the first to tap Buzan on the shoulder and inquire as to why he’d sent the platoon of Undead in that direction.

“Is it not obvious brother?” Buzan said with an air of superiority in his voice. “…this is merely a ruse. We will flank the Eredar sorcerers take them first from there...” he says as he points to a ruined park some 50 meters beyond the area where the hapless Scourge ravagers were beginning to engage the dual blade wielding Wrath Guard demons.

“…then when the fodder has thinned the front lines of wrath guards we will strike them as well.” Buzan says, quite pleased with himself. Gumms signals his approval with a flash of a few quick hand signs. Alive shrugs and draws out his enchanted sword and mace as the three fighters trot off towards the northwest.

[Jinjinn]

Great stuff. Keep 'em coming.

[A L I V E]

Join the Scourge, see the world, meet interesting people - and kill them

The path Buzan chose to flank the magic wielding demons was far from safe. Twenty yards into their mad dash they were immediately engaged in mortal combat with a roaming squad of enraged Blood Elf Spellbreakers.

Gumms was first into the fray, taking his great Ōdachi sword to the skull of an over zealous elf, slicing easily through the ornately decorated plate helm of his victim. Alive shouts at the remaining spellbreakers with blood curdling fury, invigorating himself and his pseudo-allies. As the elves attempt to form up some semblance of a defense, Alive charges the closest one, head butting the elf before he was able to raise his shield, sending fragments of bone into the Blood Elf’s brain. Buzan raises his Crystal Spiked Maul high in the air, and shouts something in Common, before magically hurling the weapon into the shield of a defending spellbreaker.

Gumms soon finds himself on the defense, as two spellbreakers engage him directly. The closer one feints an attack, then raise his shield high while his partner spins clockwise behind him to attack Gumms with a forward thrust from his deadly two-bladed sword. If Gumms was worried about the thrust, it did not show; for his tongue flicked widely about as if he had tasted something good. He steps inside and to the right of the thrust of the spellbreaker, moving in close enough to punch the elf squarely in the jaw. The elf says something in his native language, but Gumms is already focused on parrying the attack of his partner and is not really paying any attention.

Buzan knows he must be careful as he engages the spellbreakers – he’s seen what they can do to those with knowledge of the arcane or shadow arts. Opting to hold off on casting any of his offensive spells, he attacks his group of elves with pure melee. His huge maul clangs loudly off the shields of his enemies, and for every attack that is parried, he follows up with a swift boot to keep them further off balance.

The Forsaken Warrior turns around to strike at the spellbreaker coming in swiftly from his left flank. He bats away the elf’s awkward thrust with his enchanted mace, but is robbed of any substantial counter attack due to the spellbreaker’s formidable shield. In anger, Alive rams the blood elf hard with his shoulders, knocking the smaller man back a few steps. The elf counters with a high swipe from his blade, but Alive sees the attack and parries it with his sword; which forces the spellbreaker’s two-bladed sword away. Unable to raise his shield up fast enough for a defense, the elf groans in pain as Alive bashes at his exposed side with his mace; breaking three of his ribs in the process.

Gumms continues to hack away at the shield of the back-stepping spellbreaker. The force of the blows send sparks flying to the ground, and leave gigantic scars on the once immaculate shield of the Blood Elf. The first elf, which he’d leveled with a well timed punch, finally makes it back up to a standing position. The poor elf has just enough time to gauge the damage to his face when he is ‘accidentally’ gutted by Gumms as he brings his huge Ōdachi to his front for another strike at the second elf.

Buzan the Fearless begins to live up to his quirky moniker. The dark paladin is taking on three of Kael'thas’ best, and his not even breaking a sweat. The spellbreakers are hard pressed to breach his defenses, as he is often striking and parrying in what appears to be a single move. Combine that with the paladin’s natural defensive auras, which come to his aid, and you have a long fight indeed on your hands. Frustrated, one of the elves calls out something in Thalassian.

The three elves fighting Buzan and the two others that the undead warriors were pummeling peel off in all out retreat across the Dead Scar. Buzan howls like madman and begin to give chase with Gumms not far behind him.

“STOP!” Alive shouts at them, “…focus on the mission, we’ve still got to capture that building!”

Gumms gestures that Alive is correct, and begins to feed on one of the fallen elves to replenish his energy reserves. Buzan spits on the ground in anger, but does not argue with the warrior’s logic.

“…yer get plenty of fight from them demons up ahead, Buzan.” Alive says with a smug grin, “…they don’t run.”

[A L I V E]

Blood is Just Red Sweat

The grounds near the ruined Blood Elf Sanctum shook violently with fel energies as three Eredar sorcerers cast their magicks against the forces of the Scourge. It is a nearly fruitless attempt, for as long as the curse of death remains on the patch of earth called the Dead Scar, the Lich King will have an endless supply of zombies to assault the land. But the demons fight on, driven by their master’s wishes and their own dark need to destroy everything in their sight.

The trio skitters across the destroyed village like small spiders running across a freshly swept floor. Gumms, who has taken up the point position, silently indicates that he sees one up ahead. The two fighters behind him duck and cover behind the remnants of a wall, then peer out from the sides in order to better gauge their potential targets.

The sorcerer is of an impressive size, far larger than any human or orc, with a bulky muscular body, and a long thick tail. Gold ringed and pointed ears sweep back from its bestial face and small black horns sprout from its wide brow. Its skin is as red as the fires of the great forge of the dwarven lands, and it’s dressed in flowing black robes that have strange golden runes sewn into the fabric. His chest and arms are exposed, and the only armor he has on are similarly colored black and gold bracers.

“We should proceed cautiously” Buzan whispers to Alive, “these are not your run-of-the-mill clothies” he warns. As Alive was forming his own attack plan mentally, his socket-less eyes go wide with surprise when he notices Gumms charging headlong into battle with the Eredar.

Gumms takes his great Ōdachi sword and hacks off the caster’s tail, sending the appendage flying and wiggling down the street. The creature cries out in demonic, and then with a flick of his finger in Gumms’ direction, he casts a spell; causing flesh, bone, and even steel to flare with green entropic fire. The Dark Touched Warrior thrashes about violently for several seconds, and then he drops his sword and tackles the sorcerer. Within moments, the two are engulfed in a ferocious magical blaze. Gumms is fervently biting and clawing at the demon as he burns, consumed as much by bloodlust and rage as the fires. The demon writhes in agony as he tries to throw the fast burning Gumms off of him. Eventually the sorcerer forces the smaller foe off of him, but he has sustained heavy damage from the fire.

Buzan’s body glows faintly as he silently casts Spell Warding on himself. He takes up his maul and seizes upon the singed demon. The enraged paladin hits the sizzling spell caster directly in the chest, producing a loud thud as steel meets flesh. Amazingly, the sorcerer picks up Buzan by the wrists with one blistered arm and tosses him over his shoulder, sending the paladin flying some fifteen feet.

Alive shouts with blood curdling fury, and runs to intercept the distracted demon. He tackles the caster, and then begins a series of quick slashes to his exposed chest and upper arms. The eredar tries to cast another spell, but Alive quickly pummels him with the pommel of his sword to silence him. In desperation, the caster teleports some eight feet away to try to get some distance between himself and the raging warrior.

Buzan quickly recovers and is back on his feet and charging after the demon. Reaching into the growing blackness of his once pure soul, Buzan focuses his hate and rage towards the eredar sorcerer. A flash of purple energy leaps forth from the fallen paladin, and envelops the demon; at first the creature merely laughs at Buzan for he realized that the human had probably inadvertently cast Unholy Armor which granted the eredar several moments of invincibility. What the demon didn’t count on is the after effect of the temporary invincibility – when the spell wore off his flesh and bone would gain the consistency of well churned butter!

Taking this new found opportunity to strike, the sorcerer quickly hit Alive with a Cripple spell, slowing the fast approaching berserker to a crawl. It turns again to Buzan and raises its arms high in sky, summoning forth a rain of fire on the paladin. He’s forced to call upon his Divine Shield to prevent being charbroiled by the intense heat and flames caused by the sorcerer.

“You gonna let that demon root you? You’re no fighter! “A bodiless voice whispers to Alive.
"I could take him easily! Let Me at him!!” it taunts him again. Alive’s body is suddenly infused with a rush of strange energies, and he roars in anger as his rage boils over within him. “They want a fight? I’ll show them! I grant you the Power of Madness: Sociopath!!”

Alive instantly breaks free of the effects from the spell and runs towards the spell caster. He uses a ruined bench in front of him as a jump point and then effortlessly takes to the air, leaping at the demon sorcerer with his enchanted sword raised high above him. Time seems to stop as he begins his murderous decent towards his victim.

Buzan’s shield is failing fast; he starts to sweat as the intense heat and flame begin to surround him. Just then he notices his undead companion, who is seemingly flying at the demon. Buzan takes note of how impossibly wide his associate’s mouth had turned, and wonders when did he get so many teeth? He also was surprised he had not noticed the faint red glow of the warrior’s socket-less eyes.

The eredar demon has about half a second of time before he realizes that something is coming at him. He ill-advisedly turns to face the dark shadow flying at him. His curiosity is sated when the edge of Alive’s sword cleaves him nearly in two, sending brain matter, bone and blood shooting out in all directions.

“I…AM…ALIVE!!!” the berserk warrior shouts as he hits his mark.

He had hit the demon with such force that a good deal of his sword was embedded in the cobblestone of the street, and it takes him a few seconds to pry it out of the ground. Relieved, Buzan drops his shield and rushes over to Alive.

“That was an impressive display of fighting prowess Caice. I have never seen a warrior move like that!”

Alive turns away from Buzan and replies in a voice not entirely his own, but with one that sounds akin to a mixture of gasoline and gravel:

“There is great joy in cruelty and power, of knowing you can ruin those who displease you. Once this glory is known, it cannot be forgotten”

Buzan looks at the warrior quizzically, and shakes his head.

“What do you mean by that?”

Alive turns to Buzan with an equally puzzled expression.

“…mean by what?”

“About what you just said!” the dark paladin replies in exasperation.

“I didn’t say nothin’ Buzan….let’s go….we got two more casters to down and them zombies aint gonna hold off the ground troops forever!” Alive replies as he adjusts his face mask and wipes some of the gore off of his tattered Scarlet Crusade tabard.

Buzan studies the warrior for a moment more, and then clears his mind of questions. The two stalk off in the direction of the other two sorcerers.