Acherus: The Ebon Hold

Necrothirst wasn't sure why he'd diverted his time to follow the draenei into the inn. Tearing through Scholomance like it was wet parchment and slaughtering everything in his path made him feel better, as much as he ever felt better. Better enough to attempt mortal company, something he hadn't done in some time. Now he wished he hadn't. A cold flame of rage simmered in his chest as he strode over the cobblestone streets, glaring at the dusk.

 Illidan Stormrage is dead.

 He should have suspected that truth, and it angered him even further that he let him affect him so. He responded to the flight master's question about his destination with a glowing blue stare, holding the man's eyes until he shuffled, looked away, and simply handed Necrothirst the reins to a passenger gryphon. 

Necrothirst climbed onto the animal's back, settling his knees under its wing joints and ignoring its noises of indignation at the weight and chill of its passenger. He dug his plated boots into its sides and smirked at the squawk it made when it took off. The ground fell away below him, but Necrothirst felt neither thrill nor wonder. It was ground seen from the air, and just as irritating as everything else in this world. He pulled on the reins, and the gryphon put the last crimson streaks of the setting sun at its back, turning into the purple dark of the night. As the night deepened and they passed over the stagnant waters of Darrowmere Lake, Necrothirst tried not to think of the last time he'd seen Illidan Stormrage face to face.

 'A long time ago' was a phrase Necrothirst had heard mortal races use to refer to events in their childhood, before they had become the people they were. He had always found it amusing that they thought of twenty or thirty years as 'a long time.' For a night elf, a long time was relative, but Necrothirst thought the phrase was appropriate in this case. The last time Necrothirst had seen Illidan, he had been alive, and he had not been called Necrothirst.

 The gryphon dropped suddenly, and Necrothirst squeezed with his knees to keep from falling off. He cuffed the animal behind the ear with his gauntleted fist like he'd been taught to do to hippogriffs in his childhood, and then drew back his clenched fist, staring at it. Curious, the things he retained from life.

 Acherus loomed out of the darkness. An unearthly blue glow shone from the floating necropolis's balconies and from the yawning eyesockets of massive skulls affixed to its exterior. The gryphon Necrothirst rode tried to rear back, but the death knight snapped the reins and it instead dove forward, skidding to a halt on the ledge violently. It gave a whole-body shake, trying to throw the death knight off its back, but Necrothirst rode out the small rebellion and then dismounted on his own, sending the gryphon on its way with a harder than necessary whack to its rump.

 Despite his efforts not to think of it, the news of Illidan's death rode heavily in his mind, fouling his mood as he strode through the necropolis. The Ebon Blade was not as numerous as they would like to be, and most death knights knew each other by sight despite the uniform armor many of them wore. Other knights cleared the way as Necrothirst came past.

 The constant craving for suffering made them all volatile, and caution was paramount in how the death knights dealt with their brothers and sisters in death. There were less duels ending in final death now that they had broken away from the Lich King, but there were certain knights one simply did not approach if one wanted to keep one's limbs, and Necrothirst was one of them.

 It had not been so long since the battle at Light's Hope Chapel, and uncertainty colored the ever-present atmosphere of rage and suffering that hung over Acherus. Highlord Darion Mograine was harder to find, these days. He went from Acherus to Northrend with alarming frequency, sometimes switching locations daily, commanding forces in both places. Therefore, death knights reported to their faction representative. Necrothirst walked the halls in search of Thassarian.

 "Necrothirst." His steps halted, and he turned to see who had spoken.

 "Koltira Deathweaver."

 The blood elf fell into step beside him as he began walking again. "I assume you returned with your task complete," he said.

 "We are not to share knowledge of our missions with the enemy," Necrothirst said flatly.

 "We are not each others' enemy," Koltira said. "Thassarian and I oversee our forces in the Eastern Kingdoms jointly." 

 Necrothirst grunted at this. He'd encountered plenty of death knights sworn to the horde out in the world who would disagree with that evaluation of the faction lines. "You are looking for him as well?"

 "He is in the lower levels," Koltira said.

 Necrothirst thought it was uncanny and a bit suspicious how the blood elf always knew where Thassarian was, but he followed all the same. Thinking of his report kept him from dwelling on bad news.

 He heard the snarling long before they walked around a bend and saw Thassarian. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, his swords still belted at his sides as he stared down the creature in the cell.

 "She still responds like this to everyone, then," Koltira said, continuing on as Necrothirst's steps halted. He'd seen a thing like this before, he knew they were called worgen, but he had never seen one like this. It was reaching one clawed, black hand through the bars of the cage, saliva dripping from its fangs as it clawed uselessly for Thassarian. Worgen were all too present in the forests of Silverpine, and Necrothirst wagered some must have gotten across the Greymane Wall into that nation. This one, though, didn't look like the rangy gray animals he'd seen there. It was solid black from head to toe except for a gray-blue mask around its eyes – but that wasn't what had stopped him in his tracks. It was the first worgen he'd ever seen wearing armor, and not just any armor, standard-issue Ebon Blade plate armor.

 "...A worgen death knight?" Necrothirst walked closer to the cell, and the beast's eyes snapped to him. They glowed cold, death knight blue. He could see now that it was in fact female, but in its eyes he only saw mad fury. "Does it know how to use a blade or does it simply tear things apart?"

 "Captured from Silverpine," Thassarian said. "Kyladriss. I am surprised you do not know of her, she was in the Scarlet campaign."

Necrothirst didn't answer at first. He had never seen this thing before in life or death. The worgen leapt for him suddenly, throwing her shoulder against the bars savagely as she snarled at him. Her claws scrabbled in the air mere inches from his breastplate. He stared at her coolly. "Was it always mad?" 

 "She was never stable," Koltira said. "She was not this mad until Light's Hope, however. That was when she ceased to speak. I don't believe she can reason any longer."

 "It seems vicious enough," Necrothirst said.

 "We cannot allow her runeblade to stay in the same room with her," Thassarian said. "But she wields it. She is of the blood school, as you are."

 Necrothirst couldn't decide which would be worse, being caged with the blade or without. A death knight's runeblade was their right arm, but it was also the source of their cruelty. It whispered darkness and savagery into the mind, and if it wasn't appeased, madness set in. Without it, though...

 Without it a death knight was helpless and caged.

 Necrothirst was not one to shudder, but he felt a sense of deep unease take hold of him. "Would she not be of more use on the front lines?"

 "How, praytell, would we manage her there?" Koltira said sharply. "We have tried unleashing her on our foes, and she carves a pretty swath of destruction well enough, but then we must capture her again or she would simply go to ground."

 Perhaps that would suit her better, Necrothirst thought, but he brushed it out of his mind. His business here was not to sympathize with feral creatures. "I came to report that Frostwhisper is slain and his phylactery destroyed," he said. "My task in Scholomance is complete."

 "I expected no less from you," Thassarian said. "It is well that you've finished. The war effort needs your presence in Zul'Drak. The Sunreavers of the Argent Crusade have a strong troll presence there, and you are the only Alliance death knight who speaks Zandali. I need you stationed there."

 "As you will. I will depart at once."

 "It is not as urgent as that," Thassarian said. "Besides, I believe there was something to what you said about Kyladriss."

 "You can't be serious," Koltira said. "We haven't been able to keep her corralled, what makes you think he can?"

 "Necrothirst is a blood death knight as well, they can fight each other to a standstill. If anyone is a match for her..."

 Koltira glared at the worgen, irritated. "I think this is a mistake."

 "Gilneas was one part of the Alliance," Thassarian said. "Technically, that makes her mine to command as I see fit."

 "You want me to take her with me to Zul'Drak?" Necrothirst asked.

 "Have you seen the berserkers those ice trolls breed?" Thassarian asked. "They're enormous. Our knights in the area badly need reinforcements. All you need do is point her at the enemy and let her go. She will do the rest."

 Necrothirst looked back at the worgen in the cell, locking eyes with her. Some time ago, she'd stopped trying to reach him through the bars. Now her clawed hands were wrapped around them, her fanged muzzle pushed out through them, and a continuous growl filled the hallway. "If she fights like you say, she could very well be useful." Kyladriss snarled at him, narrowing her eyes, but still did not speak. If Thassarian said she commanded a blade and language like any other knight – at some point, at least – Necrothirst believed him, but she looked like a wild animal.

 "Necrothirst, one more thing," Thassarian said. "Darnassus seems to be focusing their forces in Crystalsong Forest and Grizzly Hills, but it's entirely possible you will run into kaldorei in Zul'Drak." Necrothirst's jaw went tight, and he turned to face his commander with his chin up and his shoulders squared. Thassarian went on like he hadn't moved. "It has taken us some time to convince the various commanders of both factions that we are not mindless killing machines driven by Arthas's will any longer. I will thank you not to destroy those efforts."

 "I will not work with them," Necrothirst growled.

 "That is your choice. I am simply commanding you not to slaughter them."

 Necrothirst's teeth squeaked as he ground them together, scowling at Thassarian under the shadow of his helm. The frost death knight held his gaze evenly, not giving an inch, and Necrothirst snorted. "Commanding officers always ruin the fun."

 "Your quarrels with your own people are your business," Thassarian said with a shrug, "but the war is larger than all of us. You have to decide whether who you hate more – night elves, or Arthas."

 He is so young, Necrothirst thought, forcing himself to unclench his jaw. If he lived through this war, if he survived his first mortal lifetime, Thassarian would one day understand how hate and vengeance could consume a person until hate and vengeance were all that was left. "The Lich King must fall if the world is to survive," Necrothist said. "I will not do anything to compromise the war against him." He could tell it wasn't quite the answer Thassarian was hoping for, but he nodded, and Necrothirst supposed that meant it was good enough.

 "We will leave for Menethil Harbor as soon as we obtain secure transportation for Kyladriss. Make sure you are prepared."

 Necrothirst nodded, and with one last look at Kyladriss through the cell bars, he turned and left the way he had come. The night elves of Northrend would stay away from him if they knew what was good for them – and if they didn't, he had made no promise to his commander that he would not almost kill them.