Valgarde

“You’re certain that cage will hold her?”

Necrothirst looked down at the human sailor who leaned against the railing next to him. Unlike most of his crew, the captain seemed relatively unfazed by his passengers or his cargo. Necrothirst could respect his bravery, if nothing else. “We are fairly knowledgeable about how to hold our own kind, yes,” he said.

The captain raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise, it’s just that her claws have been doing some damage to the bars, and I didn’t think that was possible with any creature alive- er, well. I suppose I answered my own question there.”

Necrothirst smirked under the shadow of his helmet. Despite the man’s bravado and his insistence that the death knights be treated no differently than any other passengers, Necrothirst could tell that the presence of undeath made him very uneasy.

“Where do you hail from?” he asked, more as a way to make conversation than anything else. The ship was closing in on the leg of its journey that would take it past the Maelstrom, and Necrothirst wanted to be thoroughly distracted when that moment came.

“Me? Well, my family lived in Lordaeron, but when the Scourge broke out across our lands we went to Stormwind.”

That explained his unease, as well as his determination to contain it. Surviving humans from the old kingdom had faced more Scourge in their lifetime than most - it would be a commonplace thing, to him. “The third war,” Necrothirst mused. “I must say I do not remember the fall of Lordaeron - I was much farther north, witnessing the fall of Quel’Thalas and fighting for Zul’Aman.”

The human shook his head. “I forget how long your people live, sometimes,” he said. “I was barely a man when it happened - I would have fought for Lordaeron, but my father forbade it. I suppose he didn’t want me coming home in a box, or worse, ending up...”

Necrothirst turned his glowing blue gaze on the human again when he trailed off. “Ending up Forsaken, or Death Knight, or Scourge. You will not offend me by saying such.” Truth be told, Necrothirst was rather hard to offend. His long memory wound back to the War of the Ancients. For one who had seen civilizations - including his own - rise, fall, and succumb to the ravages of time, the words of mortals were of little consequence.

“Yes, that’s what I meant,” the captain said, relaxing visibly. He pushed away from the railing. “Well, we’re approaching the Maelstrom and that means trimming sail. Nice chat.”

Necrothirst frowned. He could see a dip in the waters off the port bow, and heavy clouds swirled low over that spot in the ocean - all that remained of the shining capital city of his youth, thanks to their queen’s betrayal. Shouts rang out across the tops, and Necrothirst glanced up to see the sailors furling the sails. The winds and the waters were both choppy around this section of the sea.

Rather than stay on deck to see the reminder of his and Illidan’s failure growing ever larger on the horizon, Necrothirst turned and went below, the darkness and golden lamplight closing over his head as the first smattering rains from the Maelstrom began to wash over the deck.

A vicious snarl pulled him out of his thoughts, and Necrothirst grabbed a nearby stool before settling onto it in front of the large cage lashed down in the middle of the cargo hold. Kyladriss quieted down when he came into her field of vision - Necrothirst thought she might be getting used to his scent. From what Koltira and Thassarian said, this was the most contact she’d had with any thinking being since Light’s Hope Chapel. By his orders, Kyladriss’s runeblade stayed on the other end of the boat, wrapped in enchanted frostweave cloth to dull its call - without the precaution, Kyladriss would most certainly hear it in this proximity, and he didn’t want her any more insane than she already was.

His own desire to humanize the beast still confused him. It was true that he was not looking forward to the amount of supervision she would require on the warfront, and if he could help with her endless rage, one day she might be able to function as well as the rest of the death knights - perhaps with a quicker temper, but many of them had quick tempers. The fact of the matter was that he did not know how much of the viciousness was due to her worgen nature and how much of it was due to the thirst for blood and suffering all death knights carried.

“Batten the hatches! ‘Ware the current!” The shout from above decks was accompanied by the thump of the hatch closing, plunging the hold into deeper darkness. Kyladriss threw herself against the bars of her cage, letting out a bloodcurdling howl.

“I am still here,” Necrothirst said, not expecting that it would do any good. To his surprise, though, the howl cut off and Kyladriss’s nose twitched like she was sniffing for his scent. She settled back to the floor of her cage with a low growl in her throat. “You would do well to brace yourself.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the ship gave a mighty shudder and the deck listed to port. Necrothirst braced his feet and reached out with his hand to catch the wall - the stool he was sitting on tipped up onto two legs before he managed to steady it. Kyladriss’s cage didn’t move, lashed down as it was to the deck, but Kyladriss herself was flung to the side of her cage and yelped.

“I did warn you,” Necrothirst said, a smirk on his lips and dark amusement in his voice. “We will list to port until we can pass by, and then it will start to get much colder.”

It seemed rather counterintuitive to Necrothirst that they had travelled so far south from Acherus simply to take a boat north, but there were few ports that had the manpower or the ships capable of crossing the Frozen Sea, and Menethil was certainly closer than Stormwind.

“Thassarian tells me that you spoke Common at some point since you were raised,” Necrothirst continued, ignoring the side-to-side slosh of the boat. Kyladriss gripped the bars of her cage, her glowing blue eyes fixed on him in the dim lamplight. “He also tells me that you are perfectly capable of wielding your runeblade, although I believe your natural weapons would suffice as well.”

“Marwoleath.”

It was clearly a word, although not a word Necrothirst was familiar with. His hand fell unconsciously to his own runeblade, Zin’Shalla. Somehow, instinctively, he felt that the word the worgen spoke - the first word he’d heard her utter - was the name of her blade. “It is on board. You will have it in due time.”

Kyladriss snorted - to Necrothirst, it sounded remarkably like a sound of disbelief. He had guessed right, then, and she had asked for her runeblade. In words, no less. Perhaps some of her madness was receding with the change in location. Perhaps it was simply that none had taken the time to try and draw her out of it before.

Whatever the reason, Necrothirst watched as the worgen carefully released the bars of her cage and sat back on her heels, tilting her head at him like she thought he was particularly fascinating. He held her eyes for several long moments, no sound but the sloshing of the sea coming between them. Finally, she looked away, turning her back and curling herself into as tight a ball as she could with her armor on. Necrothirst got the sense that he’d won some kind of contest. He crossed his arms and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wood. He did not require sleep, but there was little else to do while closed off below decks, and if he kept his eyes closed long enough his mind did drift off into something like sleep.

Some hours later he was jolted out of his restful state by a sharp, snarling bark and the opening of the hatch. He stood, his hand resting casually on Zin’Shalla’s hilt until the person responsible for Kyladriss’s reaction came into view.

It was one of the other death knights Thassarian had sent north with them. There were five of them in all - the Knights of the Ebon Blade were spread thinner than ever now that the Argent Crusade was preparing for an offensive on the Icecrown Citadel, Arthas’s stronghold. “We’re coming up to Valgarde,” he said. He was human, and much younger than Necrothirst in both life and death. “They appear to be having some trouble - you’d better come above and see.”

Necrothirst could feel Kyladriss’s eyes on his back as he mounted the stair that led out of the hold, and as soon as he vanished from sight she started up an unholy racket, howling that sounded like a shuddering banshee wail. Necrothirst kicked the hatch closed behind him and the echoes from belowdeck turned into muffled, inconsequential noises.

“Damn, just when I thought that beast had settled down,” the captain said. “Maybe she smells trouble?”

Necrothirst said nothing, coming back to the port-side rail of the ship. Sheer cliffs rose on either side of the boat as the crew steered it through the deep gorge leading into the middle of Howling Fjord. High above them, Necrothirst could hear shouts in a strange, rough language. He looked up and spotted the winged shapes swooping overhead. They looked nothing like the dragons he was used to interacting with - those were sleek, streamlined shapes, and these were stocky and batlike.

“What kind of dragons are those?” the human death knight followed Necrothirst’s gaze into the sky, frowning. Necrothirst wracked his brain for a moment to remember the soldier’s name.

“Proto-drakes,” the captain said. “The dwarves think they may have been the precursor to our modern dragonflights, but I can’t see it. They don’t look much like ‘em.”

“Neither do kaldorei look much like our troll predecessors,” Necrothirst said quietly. The captain and the death knight - Epyon, that was his name - glanced at him in surprise. “We were Zandalari once. It is not common knowledge - nor is it something kaldorei leadership is eager to admit.”

“Huh,” Epyon said. “Never would’ve guessed.”

“Have the worgen’s cage brought up to the deck,” Necrothirst said. “I smell trouble.” Epyon saluted and gestured sharply to the other two death knights on deck. They all vanished below while the crew worked to open up the larger cargo hatch.

Trouble, in fact, was looming on the horizon. Some of the proto-drakes appeared to be little more than wild beasts, but the vast majority of them had riders armed with spears. The riders looked human - at least, they were humanoid - but even from this far away Necrothirst could tell that they would easily make a human look like a dwarf.

“Vrykul,” the captain said. “We took Valgarde from them, but only because it was a surprise attack from the sea, and they didn’t expect us to be as well-armed as we were. They also make a habit of killing each other off to prove who is strongest - it does us the favor of reducing their numbers, but the downside is that the ones that do come at us are their best.”

As the ship pulled up alongside the dock, Necrothirst got a clearer picture of the trouble plaguing the stronghold. Valgarde was under siege, that much was plain from the barricades erected in the northern part of the port. Necrothirst also saw flaming harpoons stab into buildings and earth from the opposite cliff face, although the Valgarde soldiers appeared to have formed a bucket brigade to take care of that.

A human paladin from the docks came running aboard as soon as the ship dropped anchor. “Death knights,” she said. “I never thought I’d say this, but thank the Light. The Vrykul are making a push to recover their port, and we’re running out of reinforcements to hold them back. Who is in command here?”

“I am Necrothirst, and these knights are under my command. Our orders are to make for Light’s Breach in Zul’Drak, but we must travel overland - we have cargo that cannot be flown.”

As if to punctuate his words, the hatches to the cargo hold finally fell open, and Kyladriss’s endless eerie howling broke the air around them. “What in the Light’s name-” the paladin said, but her words trailed off into stunned silence as the crew began hauling Kyladriss’s cage up from below. The worgen, either enraged by the movement or inflamed by the sounds of death and battle around her, was throwing herself bodily against the bars of her cage.

“Kyladriss!” Necrothirst snapped. “You will have your opportunity to kill them in a moment, cease that pointless racket.”

The worgen snarled at him, glaring frosty daggers. Necrothirst held her eyes, unwilling to look away until she did. He remembered that nightsabers used that particular form of body language to establish dominance, and he was willing to bet the same was the case for worgen.

“What on Azeroth is that?” the paladin asked, taking her shield and her mace in hand.

“A worgen death knight,” Necrothirst said. “I believe she will be a most effective solution to your Vrykul problem.”

“You cannot mean to tell me you can control that monster,” the paladin said. Her face was pale, almost as pale as Epyon’s when the second death knight came to stand beside her, offering a salute to Necrothirst.

“We can have her runeblade brought up from the captain’s cabin whenever you are ready to unleash her,” Epyon said.

“Good. Do so,” Necrothirst said, and Epyon saluted again.

Necrothirst watched as Kyladriss was lowered onto a wagon that sat on the docks. He disembarked, the other death knights and the paladin close behind him, walking with the wagon as it rumbled through the town. The closer she got to the battle raging at the edge of Valgarde, the more energy Kyladriss put into trying to escape her prison, hurling herself bodily against the door to the cage and howling like a mad wolf.

Epyon came jogging up behind them with a bundle in his hands, held carefully and with a hint of distaste. His own runeblade had to be screaming at him - they were very possessive of their masters, and did not take kindly to being replaced. Necrothirst took the bundle from him and walked to Kyladriss’s cage.

Saliva and foam flew from her fangs and her hand shot through the bars, scrabbling desperately for her sword. Necrothirst set it down on the ground in front of the cage and watched in detached fascination as the worgen promptly began trying to squeeze her body through the bars, a hideous whine climbing up through her chest.

“I would advise standing behind the cage when we open the doors,” Epyon said dryly, and Necrothirst stepped back, heeding his advice. He reached one hand around the side of the cage to the locking pin, gripping it firmly.

“Kill them all,” he said to the worgen, and then pulled the pin.

The cage door burst open in a flurry of black fur and plate. Kyladriss’s clawed fingers closed around the hilt of her runeblade and shook it out of its frostweave wrapping viciously. She raised it to the sky with a wailing howl, a shield of floating bone forming around her the second it met her hand. Necrothirst tensed, pulling Zin’Shalla from its sheath on his back as she turned her head to look at the gathered Alliance forces at her back.

“The enemy is that way,” Necrothirst said mildly, pointing his sword at the encroaching Vrykul.

Kyladriss bared her teeth. It might have been a smile. She turned and flung herself headlong into the mass of Vrykul soldiers, swinging her blade and her claws in a whirlwind of deadly fury. Necrothirst echoed her merciless smile and raised his runeblade above his head. “Ebon Blade, charge!” he shouted, and followed the worgen into the fray. Zin’Shalla whispered evil delight in his mind as he hacked into the first Vrykul unfortunate enough to come near him, and a band of tension that had been strung tight in his chest since boarding the ship snapped abruptly.

He laughed, blood spattering across his face, hearing Kyladriss howl in delight nearby. This is what they were made for.