Sweat

The Cold One granted me a desire I had long held yet could never quite successfully archive - my body no longer required sleep. Endless hours of relentless physical exertion, pushing my body beyond the limits that I thought it was capable of, and I felt as primed as I had before even attempting it. For three days, I did nothing but combat training and physical conditioning without stopping.

No one attempted to halt my experiment, though I had many different sparing partners over the course of it all. There were a few of the newborns who I easily ripped into pieces, their bits swept away by the more mindless zombies dragged them away. Still, there were others who survived the encounter, and one that created the draw that ended my experiment.

"Enough," he intoned. "It is time to continue your training. Return to the King."

Before he had finished his sentence, I felt the presences of the Cold One come to the forefront of my mind, beckoning me to join him up on the grand balcony. Without another word to the other man, I turned and sprinted from the hall, my speed redoubled by the power that radiated through the hallowed halls. Within a few scarce seconds, I was surrounded by the light that would take me up to Him.

I knew where he was before I even cleared the top of the stairs; I could feel His presence calmly towering over the center of the stone railings. Cold and noble, He did not turn at my approach, waiting silently until I stood by His side.

"All that I am: anger, cruelty, vengeance - I bestow upon you, my chosen knight," He echoed. "I have granted you immortality so that you may herald in a new, dark age for the Scourge."

Anger, cruelty, vengeance, speed, accuracy, focus...and immortality. Each word echoed through my mind, beneath His temporal speech, carving themselves into the expanded consciousness, etching everything from specific faces and names to entire races that had acted against our kind.

"Gaze now upon the lands below us. Many scurry to undo my work, while the lands beyond stands defiantly against us," He paused, "a blemish upon these fated lands. They must all be shown the price of their defiance."

As He spoke, my eyes turned downward, gazing across the expanses of snow at the battered encampment of dwarves. Their warriors scrambled to repair their failing defenses while others cleaned and prepared their weaponry. Beyond them, the holy cleaned the wounded of their diseases and raised the dead that should be ours.

"You will become my force of retribution. Where you tread, doom will follow," He growled. "Go now and claim your destiny, Dagger."


Garbed in gilded armour, the Instructor paced before our line slowly, sizing each one of us up in turn as he spoke. Some of the fresh newborns gazed back with unseeing eyes, their interest waning as the Cold One's attention was elsewhere.

"The single most important piece of equipment to a death knight is the runeblade. It is through the runeblade that a death knight commands the powers of frost, blood and the unholy," Razuvious intoned, drawing his ornate blade. "The runeblade also acts as a vessel to store your runic power."

He proceeded to turn the blade so that all could see the flat of it, the entire width decorated with intricate blue runes that glowed with power. Something about their graceful tendrils was captivating, and my mind immediately began to try and decipher what each individual rune was.

"The time has come to create your first runeblade. Search the weapon racks on this floor and locate a blade," the Instructor commanded, swinging his sword point towards the racks. "Once found, take the sword to a nearby runeforge and use it to create a runeblade."

As one, we turned and made our way to the racks, some of the swifter taking the lead while the newer initiates followed. Some took their time finding a blade, other snatched up the first one they found and returned to their place and waited. It was impossible to tell which method Rezuvious approved of.

None of the blades were new, each baring the scratches and dents of a weapon used in the field; while there were several quality blades in the front racks, there appeared to be better hidden within the last racks so it was there that I searched for my own blade. All of them were made for use with two hands, however something made me search for the lightest one I could find.

The blade was closer to being a hand and a half sword, however something made me crave a pair of long swords, one for each hand. Shaking my head, I carried the blade with me as I returned to my place in line, the eyes of a few others upon my slow return.

Rezuvious looked over our selections, nodding as he intoned, "Runeforging. A delicate process that each of you shall repeat any time you find a more suitable blade. The Master shall reveal to you two separate runic formations until you complete your training; should you fail, we will dispose of you, completely, to safeguard this knowledge."

"The runeblade is an extension of your being," he continued, sheathing his own blade and taking another to the gilded forge. "A death knight cannot battle without a runeblade."

Within my mind, two runes flared into being - Cinderglacier and Razorice, and as the Instructor worked over the example blade, an understanding of how they are created flooded my mind as well; I knew which I would chose to wield during my training, and once we were called to the forge to inscribe our own blades, it was a matter of seconds before the patterns glowed brightly on my light blade.

"Well done, all of you. You have successfully created your first runebladed weapon," Instructor Razuvious growled. "With it you will sow the seeds of chaos and destruction! In your wake will be a bloodied field of battle, littered with the corpses of all that would dare oppose the Scourge."

Our blades at the ready, we were ordered back into the endless hours of combat training. Without a word, the man who drove me into a stalemate squared off opposite me, and we began anew our flurry of blades.

Sleep...I shall never miss it, not with this...