Blood

While there were many gifts the Cold One had bestowed, there was a price to pay for each one; some of these prices were shared between all of the initiates, and some were unique to the individual. I suppose it has something to do with the circumstances of our so-called deaths, and our various conditions of life prior, but I did not put much thought into it.

Personally, I had to deal with a few very harsh wounds that were not healed when the elixir locked my body within unending stasis. The death blow was a puncture wound from a sword that was plunged into my back, it's edge glancing the side of my heart and opening an internal wound that would have made me bleed to death; another was a slashing blow that ran along the front of my torso from just above my heart, down and across my sternum, beneath my right breast and down to just between the end of my ribcage and the crest of my hip.

While they were clean, did not bleed and did not show even the slightest trace of infection, the wounds themselves were quite garish against my pale white skin. With the help of one of the female apothecaries, I sewed them all shut with fine silver threads, creating a series of embroidered runes across each. The imbued inscriptions strengthened several of my affinities, despite the unconventional application of the glyphs.

The second drawback to unlife crept up on me while I was still in the care of the ritualists, and there were quite a number of times that it almost lead me to slaughtering the lot of them.

Initially, it was like a faint burning at the back of my mind and throat, much like the feeling of sitting near a warm fire. Within a few days, it felt like the burning would consume my entire being, bringing with it the edge of agitation and malice. This lead to much pacing, and enhanced the desire to rip something apart with my bare hands, or at least exert the frustration with physical combat.

And the second drawback brought the third to light.


The Princes rarely associated themselves with the initiates before they left the care of the Instructor. They were far to busy preparing Icecrown and the various necropoli to notice the newborns unless we were sent to assist them. Needless to say, after a month of being within the walls of Icecrown, I had just as little interest in them as they had in the initiates.

Broxmodus, the initiate whom I could not best yet could not best me, and I were sparing shortly after our training in Runeforging. Hours upon hours we spent locked in combat, neither of us retaining the upper hand long enough to best the others; the intimate combat only made the burning thirst worse, though for some reason, I did not feel that Broxmodus would be useful in slaking it.

I felt as though we were being watched, and I gave Broxmodus a silent signal to end our eternal combat. With elegance, we broke apart, our swords raising in salute to one another before we bowed in unison. Before either of us could rise, there was the sound of a single pair of undead hands clapping slowly.

With the unnatural speed that I felt no need to restrain, I rose and turned to face the maker of the sound, only to find Prince Taldaram watching us. Broxmodus turned as well, and immediately bowed his head in respect, a motion which I echoed less than a second later.

"Quite the deadly dance the two of you engage in," the Prince said, taking a step towards us, his eyes staying largely upon me. "Impressive considering one of you is well within the thrall of hunger. I'm quite surprised the lady has not tried to feast from you, Broxmodus - not that it would do her any good."

Rage flared within me, the agitation inflamed by the Prince's implication, though I calmly replied, "I know that it would not, my liege. It would be as futile as trying to feast upon myself."

Broxmodus raised an eyebrow. He had only been an initiate for a few days, so the burning thirst was more than likely still just a tickle at the back of his mind and throat. He looked to me suspiciously, then back to the Prince with even more suspicion; I was unnerved by this, as I myself was suspicious of the Prince but unlike my sparing partner, I would never reveal it.

"Initiate Darkblade," Taldaram intoned, lifting his hand slightly, "report to me once your training for the day has finished."

Confused, I replied, "As you wish, Prince."

With that, the Prince turned on his heal and strode away from us, pausing only long enough to glance sideways at something to our left. Subtly, I swept my glancing eyes to the left to see what else would have caught the Prince's attention down here when I noticed a second one watching our exchange.

A moment after Taldaram left, the second Prince made his way to us, causing Broxmodus' other eyebrow to raise. Keleseth smiled cruelly, raising a hand to keep us from leaving before he could reach us; Broxmodus sighed slightly at the latest development in our training.

"Not so fast," the new Prince said. "I see that Taldaram has already had a word with you, Darkblade. While he is proficient with our particular abilities, I believe I can better explain to you their intricacies. Perhaps we can have a word once today's training is over."

It was not a request, it was a requirement. The Prince was forcing me to chose between them, a choice that had a number of ramifications. Nodding to Keleseth, I turned and strode towards the Instructor and the rest of the newborns, Broxmodus lingering to watch the second Prince for a second longer before following me.


We did not speak, it was not necessary. Broxmodus was clever enough to spot the trap that had been set, and there was no escape from it. Depending upon the rest of our training, his position on the matter may actually be of importance.

Razuvious walked back and forth before the lines of initiates, each step measured and controlled. He looked intently into each newborn's eyes, as if gauging something before he would address us; when he stopped momentarily as he stared me down, I understood why.

"The endless hunger will soon take hold of you, all of you. When it does, you will feel pain immeasurable. There is only one remedy for the suffering," he intoned, pausing meaningfully, "the hunger must be sated."

Mild confusion resonated from the newer initiates, though Broxmodus and a few others who had been here longer slowly nodded. I myself nodded purposefully at the Instructor, my mind screaming for the answers I now knew he held.

"I give you the key to your salvation," he roared, making a grand motion to the pit behind him, turning and beckoning us to take a step forward to look within it's confines.

Below us, several ragged initiates were chained to the walls, each looking as though they were slowly becoming feral, much like the Wretched of Quel'thalas. Many strained at their chains, attempting to grapple those chained near them, the look in their eyes reflecting that of my own.

"Chained to the Heart of Icecrown are those deemed unworthy of the dark brotherhood. Use the key to free an unworthy initiate," Razuvious growled, a wicked grin spreading over his lips. "Allow them to equip their gear and battle you for their freedom. Kill and the pain will cease. Fail and suffer for eternity."

Several of the chained initiates looked up at us, psychotic grins spreading over their faces; they wanted their freedom, or more so, they wanted to take our places at the Cold One's side. My hands dropped down to the two light swords I had forged into runeblades, gripping them tightly - I would never let one of those lesser creatures usurp my place.

Pushing the first initiate into the pit, the Instructor shouted, "Live or die - the choice is yours to make."

The first initiate faulted, nearly killed by the desperate captive before felling the dwarf. Razuvious selected his candidates at random, pushing each one in once the previous had exited the pit. Most of them beat their captives, however one or two fell to the feral creatures who were then lead away from the pit by the apothecaries.

Broxmodus selected an Orc female, which I had expected once I had taken a closer look at the captives. The fight was short, as I had expected, and he cleaved her head clean from her shoulders after barely a moment of combat; her eyes stared up lifelessly at the semi-circle of initiates until the zombies cleaned her remains away.

For whatever reason, Razuvious sent all the other initiates into the pit before he turned to me. Gesturing grandly, he stepped aside so that I could descend into the pit below; glancing about, I could see Taldaram looking down from one side of the grand entryway while Keleseth watched from the other. I wondered how long they had been there as I looked about the nearly empty pit for my prey.

Only one figure remained within the pit, her head bowed low as she knelt, her arms stretched backward slightly by the chains that bound her. She was another Sin'dorei, her tawny hair pulled back into a high tail that lay limply against her back; she was broken, I could tell by how she held herself.

She was also still alive.

"Get up," I growled, unlocking her binds before kicking her equipment closer to her. "Battle well, and I shall return you to the Sun painlessly."

For a long moment, she did not move. I paced the middle of the ring, swords drawn, watching her. Each time I caught her scent, the burning flared, and it took everything within me to keep from attacking her before she stood.

She finally stood, slowly tugging on the tattered remains of her gear, the leather quite ratted and worn. I vaguely recalled seeing that armour somewhere before, however I could not quite place where. Seething with hunger, I slowed to a stop and turned to face her completely once she picked up her battered long swords.

Immediately, she slipped into the shadows, bringing forth a growl of frustration from me. I quickly took a deep breath, searching for the trail of her scent, listening to for her heartbeat. Raising my weapons, I turned towards the sound and smell just as she broke from the shadows to attack.

Steel ground against steel as both of our blades locked against one another, sending sparks into the air around us. Caught under the momentum from her pounce, I let myself bend backwards before dropping sideways into a roll. The other woman spun around, dropping down into a crouch several paces away from me before charging once more.

Her strikes were easily parried, and I began to dance about her, drawing her further and further towards exhaustion. Something about the frantic fight for survival was heady, it made the thirst...different, exhilarating instead of painful. Despite the shifting of the other initiates, I continued to toy with the woman, mirroring her movements with constant parries and blocks.

I began to mimic her fatigue, making my movements lethargic, which required an enormous amount of focus considering my movements were generally simultaneous with thought. She began to think that she might win, and redoubled her efforts, her strikes becoming rapid and precise with more force; I let her push me backward from one side of the pit to the other, feigning a slow defeat.

Faking a stumble, I braced myself against the wall. The woman toward over me, bringing her blades down in unison to strike at my neck and torso. Half way through her arch, I raised my blades to intersect, as if to deflect her attack only pull them forward into her chest and down into her stomach; as soon as my blades were free of her flesh, I reversed the cut, slicing through the lower part of her abdomen and into her thighs.

The clang of steel against stone informed me that she had dropped her blades, and I watched as her hands reach down and try to hold her vivisected midsection together. She took a stumbling step backward, falling to her knees before tumbling to her side, arms and hand desperately clutched around her stomach. Her pale green eyes were wide with surprise, staring up at me with complete disbelief.

A wicked smile spread slowly over my lips as I stepped forward, towering over her for a long moment while I breathed in her scent deeply and removed my gloves. My hand dropped down to her midsection, caressing over her bleeding wounds tenderly, the warm liquid spilling out over my ice cold skin. She twisted her head to look at me, and I slowly raised my hand, licking away the blood from my fingertips one by one as she watched, horrified.

The blood was soothing, cooling the burning within my throat slowly as I licked my hand clean. I could hear gasps from some of the newer initiates, while those who had been raised first began to lick their lips. I glanced at the Instructor and caught him looking between the two Princes with a dark grin, while Broxmodus stared down at me with a raised eyebrow.

As the last of her life drained from her, I tilted the fallen woman's head and ran my fingernail along the side of her neck, pressing harder once I was over the rapidly fading vein there. Blood swelled over my hand, and I pulled it away so that I could drink directly from her veins, the warm liquid rapidly cooling the remainder of my thirst. Once the thirst had subsided, all I could feel was strength and power flowing through my body, the blood flooding through my dead veins as if I were alive again.

She died in my grasp, her blood staining the floor, my robes and my lips; I did not care about such trivial things, and slowly returned to the line of initiates at the top of the pit. Broxmodus exchanged glances with me, then looked between the two Princes, his eyes remaining up on Keleseth a number of seconds longer than they had on Taldaram - clearly he chose to side with Kelesith, and believed I might do the same.

"As expected, my chosen knights have triumphed!" Razuvious roared, striding back to his typical place as we fell into lines before him. "You are ready, all of you, to continue your training. When you are prepared, find the Scourge Commander."

With that, the Instructor turned and left the room, leaving us to make ourselves more presentable before our turn to speak with the Scourge Commander. Robes were torn and bloody, some of them no better than the garb the zombies wore, though there was absolute silence as each newborn made their way out of the room.

I turned to inspect something on Broxmodus' robe, leaning in to whisper, "Prince Keleseth then?"

He barely nodded before replying, "These nobles still via for the attention of their King as mortals do - we must tread carefully. Keleseth works in ways more akin to ours, Taldaram reminds me more of a mage in Prince's clothing."

Turning to look back at the entry to the balcony, I vaguely nodded. Both Princes waited, a few other initiates speaking briefly with them, though they continued to cast glances in our direction. Broxmodus turned to leave, casting one last glance at Keleseth before striding from the room with his great two-handed axe in hand.

Still covered in the blood of the fallen woman, both swords resting upon either hip, I made my way across the room to approach the stair from the side Teldaram was on. He was engaged in conversation with another of the quality initiates, but paused as I neared; without looking over to him, I strode up and across the stairs to stand before Keleseth.

"Darkblade. Quite a display you made today," Keleseth said quietly, beckoning me closer. "However, there are more elegant ways of bringing forth your victim's blood, but that was a glorious start."

I stared at him, eyes narrowing slightly, "You arranged for that, didn't you."

The Prince merely shrugged a shoulder and replied, "There is always one or two living who fail before they are even killed and raised. Their souls and their bodies are harnessed to Icecrown or a necropolis, drained slowly over eternity to remind them of their failure."

"Yet few initiates would feel the hungering thirst quite so acutely," I added for him, "so it is rarely an issue."

His laugh was dark, though his tenor voice seemed to contradict it's own inflection. Nodding, the Prince motioned at my entire person, causing my eyes to look downward at the blood stained robes and blades - perhaps I should have changed before speaking to him.

"Have you taken a look at yourself, Initiate Darkblade? Have you seen what changes have taken place," he asked, his hand resting on my shoulder as he turned to lead me out of the hall.

I shook my head, looking down at my blood covered hands before looking back up at the Prince. Keleseth motioned to a mirror we were passing as we walked down the hallway, and took my shoulders into his hands to turn me to face it.

The image that stared back at me was surprising, more so than the first time I had observed myself after awakening in the ritual hall. There was a flush to my cheeks, as if I had recently blushed, and my eyes that had been like black voids behind the blue flames were brilliant red, like rubies; it was quite hard to tell the difference, as the frosted mist was thick within them, but there was a definite change of colour within them.

"I bet you feel invincible as well," the Prince stated, turning me away from the mirror and leading down the hallway. "The blood of the living and some types of undead will strengthen you, sharpen your senses and give you a chance to continue your fight."

Again, he placed a hand on my shoulder blade, directly over the rune-stitched wound, continuing his introduction, "You were wise to come to me, Seresu. I shall show you the truth behind blood and your unlife, and bring you closer to the Lich King..."

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...

Beginnings

Cold.

In the void, all I could feel was a piercing cold, a frost that permeated to the very core...yet I was not shivering.

All too quickly, my consciousness snapped into full awareness, and yet no matter how much effort I put into it, I could not open my eyes let alone move a single part of my body. It was if I had become ice itself, immovable and frozen cold, etched as though sleeping upon my back.

Dead. I know I was dead, and yet...

"...is not rotting...," I could just barely make out voices, echoing and distant as if they were at the end of a tunnel."...began rebirth immediately after..."

It was too hard to hear, to hard to focus on anything but the cold.

Then, like a hot iron through wax, I felt something pierce the frozen fog that surrounded me - a voice, soothing in it's strange intonation, assuring me that all would be well.

With words of encouragement, I felt myself slid back into the unfeeling void.


Cold and burning pain.

Though I still felt as though I were made of ice, there seemed to be a burning fire creeping slowly through my veins. Screaming, I realised that I was only screaming within my mind, the body lying completely still despite my ravaging.

It was then the cool and calm voice intoned in my mind again, soothing in it's strange sound.

"Stormblade, my cold-forged dagger, your pain shall make you stronger," it whispered, "three days of pain in exchange for exaltation..."

Despite the reassurances, the pain was unbearable the first few hours. I could never have imagined that I could feel ice cold and blazing hot all in the same second, let alone for hours on end. To feel as if I were melting, and freezing all at once was nearly too much, and I found myself praying to the Gods that it would end whenever I felt the cold presence leave my mind.

The Gods were silent. My only companion was the elusive frozen presence.


After hours of madness, I needed something to focus my frantic mind upon aside from the mysterious voice, which left me in panic once it vanished. The words of one of my mentors echoed in my thoughts; she had believed that if one focused hard enough on a wound, they could stave away it's pain long enough to find treatment for it. Sadistic to some extent, she would cut me with thin, sharp needles in the most tender places she could find then force me to remain motionless until I either fainted or forged my way past the pain.

It took some time to find any sort of focus at all, but I eventually began trying to track where the burning lava that filled me already was, and where it was headed. Within the many - or few? - hours I had been lying wherever I was, the strange molten 'blood' had spread from somewhere in my neck, down into my upper arms and somewhere just above my jaw but below my nose.

While still undyingly painful, concentrating upon the progress of the fire within the ice held the last vestiges of my sanity in tact. The soothing voice of winter spoke less, but I felt his presence more and more acutely as the fire crept further along my veins; there was some sort of distinct respect for what I was doing, though I felt a slight edge of caution to it.

Soon, the pain, the cold and the presence were all I could remember. They were all I knew, and all I believed were ever reality - Silvermoon faded from my mind, the defiling ritual at the Sunwell, my family all became lost as the fire burned them away and expanded my mind.


Oddly, the fire did not wash over my toes last, as I had expected it to. No, once my body had been burned away and changed by the molten blood, it slowly crept into my heart and the furthest depths of my mind. The last few hours passed in a slow haze as the last of my mind and heart burned away, the frozen presence was all I could feel, and I wished for nothing but His will's desires.

But I was greeted by hesitation, caution and an overwhelming anger from the presence, as if I had done something wrong within the confines of my frozen body at some point during the past few days. Something within me panicked, and without realising it was possible, my eyes snapped open.

There was a strange stone ceiling above me, darkened with age and magic energies while blue flames burned in braziers all about the area. Despite the darkness within the cavernous hall, I could see every detail perfectly upon the stones, each lichen-filled crack and water-worn crevasse.

Deafening echoes fell to silence as my eyes opened, and the startling their abrupt ending gave caused me to consider sitting up, perhaps even standing when I realised that I already was off the side of the large stone slab-like table and on my feet. The mage beside me turned with wide eyes as an ornately armoured figure slowly turned, hand resting upon a sword I knew I should recognise, but could not remember why.

His presence was familiar, but there was nothing to compel more than fear from me now. Blue mists flared within His eyes, and I felt an iron vice grip my mind before I realised I had crouched into a fighting stance - He refused to allow any more motion, any more thought other than the singular desire to answer any questions He asked.

"Master, is it truly wise to allow any memory of..." the physician began before he was abruptly cut off by the flare of anger. "Of course, Lord, forgive my transgression."

The cold knight returned His focus to me, eyes narrowing as He commanded me to kneel; the action was instantaneous, my knee bending even as the suggestion was given. The physician looked back at the cold knight, then to myself, his mist-filled blue eyes troubled as his eyebrow raised upward.

"Such control - and she did not rot a bit during the intake or raising processes," the strange blood elf prattled. "She will make a fine addition to your Knights, Master."

Frost-filled eyes continued to stare into my own, and another overwhelming desire filtered through the vice-grip upon my mind, causing an echoing feminine voice to answer for me immediately though her words were only vaguely familiar.

"...drank an experimental elixir of immortality, a failure that more than likely was my cause of death," the echo replied, my lips moving in time with her dictation.

My voice...my death?

The vice like grip filled my mind again, the memory fading immediately, replaced only by the awe of the cold knight. He looked back to the mage, then nodded once before lowering His hand from His sword hilt as he turned and strode out of the hall.

I was oddly fascinated by the weave of his cloak and the adornments of His armour, awed at the intricate designs that seemed to be telling of something that the cold knight would not allow me to understand yet; I knew, however, that it was only a matter of time - the Master had plans for me.

And so begins my...life...in the thrall of the cold knight.

Endings

It was getting dark...and quiet, yet a moment ago there had been nothing but sunlight and the clamoring sounds of battle.

I turned my eyes upward, assuring myself that despite the growing darkness there was still the sacred orb of light hanging in the skies above me. Though ringed with shadows, the blessed Sun was still in the heavens, and even just the smallest glimpse of our patron's living sigil sent strength through my failing body.

My eyes turned towards the radiance of the Sunwell, the powerful gift of life to the Quel'dorei still glittered brightly just a few feet away from where I had fallen. If only I could get to it's blessed waters before the damned Prince could complete his rituals, before the water became tainted by his master's power, perhaps then I could rise up and stop them.

Despite the surge of strength from the Sun's light, I could barely raise up onto my elbows, a breathtaking gash of pain suddenly cutting across my abdomen before I even began to drag myself towards the life giving waters that were so close. Gritting my teeth and setting my jaw, one forearms slid over the other as I slowly dragged myself forward, praying to whatever Gods were left that I would make it in time.

Within what seemed like hours, I looked up towards the Sunwell again only to watch as Arthas lowered the remains of Kel'Thuzad into it's sparkling waters. A new agonizing pain ripped through my being as the sacred waters were defiled, the darkness falling rapidly over my vision as the Quel'dorei lost the one thing we were trying so hard to protect.

Rage filled me, beyond my capacity for control - all I wanted in that moment was to run my blades across Arthas' throat, to plunge them hilt-deep into Kel'Thuzad's heart, to avenge the atrocities that were performed against the Quel'dorei.

Without a second thought, my fingers feebly clawed at an iron encased vial, ripping it free of my belt and the stopper in the same motion; though I raged at the injustice of the Scourge and it's defilement of the Sunwell, I myself had sinned, experimenting with the power of it's waters in my exploration of alchemy and poison making. The vial contained an elixir I had been working on, made from life giving herbs and the waters of the Sunwell, an attempt to recreate immortality beyond the longevity granted to us - true immortal life without death.

It would either save me, or kill me as I had not yet had a chance to test this version of the elixir. I did not realise that it would in fact truly damn me.

As the cool waters washed down my throat, I rolled sideways onto my back to stare up at the sun for what might be the last time. Despite having drank the elixir, the darkness was still swiftly encroaching on my vision and I could feel the last of my blood spilling onto the ground below me.

The elixir had failed me.