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Xenorin

The Dead March On [OPEN to Death Knights]

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[This is open to all Death Knights who will be rolling come expansion time. This will be a week or so before the Death Knights gain their free will and break away from the Lich King. The story will advance to a siege of some unnamed settlement in Northrend.

The purpose of this is to get people together, see who all is going to be there and possible set up a bit of background with other character’s death knights before the expansion releases, so that way it will feel as though they have been Death Knights a while and at least know one another, for those who take part!

Any questions, just PM me!]

The sun quietly peaked over the brim of the mountains in the Eastern Plaguelands, the beams of light shining down through the haze that covered the dying land. Little movement could be seen through the remaining trees and the over grown brush, plagued beasts roaming and waking to greet the day with carnivorous splendor. A couple of the heroes of both the Alliance and the Horde rode down the paths that remained in the ruined lands, carrying out various tasks, slaughtering each other and anything around them that could be classified as ‘deadly’ according to their society.

Sunlight filtered higher throughout the plagued lands until the necropolis known as Ebon Hold came into view, the darkened stone seeming to absorb the light that graced its surface. Movement could be seen from every opening and balcony upon the floating fortress. Skeletal gryphons circled the structure, races of all kinds upon the backs of the dead beasts, their armor glittering in the morning sun.

New_Ebon_Hold.jpg

But the calmness the structure seemed to hold was nothing but the silence before the storm that was brewing. Within the walls, a force unlike any other was being ordered together to do the Lich King’s bidding. Ranks of Scourge lined some of the lower regions of the Hold, ranging from the smallest of ghouls and zombies to the largest of Abominations and other creations of death and despair. Baron Rivendare and Highlord Mograine ordered soldiers of the Lich King into their appropriate ranks, building the army for an invasion of a settlement in Northrend. The elites of the Lich King, Death Knights, were no where to be seen.

Most of the Knights had gathered into one of the outer wings of the Hold, a couple of them rounding up the skeletal war gryphons that the Death Knights were so infamous for. All races were present, Horde and Alliance, upon one wing because within Arthas’ army, there was no sides, only his will and his command.

And Xenny happily followed every word. He crossed his i’s and dotted his t’s, which really made his writing a bit too difficult to read, but he felt it was the right thing to do. Regardless of his horrible writing, the elf bounced happily on his heels as he looked out over the lands below, watching some of the skeletal riders circling. Today was going to be his first day to ride upon the back of one of the dead beasts.

Xenorin had as much free will as most of his comrades, if not more. Yes, he was under complete control of the Lich King, doing any duty that was planted into his head, following every word to the ends of the world. Children, women and elderly; none of them stood in his way if his King commanded it. As most did.

But the forces were building. This was not going to be some little investigation of killing of some family in the woods and stealing their crops, oh no. This was going to be a full out slaughter with his comrades, and he literally shivered with the excitement of it all.

After having grown bored with watching the riders circling and getting a little too dizzy from it, Xenny spun around on his heels, nearly falling over from the weight of the shifting plate, before finally marching out towards the crowds of Death Knights. Most scowled at him, others scoffed and turned away. Small groups moved away, hissing and muttering beneath their breath. But this did not deter Xen. Nothing was going to get him down today because he had plans.

“I WILL make a friend today, just you see, yep yep!”

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((as this is previous to WotLK-The Musical and other such writings, the goblin engineering/singing portion hasn't come up yet (to most people's glee I am certain) and so it may seem different from other Urr'Kel writings))

The day was warm to the half frost troll, who was running his hand over the back of his neck, wiping the clammy skin there out of habit. His barbed-wire braces shone against the flickering flames of the nearby wall torches, as did his exceptionally shined armor. He was tall but decrepit looking, his frame very thin for his height - it could even be wondered how he stood so easily in his heavy armor, not to mention wield the huge axe that was crossed his back, still stained with blood from the last battle he was in - which offset his otherwise comely look. His face was already covered in war paint, a tradition he picked up from his dark troll father, in one of the only times he ever got to see him.

But overlording is a tough job, so someone had to do it. Urr'Kel carried that with him into adult hood, and now even into undeath.

He approached this job like any other, he wanted to do it. To show how great he was as an evil doer - to please his parents - and to ultimately please Arthas, the 'father' he never knew. Even though he did it to please people, he was never very...good...at it. So bad at it, he often took tips from watching other Death Knights, and then overbearingly asserting the traits in order to attempt to get 'better' at it.

It was about that time when Urr'kel noticed the group of Death Knights scoff and turn away. He thought they had turned away from him, so he balled up his fist and shook it, as he demanded of them.

"That's right, turn away from the might that is Lord Urr'Kel!" his voice was dark and exceedingly loud, which rang throughout the wing of the hall they were in. Most ignored the taunt, while some in the group it was directed to chuckled amongst themselves.

It was then he noticed the elf next to him, eyes adverting from the rest of the Death Knights to this one solitary individual. It was rare that he would single out Death Knights in this way, as he usually simply saw them all and their snide attitudes. But this one was different...

"Hmm? What was that?" he asked, voice still booming though he didn't mean it to come off commandeering. He coughed slightly, as he took it down a notch, and re-iterated his question.

"I'm sthorry, what did you sthay?" Oddly, now out of his evil booming voice mode, the braces made his speech slightly slurred and very laughable, at best.

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Those icy blue eyes grew wide at the sudden outburst of the large troll, yelping and jumping back, the armor rattling loudly against his body, his feet stumbling over one another as he nearly fell back on his ass.

”Hmm? What was that?”

Xenny looked like he was about to drop a load at that very moment. His already pale skin seemed to grow even paler as the troll looked down at him, his voice still exceptionally loud. His lips parted in an effort to speak up, but his throat was so tight from the fear, all that he managed was a slight little squeak before furrowing his brow in confusion at the noise that escaped him.

“I’m sthorry, what did you sthay?”

The confusion was quickly replaced with a different emotion. Xenorin looked as though he was now about to burst out laughing, biting his bottom lip, tears forming at the bottom of his eye lids before he let out a giggle, bouncing on the spot, his arms curling over his stomach. He doubled over a moment, catching his breath before shooting back upright, rolling his shoulders back. One of the brightest smiles he could muster up was smeared across his feminine face.

“I said I’m going to make a friend today! Yep! Most everyone just like, walks away or like those guys who did that coughing thing like they have flem in their throat or something. You know, like this,” Xenny paused a moment before scoffing, though he choked on something that straightened himself, nodding. “Just like that, right? Yeah. Anyway, you are a lord?”

Xenny squinted a moment, not breaking stride as he continued to speak in one solid breath, “Don’t look like one. I think. Maybe? I dunno. You look like one of those tusky mans I see around old home. Yanno? Silvermoon. Yeah, those guys are green and mean. You seem mean. With all the yelling. Yeah…” he finally took a breath, nodding sagely as he watched Urr’kel.

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Urr'Kel rolled his eyes at the laughing, letting out a sigh, it was something he had grown accustomed to. Though, the fact that the elf kept on talking with him (or rather, to him) did catch him by surprise. He raised an eyebrow at the fast paced speech, trying to interject.

"Well, I..." but he was cut off by the speedy on goings of the elf. So he simply waited until he was finished.

"Well, I am a 'Lord' of all I sthurvey." he said with a nod. "I am a Death Knight after all. And you got to be mean if you want to sthay in the Lich King'sth favor, Arthasth likesth Death Knightsth to be mercthilessth." he stuttered out to the best of his ability, running a hand over his tusk and tweaking the wires taut about it.

"And I'm a Frostht Troll, I'm blue sthee? I'm not an orc."

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Xenorin's lips contorted around themselves as Urr'Kel continued on, his chest heaving slightly as he bit down tight onto his tongue to keep from bursting out in laughter. The tears from before hugged the edge of his eyes before he finally nodded, letting out a long, strained sigh before taking a deep breath.

"I didn't mean those green guys! I mean ones like you. Sort of. Except green. I think they came from some place called Zoo'Mama? Zul'M...um. I don't know. It had the letters Z and M in it somewhere. That's all that matters right? Yeah. Anyway, you are one of them, except blue. Mhmm." He tilted his head to the side as he examined the tusks and the wires before finally leaning in uncomfortable close, one hand slowly lifting up, reaching towards the thin wires, fingers wiggling before he stops himself, standing up straight.

"Ayup! Lichy King is the greatest, yanno? I never did excel too much with my dark arts stuff. Warlocks people call them. Yep. I had demons once. Yeah, I do miss Fred. No clue what happened to -- oh, wait. Yeah. I killed him. I don't remember why though. Poor Fred. Ironically, one of the doctor's names here is Fred." Xenny finally finished, rolling back and forth on his heels a moment, beaming happily.

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"You mean Zthul'Aman, yeah, I oncthe lived there asth a child." he said, backing off of the elf and taking a few steps around him to get out of his curious gaze, even if it was just temporary.

"You were a warlock?" he asked surprised. "You stheem too cheery to ever be anything with darknessthh, though I guessth you didn't have much of a choicthe when it came to thisth" His hand waved out amongst the crowd, signaling he meant the Death Knights.

"Not that I would have it any other way. Sthil, I hope you don't go killing your ghoulsth, Arthasth wouldn't be happy if you killed his minionsth"

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Xenny pursed his lips in thought a moment the nods slowly as though he was finally catching on to something. "Riiiight. Yeah. That makes me think, you know? Can I REALLY kill them again? The ghoulsth...er, ghouls. I mean, they ARE dead, right? Yeah. Maybe? Whatever. But if I killed them, wouldn't Kingsy be able to bring them back like...you know, poof? I would think so..."

Xenny looked around at the other Death Knights who mingled amongst themselves, a few casting judging gazes towards the elf and the troll. He then spotted someone he knew, waving cheerfully at them. The person scowled and vanished into the ground. Xenny, in turn, frowned.

"People are so dumb. I knew that guy. I think. Nah, I just saw him around Silvermoon, you know? People there called me dumb and said I talk too much or something--OH! My name is Xenny by the way. Well, Xenorin, but Vynny used to call me Xenny!" he thrusted on thin arm forward, hand out reached towards the Frost Troll.

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Though wary after his words, the troll took his hand and shook it. After all, no matter how strange, allies do come very rarely and having them does make you more powerful in some ways.

"I'm sthure you caught my name before, but It'sth Urr'Kel. People do that to me all the time. They think I'm weird justht becausthe I like goblin technology and sthtrategy more then battle itsthelf." He said, using the hand he shook the elf's with to scratch the back of his neck.

"Stheems were in the sthame boat, to sthay the leastht. Though I wonder why we were all gathered...they haven't sthaid anything yet. Maybe not everyone isth here..."

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Iricillian drove his blade through where the Death Knight's heart used to be. He stood in the arena like area as the Initiate fell, and he gloated in his victory. Even as he walked out of the arena, giving challenging stares to Death Knights more experienced than the one he had just rekilled, the thrill of battle dissipated, and his mood dropped considerably. Once again, the victorious light fled from his eyes, and he returned to the stoic silence that pervaded much of his undead life. His steps shortened and his feet dragged, and the weight of his heavy weapon and armor returned.

He dragged himself along through the necropolis until he stumbled on the elf and troll shaking hands. The teachings of the Lich King came naturally to his mind upon seeing this. They fail to see the weakness they expose. I wonder which one will betray first? After a few seconds, he shook the thoughts from his mind, and returned what remained of his own conscience. These two were trusting, maybe he could do well to earn the trust of people that he would probably finish in the long run.

Resigning himself, he pulled his sword over his shoulder, and approached the pair, raising his free hand to signify his non-hostile intent. "Greetings, Death Knights." He said to them as he approached.

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Xenorin spun on his heels at the voice, wondering if it had been directed at him or the troll. "Huh? What?! Oh. Hi there!" the elf chirped out, grinning from ear to ear as he lifted a hand to offer a short wave.

That same hand quickly thrusted forward in hopes of another hand shake. "I'm Xenny! This is Urr'Kel, but I think I will call him Kely or something." He shrugged a moment before looking around, noting that some of the other Death Knights had begun to crawl out from their respective holes in the wall.

The voice of the Lich King spoke to them all in one way or another and by such, they did his bidding, by his will. Xenorin was no different. He followed every word, more without choice than anything. But his soul, or what was left of it, held on tight to what he was...or who he was. He had noticed most were soulless, lifeless, boring old sticks in the mud and he was NOT going to let himself fall to that state...if he could help it.

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Iricillian blinked at the elf's outstreched hand, the notion of such a thing having slipped his mind in the past few years. He blinked once, registered it as an offer to a handshake, and dropped his free hand and shook Xenny's hand. "I am Iricillian. Well met, Xenny and Urr'kel." He felt a little mental shock from having his hands gripping something that was not a weapon, or his enemy's throat.

Iricillian's mind wandered for a split second, but he caught himself before he plummeted into his own thoughts. "Do we have any word of why we were all brought to this necropolis? The Lich King must have further plans than for us to simply kill each other off until some grand champion remains," He said, bringing his sword down from his shoulder and resting his hands on the hilt, leaning on the upright sword.

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Karryn watched the three talk among themselves in bewilderment as she sharpened her blade by the runeforge. They weren't organizing for some purpose, or even exchanging tactics from the sounds of the conversation. They were just, talking. It was such a waste of time. Someone needed to lead these obviously mistaken "recruits". She sized up the three of them. The troll looked to be strong, but his words so far showed that his character did not seem to match his physique. The elf was noisy and kept clamoring and didn't even seem interested in what they might all be here to do. The third one of the group would be a challenge, but he also needed the least leading. Killing him off would be acceptable, but Karryn relished the idea of having him serve under her much more.

"...The Lich King must have further plans than for us to simply kill each other off until some Grand Champion remains."

"And if it is his plan," Karryn interjected as she put down her sharpening stone and walked over to the group of three. "Would you object to that? Do you have an issue with being a nameless grain of sand that those waves of greatness curve themselves over?"

She continued without giving them time to respond, "No, I doubt you would. That is why it is lucky for you that this is not the case. The one true king has gathered his forces here to assault New Avalon and the Scarlet Crusaders who dwell there. We will be sent down there. I'm Karryn and if you wish to please the Lich King it would be in your best interest to follow my example when we are deployed."

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So I finally get to leave these snows... Thought Iricillian, upon hearing the true purpose of their gathering. Having forgotten that his thoughts could not be read by everybody, he continued the thought aloud, "So the Scarlet dogs will thin our ranks for us?" He laughed under his helmet.

Attempting to assume a relaxed and less threatening air, he put more weight on his sword, while giving himself a better look at the newcomer. "A good change from what I have been doing in the cold north." Getting more comfortable with just talking, he remembered that the newcomer had given a name. "Greetings, Karryn. I am Iricillian, and it would be in your best interest to you keep out of my blade's reach once we are deployed!"

All the while he talked, he sized up the new one. She seemed to be more of a warrior than the other two he had been talking with, and carried herself as much more of a powerful figure. Removing this one early could do me quite a bit of good in the long run... Iricillian thought, Though perhaps she could still remove a few more powerful enemies.

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"Oh, you make a good point Iricillian," Karryn retorted with a sneer, baring her fangs at the ((elf?)). "I certainly don't want to have to be the one that demonstrates parrying for you. I'll be careful while you wave that thing around." She made sure to show extra disdain for Iricillian's sword. She wanted to see what kind of temper Iricillian could bring forth, and how well he handled it.

She turned and spoke to the other two there. "Do either of you have intentions of striking against me on the battlefield? In case you do, I strongly recommend against it. If you haven't yet, prepare your rune weapons. I'll see you at Death's Knell. Suffer well."

With that, Karryn turned to walk towards the terrace and the skeletal gryphon master that would take her down to the Scourge field base.

(( Can't recall off the top of my head the name of the outpost you fly to, I could swear it is Death's Knell but if it isn't I'll change it later ;D ))

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It had seemed an eternity since the young human was nearly slain, and in turn was brought back from the brink with one goal in mind. Revenge.

Baron Rivendare had made that happen, many months ago in the eternally-burning city of Stratholme. Siggeir had expected to fight alongside that Baron until he was able to handle himself, and his new abilities, well enough. He never expected to find himself whisked away to Northrend.

But here he was, no longer one of the few, but one of the many. It was not at all what he expected, yet he cared little. For him, there was but one reason, and any path he took would lead to it.

Walking up to the small group he had unintentionally overheard talking, the death knight, still arrayed in his Scarlet armors, approached and spoke up.

"Do not under-estimate the power of the Scarlet forces. They shall fall, but they are not to be trifled with, either."

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Each footstep drew him closer to the necropolis. The weight of each step threatening to drag him down to the dry ochre colored ground cover that spread out over the terrain like some rampant disease.

Not for the first time his thoughts drifted back to the estate and the executive assistant he had left in charge. Ms. Rossingnol was more than competent and with the harvest done and stored there was little left for him to oversea.

Maybe that's it. I'm restless. Yes, no gardening until spring. Harvest done. Nothing to do but wait and think. His mind repeated the excuse like a mantra. Playing the words over and over in some faint hope that he may even come to believe them.

But that lucid part of his mind knew better. There was no sound reason for him to be so far from home, plodding through the blighted hills of the Eastern Plaguelanlands towards some destination he felt compelled to seek out.

What he would find there he could not say nor guess, but that he needed to go was imperative.

"THE VOICE" insisted. The voice was always there now. At first it came in his sleep, a soft sibilant whisper, enticing him, teaching him things. Later once he began his trek it would speak to him during the day, urging him onward with all haste. Time was of great import to THE VOICE.

But it was not the only voice that walked with him. She was there as well, listening to THE VOICE and waiting. Each time THE VOICE Paused or took respite She would fill the void with her haunting song and promises, all laced with the ever present scent of violets. She soothed the words of THE VOICE and turned them into something else.

He listened to both and learned. That he was changing was clear. What wasn't so clear was whether it was due to the influence of THE VOICE or the poison that he suspected coursed through his veins, courtesy of his deadly violet.

Soon. Almost there. Then it will be all clear. The soil has been tilled and the seeds sown. Which will sprout to bear fruit? Which will whither and die?

The Gardner will know in time.

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Atop a balcony from Acherus, like a bird of prey surveying the land before her, the taureness viewed the burning buildings and the decaying earth, the Blight spreading before the Scarlet compound. She had been down there not so long ago, enough that the blood was still frozen to her runeblade in red, crystalline shapes, that which had been spilled before the utter cold cauterized the wounds as she cut down their forces. Fimbulvetr leaned on her sword like a crutch, bearing her weight down on the cool, gray stone, which only got colder from her presence, exuding from her heavy armor.

Her runeblade, Greyfast, scraped across the hard floor as she stood up straight, and turned back into Ebon Hold proper, filled with the sounds of scampering undead and the smells of the preparations for the cauldrons that would bring the Plague and Blight onto the land below them. By force of will, the chill around her dissipated, letting the melting blood drip in rivulets from her sword and left a red trail behind her. The taureness only glanced at the other gathering of death knights, staying away in a shy manner. She had had enough confrontation with the others before, and wasn't about to subject herself to more, keeping her distance, but still curious enough to eavesdrop.

Fimbulvetr had slain in His Majesty's name, although she bore an ache from it ever since her memories had started to return, but she did not question it, having come to terms for what she had become. She was a tauren, but death knight all the same, and her time for personal vendettas would come later. She served, meekly, and prepared herself for what was to come, turning towards the runeforge and passing by the female troll on the way.

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Iricillian tightened his grip on his sword to secure himself against the insult. A combat 'accident' would do that one much good... But hearing the approach of the Scarlet Deathknight, he focused on the newly arrived words to his mind, letting his rage boil unconsciously.

"And I suppose you have some clues as to how we could breach their defense besides sowing terror in their crops and fear in their heart?" Iricillian asked, turning his head towards the Deathknight. "My corpse could be in so many other places, but it chose here. I do not underestimate and would not have gotten to where I am otherwise. I speak only for myself, however," He eyed the retreating troll's back. "There may be some better fitted for that advice."

Flexing his hand as to not crack his bones, he looked back to the silent elf and troll. "Urr'kel, Xenny, it was nice meeting you." Dislodging his sword from the ground, he growled low. "I need to beat someone..." Walking off in the same direction as the female troll, he debated returning to the arena or challenging her at Death's Breach.

((Taknar: Yes, elf. Also, Death's Breach.))

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[[This is my first RP post for a story... so please go easy on me if I screwed anything up. This is with my Undead character "Stane" in mind.]][/center]

Lady Stane sat motionless in the dew frosted grass; her frosty glowing eyes narrowed as she watched the change of the guards take place on the towers of New Avelon. The Scarlet Crusaders were ever vigilant, but during the change of the guards was the worst time for her master’s elite Deathknights to attack as she had informed her glorious King. There was double the presence on the towers then a much larger force to repel. Not that they were much of a match before them... but it was not for her to decide the course of her King's campaign.

The cold did not bother her one bit as her jet black hair flowed freely in the wind. She logged the guard change of activity in her leatherbound notebook. They were punctual, which meant her information was reliable. Up here her quill ink kept freezing, so she had to store the bottle close to her rotting skin. Zya had not moved for days and thus allowed a layer of snow to build up on her armor. She took notes near a frozen tree in the Northerlands.

The hidden Forsaken was not here for just any occasion. She was appointed by the Baron himself to scout the lands and report her findings for the opportune time to strike. She preformed her job with the loyalty and focus that was akin to any Death Knight under the imperceptible hand of Arthas. Her rune sword she had sheathed over her back, and her armor soaked up the dawn’s few beams of sunlight that managed to break away from the ominous clouds.

Stane knew when the best time to attack was in about a half an hour, when only one third of the guards would be appointed as the rest filtered through the mess hall for breakfast. She had diligently reported that as well… and assumed today was the day for bloodshed.

A small netherwhelp floated down from the fog, with a rune bound parchment in his talons; her new orders. This was how she communicated with her master and how her information was received in turn. The small drake was well trained and did not come to her directly. It simply dropped the parchment and made its way to the nearest tree.

Her past life as a priestess had taught her many things that her master had found useful. While Stane was a scout, she still retained the power and the might of a true Knight of Arthas. She had been brought into shroud of Arthas’ control by her own free will though the other option had been death. She had craved the power that he had promised and wished to use it to expell her thirst for revenge. The small echoes of his words still reverberated in her mind.

She muttered a few imperceptible words and the scroll loosened. She read its contents with a cruel smile. Her azule eyes narrowed on the sleepy city as she crushed the parchment in her grasp and it crumbled to ash. She unsheathed her long and impious rune blade. She meandered to the spot her master wished, climbing into the trees. She was a leap form the top tier, where the alarm was positioned. At first sight of someone attempting to raise the alarm, she was to kill whoever sought the bell so her comrades may fly past the city walls on their dreaded mounts without any hindrance. She did not move as she waited calmly in the dense snow covered tree's withering foliage as she waited.

The battle was nigh.

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(( For Malorii..))

The wraith was right. As the salted whip wound with bits of sharp bone and glass bit into her back she held back screams. She bit her tongue every time she wanted to scream out. Leibowitz told her they where brutal so Leibowitz beat her harder than this so she would know what to expect. Nights, or weeks or maybe even months passed and she would fill the butcher’s room with heavy breathing and the smell of sweat. Another project had fallen today, another violet had gone. They made her watch, they made her watch project 74 have her skin peeled back and the muscles severed from her bones. She was awake for all of it but she didn't scream either. That made Malorii proud.

Bastards! They betrayed the choir, the fucking cult of the damned had used them and their resources to help pass out the crates and let the infected roaches into the cities. 3 of the violets where left, Lilei, Bir who only counted as half a violet since most of the mana thistle he had done prior had wreaked his mind more then Malorii ever could. The last violet that hadn't escaped yet. The last violet.

"Chauncey..."

Malorii cried out as the next lash bite into her flesh. Her hair had gone white, she didn't know how much longer she could hold on to what little shred of free will remained to her. She didn't want to end up like her sisters, a mindless banshee doing the will of another lord. Leibowitz was bad enough.

"Arthas and the scourge can suck my left tit!"

She growled shaking her chains that held her like meat from the ceiling. The butcher said nothing; he just went about his work. The dull cries of other victims in the hanging cages, the screams of those tied to the butchers block and the laughter of those finally turning filled the necropolis with a choir of mutilation and lost hope.

She could only think of Chauncey now, if she was going to get out of this alive or undead it was up to him now. She only hoped the binds she held on him from the poisons where strong enough.

Malorii opened her mouth and sang, her voice the only beauty about her, cascading with the cries of the damned. Blood poured out of her mouth, scarlet mixing with her words and she choked a little.

Malorii sang the Lament of the Highborne.

And the salted whip continued to bite.

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