Trial of Sacrifice: Kingmaker

[Malanath]

Not long after the fall of the Lich King...

The slender elf strides down the darkened corridor, illuminated only by the flickering torches mounted every dozen feet. Even so, the shadows seem to cling to her body, as though unwilling to leave her side, despite the light of the flames around them. She walks with purpose, her raven black hair rustling in the air as she nears her destination. The doorway ahead is massive, far too large for her to open by herself, and an equally large demon stands nearby, alert for any that might attempt to breach the sanctum. The demon spots the elf, and draws a pair of wicked felblades up, the edges gleaming with demonic energy, and prepares to defend his charge. The elf narrows her eyes at the demon, her glare stopping the monster in midstride, as it recognizes her and lowers its weapons. She walks past the wrathguard, paying it no more attention than a simple guardsman, and steps up to the doorway. She places a slender hand upon the door and speaks the command word, known only to her and the one already inside, and the door slowly swings open of its own accord. The room beyond is easily just as gloomy as the passageway, the light sources being only a scattering of candles and various alchemical and magical devices. Dominating the room at this time, however, is a large table in the center, with a well-preserved corpse bound to it. The other individual in the room looks up at the approaching elf and nods.

"Ah, there you are! I was wondering when you would arrive. I trust that Dag-Amal did not give you any trouble?" said Alathir Malanath as he greeted his guest.

Ayemae stifled a laugh as she replied. "No, that thing has learned his place. Now, what then is so important that I come here right away?"

"Oh, yes. Well, you are looking at it." The warlock motions towards the dead man shackled to the table. "Behold, Kaldoric Truestrike, former Knight of the Silver Hand!"

"You asked me here to see a dead human? Have we not seen enough of them on our own?" Ayemae asked, disdain evident on her face.

"Ah, but he will not be dead for long. THAT is why I have asked you here. I want you to call his spirit back." Malanath replied.

Disdain turned to shock on the priestess' face, as she stared at the warlock. "And why, dare I ask, would I ever do such a thing?"

"Because you know as well as I that there is more in store for this... man than a simple resurrection." The warlock grins and motions for the elf to take a seat. Ayemae nods and moves over to the nearby parlor, the area seeming out of place alongside the rest of the darkened room, furnished with the very height of elven decor. She sits down upon one of the sofas, and nods at the warlock to continue. Malanath clears his throat and begins speaking. "Now that this war with the Lich King is over, it would seem that the rest of the world is quite content to just... leave the Scourge to serve their new King, this... Bolvar Fordragon. Folly, I tell you, dear Ayemae! The scourge is a weapon, a weapon to be wielded by those with the will to do so! I wish to make a new Lich King... one that will command the Scourge just as ruthlessly as Arthas ever did. The only difference... this new Lich King will in turn serve m- us. I will create a Death Knight... just as the fool Guldan did so long ago. Only I will not give my knight the limitation of drawing his power from a mere weapon... No, my Death Knight will be the weapon. It took me many months to decipher the language of the runes that were etched upon the blades of the Death Knights that served Arthas, but I've found the key... the secret that makes creating Death Knights possible! The runes that grant them power, the ones emblazoned upon their runeblades... they are in the tongue of the Nathrezim... the dreadlords! You recall our battle with Anatharos, do you not?"

Ayemae supressed a shudder as she remembered that fight. The dreadlord fought with cunning ferocity, his strength requiring the spellcraft of both herself and Malanath to contain. In the end, though, the demon had been subdued, and his very essence captured by Malanath inside a shard prison.

Malanath motioned towards a nearby table. Upon the table rested a large green shard, glowing with magical energy. "Is that..." began Ayemae, but was interrupted by Malanath's gleeful nod.

"Indeed it is! And as I have made the... preparations for a new... receptacle, I do believe it is nearly time to speak with our old friend yet again." said the warlock, clearly becoming more excited.

"New... receptacle?" asked Ayemae as her eyes wandered the room, settling on the dead man upon the table. Sure enough, his skin was carved, ever so delicately, with thousands of runes, in every demonic language she could discern, and many which were beyond her. She looked from the body to the warlock, who only nodded and grinned even more diabolically.

"Think of the possibilities, Ayemae! With the scourge under our command, think of what we could achieve! The very same force that decimated our people would become our salvation! The Sin'dorei would march down the breadth of the Eastern Kingdoms, taking back what is rightfully ours! We would slaughter the dwarves in their holes, we would turn Stormwind to ash! Best of all, we would no longer need the mongrel Horde! The Sin'dorei would stand alone, dominant, unbreakable, against them all! All we need is this... a puppet King to bend the scourge to our will!" cried the warlock, as a maniacal cackle escaped his lips.

The priestess considered the warlock's words. There was indeed potential in them... so long as his own designs were in line with her own, she would assist. "Why then, do you need me to bring back the soul of the man lying there, if you are only going to implant the demon's essence within?" asked Ayemae.

"Because, my dear, that way, the demon will never have complete control. The valiant soul of the knight inside will keep him forever in check... and provide some semblance of control for us to work with. Now, if there are no more questions, let us begin!" replied the warlock.

Over the next few minutes, the warlock begins cutting through the dead man's chest, breaking the ribs and removing the man's shriveled heart. He then picks up the soul shard, ever so gently, and puts it inside the cavity in place of the heart. The priestess lends her healing powers to the process, fusing the bones and flesh back together, completing the procedure. The warlock nods, and motions for the elf to begin calling the departed soul back to his body. After a flash of light, the dead man stirs and his eyes open. Just as the man begins to look around and take stock of his surroundings, the warlock reaches a single hand out, fist closed, and speaks the words of unbinding while opening the hand. The soul shard buried within the man's chest likewise shatters, releasing the demon's essence. The demonic runes etched all over the man's skin flare to life, burning with the heat of the demon's rage.

The man speaks, though the voice is clearly not his own. "What have you done, foolish warlock?! I will not be bound!"

"Oh, but I think you shall, demon. Your new prison's warden shall see to that." replied Malanath, as he watched the man writhe in sudden agony as the knight strained to reclaim his body.

"ARGH! Why have you trapped me within this pathetic shell? What is it that you want with me, warlock?" asked the man with the demon's voice.

"Quite simple, really. I require a servant. A warrior without equal in this world. You have the power to make this... man more than he ever was in life. Grant him that power... or face your own destruction. That... 'pathetic shell' is all that stands between you and nonexistence, Anatharos. Serve me, and reclaim your former glory, and more. Deny me, and face the endless void." said Malanath.

The man chuckled heartily, the demonic voice filling the room with echoes. "So, the mighty warlock has found need of another follower..." The man paused for a moment. "Very well, summoner. You have a deal... the Nathrezim are nothing if not patient. Your time will come soon enough, and when it does, I will be there to plunge my claws into your heart."

Malanath grins and nods. "Then we have made a pact. There is only one other small matter then... I wish to speak with the other. The knight you are already twisting into evil, Kaldoric Truestrike." he replies as he invokes a spell of banishment, silencing the demon within and allowing the man to gain control.
"Welcome back, Knight of Lordaeron. Much has changed since you have been gone... but I am certain you recall your betrayal at the hand of Arthas... at the hands of humanity. Your time has come to avenge yourself! I have given you the power to strike down your foes, to ride again against those that you once protected... those that you died protecting, those that care nothing for your sacrifice! All I ask, is that you serve me, Alathir Malanath!

The knight's expression darkens at the mention of Arthas, and the shock on his face turns to anger. "Arthas..." The knight's eyes meet Malanath's, filled with fury and hate. The knight looks down at his own body, the corrupted form that had died upon a nameless frozen wasteland, and nods. "I, Kaldoric... Gravestrike vow to serve you, Alathir Malanath, so long as I can freely bring death and suffering to the living. This is my vow... as a Knight. So do I swear to serve."

Malanath grins, amazed at how quickly the knight's emotions had turned to hatred at the demon's touch. "Very well, Kaldoric Gravestrike. I accept your oath, and your fealty." The warlock waves a hand at the shackles, opening them and allowing the man to rise. "Go, then. Ready yourself for battle. We will begin at once!" said Malanath as he motioned towards the nearby open door, the one that led into the well-equipped armory. As the newly created Death Knight exited the room, Ayemae rematerialized from the nearby shadows and spoke.

"That was... interesting. I note that you did not reveal your grand plans to either of them yet..." said the priestess.

"I did not expect them to become so... separate. It would seem that neither will have total control. But for now, I can feed their hatred. Use it... mold it into something more in line with our own designs. After all, the Nathrezim are always looking for more power... Anatharos will serve us well as a new Lich King... and Kaldoric will always be there for us to use if the demon tries to turn on us. We have done a great thing this night, Ayemae. A new dawn is at hand for our people!"

The priestess frowns. "And what if they both turn on you?" she asked.

"Only time will tell, Ayemae." came the reply.


Present Day

The drumming of long-dead fingernails on stone echoes through the room, as Alathir Malanath reads over his letter for the thousandth time.

~High Inquisitor Awatu~

I have struggled long for this, my final trial. What is it that I might sacrifice to the Grim? What could I possibly give up that would be found worthy? My answer is this... a measure of my own ambition. The bearer of this letter is one of my greatest achievements. I had once thought to use him to supplant the Lich King... to make the Scourge mine, to use as a weapon against the Alliance and the lesser races. But after joining my cause with that of the Grim... and fighting next to these... 'lesser' races... I see their strength. Their power. Their devotion to the cause. The Grim is the only army I will ever need, the Mandate the only cause worth fighting for. The Death Knight shall also serve that cause... shall serve the Grim.

Peace through Annihilation!

~Alathir Malanath

Looking up, Malanath nodded at the Death Knight in front of him. He sealed the letter with his signet, and handed it to the knight.

"Deliver that straight to the High Inquisitor. In person. If he is not there, you will wait for him. I release you from your service to me, Kaldoric Gravestrike. Pledge yourself instead to the Grim. Where the Grim goes, so too shall you. You will protect them, as you have myself all these years. Go. Now.

The knight takes the letter, bows, and quickly turns and leaves the room, to deliver his message, and his oath, once again.