Grim Views

((For those who don't visit TNG, my story of Las' adventures in Northrend which is written under the non-de plume of Madred))


Hate. Lust. Power. Revenge. Despair. Even love. We all came to Arthas for different reasons. But we all left him for the same reason.

Her.

It is curious. When men are inspired to great feats of heroism or great acts of foolishness, it seems inevitable it is a woman who serves as catalyst. For myself, I had forgotten why I had come to the gods-cursed land of Northrend. Perhaps all the reasons recorded. Perhaps none of them. It does not matter. There are very few things I wish to remember.

But I remember her.

She called herself Terista. It was not her real name of course. Anymore than mine is Madred. It is not uncommon for us Forsaken to assume new identities. Few of us could recall our former lives and those who could often wished they could not. But as I came to discover, Terista's true identity was woven into a shield of so many aliases even she often had difficulty recalling her origins.

Whatever name she claimed, I hated her from the moment I laid my scourge-cursed eyes upon her. So did the others. It was in our nature to do so, but there was something in her manner which fanned the flames of our hate like the bellows of a blacksmith.

Although she was just shy of five feet, nearly a foot less than the shortest of us, she walked into the meeting hall as if she were a giant. Her expression was haughty and arrogant and there was a constant smirk of self satisfaction on her lips as if she knew things we did not. She excelled at the master's work no doubt. The natives called her the Demon Queen or the Silver Demon because of she kept her armor meticulously polished and clean so it shined brightly in the sun like a beacon of death. The number of slaughtered and converted by her and her company were innumerable. All the more reason to hate her.

There were twelve of us in all. Knights in Arthas’ service. Many called us “Death Knightsâ€

There was something wrong with her.

I realized this fact when I saw her standing on the slope arms crossed in that by-now familiar pose watching slaves from our latest victory file stumbling in line from their ruined village.

Victory. How pathetic were we to call it thus. It was more like slaughter. An insignificant fishing village on the violent north eastern coast with a name I cannot even recall. But then there were so many of them. That day is one of many memories I wish I could forget. Even now so many years later I wake in the night wracked with pain and I cannot keep from unmanning myself with tears. How she turned herself off from these feelings, pushed them down, especially after she had turned her loyalty from Arthas I do not know. Perhaps she doesn’t, she just never speaks of it and like me she grieves somewhere in her soul or hidden from judging eyes for the blood we so gleefully spilled. Or maybe, she truly does not care. Even now knowing her as well as any man can, I do not know the answer.

The reason I noticed her change at all was because I had been watching her closely for several weeks since that day Kamdel had made her second. I expected a sword to be put to his back during battle and I intended to garner his favor by being there to prevent it. But not only did it never happen she seemed to be completely loyal, obeying his commands without question.

What set my suspicions alight at that moment was her armor. Several of us had been soldiers of some sort prior to our service with Arthas. You could tell who we were by our crisp, succinct commands during battle and we cared for our armor which was the only thing between us and certain death better than the others.

Not that her armor was uncared for. She indeed cleaned it every day. Filing away the occasional rust spot, hammering out the dents, mending the torn chain and straps protecting vital joints and spaces in the armor. What was different about her now was she no longer polished her armor to a high sheen. She stood there in the sunlight looking imposing, but dull and ordinary, no longer gleaming like the Silver Demon in the sunlight and I had never seen that before.

And with this epiphany I realized other differences in her behavior the over the last two weeks. She no longer slaughtered with the fierce, unrelenting hunger that matched any of us and soon won our respect as well as hate. She was more mechanical in her actions as if she were going through the motions although no fewer died under her blade. She also spoke even less than before. She acknowledged commands with a nod of her armored head, questions with a simple yes or no and she had quit offering advice during battling planning.

As I thought about it more, I realized I could not recall the last time I had seen her face.

She caught me in my examination of her. Before I knew it her plated head had turned from the prisoners and directly toward me. I do not know why but I felt I could feel those eyes boring into me, examining me in minute detail, daring me to challenge her. I shook off the feeling and turned my head away from her just as there was a loud commotion down the line.

Terista and I made our way down the line to find the source of it all was a large brute of a man, possibly forty years of age who was taking exception to being inducted into Arthas’ army or whatever plan Kamdel had for the survivors. Lundic and Clothar, an orc whom I suspected was a former soldier like myself, had subdued him with difficulty, but had put the man to his knees. Clothar drew his blade and raised it high but Kamdel’s booming voice halting his motion.

“Stop!â€

It was almost an hour before dusk and our army had just finished making preparations to camp for the evening. One of the drawbacks of having barbarians for allies, they did not have the stamina of a Death Knight and needed rest and take food much more than we did. But at least it gave us a source for entertainment.

We took perverse pleasure in roaming about the camp “inspectingâ€

Rhothgar Keep rest atop of a massive slab of granite uncovered by uncountable years of winds scouring the hillside. As we rounded the corner onto the flat plain before it, I examined the keep from a new perspective; that of an attacker and not a defender. It was well built and solid, but intended as a temporary keep, a place for tribesmen to congregate and celebrate. Indeed it was most heavily populated during the winter and religious festivals. The walls were only sixteen feet of well mortared stone, with the last four feet being made of logs laid horizontally across the stone slabs. There were no towers, but I knew on the inside ramps lead to a ledge running around the walls of the entire keep. The gate was also made of heavy logs, wide enough for three men to wrap their arms around and still not reach all the way around. But I could not recall ever seeing them closed. Why should they be, even sparsely manned the only danger to this keep was Arthas and Dogda had struck a bargain with him.

From where we halted, just about to leave the nook between the hills blocking the keep’s view of the road where we hid our column, I could see the hills sloping away from the keep to the left, right and behind for nearly a mile before they touched the sea. The shadows of crude buildings could be seen dotting the shoreline under the full moon. Not all barbarians were wanderers. Some fished, farmed and hunted. All were fierce warriors and it was not unknown for them to raid other clans from sea or land.

We knew where all the scouts watched the road and we had sent Jeroch’s kinsmen to eliminate any who were of the Wolf Clan and bring back those of the Dungar. Terista ordered the column to halt a couple hours before sunrise, a good mile back from the turn that would reveal us to the keep. She ordered a cold camp and everyone slept right where they were, getting what rest they could. Then once it was light and our bellies full we mounted and moved on.

I noted with some pleasure the flurry of activity as the keep prepared for our arrival. Dogda would be furious his scouts had not sent a runner to inform him of our company’s arrival so he could give Arthas’ knights a proper reception and grovel appropriately. Sometimes I wondered how he could share the same blood with these fierce and proud people. Dogda was short for his people. His hair and beard were grey but as thick as in his youth. Though his belly had grown some since his ascendance to clan leader, his arms and legs were still knotted with strength. He welcomed us warmly at first, but was not pleased with the news of Kamdel’s death. Probably because of all the time wasted kissing the general’s arse. Terista and I walked with Dogda toward the mead hall as the eight remaining knights dispersed casually to strategic positions discussed previously. Jeroch’s Dungar mingled with their Wolf Clan mates, hands resting casually near their weapons. I was worried about them giving away something amiss, but they were combat veterans and their faces and stances gave nothing away. We were halfway to the hall when Jeroch’s voice echoed throughout the grounds.

“Dogda!â€

I could feel the eyes of the other knights on us as we rode down the hill toward the sea. I am sure they were wondering the same things as I. Where was this little creature leading us? We had been too caught up in our blood lust and desire for a real challenge to contemplate the ramifications of our actions. It had happened too fast.

If Jeroch lived and agreed to follow Terista then there would be no issue. We would continue to conquer and reap souls and bodies for our master. But if he did not… I recalled then with startling clarity Terista’s words to the barbarian. “You can follow me as you wish or go on your own way.â€

I had never felt so sick before.

At least when I served Arthas I was a conqueror, though vile and ruthless for sure. But that is war. Now, I was just a common murderer. I had left the battle and pushed my mount down the hill and across the gravel beach trying to separate myself form the screams of the dying and tortured. Nausea suddenly consumed me, knocking me from my mount. I grasped at my armor, pulling frantically at the ties and latches. It had never seemed so heavy, so constricting. Flinging my breastplate to the ground I stumbled into the water. The chill of the northern sea took my breath away and I fell to my knees vomiting. It was then I felt her hand on my shoulder.

“Madred.â€

((You had me riveted to my chair for the time it took me to read this. I love it. I absolutely love it. Perverse, twisted, wrong...But in the noble sense that has you clamoring for them to win anyway.))

(( Holy fuck this is a good read, Lasc. Man I miss you. Hurry back from the desert. ))

((thanks guys :-) ))

Twenty seven knights.

Twenty five of us vowed to the service of Terista and two the service of Arthas.

Only the human, Jerno, and the Forsaken, Garias, remained. I found it enjoyable watching them during the last week. They knew something was amiss and despite leading a life of cruelty and disdain for the living, they were afraid. The fact that we wore our helms every day - every moment - had put them on edge. Occasionally I would chuckle to myself aloud and the strain in their expressions would increase. For her part, Terista had begun shunning the villages and attacking scourge outposts and bases. We left no survivors. She was questioned little. She refused to discuss her actions with anyone and Clothar and I - and eventually the others - made it clear questioning her was the fastest way to leave Arthas' service.

They were traitors on those outposts. None could be trusted to none could be left alive.

Lok’Ahm Thal was angry. Every day he sent messages to Terista demanding we find the attackers. Every day she assured him we were close. He threatened to replace her, but by that time it didn't matter. More than half of us had been restored to our former selves, and though the temptation lingered in the back of our minds, we knew there was no going back.

We still operated out of Rhothgar Keep. Jeroch had firmly, but warily, offered the service of the keep in return for freeing his people, but withdrew the support of his barbarian tribes. Many of the knights wanted to kill the youth right then, but Terista merely nodded in acceptance.

“We will let them have their way for now,â€

The moon was high the night I went to her.

She was in her customary room in one of the low-ceilinged dwellings of Rhothgar Keep. Outside some of the men drank with the barbarians, others slept while a few stood watch or worked on their equipment. Our ranks had swelled significantly the last few weeks since word of our work on the northern flows spread and work was being done on more barracks for shelter against the coming winter. I knocked lightly on the door frame and slowly pulled back the animal skin covering the opening revealing the small cramped quarters.

She was standing in front of a polished steel mirror propped in the corner. She wore a black tabard with red trim. Sewn into the fabric was a hooded figure with daggers stabbing downward. It seemed familiar but I could not place it at the time.

“It’s a bit big for you,â€

Sometime during the night it snowed.

It was more like a thin slush of ice than actual snow and dark clouds promised more to come as the icy wind wrapped its frozen tendrils around the assembly on the keep’s grounds. Winter would come to the north quickly.

“What will you do?â€

Somewhere a horn blew calling barbarian archers to the front of the wall. The wooden gate to the keep had been closed long before and men sweat in the chilled air as they stacked heavy rock against it trying to shore it against the beating which was sure to come.

“Jeroch-chief,â€

I woke to a blurry view of the ground moving underneath me. I felt a sensation of being jostled as I faded in and out of consciousness and held as still as possible, worried I may fall from my precarious perch over the saddle of someone’s charger. I thought of my daughter, the little woman I had come to love as something more than my flesh and blood.

Part of me yearned to hold her as I would any lover, but this thought triggered revulsion in my gut whenever my mind would wander to it. Yet, I couldn’t keep it from doing so. I was also sick over what she had become.

I had failed her. First as her living father and then as her Forsaken lover. Twice I had failed and twice she would die for it.

So many questions. But even today with my mind unclouded and conscious I am no closer to find answers than I was then draped like a blanket over the side of my companion’s mount. When we stopped it was Clothar who lowered me down. I tried to struggle, but he just let me topple over to my hands and knees trying to force my vision back into focus.

“Easy, Madred.â€

A stillness lay like a heavy blanket on the plateau. Not the natural stillness of peace and contentment, but an oppressive and unnatural lack of sound. It was a stillness only the absence of life could produce. There was no scurrying of creatures scavenging for food. No cry of gulls pierced the clear, crisp air. Even the wind had abandoned this spit of land. It was the kind of stillness attempted by a predator's cowering prey hoping not to be seen.

It was the crunching of gravel under heavy feet which broke the silence. After the dead quiet proceeding their arrival the sound of booted feet on the rock was like a cracking whip echoing across the deep, wide pit in the center of the plateau where Rhothgar Keep once sat.

The predators had arrived.


Lascivious stood in the dark pulling down dirt and rock from the tunnel above her. How long this had gone on she was not sure. How long had she been down here? She thought she made it a week before losing count of the hours, but she could not be sure. It could easily have been a month. She worked steadily, but unhurried conserving whatever amount of air was left. Luckily she did not require much.

After Garias and Clothar took Madred away she and the few remaining barbarians fell back into the central gathering hall. Lok'Ahm Thal entered the keep with his remaining forces and her only goal was to stay alive long enough to draw him in further. There were no windows or shutters in the hall and so it was not difficult to guard the door. The largest of scourge could not enter, but they tore at the logs forming the walls of the building.

Her memory of the explosion was hazy. It was felt more than heard. A tremor deep in the earth and then a sudden sensation of falling as the plain sank into the caverns below. When the falling had finally ceased the miracle of still being alive was replaced by the fear of suffocating on the dirt and dust thrown into the air. After what seemed like an eternity of coughing the airborne dirt floated back to the floor and all was quiet.

There were two others left alive. They called out to each other in the dark and it was soon decided to make an attempt to measure their situation. Crawling around the edges of the crushed lodge, Lascivious found several more bodies of those who didn't make it. Part of the ceiling seemed to be near it normal height and other parts crushed by rock and debris to nearly floor level. All in all she guess the width of their little haven to 20 feet long and 10 feet wide.

There was no telling how far under the ground they had been buried. A foot? Ten feet? Forty feet? With great care they tore away the planks of the roof. In one of the lower areas hoping if there was a collapse it would cease quickly enough as the area was filled up. After some initial pouring of dirt into their hide-away and a moment of tenseness, probing of the rock found it to be fairly solid and work of tunneling up began.

They worked silently conserving air. But they could not avoid thirst or hunger. Lascivious slaked her thirst easily on the dead, getting as much liquid from their decomposing bodies as she could before they turned into congealed, dry husks. Neither of her companions said anything, but her slurping and sucking sounds were unmistakable in the black silence. They worked to take their mind off the chilling sound and made signs against evil praying to their gods they would see the sun again.

But they would not. Even as their desperation turned their minds to the flesh of their dead companions, thirst was overtaking them. They knew it. Lascivious knew it. She could easily have feasted on the flesh of the dead. But not only was it not as satisfying as fresh, living flesh, the dead did not use precious air. She took the first one after a week while he and his companion lay sleeping, exhausted to the point oblivion.

When the other woke, he shook his companion. Even though he knew his friend was dead, he would not stop shaking the body. Wake up! Please wake up! It was not a surprise to find him dead. They were both weak from lack of water and food. But was a tremor - an uneasiness - in his gut. He did not want to be left alone in the dark with this little demon knight.

Every handful of dirt moved from the hole and thrown to the other side of the shelter was one handful closer to the light. To freedom. But it never came. How much longer he dug he couldn't say. A night? A week? He dug unceasingly, not even letting Lascivious take her turn. This was no way for a warrior to die. But even his barbarian will faltered as his body turned on itself and his tongue could no longer moisten his dry, cracked lips. He fell from the tunnel and collapsed on the ground gasping. The air was so hard to breathe.

His body stiffened when he felt her hands on him. She crawled over him sitting on his chest. She was so small, so tiny. He could throw her off easily. He could. He wanted to. But he barely had the strength to move his arms at all. He whimpered as she ran her hands up and down his chest and she placed a finger to his lips, hushing him. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

"There is no need to fear. You are a warrior, not a dog." She pulled the ties of his breeches loose having already shed her own. "I promise you will feel like a man when you die."

His loins ignored his fear and loathing of the knight. She straddled him in the dark working his body until it gave in to her ministrations. With his body's primal needs satisfied she gave into her own desire and leaned forward to sink her teeth into the man's throat. He gasped when her teeth pierced his throat and struggled feebly. But she didn't notice. She was lost in her own euphoria, moaning in pleasure as barbarian's lifeblood poured into her own throat. She writhed with pleasure as the as the man trembled helplessly under her and when his life was gone and when he moved no more her own ecstasy reached its peak and lay atop him shuddering and breathing in great gasps.

Lascivious grinned with girlish pleasure in the dark. When her breathing returned to normal she sat up and patted the dead man on the chest, she stood up, replaced her clothing and climbed up into the tunnel. With renewed vigor, she pulled steadily and carefully at the dirt and rock. It didn’t seem to her like much time had passed before the dirt and debris began loosening itself, falling faster and faster. At one point it became too much and she jumped to the ground and rolled away from the opening as more earth fell into her shrinking hole.

She coughed harshly on the dust but it was only a few moments until the shower of debris stopped. When it did Lascivious began to laugh. A clear, bright shaft of light pierced the darkness.


Even under the bright, mid-day sun the giant armored figure appeared to be wrapped in darkness. Shadows sprouted seemingly from nothing to prevent the sun from soiling his armor with its light.

All around his minions pulled the broken bodies of the dead from ground and lay them in rows on the edge of the crater. Those that were too broken and smashed to remain standing were tossed aside. The others were raised by lieutenants and immediately pressed into service digging more potential soldiers from the dirt. Even Lok'Ahm Thal pulled mindlessly at the rubble.

Death is only the beginning of life. All this world will be reborn.

The sound of something stirring behind him caught his attention. Near the bottom of the crater the ground was sinking. Slowly at first and then with increased rapidity. He stepped forward mindless of any danger of a full collapse. With nary a thought he directed his soldiers to cease their tasks and come to him circling the hole curious to see what would crawl out.


Lascivious sat near the shaft of light for many moments waiting for her eyes to adjust to the light. Even down at the bottom of the hole her eyes, accustomed to such complete darkness for so long, stung and made her head ache. At last when the throbbing began to subside she crawled back into the tunnel.

She couldn't explain why, but the farther up she went, the more uneasy she felt. Every battle instinct she had told her something was wrong. About halfway she stopped and listened.

Nothing. No sound could be heard above, yet a familiar sensation of dread clutched at her heart, threatening to squeeze it with uncertainty and fear. Lascivious shook her head, trying to clear her mind. She was a warrior. A knight. A killer. A predator. She would not let foolishness and unfounded fear force her underground like a common rodent. She was Forsaken and her place was above the ground. Above all other races.

When she was within reach of the lip of the hole she reached up and grabbed it, pulling herself up until her head and shoulders were above ground. She froze and stared at the face of the armored hulk looking back at her. Moments seemed to pass as they stared at each other. She was about to let go and drop back down when jagged fingers clamped her arms like vices and pulled her small frame up to be fully examined by all.

The little knight struggled desperately, but she was too late. To many hands held her now and she cursed herself for not heeding her instincts. She thought herself a predator, but here she was caught in the jaws of the wolf like a rabbit leaving its burrow. She was forced to her knees before the shadow-cloaked figure. She tried to turn away but her captives forced her head back around. Here, she knew, was a true predator and to look into his steaming blue eyes was to look at your own death.

All around her his minions cheered and ridiculed her. A cacophony of vileness and hate. Only he remained silent. Staring. Examining. Penetrating. Slowing he drew his blade and extended his arm fully until its tip rested a hair's breadth from the bridge of her nose.

Lascivious swallowed hard staring at the runes on the blade but she could read none of them and she refused to make any sound or turn away. The tall armored figure let the blade fall and let the end of the blade rest against her chest above her heart. With little pressure the blade pierced her skin and she ground her teeth in pain. The wickedness in that tiny prick was immeasurable and she could feel the evil creep into her even as her blood flowed out of her.

A slight more amount of pressure and blade slid another inch deeper. Tears ran down her cheeks. Her lips pulled back in a twisted snarl and she breathed rapidly through her clenched teeth.

The howling around her grew louder from ghouls, zombies, knights and other forms of montrousness aroused with the anticipation of the kill. The shadowed knight pushed the blade deeper in and twisted it slowly.

This time Lascivious screamed.

Their foul audience cheered but even their pleasure could not drown out the Forsaken's agony. How long the blade had been held there, slowly turning, could not be said. Eventually, the screaming stopped, ruined vocal cords unable to protest any longer. In the sky the sun was well on its trek toward the horizon. When the woman could no longer express her pain in with any volume, only in tearful whimpers, he slid his blade home piercing her heart. Only when the light was completely gone from her eyes did he remove and sheathe it. He reached out and grabbed her chin and lifted her head, turning her face one way than the other in examination before letting her head drop.

With armor rattling and heavy footsteps crunching the rock he turned and made his way up the slope.

"Put this one with the others then, master?" asked a lieutenant.

He stopped and shook his wide shoulders before looking back over his shoulder. "Deliver that one to Ebon Hold. The masters there will remind her whom she serves."

The lieutenant nodded and motioned for two others to take her away then returned to his duties. There was still much to be done.