Death Knight Story Arc: Part I

Timeline note: This entry is Genavie's point of view in a storyline that's taken off with my guild this week. Originally it was just a personal story, but it's expanded so that we can now involve the whole guild. This story does not continue off of the 'Book that I Write in' entries, as those are about Genavie's past. This entry pertains to current roleplay that took place with the character just a few days ago.

I slowly wrapped the tattered remains of my hand around the tree trunk, peering out from behind it and eyeing my target across the field in the distance. I was in deep in Silverpine; so deep you're not sure whether Silverpine has ended and Gilneas has begun and you long to see the map lines painted across the terrain in front of you; just to offer you some sense of direction and certainty.

As I continued to watch my target I couldn't help but reflect on how The Deathstalkers are easily the most feared assassins guild in Azeroth. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure SI:7 and Ravenholt have some charming training programs where you can feel the wind and sun on your face while you practice your shadow stepping and take deep breaths of fresh spring air with your functioning lungs. I'm just saying they don't have anything on a band of animated corpses that can watch you for days without the need to eat, sleep or rustle in the bushes while they relieve their bowels.


I'm not a Deathstalker anymore. Actually, I never was. I paid to train with a few of them and then ran off to become a Defiler. My original plan was be a Lightslayer, but there's actually months of classroom work and learning. They told me I was too dumb, and they were right. That's actually what they said though: “Genavie, you're too dumb to be a Lightslayer. Go with the Shadow.” The Forsaken don't really believe in polite pretences, I half expected the Dark Cleric who rejected me to say my brain was replaced with bat shit while I was dead. I guess he wasn't the type to embellish things, which is odd, given his otherwise evangelical nature.

What was I talking about? Oh yes, Deathstalkers. In spite of our undead state, Forsaken brains are quite lively, and thus boredom is one of the biggest challenges that face a newly risen stalker; especially since boredom leads to inattentiveness and inattentiveness to failure. To prevent boredom one of the first things the Deathstalkers taught me was to keep my mind active while I was stalking someone. Some of them kept dice or cards in their pockets and would invent games to keep themselves amused while they waited and watched their targets. I swear by the Dark Lady one of them told me they took up a game with a loop of yarn they called 'cat's cradle.' No thank-you, I'll save myself from dying of embarrassment a second time if I'm found playing with yarn while I should be trying to kill someone.

I don't do any of those things. Instead I maintain a constant inner monologue, which is much better. In the third person – I narrate my actions as if I were a hero in a fantastic tale that was being told right as it happens.

My target in the field moved, and I hid behind another tree, trying to get a better look at them. Although, in my head I was saying something like this: “Our heroine gracefully picked her way through the foliage, towards the cover afforded by another tree. So light was she on her feet, and so skilled were her movements that not even the shafts of light coming through the branches above could fall upon her.

The medals pinned to Genaive's chest (by Sylvanas herself - for they were on a first name basis) settled  slightly now that she was still and risked reflecting the light and giving away her position. Instead of making Genavie panic, noting the medals and the possible risk they presented just caused her chest to  swell with pride. They were given to her for her high favour with the Dark Lady, she would never remove them.”

I don't have medals, the Dark Lady doesn't even know who I am, and I stepped on a twig that was so brittle that its snapping might as well have been a gun shot that startled all the birds in the area. Thinking about it, our Queen doesn't really strike me as the type to give people medals and tell them they're doing a good job anyways.

My target moved closer, the abominations lumbering behind him in the distance grew smaller. He wasn't quite at the edge of the wood where I hid, but he wasn't standing in the middle of the field that separated the trees from the Forsaken outpost there either.

Rasmorden.

He moved differently, all Forsaken Death Knights do. Well, all of the handful of Death Knights I've ever seen, that is. Maybe it's the weight of two deaths resting on their shoulders, or maybe those runeblades are heavier than they look, but they move like something heavy is resting on them – something we can't see.

I leaned my head against the tree trunk now, looking at Rasmorden and studying him. More than anything I wanted to see the colour of his eyes. If I had eyelids, I would have closed them then and tried to picture what I was seeing in colour. Death Knights have blue eyes I'm told, they don't glow yellow like other Forsaken. The lamp posts in the distance by the road would glow purple, the grass would be green... I shook my head and tried to focus on the task at hand. I would need to be aware.

For the record, I don't care how fantastical it sounds to want to see the colour of his eyes, I burn to know what kind of blue they glow. If things had gone differently between Rasmorden and I, if I wasn't stalking him now to put an end to weeks of us circling each other like angry animals forced to share the same cage, I would ask him if he'd trade his blue eyes for yellow ones if he could.

Dammit, he was heading back towards the camp. I ducked further behind the tree, silently cursing his movements. I was determined to engage him tonight; things had to come to an end between us. He was getting out of hand. Rasmorden always had a grudge or compliant, and our ideals are wildly different. He has no understanding of the long game, and he always challenges my orders – unless I ordered the slaughter of a puppy orphanage or something, he'd enjoy that.

I'm not a bleeding heart, I'm not. I love killing and eating humans. I want the Forsaken to stand on our own and claim what is ours; that's why I'm a Defiler. But there's subtlety, there's politics, and the need to tread carefully and bide our time. We're not strong enough to stand without the Horde, a corpse just moments out of its grave can tell you that. We need every new Forsaken we can get our hands on, and I believe in training them and maybe offering them a little compassion; loyalty is made from small things.

Rasmorden would have us hack off the limbs of Val'kyr risen and only admit those strong enough to wiggle towards us like worms. I wish I could make him understand the weaker ones will surprise you if you give them the chance. I still can't believe he trained under Vaalis, the Forsaken I've known and trusted my whole unlife; they're like night and day.

I spoke to Vaalis at length last night, under the mushrooms in the plaguelands. Mostly about Rasmorden, actually. His normally petulant behaviour has turned aggressive lately, and he started a fight with one of my lieutenants, the Executor had to step in and from what I understand it wasn't pretty.

He fought Lorco, my lieutenant. Lorco is many things, but he's not aggressive. He's exceptionally dim, but he's loyal to a fault and has some very potent magic at his decayed fingertips. That's why he has the rank he has. I don't know much about Magic, but I think Lorco's lack of control is what makes his spells so volatile; he went to work for the Warsong Offensive during the war in Northrend and apparently they put him to work as a forge – his magic was too unpredictable on the battlefield.

I saw the reports, Lorco lit a few Orcs on fire by mistake. They didn't like that, so they punched out all his teeth before sending him to the forgemaster. He's just lucky it wasn't after the Wrathgate, they would have given him true death for sure. Lorco tends to think bad things are good though, and, like I said, he's not that bright. To this day he'll show off his metal replacement teeth with pride and say it's part of the Orcish dental plan. No one corrects him because they're too stunned by how touched he is.

Lorco swore to me that all he did was ask Rasmorden if he had beef with him. An understandable question, Rasmorden would have beef with the Dark Lady offering a medal to congratulate him on his impressive display at the puppy orphanage battle. I don't like even thinking this, but the truth is that Lorco isn't smart enough to lie to me. I know Rasmorden took things too far, which is why I'm hiding in the trees watching him, waiting to make my move.

I can't stand Forsaken fighting amongst themselves, as I confided in Vaalis last night. “I don't want them to be compassionate or kind to eachother,” I explained, looking up at the roof of the mushroom we were under as it shook spores around us like snow. “I just want cooperation. We're all we have. What will be left of our kind if we fight eachother?”

I moved away from Vaalis then, turning my back to him and raking a hand through my hair in agitation. “I'm told Rasmorden hinted at some kind of coup when the fight was broken up. He mentioned himself and others were displeased with the leadership of the unit, called the Executor my puppet and made some kind of vague threat.”

While I was recalling the conversation vividly now, I was still focused enough to ensure my target  hadn't moved from his camp. In my mind, I remembered Vaalis coming up to me and placing his hand on my shoulder. Touching is rare for our kind. I think because it just isn't the same anymore. “Poor creature.” his words weren't meant to be as condescending as they sounded, and for Vaalis that's a lot. “This is our way.” I wasn't sure if he meant Forsaken, men, or Death Knights, but I let him continue. “Rasmorden is merely posturing. His threats are empty.”

I spun around, lifting Vaalis's arm off me. “You know him better than anyone Vaalis. If there's truth to what he's saying, then I've failed in my capacity. Can you think of anyone he would be involved with in this?”

Vaalis shook his head.  “Empty threats, wormling. Do not concern yourself with him, he behaves as an angry Human child would.”

I crossed my decaying arms over my chest. “What is it like?” I asked, tilting my head. “Speaking with him when he's not curling his lips with loathing? There must be more to him than what I see.”

If Vaalis was the type to laugh, he would have then. “He is an excellent pupil. He follows orders and understands the chain of command, I would ask for nothing less.”

My head jerked upright suddenly, tearing me from my thoughts. Rasmorden was stalking across the field with his blade drawn. Now that he was moving towards me, I started to doubt if this was the best place to confront him. I stationed him in Silverpine so he could interact more with the Val'kyr risen, but the backdrop to our conversation would likely embitter him. He came a few steps closer.

“Screw it.” I thought to myself, he was going to be embittered anyways. I relinquished my hiding place and came towards him.