Death Knight Story Arc: Part II

You can find part one here.

“What is this? Are you lost Vice-Executor?” Rasmorden tilted his helmet covered head as I glanced past him at the abominations lumbering in the distance. “Are you alone?” He asked, looking over my shoulder.

“I came for you Rasmorden; I'm not lost. And yes, I am alone.” I looked him over, raising an eyebrow under my cowl.

“I never know what tricks you Deathstalkers are up to.” He growled.

“I'm not here to trick you, Rasmorden. And technically I'm not a Deathstalker, I just trained with them.” His eyebrows flattened and he gave me a dry, uncaring expression. “Although to a Death Knight like you that may seem like a somewhat unimportant nuance.” I added quickly.

Driving his runeblade into the ground, Rasmorden adjusted the straps on his gauntlets. For a moment I watched his blade carefully while trying not to look like I was watching it carefully; I had seen what a Death Knight's blade could do even when not directly wielded by its master and knew well enough not to turn my back on such a blade carelessly.  Pulling my eyesockets away from the blade's flickering runes, I took another small step towards Rasmorden.

“Do you know why I sought you tonight, Rasmorden?” I spoke quietly, mostly because I wanted him to strain to hear me, but also because he had picked up his runeblade again and raising my voice seemed like a very bad idea. I went to rest the tips of my rotten fingers against the edge of his blade, I had no fear of cutting myself. I needed to get the weapon in position, I had to know exactly where it was. “Why is your weapon drawn?”


“I must always be prepared out here.” He replied, then he let our a short, snide laugh before pulling his weapon away. “I suppose you are hear to scold me once again, little stalker.”

I didn't bother to point out he wasn't using my tittle, but he and I both knew I didn't care for it.

I edged closer to him again, taking a second to thank the Shadow I didn't have eyes; so he couldn't see I was still watching his weapon. “It's not scolding. Though, if you find yourself longing for the leadership tactics used by the Scourge then I'm sure we can devise an appropriate...reprimand.”

I try to keep my threats subtle, but there's something about  Death Knights that brushes me the wrong way; perhaps it is that where they should be remorseful for their time serving the scourge - like the rest of us – they instead are arrogant and superior.

“Enough of your hinting and suggestions, Genavie. I prefer a more direct approach.”

I spread my arms wide. “Very well, Rasmorden. You recently had a confrontation with Lorco - what did he say to provoke you?”

Rasmorden rolled his head up towards the sky. “The fool should not trade words if he cannot handle himself.”

Trying hard not to lose a temper I wasn't aware I possessed, I spoke again. “What did Lorco say to you to start the fight, Rasmorden?”

His head twitched towards his shoulder. I saw it distinctly. I had never known Rasmorden to twitch. “I do not remember what the pyromancer had to say but I am certain it was worthy of retribution.” He rolled his shoulder after he spoke.

I took another step forward this time, but it wasn't intentional. I really wanted to get a closer look at him. We were nearly nose and nose now. If either of us still drew breath we'd be breathing into eachother, or on eachother - I don't really remember how the whole breathing thing works.

“You can't remember what Lorco said?” My tone was far more cautious than I intended it to be.

“No. I was too busy driving my blade into the fool's flesh to recall banter.”

Again, my eyebrow rose. When you don't have eyes and cover your mouth with a mask, they're really your only options for communicating. “Rasmorden, you don't need to feign ignorance with me; after all, I have been nothing but frank with you. Besides, even though there is no love lost between us, lies have no place between Forsaken fighters like us.”

He glowered at me. “If we are on the same page then get on with your business and speak your peace.”

I wasn't sure I believed that Rasmorden didn't remember what Lorco said, but I played along. The conversation was just the an excuse to get close to Rasmorden anyway; I knew I wouldn't be able to convince him of anything with my words alone. The Forsaken are a people of action, and I wasn't going to have a long philosophical debate when I could end this with a few flourishes of my daggers.

I had considered the notion of fighting Rasmorden for a long time. Earlier I spoke of how we were like angry animals forced to share the same cage, so what better way to force him to submit than to pummel him and assert my rank with a show of force? But the more I considered it the sooner I realized it was a temporary solution.

I had no doubts I could take Rasmorden, if I got the jump on him. Like any Ebon Knight he's fearsome on the battlefield, but with the element of surprise on my side I'd have him off balance in seconds; after all, I had already stalked him for hours without him noticing. Furthermore, as his superior officer it wouldn't be much trouble to station him somewhere remote and then slide a dagger in-between his ribs. But would it really do me any good to kill him? No, I'd lose a valuable solider. For now it was in my best interests to let him live even knowing it would mean that I'd always be a target for him. However, sometimes having power also means having to protect it.

Besides, Vaalis said he was just angry and making empty threats. I knew how to handle that and if its the truth then he might not exactly be the nemesis I was making him out to be.

Bringing my focus back to the present, I shook my head. “Rasmorden, once your fight with Lorco had  broken up you spoke of a coup; you mentioned your displeasure with the leadership of the Scythe and even hinted at having followers. Followers who, for all my sleuthing, I have not yet found.” I did my best to keep the tone of my voice casual. “I'm starting to think you spoke out of bravado, and the threat was empty.”

His chest heaved in a mimicry of deep Human breaths. “If your research yielded no threat why are you here now, little stalker?”

I spoke in a whisper, hoping to draw his head even closer to mine. “Because we can not continue this way.”

I forced myself not to smirk under my mask as he moved his head so he could speak into the decaying shell of my ear. His voice was a guttural echo. “Then what do you plan to do Genavie? Have me executed? Or perhaps chained up like a dog?”

My head shook gently, I wasn't paying much attention to what he said, or what I said, for that matter.

I was focused on the sight of his weapon resting against my thigh while he leaned in to speak with me, and how his gauntlet covered hand was relaxed around the hilt. I spoke aloud to myself. “Let's end this.”

I moved with all the dexterity my corpse possessed, grabbing for his weapon at the blade. My gambit was successful, and I pressed the runeblade between my two palms before Rasmorden was fully aware of the situation. I pulled, jerking the weapon as quickly as I could – momentarily I considered twisting it out of his grasp and disarming him, but I continued with my plan from the start.

I brought his runeblade to my neck.

If he was shocked, he didn't show it outwardly. I wasn't expecting that, and tried to hold his gaze. Maybe I could yet impart the gravity of the situation to him. I had to make him see.

He looked to the blade and then my face several times. “What is this trick, little stalker?”

“This is your chance, Rasmorden.” I lowered my hands to the hilts of the daggers resting against my hips, and pulled them out of their sheaths and dropped them to the ground – the sound muffled by the grass under our feet.

I held my palms high, while he held the runeblade to my throat. The seconds that passed could have been hours with neither of us making a move. I decided to start speaking to him. I wanted to smirk, and tell him that when you're a peacekeeper no one expects it when you take up arms, but I wasn't sure he'd see the parallel between the old saying and me offering myself up as a sacrifice to make him understand the importance of my role within the Scythe. And even if I did think he would see the parallel I wasn't exactly confident that he was the right mindset to do so, especially since Death Knights seem very connected to their runeblades and I doubt very much that they take kindly to nearly being disarmed.

He snarled at me, clutching his runeblade with both hands "You are beginning to vex me, Vice-Executor."

I coaxed all the kindness I could out of my rotten vocal cords while I spoke. “You're waiting a very long time to kill me Rasmorden. I'm starting to think you don't want to. Is that right?”

There was so much to say now that I had his attention.

I remembered what satisfaction felt like then. I had taken the first steps, and shown him that there could be peace between us. I knew right then that he didn't want to kill me, Vaalis was right – I had overreacted to that nonsense about a coup. We would exchange a few words and agree that while there was no camaraderie  between us, there could be trust. Maybe one day----

My thoughts were abruptly cut off by the sound of him screaming.

Howling, Rasmorden drew back his runeblade and swung at my neck with all his weight – attempting to behead me. He could have done me in by sliding the blade down across my neck, that was the beauty of the gesture, but I suspect the Scourge don't teach their Knights about that particular kind of subtlety with swords. I barely had enough time to draw up my shoulder to take the brunt of the blow. I felt the impact of the blade and, while there was no pain, my mind was screaming with shock as I crumpled to the ground.

My neck, my neck... I thought over and over again. There was a loud clatter as Rasmorden threw down his sword and dropped to his knees in front of me. I was leaking ichlor, or embalming fluid, or aged blood, or whatever in the name of the Dark Lady is inside me all over the grass. Somewhere, a very distant voice in my mind commented: “Men, why do they see everything as a challenge?”

He grabbed my face roughly and forced me to look at  him, not like I had much choice since I lacked eyelids. “You dare provoke an Ebon Blade?” He spat at me, his lips curling with disgust.

My eyebrows were high with disbelief as I began to thrash under him. I had been injured before, but if there was no pain than I was still aware and focused. This was different, I was fading. Things were getting darker, and I was getting weaker. I was dying again.

I guess Rasmorden didn't like me thrashing, since he forced my head back into the ground with one hand and held down my torso with the other. My spine tried to arch and I screamed into his cupped hand, not out of pain, but in a vain attempt to alert the lumbering abominations nearby. I felt like a candle flame must when it's about to be blown out, and I flickered violently.

My spine fell against the grass and I suddenly remembered I had hands, I feebly clawed at his forearms while I tried to tell him it wasn't meant to provoke him. It wasn't supposed to be like this. “Not...” My voice just wouldn't carry, I couldn't speak well. “T-t-truce...”