Warcraft (c) Activision Blizzard
No Rest For The Wicked
Emissaries and Hands
The Demons were relentless in their assault against the floating city of Dalaran. And the Death Knight known as Ophelia Nightsorrow would have dearly loved a few minutes in private conversation with whichever idiot decided to park it atop Karazhan of all bloody places. Even though the events there took place during her time as a member of the Scourge, there was old superstitions about Deadwind Pass, about the Tower itself and the myriad of curses Medvih put on the place to preserve his ancient dwelling. Rumours of dark riders, relic hunters and other untold horrors milled about the place like old ghosts... not to mention the actual ghosts that permeated the walls.
While the Fel-pocked curs attacked from the skies, the ghosts of Karazhan assaulted the City from below. Transforming the upper and lower levels of Dalaran into battlefields of separate flavours. Despite the devastation against the City, the Violet Council - the Leaders of the Kirin Tor - had succesfully pulled off their gambit. Pooling their arcane expertise and power together into a mighty spell, they managed to teleport the city out of harm's way. Although, how long that state of affairs would persist was an entirely separate matter.
The Broken Isles, this place was called. Supposedly this was where the Pillars of Creation were interred millennia ago, and those ancient relics were the key to cutting off the Legion's access to Azeroth. At least, according to Archmage Khadgar.
While Ophelia dearly wished to ponder these notions further when the Kirin Tor Wizards had gathered all the able bodied warriors for a brief meeting, a chilling voice pierced to the very core of her mind. An unwelcome intrusion the likes of which she hadn't experienced in years. Not since Arthas was usurped from his throne, and Shadowmourne's blade severed his spine.
The Lich King. His icy touch left behind thoughts not her own. They were instructions, a directive to return to Acherus: The Ebon Hold. With a promise of power and weapons specifically crafted to the Legion's destruction. And a severe reprimand should those instructions be disobeyed. Ophelia's lips pressed in a thin line and her brows knitted together in a scowl. She bowed to no one but the Highlord of the Ebon Blade. She obeyed no orders unless they were from his lips, spoken in his voice.
But the allure of weapons to combat the Legion, of obtaining any edge they could in the defense of Azeroth, took precedence over whatever price the Lich King was going to incur of them.
"Damn it." The Death Knight hissed under her breath, striding with purpose to Krasus Landing where she summoned forth a Deathgate to take her to Acherus.
The Lich King likely set this task before her as some sort of trap. But was she the only one? Was this a directive sent to all other Ebon Knights? If not, then she had to let her brothers and sisters know, and measures must be taken to ensure that not one of them would slide back into the Lich King's grip.
The last thing Ophelia had expected when she emerged from the Deathgate was the blast of arctic air in her face. Though her frost runes kept her body at a freezing temperature, the blast of wind was enough to stumble her for a moment - If only because it was unexpected.
"Northrend?" She had noticed that the transportation had taken perhaps a few seconds longer than it should have, but since when did their Necropolis move from its perch above Light's Hope?
Ophelia turned her Lich blue eyes out and cast her gaze over the balcony below. The place was so familiar to her, almost a home if such a thing existed for her, and it was disgusting. Shaking her head of the distraction, she made to move deeper into the Hold before noticing a second set of banners. Not those proudly worn by members of the Ebon Blade, but similar. A slight variation on the design which was similar enough to denote kinship but subtly different enough to show a divide.
Ophelia's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "The Unbound have returned to us? Just what in the hell is going on?"
Dread Commander Thalanor's voice cut through her surprise like a knife. The elf approached, not once taking his eyes off the vellum in his hands. "Yes, our Horde and Alliance affiliated brethren have returned to the fold but order of the Highlord. When the he calls - we answer."
Ophelia jumped on the new line of discussion, "Where is Highlord Mograine? I need to speak to him at once. The Lich King-"
Dread Commander Thalanor glanced up at her finally, "Yes yes. He's spoke to us all. Highlord Mograine has already negotiated our position, do not alarm yourself over the matter."
"Did he promise us all weapons, arms and armour to accompany us in the fight against the Legion?" Ophelia questioned sardonically. "More than that, did he promise to make everyone his hand? Or is that honour exclusively mine?"
The Dread Commander considered her for a moment before casting his hand further inside the Hold. "The Highlord is at the command table, discuss matters with him if it will set your mind at ease. And trouble me no further, I have business to attend to."
"As charming as ever, Thalanor."
Ophelia Nightsorrow made her way into the heart of the Necropolis where Highlord Darion Mograine leaned over the map of the Broken Isles. Four distinct locations were marked in dark blue ink, likely assault points, each labelled by a pair of names.
"Ah, Nightsorrow." Mograine straightened to address her. "So the Lich King has chosen you to be his hand? That's not surprising. We have all heard of your exploits."
"So, I take it that this was part of the bargain struck with Bolvar?" She watched as her Highlord circled around the table and moved past at a casual pace. Ophelia turned and walked in lockstep with him, where they made their way to the terrence. A docking ramp had attached the Necropolis to an upper platform in the Citadel's Spire.
As they walked past, Ophelia swore she heard snippets of an exchange between the masters of Blood and Unholy, which made her smirk.
"I told you it would be Nightsorrow. Now pay up."
"Bah. Fine, take your gold, cretin."
Mograine cleared his throat for her attention as they walked on. "Our forces across Northrend and beyond have been recalled to Acherus. When the call to action comes... and it will come soon... the Knights of the Ebon Blade will be ready."
Ophelia's expression was grim. "You think this wise, Highlord? Casting in our lot in with the Lich King after we fought so hard to remove ourselves from his shackles?"
Darion turned to face her, his expression hidden behind his helmet. Even his tone came out as ruthlessly neutral. "Speak your mind. I will hear you."
"I don't trust the Lich King. I don't think I need to remind anyone here about the last time we were dancing to his tune. He cast us to our deaths, and abandoned us like some hounds he didn't want anymore."
"This king is not the other. And there is one factor you need to keep in mind always, we are not bound to this new Lich King, make no mistake on that point. However, he could prove a most valuable ally against the Legion. For now, our goals align with his. And it would also be in our best interest if the scourge stays... contained."
"That doesn't assuage my original point of - I don't trust the Lich King." Ophelia Nightsorrow declared, then turned to the Highlord of the Ebon Blade. "But if you say this is the way, Highlord. Then I'll obey."
The response was unexpectedly low, somber sounding. "This is the way."
Ophelia looked at her Highlord and nodded. Her trust in the Lich King was now a non-issue. Her Highlord had given her a directive and, as always, she will see it through to the bitter end.
"The Gates of Icecrown lie to the north. Do not keep our new ally waiting."
Okay, so Ophelia is my DK main. In case that wasn't clear.
I welcome feedback and criticism,