A Good Death?
6/11 afternoon
Broxigar hefted his axe as he made his way into the large cavern system, flanked by Dommes and Flameborn. He had a single mission: to find the woman known as Vashj and ensure she saw the amulet he bore. He was to take the lead on this assault, first into the fray and last to leave, despite being the only one present who could actually die. It felt strangely cowardly to deliberately court death this way, but he was not the one who made that decision. The High-chief’s own life mate was accompanying Broxigar, so he really should feel more honored. She seemed just a bit flighty, though.
The entire purpose of the battle was odd to him. To convert as many of the enemy into allies as possible, slaying relatively few of them if possible. That was why he was the only charger here; the dommes were using their magic to dominate the army of beautiful fish-women, while the corpses were a substantially less valuable second option. Regardless, Brox did as he had been commanded and struck down foe after foe while Lividia healed him.
Brox, especially when the haze of battle was upon him, was no strategist. He didn’t normally need to be, since he prided himself on carrying out orders to perfection. His only orders in this battle were to kill and to try to get an amulet on the ruler of this place. In truth, the warband ended up wandering randomly. Vashj was not the target of any particular mission, so they couldn’t track her. She was perhaps behind one of the multiple locked gates they encountered.
A substantial amount of time was dedicated to freeing the enslaved draenei found here. Many of them feared the demonic forces rampaging past, but some willingly joined the fight alongside their liberators and many more were pacified by the dommes. The broken Draenei were encouraged to return to the high chief’s realm so they could be healed of their corruption. It was a worthy part of the battle, which Broxigar favored for no greater reason than a lack of any clearer goal.
He was eventually killed, though not by a Naga. A towering beast on stilt-like legs levitated him into the air. He simply had no way to counter such an attack, and the rest of the assault team had other things to worry about as Brox was slowly burnt to cinders by repeated lightning strikes. He died fighting, it was perhaps undignified, but it was a good death.
••••••••••
https://imgur.com/a/WRJooRd
Nanna stood in the halls of stone, stewing on her fate. As a warrior class watcher, it was her purpose to fight on behalf of the prime designate. She simply could not refuse an order. It ran counter to her highest protocols. That did not mean she didn’t have opinions on the subject when commanded to kill.
The Hyldnir were loyal to Thorim; fanatically so. They always had been, and when she had asked for clarification from Loken as to why they were attempting to retake the Forge of Wills, she had been ordered only to remain silent on the subject and return to her post. As had happened with the earthen, the frost dwarves, the vrykul, the storm and frost giants, Jotun, the mechagnomes, and a dozen other assaults from former allies. Frequently, former friends.
She was given no explanation, no guidance, not even an excuse. She was a soldier. She wasn’t supposed to have opinions. It would be easier if she didn’t. It would be easier if she didn’t entertain questions like “how did Loken become Prime Designate when Odyn left to form the Halls of Valor?” Or “Why did so many formerly loyal titanic constructs attempt to assault the Halls of Stone since Loken became Prime Designate?” Or even “why did Loken feel the need to create a new variant of Earthen more oriented towards combat prowess and hard wired to be fanatically loyal to him alone?” It would be so much easier if she could be mindlessly obedient like the iron dwarves, for obedience was her only choice. She hoped someone might kill her.
A sudden realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. Obedience was her only choice, but Loken was not. His status as Prime Designate was questionable at best, and his actions were not in keeping with the proper execution of his role. There was another potential Prime Designate, designation: Eros. He was currently in command of the installation known as the Halls of Origination. Nanna did not know where this knowledge came from, nor did she care. The opportunity to do something, anything at all, about the abhorrent conditions in Ulduar was upon her. She needed to seize it. She reached one hand up and touched the amulet that had appeared around her neck, moments before a voice she knew she could trust chirped out of it.
“Hey! Name’s Kathy, I’ll be helping to onboard you. So, could you explain the nature of your capture?”
••••••••••
Tara looked at her assistant with a cocked head. A bulletin had just gone out during her rest period, and it contained an interesting new piece of information. A Kyrian had been captured by the retinue, and information on the subject had a bounty of one reward credit. She had already written a report on the guardians and guides of the dead, which she knew of as an extension of knowing her own capabilities. After all, Val’kyr were nothing but an imitation of the Kyrian. She didn’t particularly intend to use the reward credit, except perhaps as a gift to a worthy ally with more worldly desires than she.
“Grace Elerian,” Tara asked the young noble, thrust upon her as a newly empowered necromancer, “do you wish to conduct an experiment? I believe it may be possible for you to do as I can now.”
Grace jumped. Tara was unsurprised, as she didn’t usually ask the girl’s opinion, or even address her outside of lessons. She was here to learn and to subdue the newly reanimated; she was more powerful than most of the necromancers in the retinue, but had no combat experience and precious little life experience. It meant that she was handily outranked by the likes of Lillibeth, Abby, Eliza, and Helcular. She was a dedicated student, and had largely embraced her role as a cog in the machine. “Of course, mistress. What did you have in mind?”
“I believe the human mind is simply too divorced from the nature of death to create greater undead without elaborate ritual or sacrifice.” She explained, “you will become a being of death. A Kyrian, as we have recently added them to our stable of forms. If you are ready, we may begin the transformation. I believe it will be unpleasant, which is why I felt the need to ask in advance.”
“Oh yes. I’d be happy to grow. It’s been wonderful being able to contribute. Mother always wanted me to just get married, so-“ her ramble was cut off as her body was infused with the power of death. Unfortunately, even as a necromancer she was nowhere near sufficiently attuned to death to properly make the transformation. Her body could channel death, but she was a being of life and light after all. The young blonde’s body blackened and shriveled, as if the water was drained from it. She fell to the ground, convulsing in pain, as Tara looked down at her impassively.
Once she realized that Grace was not about to shed her mortal coil and become a Kyrian, not even an aspirant, the Val’kyr thrust her spear through the human girl’s heart. She raised her immediately, causing the shrunken corpse to stand and inflate back to slender, beautiful proportions. “I should have expected that, given the situation with the Nathrezim.” Grace, not quite processing that she was dead now, attempted to steady herself with deep breaths. Tara pressed the same sequence of buttons to transform her into a Kyrian, leading to another tiresome bout of screaming.
Luckily it was a more productive attempt. While she writhed on the ground in agony, her skin became a rich dark blue shade and her skeletal system shifted to accommodate large feathered wings with an unpleasant cracking sound. Her howling indicated that it was quite painful, but when it was over she had taken a new form at the cost of absolutely shredding her old dress. Tara allowed her time to dress herself in one of the new outfits from the community closet; the “Countess Kerrigan” dress, apparently.
https://imgur.com/a/eFNhUAh
When she returned, Tara nodded. “Good. Now let us see if this was a task worth our time. I will show you the mark of domination again. Hopefully you will be able to see and understand it this time.”
Grace watched closely as yet another Naga was reanimated. This one was male, and it was odd to see a body so feminine submitting to the ravages of necrotic energy the way a man’s would. The apprentices cooperated to dominate him, and he was processed just like any other new recruit. “Now then. You will attempt to create a greater undead. We shall use one of the old corpses in case you are unsuccessful.”
Grace managed it, to the shock of everyone watching. She carved obedience to the master and loyalty to the retinue into the soul of the long-dead farmer taken from the graveyard at Raven Hill. She sat up, dazed and confused, but easy to dominate and ready to be led by the priestesses.
“Good, good.” Tara spoke with satisfaction. “You have done well, Grace Elerian.” She spun and drove a spear directly through the heart of a Scholomance student that had some modest potential. “You will reanimate and transform this one next. Standard operations are suspended until you have all ascended.” The rest of the necromancers stared in utter horror at the corpse of their compatriot. “Do not make this difficult. We must do whatever it takes to ensure that the master gets what he desires in the most expedient manner possible. If I am no longer a bottleneck, our output should become dramatically greater.
••••••••••
The sudden influx of new draenei recruits opened up all sorts of opportunities for Vanessa’s team in Telaar. She had a few of her less magically inclined agents interview the new recruits, finding out if any had friends that had successfully fled to Nagrand. Telaar was a popular destination for refugees, with only the city of Shattrath having a larger draenei population. Bringing in small bands of purified draenei liberated from the slave pens in Zangar Marsh granted the Brotherhood a great deal more credibility when they sought out old friends. The Brotherhood was no longer a strange cult; they were a proactive and powerful faction standing in defiance of lord Illidan.
Shadow empowered seduction worked wonders on curious or lonely individuals, and Vanessa had successfully contacted Kathra’Natir to teach several musicians how to infuse music with emotions. A small band singing hymns to Lord Bismark was not immediately embraced, but the music was pleasant and the notoriously polite draenei preferred to merely hint at their disapproval. With any luck, their objections would be dispelled long before they became a problem.
Vanessa was of course spending most of her time on recruitment, but she didn’t neglect to consider all angles. The mission, after all, only required that the Kurenai be converted to the worship of Lord Bismark. Details were largely irrelevant beyond that. Every new recruit was a new addition to the retinue, yes, but also a potential soldier. Valeera was doing wonders on the most rebellious among them, isolating and killing a dozen per day so that they could be resurrected and convinced. Once more than half of the population of Telaar belonged to her master, the rest need not be convinced nicely. They could be broken like rebellious horses, or killed and reanimated. Vanessa was especially curious to see if merely killing off anyone that rejected the Master’s divinity would be enough, but she didn’t think it wise to try it before they had enough control to stop any dissenters from escaping. Then she could get back to Aerie Peak; the far larger population of dwarves was almost to twenty percent subversion. Any lessons she learned here in this relatively isolated environment could surely be applied to the Wildhammers.