Bloodsword: 9 - Rising Dead

Purah obeyed his new Master without question. When the Lich King called, he appeared at his side; when he was sent to do a task, it was done without hesitation. He was the perfect soldier and earned every reward he was given, whether it was new, more permanent spells of preservation, or better armor and status amongst the dead army. His once golden complexion gave way to paler hues, his blonde hair bleached white with the preservation of his body. His eyes, though, they retained the icy blue they had always been, glowing now in darkness.

In the following days he learned that this floating fortress was known as Acherous, and below, on the ground, was a large group of the Scarlet Crusaders, religious extremists who had taken an irrational dislike to the Lich King and his minions, along with any who got in their way as they pursued the walking dead. Purah was called once again to the balcony overlooking the settlement below, called to the side of his lord.

"You called for me, my lord," he said coldly, unfeeling, kneeling down with respect before the looming figure clad in full armor. The Lich King said nothing, at first, instead looking out over the fields below.

It is time for you to complete your training. You have served me well, here in the hold, but you are capable of so much more. Report to the Instructor. Become a Death Knight of renown, Purah Lightsword, and serve me further.

"As you wish, Master, so it shall be done." He stood, turning briskly away and walked down into the depths of the fortress. Anything left of the living Purah was so fully buried now in the darkness of his mind, that obeying orders was simply second nature. His inner voice was drowned out by the whispering, and his soul was cold and unfeeling. Death will change a man.

Instructor Razuvious walked slowly around the pit that Purah himself had once been chained in, watching new Death Knights chosen by the Lich King as they put their training to use. He didn't notice or care when Purah walked up, instead simply stopping to watch yet another chained initiate die to the better-armed, new Knight. His eyes showed no emotion whatsoever at the destruction of the prisoner, nor at the victorious combatant.

He waited patiently, as only the dead can do, until the Instructor walked back. "You show restraint. Impressive."

"I was told to report to you. It is in your judgment whether or not I continue. No amount of talking or convincing or groveling will change that fact." The pit... He pushed that inner voice back into the cold. Not now.

"Very good," the Instructor said as he turned to him. "Intelligent, for a corpse. Let's see if you can follow instructions. Go to a rack and choose a weapon, Death Knight. You shall learn of Runeforging, one of our greatest strengths."

The lessons continued for some time, teaching him the intricacies of using the magical forges in the fortress, earning him accolades and a fine, new weapon. A part of him disliked the sword he now held, that small part of him that still thought freely found it sub-par to his memories of a fine blade, but he ignored it, pushing it down, down into the dark of his consciousness once again.

"Now that you have a serviceable weapon, take this key." The Instructor handed him a heavy key, one that Purah recognized. "You will soon begin feeling what we call the Endless Hunger. There is only one solution and that key is your salvation. Go into the pit, choose one of those who are chained there, release them... Live or die - the choice is yours to make."

Purah smiled. "As you wish, my lord Instructor." He knew it would be simple, knew it would be child's play. They were newly wakened, clumsy, and weak. He would choose the strongest of them. He wanted a challenge.

The pit was filled with chained undead, varying from trolls to orcs to humans and dwarves. Nearly every race of the living world was represented, and at least one of the Tauren was there as well. He was huge, standing well over seven feet tall, and well muscled even in death. If nothing else, a single blow would prove destructive, Purah thought. A worthy challenge to see if he was as capable as he believed he was.

"You. Get up." He stalked past the undead Tauren and unchained him from the wall. The bull stood, eyeing the elf warily, but nodding in understanding... and... was that thankfulness? "Put on armor and grab a weapon." The Tauren, refusing to speak, simply nodded again, and lifted some rusty armor down from a nearby rack, as well as a large blade. It, at least, was in decent condition, though it looked a bit clumsy in the Tauren's hands. The large creature swung it a few times, testing the heft, then grunted. Apparently, the blade would serve.

Smiling, Purah knew this would be a decent duel. "Show no mercy." The Instructor's voice carried, and it was clear that it was directed at them both. Should the huge Tauren win, he would no doubt take Purah's place, and Purah himself would be tossed out with the trash. I would be at peace... No. The fight is beginning, and I won't fail. Now that no longer fear the sword, I will once again be the best. He pushed that voice back down into the cold and concentrated on the present.

For a brief moment, they simply watched one another, trying to find an opening, each looking for the other's weakness. The bull shifted and the elf saw it... his moment. He could have given in to the quiet inner voice, could have let the prisoner win and survive, except that the inner voice was no longer telling him to lose, to be at quiet peace. End it quickly, before this poor soul must endure being chained to this Master. Look at him. He was once a wise man, or a shaman, at one with the world. Now he is at complete odds with it, an abomination to Nature. End it. Do it quickly. I will endure.

The bull lunged, quick and capable, using some magic to disease Purah's body. Too little, too late, he thought, twisting out of the way and turning again, gracefully, into an attack. Remembering the dance he had practiced for months as a young trainee, he spun and struck, perfect, laying his own diseases into the bull's corpse. It was over nearly as it began, swift... and merciful, in its way, he knew. That part of him that remembered life had spoken truly.

Purah, however, found himself overcome with a strange bloodlust, a desperate desire to continue the dance, to slice his blade into another victim, and another. He was angry, and he didn't know why. He nearly turned on the closest, chained body, but was halted by the Instructor's voice.

"Well done, Purah. I have not seen such swordplay since the second war, when the elven warriors of Quel'thalas came forward to aid the Human kingdoms against the Horde. Beautiful, even now, in its destruction." Purah controlled himself enough to salute the Instructor and step out of the pit, allowing the bloodlust to slowly drain away, though he felt almost pained.

"With skills like that, I believe you will advance quickly. Very well done indeed." The Instructor saluted him. "Now, report to our Master. He is waiting for you."

Purah turned, walking slowly around the ring to the balcony once again.

I will endure.