Curse of the Blightbringer

[Sael'thos Skyskinner]

-- He Rose Again --

They felt nothing. The cold blew against them, but it was infantile when compared with the frozen evil of which they followed. They marched. A dead procession carried upon its warped backs a body, wrapped in fine black cloth, tied down in a blood red twine.

These servants of the Lich King, Arthas, carried the body of the fallen hero, and ex-Death Knight, Mesoni Traselghan, up a winding ramp of death blue ice. It wound up and up, ever reaching skyward towards its peak. At its apex stood a bone-gray alter adorned in ornate carvings of corpses, skulls, demons, and any other black calamity one could imagine. Dark, tainted blood funneled from its center, spilling over its sides in a sick mural of morbid artistry.

At the head of the alter stood the dark priest leading the unholy mass. Ebon clad, his armor was as ornate as the stone before him. The dark plate retained an ominous sheen against the light of the broken sky. An icey, blue-white cloak hung across his shoulders, billowing weakly with the chilled air of the land.

However, nothing was as horrid as the face with which he was forever cursed. Framed by thin, snow-white hair, bloody eyes anxiously followed the walking corpses that approached from below, carrying his new Commander. A stitched scar ran across his face, meeting at his lips, accentuating his already disturbed face with an even greater sense of depravity. Even had the last scar of his mortal life not been present, this man's insanity would have been most apparent.

Seeing the funeral march reach the end of their journey, he licked his thin, icey lips. Though they obviously no longer needed the moisture which his tounge could no longer give, he retained the act as one more reminder of his madness which plagued him throughout his life.

As the finally stood before the alter, the unholy soldiers honored with carrying the body layed it across the alter, unraveling the cloth covering it. The blood flow gurgled a moment, choked by the corpse now covering it. However, instead of being stopped, the dark liquid crept upwards, bathing Mesoni's skin in a thin, translucent coating.

Before they could depart, the pall bearers began twisting and contorting, inhuman screams erupting from their rotting throats. Empty flames engulfed them, eating away until the residual ash swirled over the alter in a dark twister. All the while, the necromancer watched with a smile of nothing less than pure, lustful, ecstasy.

Refusing to break focus however, he raised his hands, forcing all his black magic into his next spell. Speaking in a tounge as foul and twisted as he let loose. Pale violet whips lashed from his fingertips, spilling forth, mixing with the blood and ash. All of it seeped deep into the corpse of Mesoni Traselghan, momentarily turning his body a deeper gray before relenting, returning his skin to its normal tone.

With energy flowing through his veins once more, he spasmed, darkness pulsating from within. His empty eyes exploded in icey flame as he was lifted from the alter. An attempted scream was stifled by similar fires. The dance's convulsions continued for several minutes before mercifully dropping him to the alter with a chilling thud. Groaning, groping at his chest, he rolled from the stone into the crisp snow, gasping for the air that he knew would not come.

A sickening grin on his face, Desius Mournblade stepped closer to the Commander of whom his master spoke so highly of, his boots crunching against the frozen snow. Tentativly placed a mailed hand on Mesoni's back. Almost instantly the Blademaster reacted, grabbing him by the wrist, staring at him with a look of pain, hatred, anger, and sorrow, all mixed into one spellthrown expression.

Grinning still, Mournblade pulled his arm away, letting the man drop to the ground, panting. He would need to be reminded of who he was, but overall the baptism was a success.

Looking down on Mesoni, he stood there, nearly cackling, he still spoke with an icey clarity. "Welcome back to us, Lord Blightbringer."

[Sael'thos Skyskinner]

-- Just Like Old Times --

Briefly he recalled the mixed emotions of pride, love, and dedication he felt for the land before him. Just briefly. Now he only felt the emptiness in his heart, matching the emptiness of the broken country coming into view. Lordaeron lay in ruins. Once a shining beacon of hope and freedom from the Orcish Horde, now was a nightmarish wasteland of death and disease.

Still not feeling even the slightest twinge of emotion, Mesoni Traselghan, once again the Blightbringer, stalked the decks of his unnamed ship, feeling only the black wood of the craft creak beneath his weight. Around him, a dead crew worked in an efficient, eerie silence. Black sails were graciously buffeted by the wind, the element neutral in its gift. Above them loomed the night sky, made only darker by the thick clouds, blocking out even the smalled hint of moon light. A heavy rain greeted them as they neared the shore.

As he stopped to look out to the small port, Desius came to stand at his side, an expression of anxious bloodlust was stamped without shame upon his face. Mesoni was not sure yet whether he liked, or even trusted his forced second. Desius wanted blood, death, and pain. Looking out with him, the Liuetenant's icy voice spoke with the same amused clarity as it always had.

"Are you ready, my lord?"

Mesoni paused a moment before he responded with a nod, walking off, leaving his minion to stand alone. Grinning still, his murderous euphoria unhindered by his Commander's coldness, Desius whispered quietly to himself.

"Good..."


As the vessel groaned against the docks, an old shipmaster came out to greet the unmarked craft. He called out several times, his voice breaking in the storm. He was met only with still silence at first. He couldn't make out the figures he saw on deck through the rain and darkness; he was nearly blind.

He was finally met with a mangled, ragged claw raking at his head, flaying his neck as it connected. He dropped, eyes wide, blood freely feeding the thirst of the ocean which he'd called his neighbor for so many years. His gurgled calls for help went unheard until he finally lay silent on the pier.

However, he was not down for long. As Desius came upon his body, his eyes a sick mix of yellow and red, he reached down, grabbing the old sailor by the scruff, lifting him to eye level. He muttered a few words, unheard against the storm, but effective none the less. Black magic forced its way into the man, contorting his body in violent shocks of inhuman positions. The Death Knight dropped him, and watched as he rose.

A ghastly smile replaced the old man's kind demeanor as he joined the chaotic ranks of the undead Scourge. They swept into the small village, a group of ghouls clawing through one door. They raced up the house's stairs, finding a man and his wife asleep in bed. With the most disturbing silence, they attacked them, murdering them in their sleep. The only sound from the building was the soft, muffled gasps of their final moments.

The slaughter went on for hours, the villagers having little chance in the rain and dark of night. Bodies littered the areas. Corpses of men, woman, and even children fumed the night air. One could not walk even two steps without tripping over the dead. The Scourge did not trip though. The Scourge did not trip, did not hesitate, did not stop. The Scourge, only came.

To the villagers' credit, a small group of resistance formed against the wave of death. They managed to push them back to the docks at one point, nearly ending the assault. Mesoni and Desius kept the line strong however, keeping the defenders at bay. The counter assault was short lived however.

From the nearby forest came a chilling howl. Riders in dark plate upon skeletal horses came raining down on the militia, utterly slaughtering them with their barbed lances. This was the end of the port village, and the beginning of Mesoni's return to Lordaeron.

Finally, only who seemed to be the town's guard captain remained standing. Drenched in sweat and blood, he stood as the last pathetic remnant of resistance against the Blightbringer. Traselghan marched up to stand against him, the fool actually trying to attack him. It was a futile attempt.

Mesoni brought his palm up to catch the feeble strike of the blade, gripping the blade, tossing it to the side.

"Yer dead." He said the the defender, in even, emotionless tones.

"Kill me you son of a *****."

Mesoni was about to oblige, under his breath whispering an appology to the man and his town, but at the last instant, deep violet rays choked at the captain's throat. His screams went unsilenced, piercing the air through the roar of the storm. Traselghan looked to his left to see Desius standing their, a manical smile stretched across his near inhuman face. Desius laughed.

"Kill you? Oh no, my friend. We're not so cruel! We will give you immortal life! We are the savoirs of this land!"

His spell gripped tighter on the man's throat, bulging his eyes out of their sockets. He fought for minutes that seemed like hours, finally falling limp, the spell dissipating with his death. He fell to the ground with a sickening crunch, his spine clearly snapped at the neck. Desius merely blinked shrugged, and smiled at his Commander.

"I suppose I should've kept our weapon intact, eh?"

The murderer was clearly insane. Still though, Mesoni only looked at him with and expression of blank apathy. He nodded once, stepping over the man's body to find the leader of the group that'd come to their aid. As he passed, the corpse rose as the shipmaster had, obediently joining the undead ranks.


After a few moments, he found him. A tall, though thin, warrior was the leader of this group. Short haired, with a face of stoicism, he was clearly a soldier. Mesoni marched up to him, staring the man in the eye.

"You've a name lad?"

"Vitriol Bloodbane, my lord. The Dark Lord commanded me to assist you in your landing."

Traselghan nodded along, remembering quite clearly the telepathic abilities of the Lich King. He gestured for the soldier to join him in his group, walking with him.

"We need 'ta set up a base camp 'eer."

Bloodbane only nodded, flowing back into the ranks, quickly hunting down viable workers.

By daylight, the once happy port town was a camp of darkness. Rising Ziggurats sprouted up in the area, along with a dark temple to their master, the Lich King. The ground itself gave way to the name of this land's savior. The Blightbringer was home.

[Aeiara Traselghan]

((Sael, that was -beautiful- writing. You captured every aspect and detail perfectly, I could see everything as it was written. It tugged at my heartstrings and I loved it.

more plz <33))

[Sael'thos Skyskinner]

-- When Trouble Calls --

Sergeant Katha McCowyn paced frantically about her camp, chewing her lip relentlessly as she went. By her third pass around the perimeter she could taste blood. The freezing cold from the rain the night before only amplified the sickly sweet copper taste, numbing out all other sensations. She shivered, her metallic armor not much helping against the cold.

She was not the only one on edge. Her entire troupe knew something was wrong, more wrong than even had become the norm in Lordaeron. They were all tense, always one hand firmly on their respective weapon, ready to cut down any undead beast that dared attack them.

They'd been camped here for a few hours, sent ahead by their beloved leader, Sir Mathalos Ire. One of the few true paladins left in Lordaeron, Sir Ire had quickly joined himself and his followers with the valiant Argent Dawn, an order dediacted to the eradication of the undead Scourge. The previous night, he'd awakened sensed the imminent wrongness that'd come to the land, and had sent McCowyn's group out to to investigate.

"Why can't they just come and be done with these games?" One soldier piped up. "This silence is killing me!"

McCowyn scowled at him. "You'll want the silence when they--"

Her words were cut short as her breath left her. She was in complete shock at the sight before her. A wall of distorted humanoid forms began to emerge from the trees, marching slowly towards them. Before the impatient, and now much confused soldier could even turn his head, the first of the mob had descended upon him, molesting his humanity, tearing the man to shreds. McCowyn shook herself into focus, drawing her blade, rallying her troops.

"Form up! Full defensive positions!" She could barely get the order out before a twisted skeleton began raking at her, only to be struck back by her sword. It did not relent, however. She was hardpressed to keep her distance. The montrosity was finally broken down though, allowing her to dive into the next fight for her life.

The Dawn troops began to dwindle, unnable to compete against the surprise attack. They held their own though, taking down two undead for each of their own lost. It would not be enough though. McCowyn finally dropped, a warped spear impaling her, pinning her at the abdomen to the ground.

In less than and hour of fighting, the scout party had been completely decimated, only a handful managing to escape to their pitiful base camp. Mesoni walked about the camp, taking logistical estimates on numbers, stratagy, and strength. Desius stalked the camp as well, however his goals were slightly different. He was not interested in stratagy or logistics. Instead, he prowled the battlefield, searching for any lone survivors, feeling it his duty to end their life in ever original forms of execution. These souls were lucky to have an artists such as himself to give meaning to their miniscule lives.

Finally satisfied that he'd done as much good as he could here, he came to stand by his leader. "This was a glorious masterpiece, my lord." He couldn't help but snicker at his words, still ecstatic from the slaughter.

Mesoni turned to eye his Lieutenant. Desius was quickly proving to need work. He looked to have some promise as a stratagist, if he could only get his blood lust under control.
" 'ey're only scouts 'ye demented prick... 'th real thin's up 'ead."

Desius looked at him, his mouth agape. What had he done to rile his commander so? Surely the great Blightbringer wasn't soft hearted. "I.. I am aware, my lord. I was only meaning to celebrate our victory here. Our success pleases the Dark One."

Mesoni's only response was a dismissive huff. He bent down to inspect a random bone, dropping it without care as he stood back up. He'd find the leader of this group that opposed him. He would eliminate the obstacle.

[Sael'thos Skyskinner]

--Let The Righteous Burn--

McCowyn's group still hadn't reported in. Mathalos didn't like what that could potentially mean. Having been a player in the sick game of war for far too long, he knew that the scout party was likely dead. With a deep breath, he stood in his tent, calling out to his Lieutenant.

A young, well built man entered the tent at full attention. "M'lord?" He asked, his armor not making the slightest noise he was so still. With a wave Mathalos put him at ease, and the paladin began pacing around his desk to stand before the man.

"Rally the troops. I fear we'll be seeing death before the dawn."

"Yes sir." The soldier replied grimly, knowing all too well himself that hell was upon their doorstep.

Mathalos slipped on his helm and took up his hammer. He would protect this village with his life as he had so many before it. The Scourge would fall at his hand, and at the Light's bidding. Too many had died and risen already. Things -had- to change.

The human base camp had signifigantly better defenses than the scouting party's conglomeration of mismatched tents and minor trenches. The town that they defended likely encouraged them to play it safer than they likely would have had they been on their own. Mesoni was content to meet such a challenge however. They had walls, he could go under them. They had archers, arrows did not phase those without hearts to pierce. They had blades, they would soon slash at their own people once they joined his ranks. This was nothing but recruitment to him. There was little chance they would put up any sort of real resistance.

Desius, stood at his side, mentally sending orders to the various divisions of their unholy army. He did keep one thing from his Lord however. A surprise he thought the Commander might enjoy when set into motion. It didn't draw enough troops away to make the loss noticeable, but his plan would surely spell doom for the intended target once instigated.


They were as ready as they could hope to be. They could see them now at the base of the hill. It was a horde of macabre sickness. Every soldier's knuckles went white with anticipation. The sooner they attacked, the sooner the nightmare would end, one way or another. They only hoped that should they fall, one of their own would have the heart to cut them down should they rise again.

Mathalos stood with his elite guard, staring down at the mass with utter contempt for its leaders, and pity for those who'd lost their minds to the darkness. With a sigh and prayer, he began to walk about the front lines, ensuring that every defender was prepared as best they could be.


With a nod from Mesoni, Desius raised his runeblade over his head, then swiping it down to begin the charge. The Scourge ripped up the hill, dozens being picked off by the valiant defenders. It was to no avail however. Once they reached the top, they ripped into their ranks, litterally devouring them as they fought. One stood out above the rest however, a grizzled veteren bearing a warhammer that seemed to glow with pure Light energy itself. With a grin, Desius swung away from the group. He had found their pathetic leader.

Mesoni fought with all the brilliance and gusto that he always had. Swaths of bodies falling at his feet. It didn't take long for him to pick out the human leader, tearing at his undead ranks with the same fury that Mesoni tore at the humans. He stalked up the hill, slicing away any who stood before him. With a powerful downward swipe, the battle with the paladin began.


Mathalos caught sight of the runeblade with just enough time to bring the shaft of his hammer up to block. He felt himself being pushed to one knee however, the undead Commander's strength was so great. With a quick prayer, he quickly shot a hand forth, blasting the creature with blinding light. However, the expense forced him to roll away, standing as quickly as possible to take up a defensive stance.


Cracking his cold neck, Mesoni swung his blade about, starting up a rythmic spinning as he charged the human. He came down at a similar chopping angle as he had preiviously before turning the blade at the last possible second into a horizontal sweep across the man's chest. With a veteran's skill though, the paladin clipped the feint away, the blade being thrown so that only the tip nicked at the man's chin. First blood meant nothing to Mesoni however. He continued relentlessly swiping at the man, an offensive so perfect it left no room for the man to re-gather his footing for his own counter attack.


Mathalos was now truely worried. He'd not fought a warrior this skilled since his battles with the Orcs. No servant of death had proven this skilled in pure combat. The Knight had his own advantages however. He jumped back far away from the dead fighter, and took a knee. With another prayer, he slammed the butt of his hammer's shafter to the ground, causing a crack to snake its way towards his opponent. Writhing chains up light begain to burst from the ground, ensnaring the undead Commander. Perhaps this battle -could- be won.


Mesoni jerked as the chains burned at his flesh. He broke free of several, but they just kept coming. He had no defense aside from his strength against an assault like this, but that would be enough. He tensed himself, tearing away from every chain that tore at him. For every one he tore, two more took him. He kept at it though. The Light might be an infinate source of energy, but a Paladin's ability to draw upon it was not. The tides soon turned. For every two he broke, only one came to replace it, and soon he was nearly free.


All of this however, meant little. Desius's plan was nearing fruition, and the fear he could see on the Paladin's face only added to the joy he felt fill the hole where a heart once beat. With a silent, telepathic order, spider-like warriors of death sprouted from the ground around the human, ensnaring him in a tight, sickly green webs that seared at his skin as his holy chains had to Mesoni. More and more webs cut into him, and unlike the Blightbringer, he felt the pain. He shrank to his knees, screaming in agony as the poisoness demons tortured him without mercy.


This was the end. He'd failed. He knew that this battle was lost now, and that the village would surely pay for his failure. He prayed though, for it was all he could do. He prayed for a clean, merciful death to be given to him by the Light. Above all else, he refused to let himself be added to the Undead's ranks. His wish was granted as a runeblade came across his throat, swiftly decapitating him. His head slid to the ground, roll out of his helm, blood staining the ground and his shoulders as his body went limp, only held up by the vicious webs that had tortured him so.


With a smirk of accomplishment, Desius stepped before his Lord, planting his runeblade in the ground before him as the battle waged about them, humans dropping now by the dozens.

"We've destroyed the unworthy, my Lord."

With a grunt and a huff, Mesoni trudged past him, searching for another fight.

"Get back t'the battle..." was all he had to say to his Lieutenant.

Becomingly increasingly irked by the Blightbringer's seeming dissinterest in the slaughter, Desius only nodded, bringing his blade ot bear once again as he strode back to the front lines.

"Yes.... m'lord..." he muttered, contempt creeping into his voice just slightly.


As the last of the humans was slaughtered and brought into the undead ranks, Mesoni gave the order to burn the town, eradicating any memory of the community that had been there. He kept the corpses intact, however, loading them into the meat wagons for future use by the Scourge's necromancers.


Selrathen rode along the road, and smelled the smoke in the air. As he came up to a higher elevation, he noticed the burning in the distance. Entranced by the flames, he rode towards them to investigate, forgetting his previous course for the time being. Who could be burning such flames? He wondered...


((Edited - 'cause I hate grammatical errors -Kroljas))