Don’t like this page’s formatting? Feel free to download this story as a .doc file.
The priest poked at the body of the vrykul with his dagger to make sure it was really dead, then looked back up at the crowd of miners following him out of the cavern in Ymirheim. “Awesome. With that interruption dealt with, we can properly begin heading back to the base camp and get you all sent home. How’s that sound?” he asked.
The slaves, still exhausted from mining and the omnipresent voice of the Old God in the mines, groaned and nodded apathetically. The priest waved them along ahead of him, then turned to make sure no val’kyr were following him out of the mine.
Instead, he saw a single figure, a humanoid clad in black plate armor, far too small to be a vrykul.
“Hello, Champion Dawnblade,” the figure said.
Champion Dawnblade blinked. “Do I know you?”
“Forgotten already, Varendil?” the figure asked, pulling off its helmet to reveal long blue hair and a female blood elf’s scarred face.
Varendil slumped. “No, Vianara.” He sighed. “You had a helmet on, how was I supposed to—”
“You left me out there to die, Varendil.”
“You ran off to ‘hold them off’ while the rest of us escaped. I told you not to. Separating is always great for survival odds.”
“But I lived. I didn’t hold them off, I beat them back. And I turn, and you’ve left me, and I had to huddle in a corner until the Scourge found me.”
“Oh, please. If we’d stopped to kill every Scourge that found us that day, everyone would have died instead of just nearly everyone.”
“A caster got to me first, so it was rather clean, and they raised me. Knew a good thing when they saw it, unlike you.”
“You. Left. Us. You ‘heroically’ sacrificing yourself is still near the top of my list of Moronic Things I’ve Seen Blood Knights Do.”
“They restored my power, outfitted me with arms and armor, put me to work destroying your pretty little Crusade.”
“Is this story going to end with what you had for breakfast this morning before coming out here to find me and interrupt my very tight schedule?”
The death knight drew her runeblade, a dark and corrupted version of the sword she’d split so many Scourge heads with in life. “No, it ends with your death!”
“Yeah, about that. That’d screw up my schedule even worse. Besides, you don’t want an angry ranger and arcanist after you.”
“I will get my revenge!”
“Light, what is it with you death knights and revenge! The Ebon Blade just wants revenge on Arthas. You just want revenge on me. It’s old hat.”
Now the death knight sighed. “Enough! Shall I have the Lich King raise you as well, priest?”
The priest put a finger to his chin. “Hmm. Mmmmmm. Hmmm mmm? …nah,” he said.
The death knight started to sprint toward him, and the hand on his chin extended toward the ceiling of the mouth of the cave, where a burst of Light knocked a boulder free, and it tumbled down onto Vianara, who collapsed beneath it with an “Orff!”
The cave was still once more. The priest paused for a moment, smile starting to fade a bit as he stared at the rock. He then realized the freed slaves would probably be getting cold outside and ran back out to find them.