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((Howdy. I've decided to post the ongoing story taking place between Krothius and Devinnola which is almost entirely based in Northrend. Server forums ate it but maybe it'll stick here. Hope you enjoy it.))

To The North

It was a crisp morning. At least as good as could be expected. Little was left of the corpse's senses, but what he could feel intrigued him. A chilly whisper of air washing over his bony, decrepit features. Answering this whisper, the sun pokes its head into the city to observe its glory in the beautiful stained glass windows of Silvermoon City; and to mingle jovially with the cool breeze occupying the place.

Drawing himself to full height, Krothius surveys his students. He had called a meeting to discuss his plans with the freshly trained Blades of Silvermoon.

"Under my tutelage" he begins with an icy rasp, "You have come further in your preparations for this most important journey. Further than any of my predecessors could have imagined. This Path stood before me once. I embraced it with bloodlust and sparing not a care for the rammifications that my actions had on my soul. All that mattered to me was revenge. That I had been given a second chance", he wheezes.

A hardened look greets his eyes as they wander from face to face.

"But that is not the way. This is what separates bandits and rogues from those who are on the Path. You know of what I speak, no doubt. The Path set before those whose greatest aspiration is to achieve the title Master. I have shown you everything I know", he says with the smallest glint in his eye. "Well, almost everything. Self determination is what matters now. It makes all the difference. Finish this journey with honor and you will be whole. Complete. Allow hatred to taint you into seductive vices and the shadow will claim you as it has many before you", he finishes quietly.

At these words, the crowd shifts uneasily in the places upon the matted den. Their anticipation palpable, he presses on.

"I have called this meeting to convey my pride in your achievements, express my confidence that you shall becomed proper vessels of vengeance", he sighs deeply. "And to say goodbye."

And so the interruption caused by the unmuffled gasps was only momentary. But there was no hostility in their eyes. Only acceptance. A thirst to prove themselves worthy of his teachings.

"A new path lies before me now. As you are well aware, war stirs again. By order of our Dark Lady, I am to set off immediately for the North. My mission is to gather information and offer up my steel to the bastion of Kirin Tor whom guard the Mage city Dalaran."

"Remember. Vigilance. Ferocity. concentration. But remember honor. Our kind routinely forget these ideals and are led astray. But may they guide you safely across rivers of blood. Let them guide your blades wisely", he adds heavily.

He salutes them soundlessly, and trots into the alleyway where his steed Clara waits obediently. He jumps swiftly onto her back, blades laid cleanly at his sides.

Back in the saddle again.

Onward to death or worse.

Onward into destiny's waiting arms.

Arrival

It was not a long journey. Nor arduous. Clara wasn't the happiest with the accomodations aboard the musty zeppelin though. As per his request, there was no one to meet him when he set down in the Orcish stronghold in the borean regions.

"Come, Clara. Time to stretch your legs at last", he mutters to the steed.

Supplies packed, blades shined, vestments uncharacteristically clean. They were ready.

And so they rode. This leg of the journey was rough. Navigating half a frozen content on horseback was no mean feat. They traveled when sunlight was plentiful for 3 days, finally reaching the shield barrier that guards the city's entrance.

*clop clop*

Her hooves clattered softly across the stony ground where the base camp lay.

"Here are my orders", states the Undead as he hands over a pristine document. "I've been sent by our Lady, to analyze this new threat."

Though barely an icy whisper, they take in every word.

"Very well", replies the Gatekeeper, repressing a shudder of unease. Steeling herself, she says, "This teleportation crystal will grant you access to the city. Be warned. Stay your blade within these walls. Any foolish behavior will be dealt with most severely."

Krothius lets his eyes narrow dangerously as he fixes her with a penetrating stare.

"Right", he answers shortly.

He closes his eyes, places his hand upon the quivering, brilliantly blue crystal and feels the world fold in upon him. Opening his eyes, he observes the scene. A bustling street greets him. Any number of craftsmen greeting customers in their shops, and magisters standing guard on every corner.

"So this is Dalaran. Bit friendly for my taste, but it'll do Clara", he says. "Hopefully they've got more comfortable room and board for you, hm?" He pats her gently, and they ride off to discover the inn and stables.

There was much to be done. Taking in the smells and sounds, he settles down in a small room in the inn for a short reprieve before setting to business the following day.

"I never did trust these mage-folk. I was taught never to trust anyone who couldn't handle a dagger properly", he wheezes. "But then again I'm not sure I've ever known real trust. We're so different. But these differences shall be overcome in the name of vengeance. Ah but listen to me ramble, Clara." He scratches behind her worn ears as she succumbs to a well-deserved slumber.

New Orders

Krothius never really slept these days. Not since...before. He merely waits. When the dawn begins to light the streets of Dalaran, and the hustle and bustle recommences he sets out to business the next morning. It was to a normally deserted nook of the city that he was told he would find his quarry. These knowledgeable and powerful men who wield information like a fiery sword usually haunt the Eventide. He smirks at the thought.

For who are they to know real power?

Nevertheless he was thankful for this hint, so easily extracted through careful flattery from one of the barmaids employed at the inn at which he was residing. And so he sets off towards the so-called Eventide in search of these high-ranking Magisters, from which he may be able to demand some small dose of truth.


Turning the corner of Runeweaver Square, he sees that the gathering is already in deep conversation amongst themselves. This ends abruptly as he approaches. At least he was spared introductions. He strides up to them and fixes each of them with a brief stare. "Good evening gentlemen, lady. I am sure you were told of my arrival", he pauses, taking in their looks of mingled suspicion and curiosity. "Our Lady believes I may be of some help", he finishes.

At this, the tallest of the three nods his assent. "And so you shall. I've heard of your deeds, Deathstalker. Continue, Modera." He has the look of one attempting to disguise himself. Crimson robes cover him almost completely.

"According to the last word from the front, we'd lost over 2,000 warriors in the past 3 weeks! I'm not sure how much longer we can hold out", says one of the magisters. A human woman, clad in an ornate set of vestments which seemed to crackle with some hidden magic.

"Aethas, what say you? Have we the men to continue our push through Mor'drethar?" inquires the crimson-robed magister.

"My lord, I am sure that the resolve of the crusaders is strong. Their will is iron and their determination is unbreakable", he replies. "We will push beyond the Broken Front. The casualties will undoubtedly be heavy."

"Understood. Send a group of 20 of our strongest down to assist the crusaders. We shall aim to take Mor'drethar within the next 2 weeks. Modera, I wish for you to send word to the Orgrim's Hammer and Skybreaker. They must be ready to strike at a moment's notice."

"Yes, Grand Magister", they reply in unison and stride away in opposite directions of up road.

"And you, Deathstalker. You shall be my eyes and ears. I wish to know what it is that takes place in these gates. If any weakness can be gleaned by observing the activites held within, we must know."

Krothius laughs softly to himself.

"Only too easy. All that I require is somewhere to study my findings in solitude. Once such a place is known to me, I shall set out immediately", he says.

Unable to conceal a smile beneath his blanket of robes, he nods. "Of course. I will let it be known that I've granted you access to the parlor", and at Krothius' look of confusion he adds, "It is well hidden within the Citadel. I'll expect at least weekly reports."

"As you wish", rasps Krothius.

Death Gate

Unable to hide his anticpation he strides quickly away from the Magister to claim Clara from her solace at the stables. She seemed glad of something to do. "Feeling's mutual, old girl", he says as he tightens the saddle upon her back.

Krothius heads back the way he came, once again using the teleportation crystal that is housed in a small room off the Square. He turns further North, to frozen mountains and howling winds...whispers from the maw of Death itself.


"Modera says to reach the garrison of Argent troops is a journey of only a few hours. I'll have to leave you there and make my way to our goal alone", he mutters to the horse. "It could be time, Clara. Time for me to walk into his waiting arms at last", he finishes.

They rode on, unfettered by the cold they could not sense. Undeterred even by bustling winds and immense snowbanks that looked ready to collapse in their path. It was not long before they reached the garrison. He approaches slowly, not wanting the crackling twigs from under hoof to be confused for something more sinister. Removing a few documents from a pouch in the saddle, he dismounts and strides up to one of the Crusade's guardians. "Crusader. I am not sure if the Grand Magister sent word, but these are my orders. I believe I was supposed to ask for a Crusader Dalfors", he says to the guard.

"Mmm, everything seems to be in order here" replies the elf. "The Crusader Lord has accompanied the Highlord to set up another foothold in this region, to fortify our forces for the coming assault."

"Indeed? I shall need to travel there immediately. With whom should I speak with for clearance to use one of your drakes?" asks Krothius.

"That's Aedan" says the elf, pointing over his shoulder. "He's our flight wiz around these parts."

"My thanks, Crusader. And is there stabling available for Clara here?"

The Crusader nods and points him to a row of fortified tents opposite the flight deck. Removing his supplies from her back and loosening the saddle once again, he bids Clara farewell and sets off to speak with Aedan.

"Good morn, Crusader Aedan. I'm in need of transportation to the new encampment. And come to think of it, some directions would be helpful", rasps Krothius over the softly swirling wind.

"No trouble, sir. I can supply you with one of our drakes for transport", he says as he beckons Krothius over to a particularly rambunctious fellow. "Our new stronghold lies just over the ridge adjacent to the Valley of Echoes", replies Aedan. "It's good to see that our struggle here has not gone unnoticed, if they're sending you in."

His features threatening to betray a grin, he mounts the indicated drake and turns back to stare into Aedan's eyes. "Your words are kind. Take care, Aedan and thank you. May the resolve of your Crusaders never falter", he replies, inclining his head into a slight bow. The drake opens its wings, apparently glad to be able to spread them again and sets off toward the distant ridge. It was quite a short journey, and Krothius no longer sees any reason to be cautious now that his presence is known to the Crusade troops in the area. He lands gently in the newly established camp and begins asking questions immediately of the flight coordinator. "I'm here to see Dalfors. I was given transport and instructed how to get here by Crusader Aedan."

In a lazy, drawling voice the flight master points to what looks like a newly erected but sturdy command post. "In here..."

"Crusader Lord Dalfors, is it?" Krothius inquires of a particular stout looking Dwarf covered head to foot in plate armor.

"Aye, lad. I know why yeh've come. I feel your work here is quite crucial to our success and we should start immediately." Dalfors points to a roughly hewn map that is spread across a small wooden desk in the center of the room. "These areas are now clear of enemy sky patrols thanks ta th' combined efforts of th' gunships we have patrolling Icecrown. Clearly th' best method of getting you inside the gate ta collect information is by air", he grunts. "Any objection?"

Krothius shakes his head quickly, "No Crusader. Please continue."

"I'm afraid tha' we won't be able to supply you with any troops therein. Yeh'll have ta find your own way out once you've found out all ye can", replies Dalfors.

"Strangely enough, I'm used to working alone. Is there a duplicate of this map? I shall set out immediately."

Dalfors hands him a second copy of the map they had been bent over.

"You shall not hear from me past this point, Crusader. I'll make sure the drake finds her way home, but she won't get me far if the goal is stealth. But fear not. I have a plan", rasps Krothius. Before mounting the drake once more, he fixes his cloak with his finest, most functional parachute device. "Take care. We will send word from the Citadel of all we discover", says Krothius. He jumps quickly onto the drakes back and they take flight further North, his goal looming in the distance. After a flight of only an hour, he halts the mount to a standstill, thousands of feet above the frozen ground. This was it. He had reached the gate.

Pulling back on his reigns, he steers the drake higher almost than it is willing to go.

"This is where we say goodbye", says Krothius before jumping neatly from the saddle and allowing himself to free fall. This was his chance. Bracing himself, he activates his parachute and glides gently down, further and further toward Mor'drethar. His landing hardly causes the air around him to stir, and he quickly cuts himself free of his parachute, and immerses himself in shadow. Observing his surroundings causes him some small measure of unease. Entire legions of Undead risen by Cultists stand ready to rend the flesh of any who seek to challenge their King.

But they were gullible not to have stationed true sight agents at such a vital location. A mistake that Krothius would make sure was their undoing. Making his way further into the Death Gate, he finds that there is a vast room carved directly from the mountain. He slides past the quivering Undead fiends with ease. Not for nothing he thought, had he earned the title of Master. Now more than ever was the time to play it quiet.

In every corner of this cavernous room sat bubbling cauldrons of some sickening green substance, each defended by its own monstrous Scourge agent. Removing his shivs from their holsters, he creeps quietly to the one nearest the exit. At least if he failed now he would have a chance at an escape. Positioning himself behind the cauldron guardian, he strikes. One knife slices neatly through where he thought its windpipe must be, the other slicing cleanly through the ends of its legs, severing its feet.

No way to run. No calls for help.

He leaves the thing bleeding and whimpering at his feet, and draws a vial from his satchel with which to take a sample of this liquid for the magisters to examine. Returning to the shadows, he begins to draw a layout of this room and the larger parts of the gate that he had explored. For the first time since entering this cave, he notices the largest and most fearsome abomination at the very end of place, guarding a massive sort of forge. Moving closer, he sees a smaller fiend making his way toward him.

"Coprous, the Necromagi are working day in and day out. They will have our forces ready for the next attack", it grunts. Surely this wasn't Orcish this vile creature was speaking. But he could understand, and made another note to look for an explanation.

"Good. The Master will be most pleased that the defense of this gate is sufficiently developed. See to it that the Magus' need no further...encouragement", replies the massive fiend.

Jerking its head in what he supposed was a bow, the servant goes forth to see to his task.

Scribbling furiously from heavy concealment, Krothius makes note of everything he has witnessed. Depositing his supplies safely in his satchel, he makes his way back to the cave entrance. Almost too easy. Hardly a test of any of his skills. Childsplay almost. Shaking his head, he moves swiftly past the guardians once again, with darkness as his ally. He finds that near the edge of the gate there is a completely unguarded nook etched in the mountanside.

"Fools", he says to no one in particular.

Making his way to the spot, he removes a small and shiny stone from his satchel. Turning it over in his hand, the world collapses on him for half a second and he rises again amidst the humming of the Dalaran streets. Regaining his balance, he heads toward the Citadel.

"Peace and quiet. And time to think...", wheezes Krothius as he heads toward the largest and most easily recognizable building in the city. He wastes no time striding up the staircase and taking the portal straight up. It was here that he would find the most comfortable accomodations that are conducive to studying his findings. A small, relatively uninhabited parlor at the vertex of the city.

Krothius succumbs to his studies and lets his thoughts run wild for hours at a time, not pausing to look at anyone or anything but his sketches and notes. This prized information that could help turn the tide in their favor.

And so the only interruption during his long hours was a small, poorly stanced Elven woman whom looked like she could hardly handle a bread knife properly. He had gotten so used to the quiet that he barely noticed her at first, being so deeply immersed in his studies. He had come to find that she had been searching for him. And the fact that she had actually found him must be cause for some merit, and some annoyance. He had gone to great lengths to ensure that he was never found unless he wanted to be.

But here before him lies a small, thin, specimen introducing herself nervously to him. He had no time for games or folly. Didn't she understand his work here was of the utmost importance? Still, her insistence had piqued his interest he had to admit to himself. He sated his curiosity with a name.

Devinnola. It was like something he had read examining the old tomes that were deteriorating in the ruins. It was a beautiful name. Even if it was the name of someone intent on disrupting his work.

He would have to look into this, if he had time.

He would have to see about her..

First Report

In the dusk that follows the first meeting he has with his new pupil, Krothius finds himself studying alone for once on the balcony outside the Parlor to which he was granted access to by none other than Rhonin himself.

"Peace...quiet..." he wheezes to himself as he rifles through his scouting notes from the week prior. "The Death Gate. Hmph. I'll make them wish they'd never been risen back from the soil" he mutters, flicking a shiv on his side without realizing it. A hunger had taken hold of him. One he hadn't felt since the early days. Since the memories from before had haunted his darkest dreams. He mustn't let it take complete control over him this time.

"Drink sir?" inquires Alfred politely.

Krothius rises and turns slowly toward him. Met with a frigid stare, the butler quickly turns on his heel and rejoins the few guests congregating inside the parlor.

Mere moments after this brief interruption Krothius hears a loud crackle of sound and moves quickly to the shadows, drawing both of his weapons to swiftly repel an attack. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a small circle of darkness mingling with light. A portal. His expression hardens and his reflexes tauten.

"Yes, I see why she's sent you", says a voice, betraying a slight hint of amusement. And suddenly the Grand Magister is upon him once more.

"Magister" replies Krothius, inclining his head in a slight bow. "I was just preparing my report from my reconnaisance this week prior. I've not much to tell, but I am sure you will find my information useful."

"What news?" says Rhonin quickly.

Krothius hands over a few lightly bloodstained documents.

"This is a complete diagram of the inner workings of the Death Gate. The minions watching over the vats of orange solution of which I brought a sample to your most learned colleagues didn't pose much of a threat. I have reason to believe however that their Overseer has direct contact with their King" he finishes, trying to read the expression on Rhonin's face.

"I see" he says quietly. "I'm afraid the Apothecary's results are still woefully incomplete. Though I'm sure you and I can both have an easy guess at what was stewing in those cauldrons. However, until it is confirmed we cannot formulate a neutralizing agent to destroy their supply. I'll have to think on this information. Please make yourself comfortable. I shall send word when we are ready to initiate the next step of this plan."

"I'll be waiting" rasps Krothius. His hand slides once again to his weapon, flicking it unknowingly.

The Grand Magister nods and slides back through the portal.

Krothius gathers up his notes once more and deposits them inside his satchel. He thought of visiting Clara. She did get so restless when she wasn't allowed to stretch her legs. And so he departs from the parlor, barely a nod toward Alfred.

This time was different. This time it was personal.

Overdue

"It's time. At last", he muttered to no one.

Krothius rises from his unsubstantial, makeshift bed in the stables and tries unsuccessfully to tear his conscious mind away from dreams. So clear now. He couldn't ever remember dreaming but now he was doing so almost nightly...and with greater lucidity each time. What at first was a mismatched collage of figures and images now made some sort of sense. In his blackened heart he knew what drew him here, to the Frozen North, but this was the confirmation he needed.

What he saw unsettled him. It was all that was left of his memories from Before. Visions of his family, or so he thought. As he did not have a definitive recollection of them he could only guess. Blood painted the walls of a ramshackle farmhouse. He couldn't remember, but it didn't seem quite right. Those faces. Such horror. Such agony. He was made to watch as the only part of his existence that mattered to him was butchered. He had to watch.

He watched, and then they came for him. Witnessing the last flicker of life fade from his sister's eyes unhinged him. He left pieces of himself in that farmhouse. And what he took with him when he emerged from his grave told him that he would leave pieces of the ones who did this strewn about the world as he encountered them. He would cut them down. He had only this purpose to drive him, to guide him. He would not stop.

He had left his mercy, compassion, and reason there.

He had emerged with malice, corruption, and an all-comsuming desire for revenge burning inside him.

And he wouldn't let this happen to her. She deserved better. Those eyes were such a reminder.

He would send for her immediately. Removing a quill and some spare parchment from his pack, along with a few treats to appease Clara - whose ears had appeared just over her stall upon his awakening- and began to write.

To Devinnola,

Undoubtedly to your dismay we have not met for some time. Upon our first meeting I told you that it may be difficult to train you as I would have liked, but things change. My investigations into Icecrown's gates and numerous Scourge strongholds have kept me. I would include my apologies with this letter but I am sure you would scoff as your eyes roved over the lettering. But no matter.

You shall meet me directly below the Mage-city this following Thursday at the 15th hour. Then you shall not complain that I have kept my teachings from you. You shall not complain that I have not shown you how to defend your family the way you need to.

Be there, my dear.

And do not tarry.

-The Blade

Patting Clara softly on her back, Krothius seals the letter with wax and stows it in his vestments. He leaves immediately to meet an odd Goblin by the name of Grif on a corner by the inn. Grif was the best to speak with if you needed a message sent or errand delivered, and he could risk no one untrustworthy to carry this message for him.

"What can I do ya for sir" he hiccups.

"Tsk tsk, Grif. Already into the ale this morning?" he smirks as much as his dark features allow. "Find her, Grif. This is important."

He removes the letter from under his cloak and hands it to him. Grif seemed to sober a bit at the cold stare Krothius had fixed him with.

"Of course sir, right away", he replies.