<A> Knights of Menethil: Potentially a Trap

Moon Guard
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There is a level in the floating citadel which regularly echoes with the tortured screams of the damned, eerie cries of ultimate suffering magnified a hundred times over by the unforgiving stone walls. A chill which could kill an unprepared living being in a matter of minutes hangs in a foggy pall over this level of the citadel. It is not the screams of living beings which echo here - no, the guest suites are two floors down. This is the administrative level, where the grim bane of all organized military establishments holds sway: paperwork.

Like any unit under the official banner of the Ebon Blade, the Knights of Menethil must submit requisitions for equipment, accountings of soldier efficacy, and a myriad of mind-numbing minutiae which would cause any sane person to go mad. However, we're all mad here, so no one really notices. Almost entirely situated under the Frost training quarter (the persistent chill keeps tempers marginally more in check), the administrative wing which contains the closets barely larger than coffins which Acherus Central refers to as "offices" are generally near abandoned. No death knight would choose this work when they could be out on the field, reveling in slaughter and drinking in the agony of death.

One office contains no more than a bared desk now. The stacks of papers are gone. The nameplate on the door continues to read "Brigadier Valdiis, 1113th Reformed Scourge Infantry" but the dust is building up in the abandoned room. Next door, another nameplate reads "Colonel Redamous, 1113th Reformed Scourge Infantry." If nothing else, this seems to be where the papers have gone. Sometime in the night - when everyone was out doing their damnedest to find relevance in this new, Sha-touched world - a slim, black leather book appeared on the top of the desk in the paper-filled office.
Greetings my fellow abominations. I figured I'd come and show you the Death Knight Tier 15 Set!!


It looks nice, but its nothing I would have Saria wear.

Definitely ghoul armor. Meaning I need to level Domi to 90 now.. D:
Redamous slammed his hat against his leg, hoping to dry it off somewhat. The rain had simply come out of nowhere, not to say that wasn't common in the Plaguelands. As far as he knew they were beyond being a mess, so who's to say the weather in them shouldn't be as well?

He started to turn the door handle, cursing under his breath when he recalled he had locked it. The Worgen shoved a claw int where one might usually put a key and pushed upward. He'd replaced the lock a few weeks back, and tossed away the key that had come with it, thinking this was quite the clever system, so long as no one ever decided to trim his claws. With a slight turn of the claw he heard the distinct 'click' and opened the door.

As the door shut behind him he leaned back against it, looking over what he'd decided was his own special level of torture. He had considered a few ways to escape it. Perhaps bring in a druid, so that they would complain about what could only be descirbed as a slaughter of a small section of some forest. Or perhaps just set it all on fire.

The piles of paper went up to the ceiling in some parts of the room, mostly because instead of doing what he was supposed to do, he usually just propped his feet up on the desk and took a nice nap. Red didn't take too long to decide to go with that solution.

As he leaned back in the chair and began to get comfortable, his eyes fell on something out of place among all of the pages. "Oh tha's jus' bloody great," he practically growled, "They're jus' bindin' this stuff for me now?"

Red slid the leather book off to the side with his foot, thinking it best to just ignore it, though he had to admit to himself that he'd not seen anything like it be delivered to him before. As he leaned back, his breathing, while not required he still did so, slowed. He never really drifted off though, and he especially wouldn't now that his mind was thinking on this book.

After a few minutes had passed he put his feet back on the floor, his claws giving off a 'click' as he did so. The Worgen leaned forward, being careful to pick up the book, before he began to flip through it.
Red: Got a date in mind for the followup to our little event last week? Next weekend's going to be spotty for me, especially Sunday since it's my birthday.
At the moment I don't, to be honest. The thing about doin' it last Sunday was that I had the next day off, I can try to shove 'er on the calandar for really early in the evening, but I just hate to think I'd have to cut 'er short. I'll try to have it up by tonight.

Speaking of birthday, been thinking about going to Medieval Times for mine. Mainly to fulfill my sense of ironic whimsy.
"Because there weren't utensils in medieval times there aren't any utensils AT Medieval Times. Would you like a refill on that Pepsi?"
The choices are apparently Grog or Diet Grog.
Deep within Acherus was a simple wooden door, the exterior marked with several deadly wards to prevent unwanted intrusion. Behind the wooden barrier Beckyann sat on her bed, pieces of her armor strewn about the floor at her feet and joining the general chaos of garments and personal effects that the death knight kept all over her quarters.

Beneath the armor she wore a full body stocking, and the black material was now soaked in gore and corrupt ichor that had spilled from her foes and from the various wounds she'd taken while fighting a rogue pack of Scourge in the plaguelands. A particularly large hole in her side oozed more brackish black blood as a blood worm pushed its way out of the gaping wound. She ignored it, instead focusing on the gargoyle talon that was lodged in her thigh.

With a curious tilt of her head she probed the broken-off claw, her fingers grasping it and pulling. It came free of the flesh with a sucking sound, causing more ichor to ooze out of her.

"You've really done a number on yourself this time Becky," the death knight murmured to herself.

Her hand hovered over the wound, a sickly green-blue glow of magic causing the exterior of her flesh to seal up again. There was not much she could do for her garments or the damage to her armor at the moment, but the other wounds would be quickly regenerated once she cast the correct spells.

With a smile she laid back on the bed, not to sleep but instead to regain her strength. She was supposed to be off duty, but now she'd return in less than perfect shape. A few hours of regenerative magic would at least disguise that fact. The others could never be allowed to know.

With a sigh the dead woman was enveloped by glowing sigils, her form unmoving and resembling the corpse that it was for a time; the green-eyed body of a girl from Corin's Crossing laying in eternal slumber.

Like everything with Beckyann, the peaceful rest was just another lie.
"Meeting Scarlets who don't want to impale us? It seems impossible I know, and yet it has happened. If they can be accepted in the center of the city, than there is hope that the minds of the living are more easily swayed than I'd feared.

Maybe one day we will actually be allowed to exist without having to deal with them at all."

~Beckyann Eastberg
I have to say, the relations between our order and certain factions of the Scarlet Crusade going from "kill on sight" to "glaring and glowering" is a pleasant surprise.
Agreed Sergeant, although one might suspect ulterior motives or underlying plots. Years of hatred and prejudice, regardless of how justified it may or may not be, is not so easily wiped clean. In many ways their image mirrors our own; they have done terrible things in the past, and now some of them seek to redeem their image.

I am almost envious at the fact that if they truly wish to be forgiven they can simply take off a tabard and walk away. It is much less easy to gouge out ones own eyes or disguise other conditions yes? *grins*
This is why I wear goggles among the breathers, Corporal. Sometimes.

And we were once controlled by the Lich King, who was controlled by the Legion. The Scarlets were slowly being corrupted by an agent of the Legion. We're both seeking redemption. We're practically meshpachah!
I try to wear my own glasses as well. I got some wonderful designer ones from this little shop in the canals. They really do wonders for hiding the eyes AND match all of my outfits quite well. It helps that most of my clothes are black I guess! *snickers*

I guess I can see how one would say we are in a similar situation to the Scarlets, but I'm not sure if the comparison is entirely fair. They are not in it for 'life' as it were hmmm?

By the way, you missed the Colonels being nearly eaten by an undead T-Rex, Sergeant. I think you would have had a laugh. Everyone is mostly in one piece fortunately.
Have you seen the undead Scarlets infesting my old hometown lately? Talk about irony.

I am sad to hear I missed the undead T-Rex. I was recuperating from some minor injuries sustained when some Mogu attempted to ambush me in the Krasarang Wilds. Key word: attempted.
The Knights of Menethil: Oddest Dice Rolls in All of Azeroth
((Red, it is obvious that reading stories while sitting cross-legged on the ground or throwing chunks of frozen mud at things are DEFINITELY superior forms of attack to using ones blades and spells. EVERYONE knows this! ;) ))
Meanwhile I'm making nice-nice with the Sane Scarlets who call themselves The Scarlet Hammer by offering my (and others should they want to join in) services in helping rout out those responsible for the newest flavor of the month plague. I'm such a diplomat.

And remember folks, Remorseless Winter is a really good plague killer. Obviously we don't have to worry about contracting this plague, but we can kill it dead if it decides to use our bodies to carry it, if that's possible. Probably more susceptible for you folk who specialize in the more Unholy side of things.
Long time no see, Beckyann. ^.^

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