Comrades of Death
Title: Comrades of Death
Fandom: World of Warcraft
Rating: PG?
Characters: Morgin and Lethea, a couple of death knights.
Summery: My boyfriend James and I decided to do a flash fanfiction exchange for our World of Warcraft characters we were leveling together, using random song prompts and an hour and a half time limit. Pretty boring stuff for me, I enjoyed his writing far better than mine, lol.
That's Not My Name - The Ting Tings
They call me Hell, they call me Stacy
They call me her, they call me Jane
That’s not my name
The villagers were rioting again.
Maybe it was just a villager thing, for everyone to get in a huff and feel like they had to get out their pitchforks and torches and form a mob. They almost always found some common mantra for them to all chant that wasn’t too complicated and was never clever.
Lethea was not altogether too impressed. The majority of people looked barely old enough to shave, and all were covered in vast quantities of filth and dirt. Her back was pressed up against the woodshed, all the same, as people brandished their torches at them, yelling frantically and incoherently. Her face remained impassive, though she could feel her companion slowly shifting into a fighting stance. Or perhaps his muscles were simply shifting due to deterioration.
Who knows.
“You’ve ruined our homes!” shrieked one woman.
“The Scourge were nowhere near this place before you brought them here!” another man roared, his eyes glowing bright in the light of the torches.
“You monsters!”
“The Alliance is supposed to protect us!”
“The Alliance?” At her voice, coiled and poised like a serpent (as always), the crowds fell silent. Her twin blades in her hands were glowing coldly, and she pointed with it at the men and women before her. “Funny you should mention the Alliance, being as that we never quite felt welcome there anyway.”
She whistled sharply, and Morgin swung his axe in a wide semicircle, roaring. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make the crowd stagger back, gasping at their audacity to strike out. A wise move, as something huge and fluffy and screaming and black tore out of the sky and onto the ground. It was followed closely by another gryphon, white and deadly, that wheeled on the townspeople and drove them back. She leapt nimbly (as nimbly as rotting flesh could) onto the white gryphon and looked down at Morgin.
“Time to go,” she said, and reached her hand out. He took it, and together they sprang out on ivory wings into the night.
The Sound of Silence - Simon and Garfunkel
Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains within the sound of silence
She woke up laughing.
It was an oddity, to be sure. Many were too exhausted to make any noise at all, or even to stand, or when they did have the energy, they awoke screaming or even howling, though whether it was at their predicament or at the raw power that was now coursing through them was never seen.
She woke to serve her master. Nothing else made sense. In life, she’d never been one for frippery or frivolousness, and in death, she was much of the same. There was something professional in her murders and slaughters, a cool indifference to nothing but the refined skill that she had been reduced to. Glorified by. She remembered the challenge, Death’s Challenge, her rite of passage. Mercilessly striking down other death knight initiates with relative ease.
And she remembered him.
She remembered fighting him, struggling and slashing and despite how quick she was normally, just couldn’t seem to get away from the dwarf’s jabs. She remembered falling, beaten, his mace having slashed apart her shoulder. It would have hurt, most likely, had the muscle been alive.
As the Lich King’s powers themselves resurrected her, she would never forget that grizzled face of a dwarf looking down on her.
The weeks passed, and she was in an inn in Northrend. Much had changed, and she’d gone from being an agent of the Lich King to a hero of the Alliance. It was all the same, really-different people wanting her for the same job. She’d called for ale for some reason, even though she knew that it would only prickle her tongue and probably speed the deterioration of her stomach.
“Nice to see you again, missy.”
Her blue eyes turned and narrowed at the cloaked dwarf sitting with his feet up near the fire.
“You.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Me,” he said, and sipped from tankard. He stuck his thumb against a gash in the side of his face, wisely preventing ale from trickling out. “It’s been a while.”
Lethea stuck a single finger into the ale, ignoring the frost creeping out over the surface. “I suppose it has.”
“Not too many of us around,” he continued, stroking his beard. A mistake, as a clump of hair fell out, and he tossed it onto the ground idly. “Especially not on our side.”
“Good reason for that,” she said. “Enjoy your drink.” She whirled on her heel, starting for the door.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I was you.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits of icy blue. “And why would that be?”
“There are about twenty people outside there, waiting for the both of us to leave so that they can string us up for war crimes. They’re anti-death knight.”
Now that he’d mentioned it, there were a few too many shadows in the frosty windows.
Lethea sighed and pushed the drink back to the barmaid. Looks like she’d have to enjoy an ale some other time. “Very well.” She turned back to the dwarf, sitting down in the chair across from him. “What do you propose, death knight?”
The dwarf held out a hand. “Morgin.”
She took it. “Lethea.”
He stood up. “Second story windows. They won’t expect that.” He jerked his head. “Let’s get out of here.”
Zelda’s Lullaby (Orchestrated) - The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time
Lethea had never been particularly good at remembering details, and in death, it had only became worse. Since her “return” to the Alliance, she’d heard that some knights had regained some of their lost memories, reconnected to family or friends. It didn’t seem to make sense why one would want to do that, to be honest. Who likes a corpse showing up on their doorstep?
But she did remember something, a tune. Sometimes before drifting off to sleep, she couldn’t help but have thoughts stir about where it could have been in her life. Perhaps her mother had sung her a lullaby before bed. Maybe she’d been a big musical hit in the Exodar. Doubtful, considering she hardly knew one instrument from another, except that wooden ones were easier to destroy than metal.
“What are you thinking about?” came the gruff voice from across the campfire.
“I’m trying to sleep,” Lethea growled.
“You’re humming,” said Morgin. “It ain’t my fault if you’re keeping me awake.”
Had she? She cursed herself silently before trying to think of the appropriate response. “I just have a tune stuck in my head. My apologies.”
“Yeah,” said Morgin, his low voice rumbling with bits of sleep. “Sounds familiar. Almost like the ice sea shanties we’d hear in Ironforge.”
She stroked one of her horns. A sea shanty?
Did she live near the sea?
Where the memory could have been, she lashed it away. “I don’t want to travel with you forever, you know,” she snapped. “You talk far too much.” She rolled over, whirling the blankets over her.
Across the fire came a sigh. “Suit yourself.”
We Will Become Silhouettes - The Postal Service
I wanted to walk through the empty streets
And feel something constant under my feet
But all the news reports recommended that
I stay indoors
“Did you think it would end this way?”
Morgin looked over at his companion. The draenei knight had her eyes narrowed, trying to shield them somehow against the constant snowfall. He had to admit, there was practically no way to avoid an ambush, if one were to occur. They were in the middle of nowhere, lost, in the snow, with nothing but an old, half-sunken tank to lean up against. The Scourge were relentless, searching. They weren’t going to give up until they found them.
And they would.
Morgin sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “Bested by a volley of brainless ghouls? No, I have a bit more self esteem than that.”
Neither of them would say that they should have listened to the lords back at camp, the innkeepers that had looked at them as though they were insane, or mention any of the mistakes they’d made along the way. Icecrown Citadel was just barely able to be made out through the thick sheets of snow that rolled down on them, and for a moment, they looked at it silently together.
“Close,” Morgin murmured. Lethea growled something in agreement.
The dwarf took out his pipe and lit it with little difficulty, shading it expertly from the snow. He puffed until the weed glowed red hot, curling with heat, and sucked in smoke as best as he could.
They’d have a while still to wait.
Fandom: World of Warcraft
Rating: PG?
Characters: Morgin and Lethea, a couple of death knights.
Summery: My boyfriend James and I decided to do a flash fanfiction exchange for our World of Warcraft characters we were leveling together, using random song prompts and an hour and a half time limit. Pretty boring stuff for me, I enjoyed his writing far better than mine, lol.
That's Not My Name - The Ting Tings
They call me Hell, they call me Stacy
They call me her, they call me Jane
That’s not my name
The villagers were rioting again.
Maybe it was just a villager thing, for everyone to get in a huff and feel like they had to get out their pitchforks and torches and form a mob. They almost always found some common mantra for them to all chant that wasn’t too complicated and was never clever.
Lethea was not altogether too impressed. The majority of people looked barely old enough to shave, and all were covered in vast quantities of filth and dirt. Her back was pressed up against the woodshed, all the same, as people brandished their torches at them, yelling frantically and incoherently. Her face remained impassive, though she could feel her companion slowly shifting into a fighting stance. Or perhaps his muscles were simply shifting due to deterioration.
Who knows.
“You’ve ruined our homes!” shrieked one woman.
“The Scourge were nowhere near this place before you brought them here!” another man roared, his eyes glowing bright in the light of the torches.
“You monsters!”
“The Alliance is supposed to protect us!”
“The Alliance?” At her voice, coiled and poised like a serpent (as always), the crowds fell silent. Her twin blades in her hands were glowing coldly, and she pointed with it at the men and women before her. “Funny you should mention the Alliance, being as that we never quite felt welcome there anyway.”
She whistled sharply, and Morgin swung his axe in a wide semicircle, roaring. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make the crowd stagger back, gasping at their audacity to strike out. A wise move, as something huge and fluffy and screaming and black tore out of the sky and onto the ground. It was followed closely by another gryphon, white and deadly, that wheeled on the townspeople and drove them back. She leapt nimbly (as nimbly as rotting flesh could) onto the white gryphon and looked down at Morgin.
“Time to go,” she said, and reached her hand out. He took it, and together they sprang out on ivory wings into the night.
The Sound of Silence - Simon and Garfunkel
Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains within the sound of silence
She woke up laughing.
It was an oddity, to be sure. Many were too exhausted to make any noise at all, or even to stand, or when they did have the energy, they awoke screaming or even howling, though whether it was at their predicament or at the raw power that was now coursing through them was never seen.
She woke to serve her master. Nothing else made sense. In life, she’d never been one for frippery or frivolousness, and in death, she was much of the same. There was something professional in her murders and slaughters, a cool indifference to nothing but the refined skill that she had been reduced to. Glorified by. She remembered the challenge, Death’s Challenge, her rite of passage. Mercilessly striking down other death knight initiates with relative ease.
And she remembered him.
She remembered fighting him, struggling and slashing and despite how quick she was normally, just couldn’t seem to get away from the dwarf’s jabs. She remembered falling, beaten, his mace having slashed apart her shoulder. It would have hurt, most likely, had the muscle been alive.
As the Lich King’s powers themselves resurrected her, she would never forget that grizzled face of a dwarf looking down on her.
The weeks passed, and she was in an inn in Northrend. Much had changed, and she’d gone from being an agent of the Lich King to a hero of the Alliance. It was all the same, really-different people wanting her for the same job. She’d called for ale for some reason, even though she knew that it would only prickle her tongue and probably speed the deterioration of her stomach.
“Nice to see you again, missy.”
Her blue eyes turned and narrowed at the cloaked dwarf sitting with his feet up near the fire.
“You.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Me,” he said, and sipped from tankard. He stuck his thumb against a gash in the side of his face, wisely preventing ale from trickling out. “It’s been a while.”
Lethea stuck a single finger into the ale, ignoring the frost creeping out over the surface. “I suppose it has.”
“Not too many of us around,” he continued, stroking his beard. A mistake, as a clump of hair fell out, and he tossed it onto the ground idly. “Especially not on our side.”
“Good reason for that,” she said. “Enjoy your drink.” She whirled on her heel, starting for the door.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I was you.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits of icy blue. “And why would that be?”
“There are about twenty people outside there, waiting for the both of us to leave so that they can string us up for war crimes. They’re anti-death knight.”
Now that he’d mentioned it, there were a few too many shadows in the frosty windows.
Lethea sighed and pushed the drink back to the barmaid. Looks like she’d have to enjoy an ale some other time. “Very well.” She turned back to the dwarf, sitting down in the chair across from him. “What do you propose, death knight?”
The dwarf held out a hand. “Morgin.”
She took it. “Lethea.”
He stood up. “Second story windows. They won’t expect that.” He jerked his head. “Let’s get out of here.”
Zelda’s Lullaby (Orchestrated) - The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time
Lethea had never been particularly good at remembering details, and in death, it had only became worse. Since her “return” to the Alliance, she’d heard that some knights had regained some of their lost memories, reconnected to family or friends. It didn’t seem to make sense why one would want to do that, to be honest. Who likes a corpse showing up on their doorstep?
But she did remember something, a tune. Sometimes before drifting off to sleep, she couldn’t help but have thoughts stir about where it could have been in her life. Perhaps her mother had sung her a lullaby before bed. Maybe she’d been a big musical hit in the Exodar. Doubtful, considering she hardly knew one instrument from another, except that wooden ones were easier to destroy than metal.
“What are you thinking about?” came the gruff voice from across the campfire.
“I’m trying to sleep,” Lethea growled.
“You’re humming,” said Morgin. “It ain’t my fault if you’re keeping me awake.”
Had she? She cursed herself silently before trying to think of the appropriate response. “I just have a tune stuck in my head. My apologies.”
“Yeah,” said Morgin, his low voice rumbling with bits of sleep. “Sounds familiar. Almost like the ice sea shanties we’d hear in Ironforge.”
She stroked one of her horns. A sea shanty?
Did she live near the sea?
Where the memory could have been, she lashed it away. “I don’t want to travel with you forever, you know,” she snapped. “You talk far too much.” She rolled over, whirling the blankets over her.
Across the fire came a sigh. “Suit yourself.”
We Will Become Silhouettes - The Postal Service
I wanted to walk through the empty streets
And feel something constant under my feet
But all the news reports recommended that
I stay indoors
“Did you think it would end this way?”
Morgin looked over at his companion. The draenei knight had her eyes narrowed, trying to shield them somehow against the constant snowfall. He had to admit, there was practically no way to avoid an ambush, if one were to occur. They were in the middle of nowhere, lost, in the snow, with nothing but an old, half-sunken tank to lean up against. The Scourge were relentless, searching. They weren’t going to give up until they found them.
And they would.
Morgin sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “Bested by a volley of brainless ghouls? No, I have a bit more self esteem than that.”
Neither of them would say that they should have listened to the lords back at camp, the innkeepers that had looked at them as though they were insane, or mention any of the mistakes they’d made along the way. Icecrown Citadel was just barely able to be made out through the thick sheets of snow that rolled down on them, and for a moment, they looked at it silently together.
“Close,” Morgin murmured. Lethea growled something in agreement.
The dwarf took out his pipe and lit it with little difficulty, shading it expertly from the snow. He puffed until the weed glowed red hot, curling with heat, and sucked in smoke as best as he could.
They’d have a while still to wait.