The Damned

28th of Octomber 1189,

The white veil of the winter has finally engulfed the monastery. It's that time of the year again. When the cold falls upon the earth and the people start to starve and die. Everyone wants to cheat death. To continue to exist. It's in the nature of all that lives. And when they realise that god can't hear them and no prayer can protect;  then they come to the Damned for salvation.

The strong and the weak, the nobles and the peasants. Everyone comes begging at the walls, pledging their lives and souls to the Dark One. Even Baron Rivendare. Even him, a true nobility, joined the Cult in promise of immortality; bolstering our ranks with troops and filling our banks with gold. He is currently on his way to Naxxramas for his indoctrination.

Ahh, Naxxramas... The floating necropolis. The dark temple that scours the clouds of Northend, filling the air with death and providing shelter from the infidels. Even the almighty mages of Dalaran describe it in awe and fear... I do hope someday to have the privilage of visiting the flying pyramid... But I digress!

The rituals are being performed on a daily basis as instructed by the Cultlord. Warlocks summon demons from the Nether to strengthen our numbers and infiltrators in both Alliance and Horde territory report that their co-expedition  on the northern front to be an utter failure. Moreover, High Priestress Molina has assigned even more instructors to train the younger acolytes.

It is indeed a glorious day for the Damned and for the Scourge! And with every corpse I raise, every demon I summon and every prayer I sing to the Dark One I feel more close to my promised perfection... And while the fools try to cheat death others have chosen to embrace him, for only in undeath the pains and worries of the flesh seize to exist and the grandeur of everexistance begins...

29 of August 1190,

I haven't been able to write for some time now.
Androhal has fallen... The combined forces of the Alliance and the Horde were too much even for Darkmaster Gandling to handle. It is a matter of time before the living start snooping around Scholomance...

My dear school is in danger... yet nothing can be done now. The war has left the Eastern Kingdoms long ago now. We do not have the privilege of being sentimental. Northend holds the future...

All available Acolytes are to report to Strangelthorn for immidiate transfer to Naxxramas... Kel'thuzad needs us at his side...

On one hand I hate that I have to leave the monastery like a beaten dog. But on the other... I feel like this is the start of something new... We finally came out in the open... The Cult. No more spying, converting, sabotaging. This is all out war with everything that lives... For the time being...

"Don't let them get the Grand Widow! Rise more skeletons! More suppresing fire! Keep them busy until the Death Knights arive!"

"Sir, we are running low on mana; we can't keep..."

"Shut up infidel! If you need mana then tap your life force and make some! If you can't do that then grab your knife and charge to your death."

The cultist was interrupted by a greyish shade ,rising from the ground next to him...

"Ahhh about time! What do you have to report?"

The faceless apparition moved a little and formed a mouth for itself to speak...

"Intsructor... Razuvious has been... vanquished... The Military Quarter is... under attack..."

"...What about our reinforcements?"

The shade didn't speak. It stayed there for a moment and then vanished into thin air.

The cultist didn't speak for a moment. He turned his face to the necromancer next to him. His face was full with terror from what he heard. He was paralyzed in front of the cultist's cold expression. All was quite for a moment. No sounds of anguish and death, no screams from the Constuct Quarter, no crackling from the bones which rised from the floor by the necromancers.
A searing pain in his chest dragged him back to reality... A knife had pierced his torn black robes killing him instantly.

"What you've heard... is classified."

The cultist pulled out the bloody knife out of the poor necromancer's chest and moved away...

"There is glory in our pain! Keep up the pace with those skeletons! Just a little more ! The reinforcements are on their way..."

The situation was getting grimmer and grimmer as the hours passed, they were unstopable. The Argent Dawn is indeed a formidable opponent, an opponent like I have never seen before. I had my fair share of battle and death back in the Eastern Kingdoms. Back in Scholomance I single handedly killed three Horde inflitrators with ease. One of them, I remember, was a blood elf. Truly skilled with the arcane arts. She bombarded me with a barrage of arcane missles, pinning me down behind a bookcase. I tried to look for an opportunity to strike. My fellow students were lying dead, victims to the brute force of an orc warrior who was slowly coming my way along with a troll priest who was accompanying him, never leaving his side... Unworthy cockroaches! How could they have died so fast? I glimpsed yet again behind the bookcase. There was nothing in the room exept of books and corpses... Corpses!

"Maybe in death they will be more of a use..."

I started casting a reanimation spell. One of the most basic of spells in necromancy. Of course, I couldn't just raise all of the at once... I didn't possess such skill at the time. So I tried to make the most out of it.

The incantation is complete! But I need more time...

I crawled from behind the bookcase. I was now in plain sight, face to face with the Horde scum...
I stayed on my knees and begged for my life. I told them that if they sparred me I would give them information, that I was to young too die etc.
They laughed their brains out and looked to me with disgust.
"All we need, we can take on our own. We need nothing from you human !" yelled the orc and started charging.
As he was charging and yelling I could see my servant crawling behind the blood elf. None heard a thing.
"Fools..."
The orc stopped half way, startled by the sudden screams behind his back.
The mindless corpse I reanimated has stabbed the mage from behind and know was feasting on her, tearing her apart bit by bit...
Before the orc could even understand what was going on I lashed out from were I was stabbing him in the neck with my knife. His garrote was severed, he was now incapable of doing anything but bleed.
I left him to his misery and turned to the priest. The poor soul was so overwhelmed from what was happpening around him. When he finally started casting a healing spell it was too late...
I casted a fear spell making him run about screaming for his life before finishing him of with a bombarment of shadow bolts...

But no cheap tactics like these would work against the devastating force before us...
Hand picked from all over the Eastern Kingdom and Kalimdor, priests and paladins of the highest quality. True warriors of light.
Their armor so thick not even an orc brawlmaster could carry, their skill unrivaled by any warrior in this domain and their faith to the light... simply unbreakable...

All the abominations housed in this pyramid would not be enough to stop them from marching. Everything send before them destroyed by steel and magic. Undead monstrocities made by the finest bone and flesh, demons summoned by the best worlocks in the realm, necromancers and mages,like myself, handpicked by Kel'Thuzad himself... nothing is enough...
It's already been 7 hours since we called for reinforcements and there has been no word from the Military Quarter since then. I can only fear for the worst...

"Keep pushing the Scourge filth! The Light protects!"

I could hear them getting closer and closer... And while death would be a welcoming gift, this is not the case... Crusaders blades, blessed by a thousand priests and Uther's undying spirt make sure that whatever they kill stays dead... There is no return if you are cut down by a paladin. No glorious ressurection... Just darkness.

"But what if...".
I was staring at my knife almost hypnotized by the thought of...

"Sir ! Sir ! The reinforcemets! They have arrived!"
The screams of an acolyte broke me free from my delirious thoughts. I tried to look as composed as possible. I turned my eyes away from him and looked around.I wasn't really searching for anyone. I just needed a moment... When I was ready I turned eyes back to the initate and talked...
"Where is the dispatch commander? I want to speak with him personaly on how we are going to handle this."
"Sir... The Baron is leading."

"The Baron?! Rivendare is..."
My sentence was interupted by the howling cold stream I felt on my back. So cold I could feel my backbones crackle, as they would shatter into pieces. It was Rivendare riding Deathcharger.
It was the first time I was meeting him in person... His armor painted in purple, was not as heavy as would expect from a death knight. Simplistic really, nothing fancy. His runeblade was glowing blue and red as he was getting closer and closer to the crusaders. As he was charging the paladins retreated a few feet, clearly taken by surprise. Or so I thought...
Battleworn fighters like these have learned to expect anything in the battlefield. A dead horse with a pale,white haired rider presents a truly theatrical display; but no shenanigans like this would stall them for a even a second.
They could feel something... From the moment he entered the room something changed... His aura. That's what made them fall back... So cold and putride. It was like your insides were freezing and rotting at the same time.

The Baron run to the front line and stood infront of our barricades. He looked around. Only corpes of our fallen brothers and sisters, mixed with broken bones,green sludge and blood. He was alone with at least 30 men in front of him. His Deathguards didn't follow. They stayed behind, watching their master from afar. The Crusaders looked dazzled by what was happening.Everyone stood still, waiting.

"CHARGE!!!"

A paladin broke the line and started running on his own, soon followed by ten or so of his comrades.
The Baron didn't seem to bother, he stood his ground, still on his horse, and stared at the Crusaders.He raised his runeblade in the air. It glowed so profoundly... so blue, so cold. A whirling current of cold air started to form around its tip. I could feel the temperature of the room falling and falling. And then in an instant....

I closed my eyes, it was too bright to stare! A howling blast of cold air filled the room. I could feel my robes freezing, ready to break and fall to the ground. Thank the Dark One, the barricades took most of the blast... Bone and wood frozen to the core. They broke down after a while.

The Crusaders who were foolish enough to attack... they were no more. Almost all of them frozen in place, like ice sculptures, with their pained expresions still on their faces. Those that survived the blast died soon after. Screaming and screaching as their hands and feet broke down, leaving them crippled and helpless. The rest of the Crusaders that took cover behing their shields and managed to survive couldn't believe what has just happened.

The Baron lowered his sword, now facing the enemy beside him.

"Leave this place, while you still can Crusaders. Your intrusion will be tolarated no more. This is a battle you cannot win. Your forces on the other Quarters stand defeated. You are the last.
The Crusaders didn't flinch.

"CHARGE ! FOR THE LIGHT!"
The rest of the Crusaders started rushing, breaking and smashing their fellow comrades who fell from the cold.
The Baron looked puzzled.

"Crusaders... "said the Baron as he shook his head.
"I am convinced that they are a unique lot amongst the humans. My theory is that they lack higher brain function, unable to logically assess a situation and calculate an outcome. One has only to make mention of the Light to get them frothing and battle ready - at which point they will rush headlong into any engagement with complete disregard for their own well being."
He looked one last time at them...
"So be it..."

Months have passed since the last attack on Naxxramas. The Living must have learned their lesson; not to challenge the might of the Scourge. Truly I can't understand what they have hoped to accomplish. Even if they managed to destroy the necropolis and "kill" Lord Kel'thuzad, Dark One forbid, there're thousands of other necropoli flying above Azeroth, billions of soldiers to vanquish and countless terrors they can't even imagine... And to think that all of those paladins died just to be ressurected as Death Knights... Lord Kel'thuzad performed the ritual himself. Thirty warriors of the Light work for us now. They were all transferred to Acherus to begin their training... It's a pity Instructor Razuvius is dead... He could train them way better than those amateurs at the Hold...

Much has changed since that attack... I,myself, for one. I have been... promoted for my services. I'm no longer a simple necromancer. They call me Plaguebringer now... And though I am still human... It's like I am not. My humanity slowly slips away from me. They poisons I'm forced to breath along with the dark rituals I conduct daily have changed me... My body is transforming. I look a lot more like Gothik and Heigan now. Like a withering flower... I've never felt more powerful in my life.

So there I was, preparing my next concoction. Locked away, deep in the Plague Quarters. With only myself and my alchemy set.

"...A pint of black sludge and four petals of magesage." I said to myself as I was excecuting my experiment. "It ought to be ready... Now for a test subject."

I went down the dungeons and searched. I wanted someone strong... "healthy". Ofcourse all the good subjects were already taken... I hate Gothik.
"You will do...
"Prep her. I want her in my lab in ten minutes." I said to the cultists on guard.

I returned to my lab. I wanted to review my formula one last time. I grabbed a pipet and sucked some drops of my creation. I spill two drops on the head of a mouse. The poor thing squelled and cried before falling dead...

"Yes...As expected..."
I took a look on my notes... My living test subjects gave a consistent reaction after being exposed to my pleague... But I didn't want just that... I wanted my pleague to do something more... I wanted my pleague to kill both living and dead alike...

This is the ultimate weapon... We have seen what Sylvanas have done... It pains me to say but our Dark One has no absolute power over the dead...
What happens if one day more of his servants rebel against him? What happens if one day another Sylvanas rises from His ranks?

My creation will act as a detterent. A fear factor that will keep allies in check and bring death to our foes...