Mirium narrows her eyes at the implication of his using her blood–and that it would be no worse or better than a rodent’s. Still, with a glance at Keelath, she pulls up a sleeve and pulls out the utility knife concealed in her sash…
Keelath makes a grunt of alarm. “You don’t have to–”
“I want to,” she says firmly, and pricks her arm with the knife…
It was a shock, and yet Malcotin had to hide his joy. He did however wish to set her straight on what he had been asking. “Dear Lady, I did not ask for your blood, neither did I compare it to a rat. I merely mentioned we would need blood for the ritual. And no person would need to be harmed, you misunderstood me…” He paused then as it seemed she was determined.
“However, since you have offered, allow me to take just enough to do this. I have to admire your willingness to sacrifice this small bit of yourself. It is also a very intense ritual which will increase in power by the very bond you share with your beloved.”
He removed the cap at the end of the glass tube, where it fit into the opening by means of a cork and a lip that made it easy to capture the bright red fluid now flowing in a trickle from her arm. The tube filled fast, as the inside was considerably smaller in circumference than the outside. Altogether, he collected exactly two ounces of blood, filling the glass rod.
“Now, we need to use it. But it will work much better if you are feeling those urges, Keelath.” Malcotin gave the death knight a meaningful stare. “You are probably thinking right now, that you would like to tear me apart…aren’t you?”
“Here?” Keelath sounds a little dumb-founded. Mirium frowns at them both as she closes her wound with a bit of healing magic; Keelath instinctively leans away from her Light. “This is to test it, yes?”
A toothy grin met Keelath’s shock. “It’s best to use while the blood is fresh, but not here.” He selects a dark blue sapphire and inserts it into the fixture at the top of the rod.
“We can go to the gladiator’s Ring, in the basement. There are usually a few challengers around looking to spar. I only wish to show you what the rod is capable of. It’s far from perfect, but I have used it before on a Kaldorei who is having the same issues you are.” He put the rod back in it’s case and closed it.
“You must understand it is a somewhat personal issue with each death knight. Some are bothered more than others by the hunger. But my studies have indicated it is more of a mental control than a physical one. You and I and nearly every death knight created have one thing in common. We believe we are only created to kill and cause havok. It’s hammered into us by rigid training and conditioning. The very definition of a death knight is a Lord of Death. The only way to truly control those urges is to change the conditioning.”
“Let us see if there is anyone in the basement looking for a challenge.” He stood and took the case. Indicating to Mirium and Keelath to proceed ahead of him. He left a generous tip on the table.
Mirium and Keelath look at each other. Keelath nods slightly, and the two get up. Keelath takes the lead as directed.
“The basement” turns out to be in the next tavern over, instead of underneath the reputable Legerdemain Lounge. The human bouncer at the entrance lets Keelath in almost immediately, though he gives Mirium a longer, incredulous stare, as the petite blood elf walks past, literally under his chin. The height difference between the two sin’dorei is made ever more apparent as Keelath ducks his six feet under the archway and down the stairs, Mirium hurrying to keep up with him. Once inside the gladiator’s arena, the death knight stops, nostrils flaring as he takes in the old scents of blood and pain.
The fighting arena is relatively empty at this time of day, and a scrawny servant is at work mopping the fighting floor. Mirium doesn’t hide a grimace of disgust as they pick their way over to a high elf who looks more official than the other hangers-on standing here and there in the shadows. The man picks his teeth with the long nail on the pinky of his left hand, and then smiles at them slyly, the ritzy dark makeup under his eyes crinkling slightly with the expression.
“Can I help you?” He eyes Keelath in his dinner jacket, and Mirium in her dress-like formal robes. “Perhaps you want to place a bet? Order a wine?” he goes on, obviously believing them aristocratic visitors instead of combatants.
“No. I am here to fight,” says Keelath.
The high elf looks surprised, but he quickly hides it under another grin and waves over a book-keeper. He goes down the list of competitors registered for the day, tut-tutting and tapping the long nail against the side of his jewel-pierced nose.
“Put him up against Stinky and the Bean,” he suggests to the book-keeper. “Finesse vs. brutality. A fine contrast, wouldn’t you say?”
“I think he might be surprised which one of you ends up the brutal one,” Mirium mutters to Keelath. Keelath grimaces. Mirium then touches his arm. “…I’ll get your fighting gear, sweetheart.” She stands on her tip-toes to kiss his cheek, then takes off at a quick clip, the trailing end of her robes clenched tight in one fist as she jumps over some questionable smears on the floor.
For himself, Keelath walks back over to Malcotin. “We’re scheduled for within the hour,” he informs the other undead. “Now, how does this contraption of yours work?”
Trailing behind them discretely, Malcotin smiles as the petite Sindorei struggles to keep up with her husband. He himself towers over both of them in his worgen form. Hunched over to keep from banging his head on rafters, he resists the temptation to go down on all fours and race past them.
The Arena is nearly empty and Malcotin nods, “Good, its early yet and a bit quiet. You only need to face one or two challengers to bring your bloodlust forward. I will warn you, this might look very painful, Mirium, but it is not that bad. It’s more mental than physical.”
He lets the two Sindorei speak privately as he goes to speak to the ring manager and let him know what he is looking for. “Greetings good fellow. I will need your cooperation, as this is a treatment session. Your fighter needs to be aware I am working on controlling this death knights basic urges. He will be disabled at times, and it is then I need your fighter to step back, and allow Keelath to recover. This will not be a fight to the death, and he will be wise not to try and take advantage of the situation. Understood?” He fixes the ring manager with a meaningful glare.
“You cannot be serious! My fighters will not throw a fight, no matter what! They fight for glory, not to give special attention to sick fighters.” The Ring master is furious. “The fights will take place as they usually do, the one who falls is considered a loser. Now get out of my sight!”
Malcotin growls in return. “You might as well arrange for the coffin now then. If Keelath is unchecked, he will not stop until your fighter is dead. But if that is your position, then so be it. I will place a bet on Keelath and laugh when he wins.”
The Ring manager frowns. “You will not interfere? People come to see blood shed, not thrown fights. Tell your blood knight friend he will be unchecked, or the fight will be canceled.”
Shrugging at the stupidity of the Silver Covenant elf, Malcotin growls and goes back to Keelath. “I can only offer you a bit of advice. Do not hold back. Show them what you are capable of. Then maybe he will offer a different fighter, who is willing to cooperate. If this does not work, then we shall have to make other arrangements.”
((Must say, writing combat scenes in present tense is…very odd. Also, minor warning for descriptions of violence.))
Keelath listens quietly to the argument between Malcotin and the ringmaster. He doesn’t let his thoughts show on his face, beyond a slight curling of the lip at the mentions of fight-fixing.
When Mirium returns, she helps him strap into his plate armor. His large axe he sets to the side, until the ringmaster gives them a disdainful look and motions Keelath to pick it up again.
“Either this opponent has warding magic, or no one gives a felbat about who lives down here,” mutters Keelath.
“Couldn’t both be true?” Mirium remarks.
Keelath just grunts in return, his expression hidden as he slides his full-faced helm down over his head.
When he’s ready, Keelath steps into the ring. The ringmaster gives him a once-over, with enough appreciation in his glance that Mirium mutters something uncomplimentary to herself.
The gate on the other side of the ring then swings open, and two combatants step in: a human with a spell-staff and a hulking ogron. The human is typical enough for a Dalaran wizard, with a sharp black beard and robes cut short and up the sides to allow him better movement in combat. His bald, red-brown head vaguely reminds Keelath of a kidney bean, which the death knight supposes is where the man got the name “Bean” from. The ogron, clearly “Stinky”, looks like a cross between a jagged obsidian rock elemental and a Mag’har orc, with hefty golden bracers clasped around its wrists, each emblazoned with markings that match the cut of the gem capping the wizard’s staff.
“Good luck!” Mirium calls out.
Keeath falls into a fighting stance and waits. Over the speculative hum of the observers, the ringmaster calls out the combatants’ names, embellishing them colorfully and adding clearly made-up history to their fighting careers. Keelath smirks as he’s compared to Koltira. If only the ringmaster knew…
A shrill whistle went off somewhere, and Keelath shakes the thought from his head as his opponents makes their moves. Keelath watches carefully as the wizard points at him, and the ogron lumbers towards him, shining black claws twitching in anticipation as it barreled across the suddenly too-small arena. He didn’t know if the ogron really needed any excuse to want to fight him, but he had noticed the markings on its bracers. As the ogron swipes at him, Keelath leaps out of the way and brings his axe down one of the bracers, hoping to break it and whatever enchantment the wizard put on it.
Obligingly, the bracer cracks under the heavy axe, and the ogron drops that wrist to the ground, as if suddenly holding a much heavier weight in its hand. So, more of a strength enhancement than a controlling device. That meant the wizard would be free to cast his spells without having to command the ogron’s mind at the same time, and as if to punctuate the thought, a fireball streaks across the floor, narrowly missing them both.
Keelath brings the shaft of his axe up to block a blow from the ogron’s other fist, letting the force of the creature spin him about in a controlled pirouette instead of trying to stop it head on. Keelath then sets his feet and dives, rolling between the creature’s legs and popping up again next to the wizard.
The wizard looks at him in surprise.
“You really think plate is that hard to move in?” Keelath tells him sarcastically.
The death knight glances briefly over to the side of the ring, where he saw Malcotin’s eyes glittering as the other undead watched the proceedings. This close to the wizard, Keelath could smell the human’s tangy fear, and he felt unholy power coil in his stomach as sudden fierce hunger awakened in him. His senses sharpen, and suddenly each living creature in the room stands out to him as a beacon of life…and food.
This time, Keelath gave into it. “Let’s see if your contraption really works,” he hisses.
“Sorry?” snaps the wizard, backing up hurriedly. A faint shimmer in the air indicates a magical shield coming to life between them.
Keelath just grins at the man–though the wizard would of course not see it through the helmet–and charges.
The hunger became power which Keelath channels into the blade of his axe, and it parts the magical shield like cloth. The axe bangs down on the wizard’s shoulder, though instead of cutting him in half as Keelath expected, it lodges in his collarbone. Not a bad spell after all, Keelath thinks, but it was his last thought, as the blood wells up like glittering garnets, seizing his attention as surely as real garnets would seize the imagination of a goblin. Keelath pushes his strike through: though the axe goes no deeper, the wizard presses back into the arena wall with an aborted scream. Keelath grabs at his throat, hooking his magic into the wizard’s life-force and beginning to pull it into himself.
On the sidelines, Mirium swallows a hard lump in her throat away and glances at Malcotin. “Oh, Keelath. Come on, man. It’s now or never, if you don’t want a murder on your hands!”
The Ringmaster was a little surprised, but still not sure he was seeing what was right in front of him. The fact that Keelath had rolled under the Ogron after only wounding it slightly and now seemed to be finishing off the wizard, did not make sense. Was he ignoring the brute or was he so intent on killing he forgot it was there?
Malcotin shrugged slightly, “It appears that Keelath is very intent on his kill. As far as murder is concerned, I did warn the Ringmaster…but if he objects…”
There was not much time, as the Ogrin seemed a bit confused at first, then it turned to Keelath and roared, shaking the floor and stomping towards the death knight killing its master. Malcotin had brought out the rod at the beginning of the battle and kept it by his side, intending on using it sparingly. But it was almost too late.
With a nod to Mirium, Malcotin aimed the sapphire tipped rod towards Keelath and whispered an incantation. The gem at the end of the rod blazed a bright blue flash, it matched the glow of Keelath’s eyes. With a suddenness that would probably startle the death knight, his magic was cut off, mid spell. Malcotin had successfully blocked the flow of life force from the wizard. It was only to cause Keelath to turn around, and notice the Ogron bearing down on him intent on smashing Keelath into the floor of the arena.
“Let’s hope Keelath doen’t get hurt too bad by the Ogron, I am not sure about the wizard. If he survives that ax blow, he might need some healing.” They watched intently as the Ringmaster gave them a strange look, then started to say something about interference.
The ogron roared as it stomped forward, slamming it’s fist into the death knight, sending him flying off it’s master. The arena floor was only wood, with a light dusting of sawdust. As long as Keelath was able to get up after that blow, he could then go after the Ogron. The wizard slumped to the floor, unconscious and bleeding out.
((More warnings for descriptions of violence and gore.))
Keelath felt his ribs break as the Ogron’s fist slammed into him and he flew through the air. It didn’t hurt, the damage only translating to his senses as so many snapping sticks inside of him. He fell on his side, heavily, and a couple more ribs went under the impact.
He faintly heard the crowd groan, but he immediately tried to pull on his unholy magic to heal the ribs and get back to his feet. Only…the magic wouldn’t come. He turned his head, looking for the wizard, thinking the man had gotten out of his magic’s range, but no–there he was, lying on the floor, helpless to anything Keelath would do.
And Keelath suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore.
That fact paled in significance to the realization that the hunger and his self-healing abilities were intertwined, and now he was in the middle of deadly combat without either of them.
The sawdust around him began to shake with the thumps of the Ogron’s feet. Keelath struck out with his arms and dragged himself out of the way of another pounding fist. His wounds still didn’t hurt–nothing but the Light had truly hurt him since he had been risen–but his back sagged in on itself and wouldn’t respond to his commands, muscles jerking at bones that were no longer structurally sound.
Not good.
He continued to drag and roll himself out of the way of the Ogron’s hailing blows, his mind frantically churning for a solution. He could just let the beating happen: it wouldn’t kill him, only disable him until someone could get to him with a healing spell or until his own magic came back. Would it come back? He suddenly wondered about Mirium insisting that Malcotin’s device was a trap.
He snatched a glance at her as he heaved himself out of the way of another fist. Her hands were to her mouth, but her face was tight and pale rather than wide-eyed and horrified, so it couldn’t be that bad. She wasn’t trying to kill Malcotin, either. Perhaps he–
His thoughts were interrupted as the Ogron instead chose to pinch one of his feet and lift him into the air by it. Keelath grimaced as his back wrenched again, and he wondered vaguely that if the Ogron shook him hard enough, if he would separate and one half of him would fall to the floor. That might actually make a valid tactic, since at least part of him wouldn’t be chained to bones no longer working, but–
The crowd booed when the Ogron poked him in the face. He stared up at the one-eyed creature, and an idea came upon him, if only he could trick the creature into it.
He went limp. Curious, the Ogron poked him again, making a grinding, chuffling noise Keelath could only guess was a chuckle. He goaded it on by making a funny little squeak, that had the Ogron bringing him up close to its one great eye to inspect the silly, cheeping death knight.
Keelath’s shoulder wasn’t disabled, nor his arm. As soon as he was close enough, he struck out, his fist striking that great yellow orb…
It wasn’t enough to pierce it. Eyeballs were amazingly resilient. But still the Ogron howled and threw him out of the ring.
“Yield?” Keelath called just before he landed with another crunch, but his voice was drowned in the sudden swelling of noise from the crowd, as the Ogron began to flail all around, rubbing its eye and still howling out its pain. Spectators dived out of its way, and a flow of them were evacuating up the stairs.
Keelath then felt arms around him, and the unique searing pain of Light healing magic flooding into him. “Come on, we’re getting you out of here,” Mirium said in his ear.
“I like this idea,” he told her as soon as the pain abated enough that he could speak, and he stood up as his bones re-knit and his body started responding again.
Mirium took his arm, and not even glancing around for Malcotin, made for the stairs.
The Ogron was huge and its fist slapping Keelath around did more damage than Malcotin had hoped. It was time for him to spring in on the action. But no sooner had he stood up then two burly guards grabbed him.
“What are you doing, fools? The Ogron will kill everyone!” Malcotin tried to shake off his captors.
“Boss says you interferring in fight.” the goon replied. He was too busy trying to hold the struggling worgen death knight and did not see the Ogron flailing about until one huge fist caught him in the side and lterally threw him into the wall.
Malcotin growled obscenities and used his unholy magic to stun the other guard. “Let me go, you idiot or you will die next.”
The other guard fell back and Malcotin called forth his own death magic and chained the Ogron in ice, stopping him from doing more damage. He was too late to help Keelath, as Mirium had already gone to him and healed him. Turning to the Ogron, he drew his twin icy blades and finished off the howling creature.
Once the Ogron stopped twitching, Malcotin used the rod again, this time with a red ruby. “You are mine now…” he growled as he raised the dead Ogron to stand beside him. Most of the other patrons had already fled the scene, but the Ringmaster was still there and he was very annoyed.
“You can’t do that! Stinky is part of my show and he belongs to Bean!” The uppity Silver Covenant elf protested.
Malcotin turned his deadly blue gaze on the elf, moving up to the ringmaster and staring him in the face. Leaning closer so that he was right in the elf’s face and no one else could hear. “Two against one is not a fair fight. This poor creature died and if he is lucky, the wizard might survive. If not, he will become my servant as well.” he lifted his lips in a snarl.
Backing away from the Worgen, the Ringmaster stuttered, “I will have charges brought against you! My fights, my rules!”
Malcotin growled deep in his throat. “You will not, because I have important friends. Your fights are entertainment, and fall under the laws of the Silver Covenant. They are supposed to be one on one. That is the nature of duelling. If I tell them you deliberately set up the death knight to fail, your operation will be shut down, permanently.” He moved forward and backed the ringmaster to the wall. “Do I make myself clear? The ogron is mine, and he will not be your sacrificed fodder again.”
The ringmaster could only nod in agreement, his whole body trembling in fear. His guards dare not approach, as Stinky was now standing guard over his new master. An undead ogron would be next to impossible to contain. It’s mended eye now glowed a telltale blue.
Malcotin narrowed his eyes and then nodded. “You have enough trouble for now, I do not see the wizard being tended. I hope he was not a Dalaran mage, his death would be on your hands.”
The ringmaster quickly glanced over to see the unmoving wizard lying in a pool of blood. His healers were no where in sight, having fled the ogron’s wrath. Nervously he cleared his throat. “You can raise him as well?” his eyes pleading.
Malcotin grinned, his canine teeth gleaming. “Of course, when your healers come back, if they do, tell them I took care of it.”
He looked to Stinky, “Bring the dead wizard and follow me. We will go to my lab.” Turning on his heel, he stalked out of the arena, the undead ogron picked up his former master and slung the body over his shoulder.
The ringmaster sighed in relief, “Off you go then.” He had no clue where the worgen’s lab was, and he did not care to know. All he was concerned about was cleaning up the mess and getting another fight organized.
“Well, that went poorly, didn’t it?” Mirium’s voice echoed across the abandoned park.
Amazingly, no one had stopped the couple on the way out of the gladiator’s arena. Now they were perched on one of the walls overlooking the drop-off of the rock hulk that held Dalaran. Mirium was helping Keelath reset his ribs: his magic still hadn’t come back, and her panicked healing job had healed some of the bones crookedly.
The re-breaking didn’t hurt, but the constant little jabs of the Light magic in his side did, as she repaired her own mistakes. “Yes, it did,” he agreed tiredly, not wanting an argument–especially not when Mirium was responsible for putting his injuries to rights.
“What happened back there?” she asked in a gentler tone as she moved to his other side and began tapping her way up that side of his chest. “I’ve seen you heal yourself with blood magic before. Why not then?”
“I couldn’t,” said Keelath. “Once the hunger disappeared, so did my magic.”
“They are tied together,” Mirium confirmed quietly.
“Indeed.”
She paused. Keelath did nothing did disabuse her of the notion he was sure was in her head. Every healing came with a price. There was no easy road to cure him of his curse.
“This heals you,” she finally offered, giving a smart crack to the next rib with a little hammer specially magicked for the job. “My Light.” She then manuevered the bone into its proper place, “freezing” it there with a burst of her magic.
Keelath hissed. “Yes, but painfully.”
“Like how every normal person heals themselves.”
“Every normal person with Light magic at their beck and call?”
Mirium smirked. “Well, until I become the first elven shaman, I’m afraid you’ll have to make do, good ser.”
“You could become a druid.”
“And grow antlers and purple skin to match, I’m sure.”
Keelath chuckled and winced, as she fixed the last rib. She then painstakingly packed up her tools and sat down beside him, arms loosely wrapped around him. He put a hand to her cheek and laid his head against hers. They sat together and watched clouds pass below. It would be a rainy night; normally the only time Dalaran flew above the clouds was when it was foggy on the ground so far below the flying city.
“Yet it did work to control the bloodlust,” Keelath finally said. “If I could be the one in control of that scepter–”
Mirium sighed. “You aren’t convinced by how disastrously this turned out? That could’ve been an Alliance army instead of just some two-bit Ogron and his human, and you would be dead. And me too, likely.”
“And the war with the Alliance is over.” He turned towards her, raising an eyebrow. “Only daily wear and tear is a threat to me now, and I think I can stand your Light prickles for that.”
“I suppose,” Mirium agreed reluctantly. “But with you in control of the scepter! For a moment there, I almost thought he was going to let you–”
“Die?” supplied Keelath when she trailed off. She knew as well as he did that it took a lot more than an Ogron to truly kill a death knight.
“I don’t know,” said Mirium. “The whole thing still doesn’t feel right. But I know how important it is to you to not feel a slave to your…undeath, so if this is the only way to keep you on the even keel, I’ll support you. All the way.”
Keelath kissed her cheek gratefully. “I’ll tell him no more fighting rings.”
“And who will you test it on then?”
Keelath shrugs. “My brother? Alelsa’s demons?”
“Yes, but, would that be enough to prove it? Would you ever feel hungry enough to want to hurt either one of them?”
Keelath just looked at her.
“…oh,” said Mirium, dropping her head.
Keelath tucked it under his chin. “And so it is important we make this work. I’m confident, Miri. Though it was admittedly terrible timing, the magic in that scepter was strong. We only have to learn to control it.”
“And to get it out of the hands of that slimy worgen.”
Keelath smiled. “Yes. Eventually, we will do that, too.”
(Wonderful writing and story. Great job.)