We are proud to be an official World of Warcraft Fansite and are actively banning all adverts promoting Gold Selling, Powerlevelling, Account Selling and Hacking. Please help us by reporting any such sites here so we can add them to our black list.

---

Good luck Zarx mate

Ancient torches that adorn the interior crypt walls flare to life as the General steps into the entrance. Despite several protests from her 'soldiers', Nemesii had declined any opinions on the matter that contrasted with her own on pain of death. The silence thereafter was most profound.

Moist bare feet leave behind bloody prints, remnants of the morning's breakfast. The strong aroma of rotten flesh currently subdued by the scent of Nightelf organs still rotating round the General's innards.

The out of tune clinking of mail echoed down the crypt as Nemesii continued on, nostrils inhaling deep of the rich aroma of stale air and soiled earth. Thick black hair clung to skull, greasy and slick as a criss cross leather bandage covered eye sockets and tightly pressed against cheekbones. Sight was overrated, sense of smell was everything.

Many a time on the battleground others had wondered how the General found her mark every time. It was one thing to be undead, another to love it. When your whole being cried out for blood and the warm, moist wriggling flesh beneath cold teeth and dry tongue, that was true undead. The scent of fear and sound of life's heartbeat which to an undead was like a Cathedral peeling out for mass to begin, how could you not find such a mark in the eternal darkness of Nemesii's world?

Undoubtedly the fresh perfume of digesting breakfast would arouse the male's interest, maybe get a word or two out of him. Magic users. The so called brave ones that stood as far back as their pathetic art allowed whilst the General tasted of the fruits of battle first-hand, allowing the 'back up' to feast upon the leftovers. A wry smirk adorned pale features as a voice spoke atlast.

Greater warmth is felt upon cheeks and the scent of thick oil being burned delights nostrils causing a rumble in throat to reply at first.

"If sleep is what you prefer, you should have remained as food for the maggots...male."

Bane stretched out a weary hand... something was wrong.. the noise of battle had died down and almost immediately, here he was laid down resting.  Had the battle been a dream?  Had he just imagined the whole affair.

Before Bane had time to compose himself, he sensed danger.  He rolled instinctively to the side of his resting place, reaching down for his trusty blade but finding nothing as he spanned the dimly lit room he opted for an unarmed strike.  As he neared the undead female that had clearly come to take his Elven soul, he slipped silently into the shadows and emerging struck her clean across the face.

The strike had clearly caught her off guard and as she faltered backwards, blood flowing from her mouth, Bane noticed that he had struck her with a fleshless, lifeless hand.  Bane stared at his hand in terror, feeling the life force eb from his body.  He had completely lost sight of his quarry and was frozen with fear as the female struck back with a heavy strike to the chest.

As Bane fell, he felt darkness approach.  Before he passed out, he could make out the face of the female and another dark figure.  He recalled the face as he descended to darkness… perfect.

((Btw Wuwu, Zarx is actually an undead priest, but hey, mage - priest, potatoe potato right?))

Still grasping the stone and deep in thought he does not answer at first. After gathering his sences he faces the General and decides to dignify her with an answer.

"He is young and still fears the transition into darkness. I try to do my best in guiding him in on his way but it seems he was taken abruptly."

Sliding down from the chiseled stone and onto the ground he now faces the General. He stares at her and with a breif moment of concentration he senses her suspiciousness of him and also, her blindness.

"But you, Nemesii, seem to have adapted quite well to your own, personal darkness."

As the evening mists drifted across the lake Bane entered it’s edge and started out towards the settlement where his quandary lie.  He knew not the reason, but he knew his employer wouldn’t accept failure.  Bane’s reputation preceded him and when the Cenarion Circle needed to do the unthinkable whilst keeping their hands clean a private contractor was perfect.

Bane silently made his way across the still lake, making less noise than the nature surrounding him.  As he approached the small dock he could see guards patrolling the shore.  As much as Bane loved to dance, he never underestimated his enemy and knew that in a job like this the highest probability of success lay with a silent kill – his speciality.

Bane passed the guards without effort and crossed the dimly lit courtyard unnoticed.  The principal was in the main building, within the east wing and would die in it’s sleep.  Bane scaled the outside wall and slowly moved onto the balcony.  He moved through the half open door and into position beside the sleeping figure.  Bane removed Nightstrike - one half of his most deadly dagger set from it’s sheath and with less noise than the mist outside moved it to the principals throat.

There were only a handful of people in the world Bane had vowed never to take and unluckily for him, he now found one of them before him.  Something was wrong – Bane had been trapped.

He instinctively lept to the side as the first guard attacked from the shadows and skilfully took him down with a single strike to the back of the neck.  Bane rolled but before he could reposition himself for the next strike he felt the impact of a crossbow bolt hit him square in the shoulder and the force pinned him to the wooden support beam he’d moved to.  The guards descended for the kill but Bane would not accept his fate.  He ripped himself clear of the bolt and dodged between the attackers, unsheathing Daystrike as he moved twisting the blades as they struck true.

Bane knelt as the blood dripped from both blades the sound supported by the noise of two bodies slumping to the floor.  Bane waited for the next wave but it didn’t come.  The sound of guards, battle ringing around him broke out in the courtyard – the situation was worsening, someone else was here.  Bane moved to a window, staying out of the moonlight.

He turned his attention back to the bed where Doliah, his one true love lay sleeping.  Why had he been brought here, why her?  He had never turned down the option to take a life but here he was, faltering.  He woke her quietly and placed his hand over her mouth.  As her dark brown Elven eyes looked up into his, no words were necessary.  She trusted him completely.  He helped her out of the bed and they moved out of the window and down into the courtyard where the battle had broken out.  Without time to think and understand the situation, Bane just grasped Doliah’s hand and ran for the lakeside.  As they ran through the mist, the moonlight bathing them Bane took a second to behold the beauty running by his side, without question, without reason. 

As they neared the boat Bane’s vision blurred.  When the first spasm hit him from the poison the bolt had carried he fell to one knee.  Dol stopped and tried to help him to his feet, the sound of battle drawing near.  He struggled to his feet and helped her into the boat.  He pushed the boat off the shore and as he tried to pull himself in the second spasm wracked his body and he fell.

As he drifted into darkness, the sound of battle raging, his arms and legs refusing to keep him afloat, he could see Dol drifting off into the night - safe.

“Awaken fool!”

Bane’s eyes opened slowly and as his focus returned he saw the Forsaken female looking down at him.