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An Act of Revenge
#1
Just a note: this has a Death Knight being Death Knight-ie, so though I'm not any more explicit than I need to be to explain the series of events, this is a bit violent.

Spoiler:
Riven narrowed her eyes as she watched canid beasts fight over the carcass of a large buck. Hidden from view on the vast rubble of the Greymane wall, she smiled, practically tasting the delicious irony, eyeing one of the feral monsters bearing a telltale sash around its waist. Now caked with blood and filth, the embroidery of stylized oak and mistletoe was barely visible, but it was more than enough for Riven.In fact, it seemed only a formality to her now; her potent sense of smell coupled with her affinity for the blood of her foes would have led her to this pack either way. There were six of them down there; accursed creatures that had long ago been overtaken by Goldrinn's feral wrath, and under normal circumstances, she would think twice about assaulting half a dozen battle-ready individuals within their element, but for now, there was little she could lose that would make this less than worthwhile in her eyes.

Standing on a prominent peak afforded by the ruins of the Wall, she let out a loud, challenging howl. The otherworldly echo of her undead voice serenaded her own, giving the impression that she might have a pack of her own. The resonating note indeed caught the attention of the six Worgen below, who scrambled to arrange themselves in a battle-ready formation. Their ears darted about wildly until, one after the other, they came to focus on Riven's runed form.
The worgen Death Knight took this opportunity to unstrap her twin axes from her sides, runes seeming to flicker with an unholy power as she willed a bitter frost to take form over their edges. The feral worgen made their way towards her, bristling their fur and brandishing their fangs in a primal intimidation tactic. She was surrounded, but held the higher ground. While some of the other members of the pack scaled the vertical slant behind her, a particularly ferocious individual took point, running along the narrow incline that seemed to most easily bring his claws to her steel and saronite. This was the fastest path to her perch, though it was a narrow and treacherous one.

Riven smiled a cruel, toothy smile as the beast came barreling towards her because she knew he would never even reach her. Indeed, just as he came close enough to be within lunging distance of the Death Knight, he lost traction and went careening past her. The drop was not that significant; this collapsed portion of the wall came nowhere near the height of the original structure, but the brick and mortar met the Worgen at the bottom, and a sickening crack and red stain made clear his fate. The reaction of the others was mixed, with some ignoring the loss of a pack member entirely, while the others' climb towards her was slowed, their ears drooping. One worgen, who had only been watching the encounter with a distant soverign air about him, seemed to be insensed by its packmate's fall, and seemed to grow to twice the size as his fur stood on end, his body arcing to the night sky, as he let out an agonized howl.
After exhausting his lung capacity, the enraged Worgen began panting harshly, regarding the death knight with utter disdain, and charged towards her on the same path as her previous assailant, taking the Death Knight by surprise with an incredible leap. He bypassed her icy trap entirely and knocked into her, as well as another of the feral worgen who had only now reached her perch on the architectural debris. The feral worgen and the Death Knight fell much as the first had, landing on the rubble below, though the angered Worgen landed on his undead foe and was not significantly harmed. Riven herself was also not gravely wounded, as she was both fully armored and had been cushioned by her first victim and the unwitting third member of their tumble. This third worgen was now incapacitated and soon to be dead, as her keen supernatural attunement to fresh blood indicated to her.
This was more an afterthought though, as she now had a massive, wolven beast hammering futilely at her breastplate with massive, clawed fists. Having landed in a somewhat awkward position, she swung her free arm at him, sinking the blade of her axe deep into the beast's shoulder. This make the assault from the according arm slow, though the creature seemed to hardly acknowledge the fact that one of its limbs had been rendered useless. It continued to bash at her, having not yet found a readily accessible chink in her armor to tear at, until Riven kicked him off of her with her hind legs. She righted herself as her wounded foe struggled to stand without the full use of one arm among the uneven rubble, and empowered a spell to one of her twin blades.
The other worgen had, by now, taken notice that their foe had fallen several feet away and had approached the new site of battle, snarling and preparing an attack of their own. Two of the beasts that Riven had not yet grappled with lunged in unison, and though she struck one of them with the readied, runic strike and thus hindering its attack, the other found purchase on her arm with its impressive teeth. The beast wrenched at her wrist hard, with the clear intention of ripping her limb clean off. This attempt at dismemberment did not last long, however, as Riven quickly called upon her frost runes to encase her forearm in a thick layer of ice.
The worgen squealed and whimpered as the sudden eruption of ice burned its sensitive nose and muzzle. Letting go of the Death Knight, it coughed and sputtered, struggling to breathe with its mouth and sinuses now a frostbitten, bloody mess. Riven growled at the bleeding beast, bearing her own fanged maw, and it cowered, no longer willing to challenge her. She snorted with contempt at this submission, regarding him as a coward, but shifted her attention as she heard a commanding bark from behind her.
Turning, she saw the particularly vicious and presumably Alpha worgen standing tall and in defiance, despite one arm dangling limply at the shoulder. A dark-pelted Worgen, the of the pack who had not yet made an attempt on the Death Knight's life, stood on all fours at his side, nuzzling him gently, as though to lessen his temper. Riven's contemptuous scowl crept into smirk at the seemingly fearless beast, and she shifted her posture to a less aggressive stance, though she gave him no ground while doing so. He roared at her again, though his display left the Death Knight unphased. They stared each other down for a few minutes, occasionally growling in response to each other's occasional twitch or movement until the wounded, feral worgen finally broke eye contact to lean his head into that of his pack mate, finally reciprocating his display of affection. Slowly and deliberately, Riven stepped away from their place of battle, ending the conflict with a silent but mutual agreement of a ceasefire.
The Death Knight turned to the other worgen who had been either incapacitated or killed in the encounter. Two were sprawled and broken on the rubble, dead, and a third was writhing on the ground, still suffering visibly from the facial frostbite. None of these creatures bore the sash she was so keen on. She turned and looked back at what seemed to be the Alpha and his non-combative companion, her sudden movement startling the both of them. Paying no mind to his displeased snarl, she scanned their torsos for the noteworthy article, to no avail. She cursed to herself, and searched for the only pack member unaccounted for. Though he was not readily visible, her search was still short. He was marked with her runic magic, and her supernatural attunement to her mark of blood told her which way to go to find him.
Leaving the decimated pack behind her, she followed the worgen's blood scent until she came upon his limp, unconscious body, wrapped in a now blood-soaked sash, and all she could do was keep her blood from boiling in her rage. Losing grip on both of her axe handles, she dropped to her knees and began pummeling the creature with armored fists, past the point where it's bones cracked and past the point in which it's body gave up on life, smashing the beast into a bloody pulp. With her undead vigor and unholy bloodlust, this act did not tire her out, but only further inspire wanton violence. She half-screamed, half-howled into the night sky, felling trees with her axes, spreading deathly frost all around and boiling the blood of any bird, mouse or other unfortunate woodland creature her sight set upon in her rage.
She had no idea how long she had perpetuated her tantrum, though a gentile fog had fallen over the area as dawn approached. Though she had been raised to perform such actions nonstop, Riven was nevertheless emotionally drained, and she followed her own trail of frost and destruction back to the bloody Worgen corpse. Sifting through the remains with claws and a skinning knife, she reclaimed it's pelt from the gore. Her task completed, she stared blankly into the morning mist, unsure of how to feel about the skin now in her possession. She simply didn't know what to feel, how to process this long-awaited act of vengeance. Pushing notions of doubt out of her mind, she left the forest, bee lining towards where she might find the only other person who might understand how she felt right now.
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