Prologue: A Chest of Souls
"You will spread our diseases. You will freeze our enemies in fear. You will boil their blood. You will bring about death. You will serve the Lich King..."
Darkor Plagueeye walked through the halls of Acherus, listening to the runeaxe in his head. His heavy saronite armor clunking heavily with each step he took. His helmet covered his face, leaving no open skin. Wandering through the halls, he came across a massive door. Upon reaching its handle, the door creaked open and he simply pushed, entering into the room. Corpses, lined up all around the room as Scourge necromancers and Death Knights, surveyed them, looking for proper bodies. As soon as he walked in, many of them turned and bowed, before resuming their work. He grunted, as he normally does, and glanced around the room. A small gnomish necromancer came running to Darkor and bowed before removing a small book from his side.
"Scourgelord, we have good news!" Darkor simply grunted. His patience wearing thin. "We have enough viable corpses to begin mass-producing Death Knights. There won't be any more hold-ups or any-."
"I should hope not. Master Mograine is certainly displeased and the Lich King, does not want any more stalling..." His voice was cold, emotionless and, worst of all, echoing. The gnome nodded and was about to continue speaking before Darkor simply stepped over him and continued around the room. Observing many of the partially rotten, beaten and burnt corpses, he bent over and lifted one up. An orc woman, who seemed very well preserved. Observing the woman, carefully, he grunted and blinked, repeatedly. "Wha-..." He suddenly shook for a moment, before returning to normal. Glancing at the wound in her stomach, he knew it was his kill. Tossing her into the wall, he turned back and looked to the middle of the room. A male night elf was being brought to undeath.
Shadowy magic could be felt, as the elf began to twitch. Suddenly, he rose up and screamed as if being prodded with a heated iron rod. Azure eyes glowed and the feeling of hopelessness radiated from his body. Nodding at their handiwork, one of them began to tell him of Instructor Razuvious and the training he would undergo, leading the elf into another room.
Darkor nodded slowly as he left the room, continuing his rounds about Acherus. Upon entering another chamber, he saw Lord Thorval, Amal'thazad and Lady Alistra, showing Death Knights what they can do. Glancing towards one of the balconies, he noticed Thassarian, Koltira and another elf speaking. He grunted, wondering how they could waste their time. The time of glory, was coming soon...
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"Your usefulness has run its course..."
Darkor' saronite armor shattered along with his runeaxe, leaving him in dirty rags, weaponless and on the ground. He felt power leaving his body. Suddenly, he could think for himself. Grunting loudly, he stood, looking around at the shattered pieces. He stood, puzzled as the Ebon Blade was formed and he was thrust into battle once again, against his former master.
The Lich King was defeated by the Ashen Verdict and Darkor was left, alone. He felt no attachment to the Verdict, nor the Ebon Blade. He simply left the battlefield and wandered the North.
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Darkor Redeye' single eye opened, glowing azure. Standing, he glanced down the mountain side and grunted. Lifting the mace over his shoulder, he took heavy steps into a small cave. It was dark, damp and desolate. Necromatic energies skitter across the lifeless cold rock walls of the cave. At the end, a blue glow. Upon closer inspection, it looks like a large stone coffin, leaking frost energy. Darkor grunts as he pushes open the slab over the coffin, the sound of screaming echoes through the cave as dozens of glowing blue shards are revealed. The orc opens his palm as another crystal rises from his hand. He drops it in with a CHINK, and quickly pulls the stone slab over the coffin. He stands and turns, opening a fresh Death Gate. He takes a final look back at the coffin and steps through.