Small pools of blood dripped on the pristine white snow as the man held the severed head of the bear in his hand. The kill had sent a wave of calm throughout his cold body, the act of violence not for sport but for necessity. Every so often, the man would feel the madness approach, and it would leave him only with the taking of a life. Whether human or beast, it did not matter. It was the price he paid for his power.

It had not always been this way, the man mused to himself with a smile, though he vastly preferred the state of undeath over true life. There was no need to consume food or drink for sustenance, he had grown insensitive to cold and pain, and, finally, he needed no rest. This was the most convenient part for the time being, as he was forced to travel by night. He could not travel by road, as neither Alliance nor Horde trusted the man, and seemingly neither did any of the flora and fauna. They all either withered away and recoiled at his presence, or they lashed out as they would at a parasite or monster. The only ones who bore no hostility towards the man were his fellow death knights, outcasts from society after being raised as the powerful undead soldiers of the Lich King.

They bear none, for they do not know the truth.

He recalled that day two years ago, when he first learned they would be coming.

“The entrance to the citadel must be around here. Quickly, split into two groups and look for an opening.”

Sahtra turned at the sound of a voice much like his own and crept slowly to the base of the cliff. Hidden behind a large boulder, he peered down at a small party of scouts comprised of two humans, a gnome, and a night elf. They were being escorted, it appeared, by another death knight.

“I’ll take one of the humans and the gnome with me,” the night elf spoke, “you take the other, Ainsworth.”

Sahtra raised an eyebrow under his horned helm. Thorley Ainsworth, one of the proudest of Darion Mograine’s death knights, here at Icecrown? The man had been lucky he had escaped without a scratch, and for returning and attempting to infiltrate the lair of the Lich King he was a fool. If Ainsworth was out for revenge, he would not succeed; Sahtra was sure he would see to that. But there were too many enemies at the moment; he needed to eliminate them one at a time. Sahtra waited until the night elf, gnome, and human split off, and he followed them silently. When the four were finally out of earshot of Ainsworth, the death knight readied himself to strike.

The night elf shifted around nervously. The cold temperatures and howling winds already made her uncomfortable, but she could sense an additional chilling presence surrounding her, one lined with the intent to kill. The gnome turned around and looked up at his traveling companion with unease.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

“I am not sure,” replied the night elf, scanning the horizon carefully, “I have a feeling we are being watched.”

The gnome furrowed his brow, stood still, and looked around himself. “I don’t see anything suspi—”

Seemingly out of nowhere, Sahtra came crashing down onto the gnome’s body, the impact shattering several of his ribs and puncturing his internal organs. Bright red blood oozed from the gnome’s corpse like a milk from a freshly knocked over glass.

“A death knight!” exclaimed the night elf, “who are—”

Her question abruptly ended mid-sentence as Sahtra drove the runeblade cleanly through her throat. He had no time to waste on making his usual introduction or taunting his opponents. They must not escape, he knew, or the scouts would return with reinforcements. The death knight turned around to face the human mage, who stood still while preparing a fire spell. Her lack of movement would be her fatal error.

Sahtra held out the palm of his gloved left hand, and from it shot forth a stream of ice directed at the mage’s feet, rooting her in place. With a gasp, she cancelled channeling her spell and instead tried to focus on freeing herself from the ice, but it was too late. Sahtra clenched his fist, and chains emerged from the ice, wrapping themselves around the woman’s arms. She could do nothing but watch as the sharp tip of the rune blade came swiftly towards her heart, and her vision went black.

Three down, two to go. Sahtra sheathed his runeblade and quickly ran in the direction he had last seen Ainsworth. They could not have gone far, he figured, and sure enough, he spotted them a mere two hundred yards away, at the foot of a steep cliff. The death knight’s companion, a hunter, was scaling the slope, his bow and arrows secured on his back.

A prone target, Sahtra noted, and held out his left hand. The hunter appeared to be thrust from the cliff, and he soared into the clutches of the death knight, who decapitated him with one clean strike from his blade. One remained, the intruding death knight, and he was not one bit pleased by the hunter’s elimination.

“Hey, who are you? What are you doing with my companions?”

Sahtra threw the corpse of the hunter onto the ground and gazed intently at Thorley Ainsworth as he approached him with slow, deliberate steps.

“Look here, death knight,” growled Ainsworth, “I don’t know what you want with us, but you won’t escape from me so easily—”

Sahtra remained silent but instead shot out a beam of frost from his left palm. The ice at Ainsworth’s feet trapped him in place, and frigid chains kept his arms restrained at both sides.

“Let me go! Whoever you are, let me go!”

Ainsworth struggled against his bonds but to no avail. This more than amused Sahtra, who chuckled as he watched the intruder squirm around in his prison like a rat caught in a steel trap. He would end the invader’s suffering soon enough. Sahtra stepped closer to his catch and grinned widely as he removed his own helm.

“How dare you look at me like that!” Ainsworth was furious. “Who do you think you are—"

Thorley Ainsworth fell silent as a wave of horror washed over him. He now recognized his opponent, none other than Sahtra the Venerated. He had been one of the highest ranking commanders of the Lich King, and among the most powerful death knights specializing in frost magic. No one had seen him after the incident at Light’s Hope Chapel, so they had pronounced him lost in battle.

“Sahtra,” Ainsworth spat out, “to think you would still serve Arthas after his treachery and manipulation were exposed! Do you not value your freedom?”

“I serve my King of my own free will,” replied the other coolly, “it is you who refuses to see the truth.”

“Nonsense!” The intruding death knight broke the chain holding his right arm in place and began to hack at the ice clamping down his left. “As soon as the others hear about this, you are finished. You are ALL finished!”

“They will hear nothing,” Sahtra whispered as he stepped forward and leaned into Ainsworth’s ear. “Suffer well, traitor.”

Sahtra spoke an enchantment, bringing a shadow-enhanced blade through his victim’s throat, and Thorley Ainsworth was no more. The death knight released the ice and chains from the corpse, and it fell to the cold ground. Sahtra knelt onto the bloodied snow and turned the body of the fallen death knight over, rummaging through his cloak until he found the hidden pocket sewn into its fabric. He pulled out a small, fist-sized badge that identified the bearer as a member of the Knights of the Ebon Blade.

“You won’t be needing that any longer,” Sahtra spoke to the body, and stood back up. If one of the Knights had made it here, the others would arrive, and soon.

And arrive, they did, in great numbers. Three weeks later, Alliance and Horde alike stormed Icecrown under the leadership and training of Highlord Tirion Fordring, renowned paladin and warrior of the Argent Crusade. Sahtra had attempted to partake in the defending of the colossal citadel, but his efforts would have been in vain. No sooner had the death knight made it to the top of Icecrown than he saw thousands of souls rise from the broken shards of Frostmourne, engulfing a weakened Arthas. Mobs of angry adventurers surrounded the fallen Lich King, and Sahtra knew it was the end. He ran out the elaborate construct, hidden amongst the chaos, and teleported safely to Acherus, the Ebon Hold. Icecrown could no longer be his home.

* * * * *

In life, Sahtra had enjoyed the occasional visit to the tavern. With the daily brew as his company, he would observe the local soldiers, explorers, craftsmen, and others who passed in and out of the often rowdy joint. The human gained much amusement out of bar fights that broke out between men too inebriated to be of harm. In undeath, the tavern was one of few places the death knight could return to without the constant annoyance of being mocked or driven out at gunpoint. The man no longer needed the consumption of food or spirits, and thus he would often sit in the corner and eavesdrop to gather information. It mattered not what kind; the death knight would make use of it.

“Och, I’m goin’ tae grab me another pint.”

“Now be careful, lad, or ye’ll soon be talkin’ about the pandas again.”

“I’m tellin’ ye they’re real, ye don’t believe me.”

“Nay I don’t, last time ye were tellin’ me about the ones who come back from the dead.”

Sahtra’s blue eyes glowed fiercely from underneath his hood as he intently listened to the two drunkards, both dwarves, argue once again about these strange creatures from a distant land. The one insisting the “pandas” were real carried on his clothing the emblem of the Explorers’ League, an archaeological society that spread across all continents of Azeroth. The other dwarf stood up. “I’ve got tae go,” he spoke with a sigh, “yer babblin’ nonsense again.”

“Ach come on…” the explorer began to retort, but it was too late. Frustrated, the dwarf slammed his fist on the counter. “No one believes me—”

“I believe you,” a deep voice cutting him off startled the dwarf, and he looked up to find a human male clothed in dark armor and a cloak that hid his face, save for his glowing blue eyes, seated where the other dwarf had been just moments ago. “Tell me about these creatures.”

“Who are ye? Why do ye want to know about ‘em?” The dwarf looked around himself nervously, only now realizing he had been eavesdropped upon.

Sahtra placed a large gold coin onto the counter. “That is my business, dwarf,” he replied sternly, “and mine alone.” The explorer’s eyes widened at the sight of the gold coin, and he opened his mouth to speak only to shut it a mere moment later. He shook his head. In response, the death knight placed an identical coin on top of the former. “Better?”

“All right, lad, I’ll tell ye what I know.”

“Proceed.”

The dwarven explorer told Sahtra of a land recently discovered after the lifting of the mists. Pandaria is what they called it, as it was said to be inhabited by bear-like creatures called pandaren. Rumors floated of the riches and resources the pandaren held, but there was more. The dwarf recounted tales of the mogu, a titan-forged race of ancient beings who practiced necromancy, and this especially interested the death knight. He decided he would seek out this new land and discover what he could from the mogu who lived there.

“When does the next ship to Pandaria leave? And from where?”

“We’ve got several of me crew leavin’ from Stormwind in three days. Ye’ve gotta be quick, though, the ships are gettin’ crowded.”

Sahtra nodded. “I will be there, thank you for the information.”

“Yer welcome, la—”

The death knight was gone, and in his place was another gold coin. The dwarf pocketed his compensation and left the tavern, satisfied.

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