“We did it, Sahtra!” Mori exclaimed as she ran up to him, “You’re okay!” The young blood elf burst into sobs. “I…I was so worried.” She clutched his armored upper arm with her small hands and held on as tightly as she could. 

 

The death knight smiled behind his dark helm and placed his free hand warmly on hers. “Good job, little one,” he praised her, "you did well."

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Mori noticed the (now conscious) vrykul reach for his jaded longsword and approach the undead Spirit Twister. She turned her head to him and called out.

 

“Wait, Halvor! That's mine, what are you—”

 

Mori fell silent as she watched the large warrior deliver three clean blows with his sword and cut down the undead Zandalari troll. For several moments, she stood there, her mouth gaping in a mixture of confusion and anger as her eyes fixated on the corpse lying on the ground.

​

"Heh heh heh, time to find a new home for me soul..." The soul of Zahn'ki the Spirit Twister floated towards the sky and faded out of sight.

 

“WHY?” The young blood elf shrieked. She let go of Sahtra and ran over to Halvor, staring up at him in disbelief. “WHY DID YOU DO THAT?”

 

The vrykul calmly sheathed his longsword and replied, “I do not take chances, small child. Did you not just hear mean voice? How we will be trampled by thousand foot army? We do not know what this creature is capable of. So, I will not take risk.”

 

“Foolish,” the death knight muttered under his breath, “he doesn’t know what he’s done.”

 

Mori clenched her fists, glaring at the warrior with burning green eyes. “That undead was under MY control to fight the big bad mogu! I was not going to use him against you!”

 

“NO CHANCES!” Halvor roared back. He turned away from the young blood elf and went to pick up the rest of his battle gear.

 

Mori stomped off to the southern end of the ruins, away from the rest of the party, and silently paced back and forth. This felt like a personal attack to her, and wasn't it? Hadn't someone she thought was an ally, fighting on the same side, relieved her of her primary tool in combat? Would that not be considered an act of aggression on her as well? She had never thought very highly of the vrykul, but a deep feeling of resentment began to form in her heart, as if she had been betrayed.

 

“Good!” Vel’rosh walked up to Halvor with a wide grin on his green face. “You can’t trust any of the undead, even if they're not under anyone's control,” he spoke as he unsheathed his greatsword, his eyes taunting the death knight as they sparkled. Sahtra frowned.

 

“You’d be wise to put that away before I erase you from existence,” he snapped. He had no desire to fight the orc in his wounded state. Sheathing his own axe, the handle splattered with his own blood, the death knight walked over to Mori, who was still angrily muttering to herself. Vel’rosh eagerly followed.

 

“I think it is time your evil is purged from this world. You and the other undead are terrible creatures that must all be slain,” he spat out, “filth!” Mori stopped and stared at the paladin.

 

Sahtra turned around and motioned at the corpse of the undead troll. “This so-called 'evil' saved you. If you wish to pursue this approach with me, I assure you, I won’t grant you the blessing of death. Your soul will be enslaved and tortured for an eternity.” The human stood as firmly as he could and looked the other in the eye. “Sheath your weapon, and walk away, orc.” The death knight turned back to Mori and knelt beside her, removing his helm.

 

“Are you all right, little one?” he asked.

 

Mori opened her mouth to speak but couldn't find the words to express herself as she looked up at Sahtra's face. His brows were furrowed, accentuating the concern radiating from his glowing blue eyes. The young blood elf clenched her fists, her eyes burning furiously.

 

“The undead was mine!” she finally growled as tears of frustration welled up in her eyes, “I would not use it on anyone! It was taken away from me!”

 

"Lies!" Vel’rosh yelled in anger behind the death knight. “You only deceive her, death knight!”

 

Sahtra ignored him and continued speaking to Mori, attempting to comfort her in her visibly agitated state. “I’m aware, child,” he responded, “the others have no understanding of how undeath works.”

 

“I’m trying to do my best," Mori pleaded, "I want to use my magic for good, to help my friends and fight the bad guys, but no one trusts me!” Sahtra nodded solemnly. This mistrust he had borne since his conversion into death knighthood, and her sentiments felt all too familiar. Unfortunately for the young necromancer, she had to learn to bear the stigma that came with her new powers.

 

“CHILD,” Vel’rosh bellowed, “LEAVE NOW!”

 

“It seems the orc is still coming for me, little one,” Sahtra glanced over his shoulder at the approaching paladin, “despite me telling him to leave.” He stood up and put on his helm, the metal locking into place with a clink that Mori knew meant he was about to enter battle.

 

“Sahtra, don’t do this now, please,” Mori begged as she grabbed his cloak and held it tightly, “you're injured, and...and I can’t lose you. You’re the only one I can trust,” she looked at the floor and continued quietly, “and you’ve helped me so much.”

 

The death knight sighed and placed a hand on the young necromancer's shoulder. “I have no other course of action, child,” and turned around, stepping forward to face the orc. Vel’rosh licked his lips and marched quickly over to Sahtra as he raised his sword into the air.

 

“No, please wait!” Mori called out in one last effort to stop the fight from starting, “Vel’rosh, what are you doing?” It was too late. She watched in horror as Sahtra unsheathed the axe from his back and held it in a defensive stance. The duel to the death had begun.

 

Vel’rosh let out a blood-chilling cry, emulating the notorious leader of the Warsong Clan, as he jumped into the air with his greatsword held high. Sahtra moved to the right just in time for him to dodge the blow and swung out with his cursed axe. The orc bent over backwards as he watched the blade slice the air in front of his eyes, missing his tusks by less than an inch. The death knight moved back and glared at the paladin, breathing heavily as he attempted to recover his strength. The other returned his gaze and brought his sword back in front of him.

 

“Stop, you two!” cried out Halvor, “battle not meant to happen!”

 

Ignoring Halvor, the orc grunted and charged at his opponent, landing two hits on Sahtra, who was too fatigued to move out of the way in time. The death knight groaned as the wounds on his arms reopened and dark red blood trickled down his armor, the droplets staining the grass below him. He stood back up and gripped the cursed axe Shin’ka.

 

“Enough!” The vrykul ran up to the orc and pushed him away from the human. The young blood elf saw this as an opportunity and planted herself in between Sahtra and the others.

 

The wounded death knight frowned at Mori. “Move, child,” he commanded. In his state of rage, he did not adopt the more gentle tone he more frequently used with her.

 

“No!” Mori exclaimed, her arms held out at both sides, “You're bleeding badly. He’s going to kill you!”

 

Kill me? Sahtra thought to himself, No. She is mistaken. I will emerge the victor of this battle, with the orc’s soul as my trophy.

 

The death knight shuffled several paces to his right, moving awkwardly until he could see the orc clearly. He held out his hand and, much to the disappointment of the vrykul, curled his fingers into a fist, pulling the paladin over to himself. Sahtra struck Vel'rosh with the blunt end of the axe, knocking the wind out of the latter. Having consumed one of Meechi's potions earlier, however, the paladin recovered quickly and retaliated. He stepped back and swung his greatsword into a powerful blow and spoke a prayer, subsequently smiting the death knight with a blast of holy energy.

 

“No more fight!” Halvor yelled as he threw himself onto the paladin, grappling Vel’rosh to the ground. “This is not why we are here!” The vrykul nodded at Meechi, who darted over to the weakened death knight and grabbed his leg. She threw a potion into the air and shouted “Teleport!” as the two disappeared from their current location and reappeared on the other side of the encampment.

 

Sahtra held out his palm, and a skull-shaped shade followed by a trail of unholy energy rushed towards Vel’rosh. Halvor blocked most of the impact with his massive body, and the same fate befell the subsequent blast the death knight sent out. Damn the vrykul and damn the fox, Sahtra glared at Meechi, they’re only getting in my way. If they hadn’t intervened, the paladin would be dead by now.

 

Vel’rosh, still stuck under the grasp of the strong vrykul, caught Mori glaring at him out of the corner of his eye. Their eyes locked, and he felt the fury emanating from the young blood elf. What have you done, her eyes seemed to call out to him angrily, is this what you wanted?

 

“By the Light,” Vel’rosh whispered, “what have I done? I let my bloodlust overcome me.” The orc turned to the vrykul as tears welled up in his eyes. “I…I lay down my weapon,” the paladin spoke through sobs, “I will not fight any longer.”

 

Halvor nodded as he got off the orc and helped the latter stand back up. “Very good. We can now end battle between you and—WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

 

The vrykul turned his head to Sahtra only to see that he had broken free of Meechi’s grasp and was headed towards the orc with unnatural speed, his cursed axe raised above him.

 

“Finish what you started,” the death knight spat out, his voice as tattered as his armor, “COWARD!”

 

"Quick, stop him!" Meechi cried. The alchemist attempted to throw out a sedative potion but fell short.

 

“NO MORE IS NO MORE!” Halvor picked up his longsword and struck the death knight on the side of his helm with its hilt. “Fight is over.” Sahtra crumpled to the ground and lay still. With a cry, Mori ran over to him and placed her small hands on his arms and chestplate, frantically searching for signs of life. The glow that usually radiated brightly from behind the slits in his helm had diminished.

 

“He is not dead, small child,” spoke Halvor gruffly, “but fighting has to stop.” He produced some rope from his pack and began tying the death knight’s gloved hands behind his back. The vrykul placed additional rope around Sahtra’s torso and legs, rendering him immobile should he regain consciousness.

 

“Light forgive me,” Vel’rosh muttered, and uttered a prayer. He waited for the familiar warmth of the Light to wash over him and grant him peace, but nothing would come. The orc stood on his feet and looked around frantically as if searching for something. No, he thought to himself, it cannot be. It must not have heard me.

 

“HOLY LIGHT, I BESEECH YOU,” The paladin stood, his head turned towards the sky and his arms raised as he called out, “GRANT ME YOUR FORGIVENESS SO THAT I MAY CONTINUE TO SERVE YOU.”

 

Halvor turned to Vel’rosh and watched as the orc stood in disbelief, tears streaming down his dull brown eyes. Whatever he was struggling with, it wasn’t quite the vrykul’s concern. The warrior finished tying Sahtra up and hoisted him with ease, draping him across one shoulder.

 

“I have restrained death knight,” the large warrior motioned to the orc with his spare hand, “Let us go back to village. Then you two can talk out issues.”