The King was dead, long dead. Death Knights all over Azeroth were left in limbo or otherwise without purpose in a world that did not want them, their one reason for unlife dealt with and no longer a threat. For Miilana, this was not an issue.
She had purpose.
Among the Ebon Blade, her duties were simple: They would point her at something, and she would move it or kill it.
She had been tasked with aiding in the fight to take Andorhal, where her only responsibility was to kill Alliance soldiers and drag the bodies back behind the lines for resurrection as new Forsaken – or as spare parts, in the cases of those that were too far gone to be useful otherwise. Her blade sang of slaughter. She had little understanding of what she was doing, except for the fact that she was needed.
“Leave none alive,” she had been told, so that was what she did.
There are individuals among the Horde, however, who see opportunity in the undead who are like Miilana. They see something that can be moulded to their own desires, so they watch, and wait, and study their target for an opportunity.
That was what Simone did – she stared. She stalked. She followed that Death Knight as she did her duty for the Ebon Blade and for the Forsaken and she occasionally helped her dispatch the occasional troublesome human, but otherwise she kept to the shadows.
One day, that Knight ran out of things to kill and drag back in her assigned area and she stopped. She just stopped, so Simone approached, quietly, and she spoke in a hissing whisper to the Troll:
“There’s nothing else here, Miilana, so it is time to take on a new task,” Simone said. “Are you ready? Are you listening?”
The Knight nodded slowly.
“Go to the abandoned farm in Tirisfal and go inside. Wait. You’ll be given your orders.”
The Knight obeyed.
- – -
Simone was perched upon a broken barrel in the darkness of the farmhouse, only her sickly green-yellow eyes could be seen; her body was wrapped in dark leathers and cloth, and the Knight before her was also clad in dark armour, so they gave the illusion of two sets of eyes staring at one another. Simone was observing – Miilana was simply waiting.
She was a machine waiting for a command. She could be programmed.
It was the Ebon Blade tabard that Simone wore that convinced Miilana not to leave. It was her hiss of praise for the Dark Lady that kept her there, too, and Miilana had not moved since.
The undead Sin’dorei woman recognized something in the Troll’s eyes, an intelligence that was mostly dormant in a clouded mind that had so much potential – it could turn against her at any moment, it radiated hatred, but there was some disconnect there, as if it did not know why it hated or what. It could not reach the memories that were locked away.
Simone understood that. She was similar, for a time. She knew exactly how to unlock everything, how to pick away at the bare stone to reveal the masterpiece beneath – but she didn’t want to.
No, this Knight was more useful to her as it was: stupid and easily manipulated. A lackey. A tool.
“You can go where I cannot,” Simone whispered. “you can venture into Kalimdor, where the weather is far too warm, to get supplies for me. You can help me. I need… things. Parts. I need packages picked up. There are goblins in Ratchet that will supply me and I need you to be the one to get what they’re going to be selling me.” The elf paused and watched her quarry. The Troll raised her head and locked her gaze upon Simone, who shifted uncomfortably beneath it and continued.
“My work is important to the cause of the Ebon Blade and the Dark Lady. You will benefit. Perhaps I can help prevent you from rotting away, too.”
Miilana slowly stood. “Ratchet,” she said. Her voice was hollow and lacking emotion – but her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She narrowed her eyes before turning and stalking out of the farmhouse, leaving Simone alone in the darkness.
Satisfied, the elf retreated to the upstairs laboratory. She had work to continue.
- – -
“What, who are you? What do you want?”
Razzlefilx stared up at the dead Troll. Her eyes glowed fiercely, as all Death Knights’ did, and her face was harsh – not just from death, but from age. Her skin was ghastly pale. The old undead woman was clad head to toe in solid Saronite armour, too, which made the goblin really uncomfortable.
“Plaguearrow supplies,” Miilana said. “give them.”
“Right, right,” Razzle sighed and disappeared into the back of the store, only to come out several moments later with his hands spread. “They’re not here yet,” he said. “Look, they’ll be here tonight, why don’t you stay in town ’til then? You can get a drink at the bar or something.”
Miilana said nothing – she stalked out of the store and stood outside, where she would wait all day … and all night, if she had to.
