Two warriors stood facing each other in the ruins. The human on the north side of the ruins was breathing heavily, blood dripping from multiple wounds in her body. Her hair was braided in an elvish fashion, and she wore leather armor that was ripped, revealing open wounds. Several empty sheaths were strapped to her back, the weapons broken and scattered about the clearing. A single dagger was clutched in her left hand, and she glared at her opponent with bright, green eyes.
The other figure loomed on the other side of the crumbling structure, standing perfectly still in its dark plate armor. Its face was masked in shadows underneath a helm, except for two red eyes glowing with hate. It clutched a longsword, the hilt of which was decorated to resemble a dragon’s skull with Khyber dragonshards as eyes. The blade of the sword glowed with a faint, cold light, despite being spattered with blood both fresh and dried.
“This has been entertaining…” The death knight said. “But why don’t you give up already? The Keeper is already grabbing your shoulder. I, on the other hand, am prepared to fight for days on end.” He boasted, brandishing his blade.
The woman spat blood on the ground, then inhaled shakily. “You should know me by now.” She whispered. “I’m not going to give up. Especially not a fight such as this. You have to fall at some point. We both know that.”
The death knight chuckled. “Then bring it. Show me your last strength, Mika.” With a flick, he stood braced for a charge.
“How many times must I say it…? The name’s Zeboime!” The bard shouted, sprinting forth. Just as the death knight was about to strike, she jumped, plunged the dagger between the death knight’s neck and shoulder, and flipped to land behind him. As soon as she landed, her opponent spun to cleave into her.
Zeboime held an arm up to brace for the sword, yet it did nothing to stop the blade. With no weapon of her own to parry, Zeboime was defenseless. The cursed sword sunk deep into her side, and the once mighty singer now sank to her knees.
“Any last words?” The death knight questioned.
Zeboime looked up to glare into the eyes of her executioner. “Blake… in this life or the next, I will avenge Stonespur.” At that, the death knight plunged the sword Zeboime’s chest until it pierced through her back. Defiance sparked in her eyes as she gave her final breath.
A soft, gold glow surrounded the corpse, shone for a few seconds, and dissipated almost immediately. Blake glanced at it, curiosity sparking in his bloody eyes. “In this life… or the next…” He repeated. “So she did learn that magic. Interesting.”