No Gods, No Masters

((No Gods, No Masters is a belated Day of the Dead story, intended as a minor reflection on how a character moves through RP, and how OOC decisions made by the player can, over time, affect the character.  In this case, sparing somewhat evil, obvious bad-guys altered Xynrael's character in a very grave way.  The title is meant to reflect not Xynrael's attitude before this story was written, but a liberation of the character from my OOC decisions and those of other players.  I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.))






What of the Skysong Manor remained aboveground did not terribly disturb the eternal Spring air of Quel'thalas.   The single structure, part of a smaller wing of the home, was weather-worn and looked as if the Wretched had been using it as Shelter for far too long.  The grounds were clear now, but the shattered mana crystals spoke plainly of the most recent inhabitants.

A closer study of the grounds would reveal scarlet ribbons upon the ground, and spatters upon both walls and ceiling of the single remaining building.  Between fence posts, crumbling walls, and smashed furniture, Xynrael had weaved for himself a tiny path of blood, also leaving behind crushed and torn remnants of the Wretched.

The sole building that stood as testament to the fact that this place had once been the private holding of some great family was the only one that needed stand any longer- it had been built the sturdiest out of any section of the house.  The lone death knight approached the very center of the circular room that took up most of the building, and knelt, placing his left hand on the ground.

 "Wisdom," he muttered under his breath, causing a hidden latticework of magical conduits erupted over the stone floor, and the center sunburst design on which Xynrael stood descended, replaced overhead by another stone slab.

The room in which he stood was pitch black, though the echo of his footsteps suggested the room was tremendous.  He descended thirty steps, then stopped.  The floor beneath him sunk two inches, and lightglobes levitating above pillars on either side of the room bathed it in a dim blue glow.

The room itself was covered in shelves.  Wall after wall of shelves; a thousand years of books, papers, and records gathering dust in the darkness.  Further ahead, the room was lined with weapons and suits of armor, and behind these was a single wall with a monolothic vault door set into the center.  The door was nearly bright, as if recently polished, despite the gloom of the place and the scratch marks dug into he wall, which suggested that some attempt at forced entry had been made aisde from the door itself.

Upon closer inspection, the vault door had no handles, no bars; indeed, it had nothing to suggest that it was at all operable save a hinge.  It was to this door that Xynrael strode, removing his helmet.  Once again, he laid his hand before him, resting it as high upon the door as he could reach.

"Honor."  He said, his voice rebounding through the halls.

The door strained with a metallic groan, then opened slowly as he stepped back.  This hall was adorned with row upon row of gold bars- a fortune amassed over generations of the Skysong family, all of it untouched.

Past this, Xynrael strode, his boots thumping, the shuffle of his armor reverberating throughout the lonely halls as if an army were marching behind him.  A second door awaited at the end of the hall.  The first swung shut as he laid his hand upon the second.

"Duty."  He said.  This door was carved out of rock, but rolled aside as if independent from the wall in which it sat.  The death knight strode through, bracing himself.

This room was bathed in an ethereal Light that had no apparent source.  It caused his skin to tingle, and as he entered, the Light shied away from the place where he stood.  Lining the walls were suits of armor, and in the center was a single blue and gold outfit- the arms and colors of a Paladin of the Silver Hand.  Upon the suit rested a tabard confirming this, and at its feet, the gauntlets folded over its pommel, rested a mighty hammer.

Before each suit lay a stone monument, containing only a name and a date.  Not all were armor, though some were suited of robes armored at the shoulders, with staves before them.  Others were leather, green and gray with a gold trim, with the gauntlets resting upon bows, rather than any form of physical weaponry.

This hall of arms kept silent vigil over one final door, over which the words "May all who enter here find peace" were engraved.  It was here, at the door to the final hall of the Skysong vaults, that Xynrael stopped.  Rather than lay his hand upon the door, he lifted both and ran his fingers over it, as if the door itself were some inconceivable treasure.  His touch lingered for several minutes before he spoke, the word catching in his throat.

"Sacrifice."

The last door slid downwards, disappearing into the floor.  Another door of stone slid upwards from its position just behind the first.  The death knight entered.

What greeted him on the other side was a very somber sight.  Laid out upon low stone altars were stone sarcophagi in rows on either side of a long path.  This hall was more narrow than the rest, with only room for the path, the sarcophagi, and some space to walk between each altar.  All the nearer altars were undecorated an without engraving, but towards the rear lay some that had life-size stone sentinels before them.  Each sentinel was unique, though all were Elven in stature ad shape, and each had unique features.  Some bore phrases, prayers, or quotations at their feet, and the lid of the sarcophagus each protected was engraved with either one or two coats of arms, signifying heritage.

The statues were men and women both, and certain altars had two guardians, a couple laid within the same sarcophagus.  Xynrael walked to the first that was guarded by a sentinel, and took to one knee before it.

Once a year, and only once in the last three, did he re-enter these vaults, on the Day of the Dead.  He laid his hands upon the lid, rested his forehead against it, and wept bitterly.

Partially obscured by the leather of the death knight's right gauntlet was a name, etched into the stone.

"Here lies Jaevyn, the last Lord Skysong, who, with his blood and the blood of his sons, refreshed the free land of Quel'thalas.  May his spirit endure forever."

An hour passed as Xynrael knelt, his arms laid out upon the stone coffin.  His tears ceased, though not rapidly enough for his taste, and gave way to prayers in remembrance of the dead.  Eventually, he stood, and made to leave.

The back wall began to glow, dark runes carved into it swirling with magic.  The sound that came next was one of an unbearable shrieking, sharper than the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard.  The death knight covered his ears and dropped to his knees, but as he hit the ground, the noise stopped.

He looked up, and at first saw nothing.  Then, upon the back wall, he saw another door that had not been there before; a tremendous double-door made entirely out of stone and otherwise solid rock, save for the seams.  It was closed, and over it words in Thalassian shimmered brightly.

"Only the dead may enter here."

The statues, too, were glowing with a bluish hue similar to that which came from Xynrael's eyes, but he took no notice of this until misty tendrils began to twirl from the stone sentinels.

They took form, and in the darkness of the crypt, he could see men and women standing before him,  their visages like light dancing upon a fog.  Some were done up in noble dress, others in full suits of armor, but one in particular caught his attention.

"Father," he croaked, struggling to stand.  "How..."

The Lord Skysong stood in much the same way his armor had in the center of the previous room; back straight, arms out before him, hands folded over the shaft of his hammer.

"A dream.  A nightmare.  Magic.  The closeness of the world of the dead.  It matters not."  He waved one hand, lifting his hammer and stepping forward to eye his son.  "The dead have come to speak to you, and you will hear what we have to say."

"Father, I have fought beside the dead, what more wisdom could they have to share with m-"  The blow came swiftly, and was unexpectedly strong, considering that the hammer which landed it was non-corporeal.  A heavy clang resounded from Xynrael's armor as he was struck upon the chest, knocked back onto the steps leading to his father's sarcophagus.

"No gods or masters has Xynrael the Frostbane," said another ghostly form, breaking from two that stood apart from the death knight's father.  This was one of the Skysong brothers; the eldest behind Xynrael, once Daeyn.  "And no wisdom but his own will do."

The sarcastic, mocking tone, as much as the hammer blow, brought a betrayed look to Xynrael's features.  Rather than respond, however, he pushed himself to his feet.  This attempt was met with similar results to his irreverence; another hammer blow fell, this time sending him sprawling onto his back.  He groaned somewhat, but this time only raised himself to a sitting position on the steps.

"You have darkened, son.  You were a bastard in life, now you are truly one in death.  The Veil shrouds all things, but it does not make false nobility of them."  His father reprimanded, the ghost once more laying its hammer against the floor.

"How mean you?"  He demanded, expecting another strike, though it did not come.  Xynrael was already beginning to understand that more of his father had manifested in him than he might have liked.

"You send messengers to wronged men, carrying lavish gifts and notes of apology," Jaevyn responded.  Even as he spoke, the ghostly crowd behind him changed shape and form.  The scene was instead himself, standing with the Vanguard's newest informant, a silent re-enactment of his orders that she carry a box of gifts to a man they had nearly killed over a misunderstanding.

"You lead men valiantly into battle, but punish them as a taskmaster."  This time, a scene of him striking out at Jaen Peaceroot, one of the Vanguard's soldiers.  Though the crime was insubordination and in many cases may have gotten the young man killed, it was overall a harmless case of running mouth.  "Men should be punished, but for causing division.  This one was merely voicing his frustration."

The mist danced before Xynrael as his father spoke.  He wanted to look away, but found his gaze transfixed on the scenes that played out.

"You were once a champion, a protector.  Men followed you into battle for your character and your leadership, not for your ability to plan and execute an assault."  The image was now a wholesale slaughter; three of the Ebonhawks standing amidst the disintegrating ranks of a marshal's personal guard.  The plan had been prepared by another, one Cadros Dawntreader.

The scene continued for the full duration of the battle, ending with Xynrael, Jaen, and Cadros making their scape from the Swamp of Sorrows with the Alliance marashal in tow.

Once again, the image changed.

"Even when other men would do nothing, you would go alone."

Now before him sat Aerather Sunrender, mounted upon the seat of his mechano-hog.  A wounded Eriene Duskbane stood to the side of the contraption, speaking with the former Knight-Lord.  Xynrael was standing, relative to the scene, where he had been that day.

Suddenly, Aerather lurched to the right, grabbing the female Blood Knight by her undamaged arm and yanking her towards him.  At the same moment, the side car of the contraption unfolded, and he dumped her into it.  Before she had even fallen into the car, a non-coporeal Xynrael appeared from over his own shoulder, galloping past on a misty deathcharger, which leapt into the air, bearing its rider over Aerather.  The ghost-Xynrael dragged Eriene from the sidecar and galloped off, followed by Sunrender.

Rather than outrun him to the gates, Xynrael had stopped at the edge of Murder Row.  The guardians watched, unmoving, as the death knight set himself between Sunrender and the former Knight-Lord's quarry.  Knight-Master Duskbane commanded that they not draw their weapons, but the Knight-Lord drew his blade and attacked, landing blow after blow for not less than half an hour.  During the course of the fight, the Knight-Master had managed to push through her wound sufficiently to return the favor, and surrounded him in a veil of the Light before another potentially mortal blow had landed.  Eventually, more Blood Knights had arrived and diffused the situation, though no heed was paid to Aerather's attempted abduction or assault.

The reward had been a small, subtle thing.  He had placed himself between an innocent person and someone who meant them harm, and she had protected him in turn... And offered him the tiniest glimmer of friendship.


Another shift; this time a memory of Xynrael's first appearance in Silvermoon, as one of the death knights secretly sworn to protect Sunrender- also a memory of the Frostbane's duplicity.  He had defeated Sunrender's plans to kidnap Circe Shadewind by betraying the Knight-Lord's trust.

This had gained him allies, in the form of Taleal and her company of agents, who had worked against Sunrender.

"You were never one to shirk the pillars upon which House Skysong has founded.  Now your personal distaste for men impairs your judgement- even when it comes to your own kind, who are already pushed aside by the world."  The death knight winced at this; he was unsure as to what was coming, but he was quite certain whom it would involve.

Once more, the mist swirled, revealing a small scene that had taken place on the water of Stillwhisper Pond.  The events were unimportant, but they focused in on a single face, one that looked far less embittered by time spent in the world, the Cult of the Damned markings accenting eyes that gave a nearly trusting look.

The scene swirled around the face, which hardened somewhat.  The view of the pond also shifted, the face and body repositioning to a hill some small distance away.  Nikkitah Blightheart stood there, asking his assistance.  Xynrael remembered the events only dimly, remembered Treue whispering in his ear, and remembered turning away, convinced that Blightheart's situation was irrelevant to his confession.

The confession itself was one that would have resulted in execution, but was made out of desperation, he knew- he had simply walked away, after knocking Nikkitah unconscious and leaving the younger man for his 'father' to pick up.

Xynrael watched himself walk away, fists clenched tightly at his sides.  "Blightheart's loyalties were suspect before this, what bearing ha-" Another hammer blow, like judgement being passed.

"You judged his position without proof.  You were by duty and by pursuit of wisdom, at the very least, to explore it.  That could have been a turning point in that death knight's afterlife- instead you sent him right back to what he had escaped."

The scene changed again.

He stood, watching years of memories unfold in minutes, and realized with increasing shame how much like the death knight he had originally been he was again becoming.

"Now you send your soldiers to do your work, hold grudges against men for protecting their own, wield the authority of your station like a weapon... Like a politician.  A noble and a general you are not, but a leader, and only by your virtues."  His father admonished, driving the final nail in Xynrael's metaphorical coffin.

The death knight rose, laying his hand upon his father's sarcophagus to steady himself.  The judging eyes of the dead rested upon him, his own scanning the crowd nervously.  After a long silence, he asked, "What would you have of me?"

The second of the younger Skysong brothers stepped forward without hesitation.  "You must recover your status.  Dead or alive, you are a protector.  To lose touch with the people you protect, and the reasons you protect them, is unacceptable.  There was always a reason, whether it was the sheer evil of that which you fought, the girl, your men... But, you believed in all these reasons, and fought for them earnestly, and not as a noble fights, from a lounge."

Another, this one clothed in fine silks and walking with a finely-engraved cane, stepped forward.  Xynrael did not recognize him on a personal level, but remembered seeing a painting of him adorning one wall of his father's study.  "You must steel your mind, child, and widen your gaze.  The task that lays before you and your Ebonhawks is monumental, but it this manner of war requires no general.  Wars fought in shadows need leaders and men clever, focused, and involved."  He stuck the ferrule of his cane under Xynrael's nose, then tapped the death knight's chin with it before retreating.

When others had come and gone, at at last the reminiscence was over, Xynrael whispered a sorrowful goodbye to his father and brothers.

He turned to leave, still somewhat shamed by the events, but was stopped by the resting of a wispy hand upon his shoulder.  "You are my son, whatever name you might choose.  No matter our bents, we are guardians of life, all of us, and I expect nothing less from my eldest boy."

The two traded small smiles.

Again, the screeching noise came.  This time, it did not stop for many minutes.  When finally it did, and the death knight had unclenched his jaw and opened his eyes from the tremendous sensory invasion, the ghosts were gone, and he was kneeling where he had begun so many hours before, with his elbows resting upon his father's sarcophagus.

Xynrael rose, replaying the conversations in his head for a moment, the echoes of dead voices still whispering in his ear as he left, for the moment unaware that the stone door remained present at the far side of the crypt.