Fandor'talah - Short Story about Zhane

If asked, Relzhane would be unable to explain why he had kept the robe he had awoken to find himself wearing. It was light with flowing sleeves, and it reached down to the floor. It was elegant, tailored to fit him perfectly, and it made him look as if he were an official in Silvermoon City rather than a Ranger fighting to protect it. The blue, white and black silk, coupled with gold laces and a golden tie around the waist gave absolutely zero protection on the battle field. It was purely formal in nature and was not intended to be used as armor. It was completely useless to him now. Yet, for reasons he could not explain, he had taken it off as soon as he was able to and then stuffed it into a sack stolen from his first victim along with various trinkets that had been adorning his body.

The armor he wore now had also been stolen from that first victim. The decapitated young Ranger didn't need it anymore, that was for certain. It wasn't as good a fit as his own Ranger armor had been, but he and the man he'd killed were similar enough in size that it sufficed throughout the battle for Quel'Thalas that he had awoken to.

“You'll get new armor soon,” a man Relzhane didn't know told him. They were standing together near a glowing forge that looked like nothing the blonde Ranger had ever seen before. Instead of being hot, it was cold, which confused him. He didn't understand how a forge could possibly function while icy cold, but here it was, sparking and hissing and making a bright flickering light. The man had called it a Runeforge, whatever one of those was.

Relzhane just stared at his companion, saying nothing as he clutched his blood stained sword in one hand and the sack of his things in the other. The man wore hulking jet black plate mail of some sort that exuded cold somehow. In fact, everything in this unfamiliar place seemed to be cold. Absently, Relzhane realized that he, too, was cold. Ordinarily, he would care about that but right now nothing seemed to matter.

“Makes a change to work with the new Death Knights,” the man continued, eying the smaller elf beside him. He chuckled, an odd sound considering the echoing quality his voice had. “They don't have their personalities intact at first.” The man laughed again. “Makes things much easier when you don't have someone back talking you all the time.”

Relzhane stopped listening to the man. He was unimportant to the young Ranger and his words didn't make any sense. His thought drifted to memories of the day that had started with waking up in the dark in a stone tomb. He still had not a clue why he had been in the tomb and hadn't thought to check the marker on the grave when he had broken his way out with magic he didn't remember having ever known. All that had mattered, that still mattered, was the whisper in mind telling him to fight. He did not think to question that whisper, nor why he was fighting against his own people. Hundreds of his former comrades and those he once fought to protect fell to his blade. He could still remember the shocked looks on the faces of those who recognized him moments before he ran them through or cut them in half.

A sigh caught Relzhane's attention, bringing him out of his memories. He gave the man, who had been talking about saronite, runeforging and Death Knights, a questioning expression, a feathery blonde eyebrow raised.

“The problem with the newly risen is that they keep on losing focus. Did you hear a word I said?” the man asked, looking frustrated with the blonde elf.
Relzhane blinked, his expression faintly shocked. As the man sighed again and launched into explaining things once more, Relzhane's thoughts focused upon a single phrase the man had said: “newly risen.” He listened this time, but he was caught up on that phrase. If he was newly risen, that meant that he had to be dead. He remembered being hurt and passing out, and then he remembered waking today in the tomb. The pieces started to fall together and a realization set in. Had he looked at the marker on the tomb he had broken free of, he'd have seen his own name. He had died in the war that day in his hometown, fallen to an Orcish blade as he fought to save his home from the invading trolls and orcs. Questions began to surface before his mind went blank. The questions fell into his subconscious, out of grasp before having ever been considered. He wasn't bothered by that and was becoming used to it. His mind had been going blank a lot today, releasing him from thoughts that would hold him back if he gave them the time for consideration. Instead, he turned his focus back to his instructor, who was finishing up his explanation of runeforging for a second time.

“There are saronite weapons over there,” the man finished by pointing to a weapons rack the side of the runeforge that contained all matter of melee weapons from swords to axes. “Go and choose one, whatever you're most comfortable fighting with, and I will show you how to runeforge it.”

Relzhane shook his head. “I have a blade.” They were the first words he had spoken all day and he absently realized that his voice had the same echoing quality as the man standing beside him. It sounded strange to hear his voice distorted that way, but he didn't care. His thoughts, aside from his attachment to his blade and the bag, were lost to him.

“That flimsy little thing?” The man chuckled. “You want to make that your runeblade? You High Elves might make magic weapons, but that thing is worthless to you as a Death Knight. Choose a new one.” He gestured at the rack of weapons again.

“This is my blade,” Relzhane insisted, locking the man with a glare and not budging.

The man groaned. “I forgot how obstinate you new Death Knights can be...” He sighed and then took Relzhane's blade from him, inspecting it. It was a ceremonial blade with an inscription in Thalassian engraved down the center of blade. The ornate hilt and long mythril blade were well-made and had not suffered any damage despite Relzhane's active participation in the battle.

“Fine,” he finally conceded. Relzhane did not respond other than to stop glaring at him. “Get me some of the saronite over there. We'll need it to modify this thing if it's going to be of any use to you at all.”

Relzhane glared again, standing his ground. He couldn't understand why, but he did not want his blade to be modified. He liked it the way it was and despite the argument his trainer was giving, he wanted it to stay that way.

“Do not tempt me, boy. I have put up with you and the others to now, but this is not a point for compromise,” the man told him, fixing him with a glare of his own. His voice had a commanding fury laced in with the echo.

The blonde Ranger, now a Death Knight, continued to glare at the other man until the whispering presence in his mind quelled his thoughts, numbing him to his own desires. He turned from the man, calmly walking to a cart containing black icy bars of metal. He lifted one out of the cart, unphased by the dark magic the bar exuded on contact with him. It felt natural to him, which confused him for just a moment. He didn't get the chance to think on it as he handed the bar to his instructor.

The man gave Relzhane something of a sinister yet sincere smile. He took the bar and started explaining how he was going to combine the ceremonial blade with the saronite to strengthen it. Relzhane stayed silent as he had before, just watching as the man worked on his blade. His thoughts remained just out of grasp, floating near the surface of his consciousness but vanishing as soon as he tried to give them focus.

It was hours later when Relzhane's burial blade was modified, turned into a custom weapon fitting for a Death Knight. The Death Knight trainer handed it back to him, smiling at his work. The blonde said nothing, just examining the sword. The blade, that had formerly been shining white, now had a dark core visible through the translucent mythril surrounding it. The saronite extended down into the hilt, showing through in some places but making its presence known regardless merely by the magic seeping through. It was a heavier blade now, but still light enough to fit with Relzhane's athletic style of fighting, more of a dance than anything when compared to how others used their swords. Relzhane experimentally took a few stances and waved his new weapon to get a feel for it before the man spoke again. His thoughts, strangely not being blocked for the time being, were on modifications he would need to make to his style when the echoed voice of the man beside him caught his attention.

“It's ironic that you'll be fighting your own people with one of their own blades,” the Death Knight said with a chuckle. “A modified one, but still a High Elf blade.” He returned to the runeforge, still laughing to himself.

Relzhane watched him, a small frown on his face as he contemplated those words. He slowly followed the man, responding to gestured hand indicating he should come. He listened half-heartedly to an explanation of the various runes he could forge into his blade to connect it with his own magic and absently chose one without thought when asked. He followed the directions to forge the chosen rune into his blade, giving it yet more magic than it already had, turning it into an extension of himself more than just a weapon. He did not respond to the compliment given on forging it correctly and so powerfully on his first try. His thoughts were locked on the irony of his weapon and what that comment had meant.

“Go on, give it a try,” the man told him after appraising Relzhane's forging. He watched as the blonde took stances and swung his new runeblade in the open space as he had done before forging it with runes.

Relzhane could feel the new magic of the runes mixing with the inherent magic of the mythril and saronite melding together. The man was right. His sword was a physical representation of irony, right down to the inscription down the center of the blade. When adding the runes with the runeforge, he had been careful not to mar that inscription, though he was unable to give a reason as to why he had left it intact. Three words in Thalassian were written on the blade, the runes placed between them and around them: “respect,” “tenacity,” and “compassion,” the three virtues of the Holy Light. There could be no more ironic an inscription on the blade of a Death Knight.

“Name your runeblade,” the other Death Knight suggested after having watched Relzhane practice with his new sword for a while. “The sooner you think of the blade as part of yourself, the better. Naming it will help you make that connection with your weapon.”

The blonde gave his trainer a blank stare at the suggestion. His thoughts were stuck on what he had used the blade to do to his own people. He had no intention of bonding with it and instead looked down at it resting in his right hand with disgust.

“The hilt says 'Dawnsinger' on it. Call it that,” the man said upon receiving no response.

“That is my name,” Relzhane responded quietly, the echo making it sound louder and firmer than he had intended.

The man hummed in response, looking at the sword. He suggested one of the Thalassian words engraved down the blade between the runes, mispronouncing it and receiving nothing more than a glare from the blonde.

“Fandor'talah,” Relzhane finally said when his instructor was beginning to get angry at him. He kept his eyes on his runeblade as the man gave him a confused look.

“What?”

“It means 'true death.' The blade is named Fandor'talah,” Relzhane explained briefly before looking up. It was a fitting name for the blade, an abomination in an of itself, contradicting itself with the metals that it was made of and the inscription and runes placed on the blade. Given as a gift for the afterlife, to honor his life and bless him with the Light, corrupted by spilling the blood of those who gave it and defiled by the cursed metal and runes forged into it. Fandor'talah was definitely a good name for the blade that now reflected what Relzhane had become.

He had a look of despair on his face for only a moment as he looked at the man who had helped him transform his blade. Then the whisper in his mind crushed his thoughts and emotions again. Relzhane's face went blank, his glowing blue eyes focused upon the man who was his teacher for the time being. He was a Death Knight now, and he had a lot to learn.