Banshee

 “Give him the food and get out of there,” Kel’adras Blacksorrow had been told. “Do not let him out, no matter what he promises you.” 

The elf stood now outside the banshee’s door, a plain tray of soup and bread held precariously in her trembling hands. She was but an initiate of the Ebon Blade, and likely the least skilled of Lady Lowe’s charges, and so to be given a task as important and dangerous as this was both an honour and a shock. The banshee within was Lady Lowe’s own brother Valentin. Upon his death he was risen differently than his sister, granting him the powers that made him such a threat to the living and the dead alike.

Kel’adras swallowed the lump in her throat and tentatively knocked on the door, the sound thumping hollowly within the saronite-panelled room beyond. “H-Hello?” she called. “L-Lady Lowe asked me to bring you food...”

There was silence for a moment, then a voice spoke eerily close to the door. “Hmph. Soup again? Wirneth is aware I still have all my teeth, right? Ugh, I suppose you might as well come in.”

“F-Five feet back, please,” Kel’adras said, peeping through the keyhole as she spoke. The pale, softly glowing creature within seemed to huff unhappily, but obeyed her nonetheless. She could only see a sliver of Valentin from here, but his body language was clear to read. Annoyance and boredom, for the most part.

She balanced the tray on her arm as she unlocked the door, a process that took several attempts with incorrect keys. Valentin grumbled. “It’s the one with the skull on the back.”

“O-Oh,” Kel’adras said, slipping the key into the lock to find it fit. “Sorry.”

She heaved the door open, keeping a watchful eye on Valentin. He thankfully stayed put, his own eyes shifting through a rainbow of colours as they examined the food she had brought him. He idly flicked a lock of long white hair over his shoulder, where it hung floating in the air for a moment, as though suspended in water. His brows were still dark and thick, just as Wirneth’s were. One quirked in curiosity.

“You don’t have to look so frightened,” Valentin said. His voice was kinder now, without a trace of his previous agitation. “I’ve no intention to hurt you. Here, look, I’ll sit here.” He perched himself on his sofa, folding his hands in his lap with a calm smile. Kel’adras had to admit she felt reassured. She set the tray down on a table and took a step back, only to jump when Valentin spoke up again.

“Any news about my daughter?” he asked. The hope in his voice was heartbreaking to hear.

Kel’adras felt guilty as she shook her head, turning to him sadly. “N-No... I-I haven’t heard anything from Lady Lowe about that.”

Valentin’s face fell. He looked away from her with a sigh. “...Right. I suppose it was foolish of me to ask. It’s just... hard to accept that I’m probably never going to find my little girl.”

Kel’adras hesitated, wringing her hands uncertainly. This behaviour was unexpected. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a banshee look this sad and, well, Valentin didn’t seem much like any of the banshees she knew at all.

“W-We’ll find her one day,” Kel’adras said quietly, moving to sit beside him. “I know Lady Lowe is still looking, a-and Azeroth is a big place but if we could find Koltira after all that time, there’s no reason we can’t find your daughter too.”

Valentin thought for a moment, then gave a weary smile. When he looked at Kel’adras, it seemed as though there was genuine warmth in his eyes. “Thank you. Sometimes I need to hear that again. You’ve been more help than most Wirneth sends in to tend to me. My apologies, I don’t think I’ve asked for your name? Though I assume you’ve already been told mine.”

Kel’adras nodded. “Y-Yeah, I know who your are. My name is Kel’adras Blacksorrow. It’s, um, it’s nice to meet you.”

“And you,” said Valentin. He reached across to retrieve the bowl of soup from the table, stirring it about with the spoon. “I suppose I shouldn’t keep you too long. You may leave if you wish, unless you need something from me.”

As it happened, Kel’adras remembered she did need something from Valentin. She recalled her previous conversation with Cadwynn, likely the only medic within the Ebon Blade, and a good friend. He was terribly stressed about the recent disappearance of Wirneth’s-- and Valentin’s-- cousin, Quentin Lowe. He was a death knight of particularly high vulnerability with his inability to speak and his unusually docile, trusting nature. Perhaps Valentin might have some insight as to the whereabouts of his cousin.

“U-Um, I would like to ask for your help in something, if that’s okay,” Kel’adras ventured.

Valentin’s brows rose in surprise. “My help? Well, I’d be happy to help you any way I can, Kel’adras. What do you need from me?”

“Y-Your cousin Quentin went missing a few days ago,” Kel’adras said. “They say he was going to Cathedral Square, because he wanted to speak to a priestess I think. But he never came back, and no one’s seen him since.”

Something glimmered in Valentin’s iridescent eyes, and he pursed his grey lips in what Kel’adras assumed was deep thought. In reality, it was more akin to anger. “Cathedral Square, you say? Hm. Well, what of his horrible horse?”

Kel’adras blinked. “...His horse?”

“Yes. A detestable creature he fittingly named “Stinky”. He never leaves Acherus without it. Have you tried looking for a riderless deathcharger yet?”

Kel’adras opened and closed her mouth silently, unsure what to say. This was an idea no one had thought of yet. “Oh, um, I don’t think anyone has. B-But we will-- thank you.”

Valentin smiled unhappily, lifting the spoon to his lips and tasting the soup, talking around it as he spoke. “Mm. You’re quite welcome, Kel’adras. You seem like a sweet soul, so... I’m very sorry for what I’m about to do.”

He slipped the empty spoon out of his mouth, the point now suddenly sharpened and deadly. No sooner had Kel’adras made a small squeak of surprise had Valentin plunged his crude weapon deep into her stomach, twisting and turning it and making her cry out in pain. He clamped a hand over her mouth to quiet her.

“Shut up! SHUT UP! How dare you ask me about Quentin when my little girl is still missing?! I see Wirneth has her damned priorities straight! Urgh!” He tore the spoon from her middle, only to cram his free hand into the wound he had just made. Kel’adras whined and trembled, the agony giving way to a peculiar cold, floating feeling that seemed to spread from the point of contact with Valentin’s hand. It became hard to think, though she was becoming increasingly aware of Valentin’s fury, as though the thoughts were taking place in her own head now. It just wasn’t fair. Locked up for all these years with a flimsy promise to find his child that was never fulfilled. Never being allowed out to look for her, and yet with each passing day the effort of the knights out in Azeroth still searching for the girl waned dramatically.

Kel’adras cracked open her tear-blurred eyes, meeting Valentin’s own. They were no longer glowing, and hung half-lidded and blank. Was it her imagination, or was he... fading into her? Like a ghost passing through a wall.

... Did she even have an imagination? Was this mind hers? What of the body?

Thinking was difficult. Valentin’s rage was so clear in her mind. She could hear him talking now, though his voice was different. Her mouth was moving as he spoke.

“Ah. A tight fit, but you’ll have to do. Kel’adras Blacksorrow... right, I’ll need to remember that. And your little stutter.”

Valentin stood up in Kel’adras’ body, holding her hands out in front of him to inspect them. She was in excellent condition, with a slender build perfect for running. He expected to do a lot of that very soon.

As bodies go, hers was reasonably comfortable, and parts of it surprised him. There were illusions woven into the flesh to give her a more traditionally feminine appearance, and to peer beneath it gave Valentin a second-hand sense of not belonging, not fitting, from Kel’adras herself.

“...Oh,” Valentin murmured. He felt guilty now-- actually guilty. “...I’ll make this quick, and leave your body once we’re out of Acherus.”

He marched Kel’adras’ body out of the cell, dutifully locking it behind him. He saluted the handful of Ebons wandering the corridors and moved quickly to avoid being caught in conversation with any of them. He watched them carefully to ensure none noticed the dark, bloody wound in Kel’adras’ middle, thankful for the obscuring shadows that shrouded the necropolis.

It quickly occurred to him that he had no idea where he was going. But that was probably fine-- Kel’adras seemed like the sort who must have got lost in Acherus before. He could risk having her ask directions-- but not from another death knight. Perhaps a gheist or abomination would raise less suspicion.

He saw a gheist leaping around some way ahead and hurried along, only to cry out in surprise when something strong and cold yanked him back, spinning him around to face them.

It was Wirneth.

She loomed over Kel’adras’ tiny form, eyes slit in dissatisfaction. “Well? What took you so long?”

Valentin stayed quiet for a moment, copying the way Kel’adras would open and close her mouth as she struggled to find words. “U-um, sorry Lady Lowe, he was being d-difficult. But it’s all fine now.”

Wirneth bent down, her faces inches from Kel’adras’. “It’s all “fine”? What do you mean by that, Blacksorrow? And where did you get that wound?”

“Um... he attacked me, but I subdued him, so... he just had his soup. And then I left.” Valentin said.

“And where, then, are you going now?” Wirneth demanded, her voice dangerously low.

Dammit, Valentin thought. Where was she going now?

“T-To train!” Valentin said, trying to sound sure of his answer in order to convince Wirneth. Being this close to her was making him angry. He wanted to unleash the full power of his banshee scream right into her dead, pallid face.

It, unfortunately, seemed like that was the wrong answer. Wirneth laughed-- outright laughed-- in his face. “Oh, Val, you nearly had it. Kel’adras would never have the initiative to start her own training without me telling her to. Now get out of there.”

It wasn’t as if Wirneth gave Valentin any choice in the matter. She pulled a gauntlet off, her hand misting back and forth between the planes of life and death. And with that, she reached right into Kel’adras’ soul to tear out the one that did not belong there. Valentin screamed instinctively, the sound rattling Acherus itself. Blood trickled from Wirneth’s ears, but she did not relent. She tore him out of Kel’adras, and the elf’s body tumbled unresponsive to the ground. Valentin wriggled in her grip, his banshee’s wail going on and on, for he could not stop it now. All the fury, hatred, grief and misery in his life was made manifest in that scream. He could not stop if he wanted to, though the power required to maintain it was draining him fast. He screamed until he could not scream any more, and was left trembling and weeping for his daughter in his cell once again.