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A young girl, who had barely seen her sixteenth year, stood before Lazarus Fugue with glowing sword in hand.  Energy pulsed through the air as the wind howled around the platform on which they fought.  A chasm deeper than a gorgandur tunnel plunged below them.

Despite the tumult, Lazarus could make out only a single sound.  The dagger in his hand, the Orgothian dagger inscribed with horrific runes, spoke to him.  It begged him to destroy the girl and to seize the blade she wielded.  He wished to comply.

Lazarus leaped onto the rim of an open stone casket containing the body of a decaying woman.  He lunged at the girl, vaguely aware of his companions’ screams to retreat.  A Cygnaran priest, a Rhulic warrior, and a Khadoran markswoman made their silent protests but he continued his attack. The dagger filled Lazarus’ mind with ancient, evil words and the pulse of his own soul.  The girl’s eyes filled with something akin to pity.

And then the sounds returned and Lazarus’ screams drowned out even the magical electricity coursing through the chamber.  The glowing blade that pierced his torso trembled and a black stream of aether flooded out of the mage’s body and into the sword.  He slumped to the floor dagger still in hand.  It, too, began to tremble as the ancient words in his mind returned.

“RELEASE YOURSELF!” it commanded.  “THE WITCH SHALL NOT POSSES US!”

Lazarus’ hand seemed to move of its own accord raising the Orgoth weapon.  Lazarus’ screams continued as the dagger sank into his chest and the blackness flowing into the girl’s blade halted and reversed direction. The dagger was now its destination.

The chamber was in chaos as Lazarus lay dying but only moments later his mind cleared. There was no more pain, he realized. He could even see his companions rushing the girl and sending her down the chasm. The priest of Morrow frantically looked around the chamber, shouting Lazarus’ name.  He was nowhere in sight.  His former companions wept.

Lazarus Fugue blinked his corporeal eyes and turned his attention once again to the missive he was composing for the lich Revanon. “Just another dream,” he thought to himself. Old dreams haunting a wraith.  The irony did not escape him.

Work-in-progress update: These are actually old pictures. The Guardian and Redeemer are finished, as is Kreoss. Full pictures of that battlegroup next time.