Galot Deathhold

Appearance

The light grey hairs stood out against the dark greyish skin color, where rot had begun to spread at the edge of the mouth. His fiery, runic eye was always awake, never fading. His other eye, however, no longer carried the unholy flames of a Death Knight. It had been replaced with a Saronite Orb, reforged with a rune. He covered the orb with an eyepatch, none knows exactly why, but he always has a reason. Once where there usually is a nose tip, were only two gaping holes. His nose had been shortened, so only the bone was visible.
The area surrounding Galot seems to decrease in warmth, which also risks some frost appearing at his feet if he remains still for too long. This grime may alter the areas he walks in slightly.
The aura of undeath is the essence of Galot, the stench is not too bad, might have something to do with his gear, but if you are magically attuned, you'd sense he reeks of the unholy. This is also visual as decay slowly withers the surrounding nature he is at when standing still.

Equipment

The armor that Galot wears is flesh crafted directly to his skin. The only part, not flesh crafted is his helmet. This, to make sure he is able to move his head properly, and not limiting himself too much. Since it was flesh crafted to his skin, it had endured heavy damage. To repair, a piece of saronite alloy plate was pushed into the damage, followed by a pour of liquid saronite alloy. To fuse the armor back together, and to his skin once more.
He wields a crude blade, long enough for single and two-handed usage. He has reforged the blade, learning the runes from Quartermaster Parasites, and even learning about the Rune of Death.
At his side, hangs a long chain, where a crude ax is forged at its end. The chain is made of bone and saronite alloy. The bone is marked with the runes of Gargoyle Skin, the Saronite alloy, is marked with runes of anti-magic. This makes the chain untouchable by magic, however, also limits Galot's usage of it, as he cannot do any spells via the chain. The ax is also marked with the same runes.

Background

Chapter one: The Eternal Breath

The air was thick, the sky was dark and the distant rumbling of thunder was audible, even when wearing a giant bucket for a helm. Knight Sullivan along with a group of Alliance Footmen was near their destination. An Outpost up North in Eastern Kingdoms, in an area that had earlier been troubled by death and decay. The Outpost was in view, it had semi-strong defensive walls with wooden spikes standing outwards, as a reinforcement to the defenses. Within were a single church building and a few small village houses. They had been abandoned by their owners long ago, and the Military had taken it for strategic purposes. Entering the Outpost, Knight Sullivan quickly made a judgment call, sending the Footmen out to reinforce whatever task the others had for the day, while he, himself, went to see the Lieutenant of the Outpost. Lieutenant Joe Greywing.
The facts of the situation were the following, from Knight Sullivan’s information and the overview he gained by entering; Three other Knights with Footmen had been sent here the past months' time, yet the Outpost, considering its strategic advantage, were low on Footmen and supplies. Even the supplies they had brought would only be enough for a week's time. Defending this Outpost would not be easy with this amount of soldiers and a low supply of food.
The rain had begun falling upon them at the Outpost when he entered the church, finding that the Lieutenant had put up an office in the room next to the altar. Upon entering, the situation changed.
It had been three days since the arrival of Knight Sullivan and his men, it had been three days with rain and low food supplies. The Lieutenant had focused on giving food to his footmen first of all, even if all that had been there required nourishment. He had also been the first to put Knight Sullivan in his place, stationing him to guard the Eastern gate at nearly all times. The rain had caused issues for the Outpost, some of the defenses were at risk of falling due to their bad establishment and environment, leaving the Outpost in a less than ideal state if they were attacked.
On the fifth day, Knight Sullivan had pleaded to the Lieutenant to request for reinforcements, building supplies, and food supplies, to where the Lieutenant had responded with a laugh and that the Outpost was safe and secure. Disobeying orders, Knight Sullivan had taken some of his footmen and ventured East to scout the lands. There, he had found a village not far from the Outpost, which laid in deadly silence. Upon inspection, fresh corpses were found down in one of the cellars of the houses. Freshly eaten corpses. Knowing the reputation of these lands, the Knight and his footmen returned to the Outpost to report their findings but were met with shackles and a room in the catacombs of the church. The Lieutenant had been down to him, once, to gloat about ruining the Knight’s plan to take the Outpost as his own, to ruin the Lieutenant’s reputation and to cause jeopardy to the footmen of the Outpost. However, the Knight did his best to explain the situation, that the undead was closing in, and considering the low supplies and ill environment and state of their defenses, the Outpost might not survive an attack.
Scoffing at him, laughing and leaving, the Knight and his footmen were left to starve in the catacombs. And due to the darkness, they knew not what time of day or night it was.
Running footsteps could be heard, keys jingling, two... No, three individuals in chainmail were running to them down in the catacombs. They came into view and asked the Knight and his footmen to aid them up above. A large unit of undead was drawing closer, the Lieutenant and two Knights were nowhere to be found, so they had been left one Knight and no orders.
Knight Sullivan and his footmen quickly came up on their feet, drank some water, and ascended the catacombs. They were weakened, but the Knight’s body had already begun pumping adrenaline and it woke up his mind. Coming up into the daylight was blinding, even if it was still raining and the sky was cloudy. But, it was here he discovered how dire the situation was. The scent of blood, the screams of terror, the horrifying feeling of death were already lurking around them. He saw that the undead forces had penetrated the eastern gate, torn down the wooden walls and a third of the footmen were laying on the ground, bleeding, screaming, and gurgling in their own blood.
The Knight took a breath, overviewing the situation. The horses were nowhere to be found, the Northern and Southern gates were closed but had no guards.
“Footmen, shield wall at the Eastern section! Do not let them break you! Live, live this day and the next!” Knight Sullivan drew his blade and ran to the shield wall, standing beside the footmen, striking down the undead and trying to close off the Eastern gate, so the undead forces couldn’t advance.
As they got the upper hand over the undead, he called for two footmen to be at each of the other gates, to make certain they wouldn’t be breached. They neared the gate, but the undead forces were no match to the strategic upper hand in a combat situation. But…
He heard it, the sickening crackle of wood splintering, the thud of something weighty hitting the mud, and the sickening sound of armor and bones crushing, followed by the screams that came from lungs, exhaling their last breath. The Northern gate had been toppled, the doors had simply been ‘pushed’ over onto the footmen who had just arrived. In charged two large abominations, each with a battering ram of wood at their side. Ghouls streamed into the Outpost, quickly handling any footmen who weren't at the shield wall. Then, the wall between the Northern and Eastern gate was torn down, by multiple monstrosities. “Circle up! Fight! FIGHT!” The Knight roared out, the shield wall formed a phalanx, guarding each other's backs, and fending off the undead. He felt his throat closing, as the air thickened with the scent of blood, rot, and decay. He saw a small opening in the undead forces, up towards the church. “To the church! RUN!” The shield wall was soon torn asunder, by footmen running in terror towards the church. The Knight cut down one undead after another, making his way to the church. With his footmen. Hooks came flying at them, embedding themselves into some of the footmen and tore them away from the group. The screams as their flesh tore at the hands of ghouls and abominations... Was nightmarish.
Inside the church, the doors were shut and benches were placed against them as stoppers, making sure they could take a good amount of beating before falling.
“Status, footmen, how many injured, how many able to carry shield and sword? I want three groups of two to search each room and the catacombs in here for anything useful!” The footmen began moving around like ants, doing as told. The Knight stood near the doors, listening, thinking.
The footmen returned, some tools, nails, and wood from bookcases and benches were all they found. The catacombs were empty except the ‘dungeon’ in which the Knight and his footmen had been held in. The Knight requested for the chains down there, see if they could be taken off the walls and perhaps used? He wasn’t sure for what, yet, but they had to use everything they had.
A total of fifteen footmen were inside the Church, along with the Knight. Six of them were injured, two fatally. “All wounded must be gathered in the Lieutenant’s office, immediately. The rest of you, reinforce the doors to your best capabilities, and find what food supplies remain.” Once more, the footmen went to work like ants. Injured were moved, some food supplies were found along with first aid supplies within the Lieutenant’s office.
The Knight took the first aid supplies and told everyone to grab some of them. Also, he asked them all to gather within the main hall of the church, to be ready for when the undead would breach it. After the office of the Lieutenant had been abandoned, and only the injured laid there, the Knight went in. The scent of rot and decay had already begun to spread among them, he had heard of these forms of injuries before, and what they did to the living. He drew his blade and walked over to one of them. The injured footman’s breathing was heavy, rasping; a lump of flesh was missing from his arm. He placed the tip of his blade against the chest of the footman, over his heart. “By the Light, or whichever god you have faith in, rest now.” The footman stared back into the Knight's eyes, the sound of the blade puncturing through chainmail, leather, flesh, bone, and then the wet squish of the heart... The light in his eyes faded, and he exhaled his last, rasping breath.
The Knight then looked to the remaining five injured. He stepped over to each of them in turn and made sure to end their suffering and the risk of them rising as ghouls to the undead.
As he left the office, he stood in its opening for a moment. A shadow had been cast over his eyes, he felt... Nothing, was it because he had to do it and knew it was the right thing to do? No? Then… What was it?
He went out into the hall, the doors to the church were screeching louder, and louder. It was a matter of time before they came through. He looked to the footmen, terror, and fear in their eyes. Words had to reach Military Command, of this and the treachery of Lieutenant Greywing… Greywing, just the thought of this man-made Knight Sullivan’s mouth taste like iron and ash. He swore, if he survived this, he would take his revenge on him and the Knights that were with him.
But first, they had to survive. “I need four of you to loosen your chainmail and hand it over. You are to run for it, run south towards the nearest camp or outpost, and report what has happened here.” Four of his own footmen handed over their chainmail, they helped the Knight to take off his plate armor, to then put on another two layers of chainmail and then the plate armor back on. It was a tight fit, but it would secure him against a few extra strikes, to buy them time. “The four of you, need to get ready to move the wood that barricades the window, pointing south. When we get out and clear a small area, you run for your lives. Do not look back, nor think about fighting, just run.” The four got ready, the rest of the footmen and the Knight got themselves ready too, prayed to the Light, or which other god they might have faith in. Then, it happened.
The doors sprung open at the same time the barricade from the window was cleared. “Footmen, out and clear, I will remain here! GO!” The footmen chosen to fight, jumped into the fray. The tearing of flesh and the gurgling from ghouls being struck down was audible from the windows. But the Knight looked at the entrance. An abomination stepped in, filling the whole entrance. It swung its hook around, before releasing it at the Knight. He sidestepped and swung his blade down onto the chain, shattering it. The stench filled up the church, the decaying corpses that were now entering made it... Unbearable. Three ghouls had been struck down by the Knight, all Footmen had left the church and the battle raged on outside the windows. The abomination swung its cleaver at the Knight, who parried it at such an angle so the cleaver struck the floor. The rotting entrails of the abomination hung out of its belly, it almost made the air unbreathable, so he had to find an escape.
The air, it was gone. Nothing was left in his body, he felt wind around him, the scent and heavy air of death and decay faded, his vision blurry, and the sounds around him were replaced by rushing winds. He felt a heavy force against his back, then heard how his plate armor got dented, pushing against his own spine. The sounds of himself came back, he was screaming in pain, but he did not feel it right now..? He was at the wall, quite a few yards away from where he had stood moments ago. A clenched abomination fist now hung in the air where he once stood.. Had it really punched him all the way back here? Then, the pain came over him. He screamed out in pain, breath came back to him, he regained his posture. Everything stood still as he got back on his feet, he knew he could not escape this. Death... Was upon him. He gripped his blade with one hand, the chain he had cut off the abomination with his other. He ran forwards, roaring, defying his own fear of death. He swung the chain first, a sickening puncturing sound filled the air between them, as ichor came gushing out where the chain had hit the neck of the abomination. The abomination gripped the chain, and pulled it with all its strength, sending the Knight flying towards the abomination.
The tip of his blade came down towards the abomination, while he saw the cleaver of the abomination come towards him. “DEATH!” He roared at the undead while soaring through the air, with his last breath, emptying his lungs. He felt his blade pressuring back against him, he felt how it sunk into the flesh of his foe. He also felt a cold sensation spread from his left shoulder, across his chest down towards his stomach. The noises around him faded, his vision turned dark, his body felt numb. Death.. had come for him.
Did he feel cold, empty? Or hollow? What was the difference either way?
Then, he felt a surge of something stream into him, breaking him, tearing at him and his mind. The agony was too much to bear, but he managed it, somehow. He didn’t feel as light, hollow, as before. There was mass to him.. He opened his eyes, not able to see anything for the first few seconds, but then he saw a pair of glowing eyes return his stare. “You can be of use… You will serve the one true King.” He felt... So much, anger, hatred... He wanted revenge, he wanted to kill, he wanted to feast. He… Wanted to serve, the Lich King.

Chapter two: A Path of Blood is Laid

The scent of blood filled the air, echoes of those who had screamed in pain still ring in his head. As if he had been dreaming, his vision became clear once more. The euphoria of causing havoc, killing, had caught him in the moment.
Someone laid before him, drenched in his own piss and blood. The man was whimpering, his facial expression was that of terror. Anywho had dealt with death before knew that if the wounds would not kill him, the piss would cause an infection that in the end, could take him. That is if not one of the holy knights who helped him...
“Now we wouldn’t want that..” The whisper had come from himself, grinned to himself.
The man before him had leather armor, a bow in one hand, and... well, the other was missing. But it had held a sword before, which now laid a few yards to the side. “Now then... Tell me, where is he? Where is the one you call... Captain.” Galot snarled at the man, his patience has worn thin, bone has responded to him, barely any had been able to express words to him. The tabard was barely visible due to it being drenched in blood and cut. But, it was an insignia, one which did not belong to the Alliance nor Horde.
“I... I... W-“ Galot leaned down, his new forged Runeblade was covered in blood, shimmering with rune magic as it had been fed life energies. The man stared at the blade, the horror in his eyes. He had seen the life drained out by his fellow companions, heard their screams of agony before they had fallen silent.
“Look at me..” Galot took a grip of the leather collar, raising the man up in the air, his feet dangling above the ground.
“I don’t... I can’t... You... Monster!” The man spat at Galot, who snarled in return. “Very well.” The sounds of meat being penetrated, leather torn and cloth ripped was followed by a gasp from the man who was desperate, he attempted to breathe but his body would not allow him. The Runeblade flared up, feeding on the energies from the living man before him. His eyes darkened, his pupils fading, death was upon him, death was final.
Galot dropped the corpse before him, eyeing it. A small leather satchel was strapped to his belt. He cut it off the belt, searched it. Yes, papers. Partly covered in blood though, he would find a way to clean or decipher them. Maybe his squire could do it.. and join him on the next task.
He turned, looking at the remnant of the camp that had seemed so... full of life mere minutes ago. His Deathcharger stood beside one of the tents, still, watching him? He didn’t care, he had succeeded, found information, proof that his target was alive, proof that vengeance still could be his.
He put the palm of his hand against the Deathchargers side, glanced over its back at the camp. He then went back to the one-handed man he had just slain, the freshest of them. He leaned down, took his chain, and fixed it around the feet and calves of both legs. He gripped the other end of the chain and pulled the corpse along. It was an hour ride back to Acherus, so dragging this corpse behind him was perhaps not the best idea if it was to be given as supplies. He settled the corpse onto the rump of the Deathcharger, then heaved himself up on the saddle. His hunger for pain and suffering, death, had been momentarily sated. He felt the hunger in his new forged Runeblade, it had not fed enough, but this had to do for now.
In Acherus, Galot had given the coordinates of where he had been to some of the ghouls, that went out there to collect the remnants of the corpses. One of the corpses he had brought himself, proof of that there were corpses there, he had dragged across the floor in chains, to the pile of corpses, he then wrote a report to the Quartermaster that five corpses were being collected to the stock, fresh.
He then went up to the arena, settled down, and unsheathes his blade. The blood had begun to stiffen, harden. A soft shimmer from its inscribed runes faded, slowly, as Galot cleaned the blade. It had functioned as it should, followed his movements as he had wanted, been an extension of him.
His vision faded and was replaced by a memory, the one where he charged into the camp. Before even being at the camp, he has hooked his Runeblade to the chain and swung it around above his head like a lasso of a sort. Riding into view of the camp, by the flames of their campfire, he had released his grasp of the chain and it had plunged into the right shoulder of the nearest living, and as he had pulled the chain back to retrieve the Runeblade, he had torn the arm off, and he remembers the ‘song’ of delightful suffering that had begun then, it had filled him and the blade with hunger, bloodlust and the longing feeling of being fed was upon them.
“Yes... We will do well together..”

Chapter three: Blood of a Knight

The air was thick with the scent of death, the cawing of crows echoed into the nearby forest area. An opening in between the trees of the forest was gently lit by the clouded sun in the sky. The scene was... grim. To any living soul passing by, one would believe this was a scene of the slaughter of a huge monster. But it was no large monster, it had been him, Galot. His heavy, dark fur cloak covered most of his pauldrons and dragged ever so slightly against the ground as he stood there. A dark entity in the center of a massacre.
The area had fallen silent, eerie silence. It had been mere moments ago the screams of terror and death had rung out from this area.
Galot had ridden into the camp upon his Deathcharger, using his chain and Runeblade as a long-distance weapon, swinging it around like a propeller. They had been unaware of the attack, in mere seconds some of them lost their lives to the swinging Runeblade. The thuds of heads thumbing to the ground were combined with the carving of air from his Runeblade.
He unhooked his blade and flung the chain and its hook at one of the living, the audible gasp for breath and terrifying look in the face of the living had almost been... amusing. Then the tearing of clothes and flesh as he had pulled the living after him across the ground, as he rode around the camp on the Deathcharger. He had secured the chain on the saddle and jumped off his steed, letting it run rampant with the body being dragged behind it.
As he landed on his feet, two of the living charged him with a sword and ax in hand. Galot had gathered a mass of necrotic energies in one hand while he held his Runeblade in the other. He parried the first strike while sending a Death Coil at the other assailant. He fell, screaming in terror and pain. The other, in shock after seeing his fallen comrade, was easily disarmed by Galot, who then, with a satisfying rip of materials, a thud and a crack from bones being struck while his blade was punctured through the center of his torso, killed him in one stab of his Runeblade.
He turned his attention to the remaining two, one clad in leather armor with a shield and sword. The other clad in a heavier armor, in black, with a two-handed ax. Galot ran at the two, Runeblade in one hand still. He swung, knowing the shield would step forward to block. His Runeblade struck against the shield, ripping some of the wooden protection off it. With his free hand, Galot reached for the top of the shield, to then lower it as his Runeblade came down, striking true in between the pauldron and helmet of the living opponent. A sickening squelch came from the body he had struck, as the blade carved deep down into his chest. Placing a boot against the lower abdomen of the now-dead person, Galot kicked him off his Runeblade.
The remaining living, the one clad in black armor, did not seem terrified by his situation. “Who are you and why are you doing this?” Galot felt the slight fear in those words, and the voice.. was familiar to him. “Knight Gudfred, was that your name and title?” Galot spoke calmly, but within him, the bloodthirst has nearly taken over.
“I am not a Knigh-“ Galot interrupted him “But you were, serving under Lieutenant Greywing.” Gudfred stood for a moment as if considering what Galot said. “Yes, it is I, former Knight Gudfred, now I serve in a mercenary band, so if you have anything against the Military or what was done, you will have to take it up with someone else, as it is no longer my responsibili-“ Gudfred was interrupted by Galot running towards him. Gudfred swung his ax to defend himself, but the Runeblade was there, parrying the strike. Galot kept moving forward, forcing Gudfred to keep stepping back. With each swing Galot made, some of the hilt on the ax was struck off.
“Why are you attacking?! The Ebon Blade is in a peace trea-“ Galot interrupted him again, deliberately swinging for the head of the ax as it was cut off. Now, armed with only a small staff, Gudfred was as good as defenseless. “We have an agreement with the Alliance and Horde, yes... But not mercenary scum like you. Do you really not remember what you have done to deserve this?” Galot stood there, Runeblade at his side. Its Runes shimmered brightly, it had fed on fresh blood and energies, but it craved more. “That is not for some random Death Knight to decide! That is fo-“ a sickening sound along with a gasp of breath and splatter of blood. The Runeblade has punctured the metal chest piece, carved through the flesh, shattered bone, and gone through the right lung of Gudfred. It had gone all the way through to the other side, as Galot had stepped forward. He tore off Gudfred’s helmet, then his own. “Have you forgotten me, maybe?” Gudfred had terror in his eyes, tears welled up, he was shaking like he was seeing a nightmare. Blood gurgled in his throat, he would soon drown in it. “We... Were told you all were burned... How..” Galot shook his head, a ghastly grin on his expression. “Lies... But, no matter... You will tell me where Knight Frederic is, and the Lieutenant.” Gudfred was still in shock but stammered out some intel and different locations. Galot placed a heavy hand onto the shoulder of Gudfred, slowly pulling his Runeblade out of him. Gudfred fell to the ground, laying there, coughing up blood and feeling his energies being drained from the sword. Death was coming. No... Death was already standing before him.
Galot unhooked the corpse from the chain on his steed. He then swung the hook into the thigh of Gudfred, who let out a scream in agony. He had his steed ride ahead while dragging Gudfred over the pathway of gravel. Screams of pain and agony faded, Galot stood still, looking around at the slaughter that had happened. His Runeblade was glowing with a satisfying... Feeling. It had been fed and fed well.
Galot put his helmet back on and walked toward where he would meet his steed.
He met his Deathcharger outside the forest, Gudfred still breathing, but was having trouble with it. Galot kneeled down then aimed a strong punch to the man's jaw, breaking it. He then took a good grip of Gudfred’s tongue, seeing the terror and pain swelling up in his eyes, before ripping it out. Blood pooled out in generous spurts and a gurgle of bubbles followed. Galot tossed the tongue aside, it could feed the crows. He got up into the saddle of his steed, turned north, towards Acherus. It didn’t take long before Gudfred fell silent, but it had been... pleasant to listen to the screams and the squelches while the body had been dragged across the road, hitting pebbles, sticks, and even some larger rocks.
Galot had been gone from Acherus since Friday morning, it was now Sunday afternoon and he had returned. The body he had dragged behind him had such tremendous damage done to it, that it barely could be used for spare parts. He had instructed a group of ghouls to venture to the area he had been at, with instructions on how many corpses there were for harvesting.
For now though... Galot would be seen at the forge, aiding the smiths and forgers there with the smelting of Saronite.
A smirk was upon Galot’s facial expression. “One down... Another to go, and then... him.”

Chapter Four: Revenge, before the End

It was dark, gloomy, the scent of death and rot had begun to spread. The hollow sound of hooves treading the stones of the road cut clean through the other sound, one of walking ghouls, rasping for breath, gurgling, snarling... The rider on the undead steed was clad in full Saronite, his thick cloak covering partly his pauldrons and blowing gently in the winds that came from the east. The chain hanging from his side was gently jingling in the winds, reflecting the glow from his Runeblade that he had in hand.
The group of undead followed the road for a while, before heading off into the woods. As if they sought something specific, they definitely knew where they were going.
The gentle crackling of fire licking wood and insects chirping in the distance was some of the more peaceful things in the evenings. The heat from the fire was a welcome, considering how cold it had been through the day, patrolling the woods. The other guys were sleeping in their tents, only he was left, taking the first night guard. They had been in the woods a few weeks now, just the six of them. It wasn’t his favorite thing in the world but... it beats being at the headquarters tormented by the captain, the annoying brat... the ‘survivor of the undead ambush’ apparently? “Ass is what he is..” He leaned back against the log. “Another night in silence..”
The Knight had stood in the shadows for a while, considering the state of the camp before him. His current guess, with the number of tents, would be six to eight people. Two in each, one on guard duty. He ordered the ghouls to surround the camp.. He just hoped they could follow through on his other orders.
He took his Runeblade and stabbed it into the earth. He drew out the runic magic of an Unholy rune, letting its necrotic, unholy energies gather into the earth. He then manifested the mass of energies, twisted them, warped them, and released them.
The night had been a bit more lively than usual, he had heard some rustling in the bushes surrounding the camp. His immediate thought was it to be a squirrel, rabbit, bird, or something like that. He felt the cold creeping in around him, the campfire had begun to die out already? He rose, to go for their stack of woods. Taking some pieces, he felt as the wood crumbled in his hands. “Rotten? What is... How?” He felt the air around him become... dry? As if breathing had suddenly become difficult. What was going on? He looked back to the campfire, the embers were dying out, the wood had turned bad and was strangling the flames. But, that wasn’t all. The grass had turned colorless, the trees nearby had their leaves fall off suddenly... “What is going on? Boys! Wake u-“ His yell caught in his throat, he saw it now.. A ghoul had come out from the bushes, some rustling to his left made him look there, where another ghoul entered what little light the campfire gave off. “Undead!”
He gripped his blade and ran to one of the tents, kicking it. A ghoul had caught up to him, the terrifying gurgle of its throat, the scent of rot and decay... Its nails tore at his arm, he felt himself screaming in pain, although due to the air being unbreathable, it was more like a gasp of breath. He swung his blade, feeling how it hit the ghoul and went through bone! But.. it was stuck, the ghoul grabbed his wrist, he was unable to escape even when he attempted to!
The others in the camp woke up, but they were in bad shape considering they were ‘out of breath’. They began to fight the ghouls, but one of them had their throat torn out quickly, while the others had the same experience as he? Being stuck to the ghouls.. He felt their stinking breath upon his skin, felt their bony fingers wrap around him and holding him in place. Why were they not just killing them? What was happening here? “Hel-“ His scream for help was abruptly interrupted, he saw it now.
In an opening to the forest, a dark figure stood in armor that reflected what little light was left. The Runeblade in his hand was flaring an unholy, frozen glare.
The plan had been successful, one dead, others captured. Five was just enough to do this... Now, to start the process.
He felt how the eyes of the living were looking at him, he knew that they had barely any remnants of air left in their bodies, due to his death and decay zone he had made. He went to the one mercenary that had been killed, took his Runeblade, and slid it up across the corpse, gathering fresh blood. He walked a circle around the camp, letting his Runeblade draw a bloody line along the outline of his Death and Decay zone. Encasing what energies may be unleashed here. To the north, south, east, and west he drew the Unholy and frost rune.
He went to the center. “Now, place our sacrifices into their positions.” Four ghouls went in each direction, placing a living at each ‘point’ of the circle, North, South, East, and West. They used chains to lock the living in their place, guarding them by standing at their side. One of them was brought to the center, to where he stood. He took his Runeblade and stabbed the tip into the earth, taking out his Grimoire he turned to a page that seemed freshly written. He continued to write notes and details of what he had set up.
He then pulled out a stone. The stone had the Rune of Unholy and ‘prison’ upon it. Within, was an energy swirling, that of the living. He held it in his hand, focussed, coursing necrotic energies into it. The soul within screamed out, the stone began to crack, and then it shattered. The soul escaped but was held in a mass of necrotic energies that he had in his right palm. His grimoire stood open in his left hand, the ritual could now begin.
He felt the energies surging through the air towards the mass of necrotic energy in his palm. He felt the life energy be drained from the sacrifices at each section of the putter circle. He saw the bodies drop one by one, till only the ghouls remained, holding a chain to a corpse. Then he turned his attention to the last remaining living. He was whimpering, speaking out “Our boss is not here! But I can tell you wher-“ Galot interrupted him with his cold stare “Not necessary, I know of his position.”
Galot then sent the necrotic energies into his Runeblade, which began to ring with a surge of magic and energies filling it. The runes shone like never before. As he grasped the Runeblade by its hilt, he felt the power surging through it, he looked over the blade, its runes, and the skull which gleamed with... glee? He closed his grimoire, put it back into place at his side. He then grasped the last remaining living with his free hand, placed the tip of the Runeblade to his chest. “In Death.. you serve a greater purpose, filth.” Then he drove the blade all the way through the man. The sickening crash of bones, rending of flesh, and the gasp for air from the sacrifice... The sweetest sounds to him. The energies that surged in the Runeblade seemed to be locked away with the blood of a sacrifice, as if.. storing all these energies? The corpse fell to the floor. His life energies drained completely out from him, but, the power from the blade had caused his body to rapidly decay and rot. In a matter of moments, it looked as if the corpse had been there for weeks.
Looking over his Runeblade, he finally felt... Satisfied, for now. The power now stored in the Runeblade could sate them for a while, without having to restore said runic power within it. The blade would have overcharged if he had not had the final sacrifice, living energy to sustain a barrier of the energies. This was the mistake he had made before, but this time, it had been a success.
He sheathed the Runeblade, took his grimoire, and noted down his success, his first success of many. The ghouls had begun gathering the corpses and were ready to return to Acherus.
“Only another Knight and the Lieutenant left... It is here I will require the Commander's favor.”
Galot had taken his winged steed and flew into the south-eastern areas of Icecrown, where the scourge was few in numbers but still populating the areas.
The icy winds were nothing to him, being a Knight of Frost, it only fuelled him even further. His eyes flared like a beacon through the thick storm, anger.. A deep hunger for death and destruction had ignited since the Lich King's fall.
There, in the mountains, he saw it. The small fortified location, dark smoke, and a presence of death arose from it. He landed at the broken gate, at an immediate glance he suspected this fortification and size could hold about twenty to thirty soldiers alive for a long while. But he knew that the numbers were far from that many, a judgment he made by the corpses laid spread out before him. Flesh torn, maws dislocated, these had been risen and then fallen once again. It would mean some remained alive.
A gurgling sound came from the depths of a stable standing near the broken gate, alone ghoul came charging out, one arm missing and its maw completely off. He didn't even bother with his runeblade, he stepped forwards, launched a kick to its center where he broke the fragile spine. Then, moving beside it, he kneeled and pressed his knee into its skull till it was destroyed. The sound had caused some attention to him, which was what he wanted. Two more ghouls came, then another one... And then two more. He grabbed the two that arrived first by their skulls, slamming them together so their skulls cracked, he then drew his blade and cut straight through half of the skull on both of them. He stabbed the third that arrived, then beat the facial structure into a pulp.
Before kicking it back, tumbling one of the last remaining two before he swung his blade, decapitating the fourth ghoul. He went to the now trapped ghoul and stabbed his blade through its skull. Five, six in total.
He went into the halls of the main building, he saw some doors had been breached, even if fortifications had been made. The largest door at the end of the hall had a few holes in it but remained standing. Found you... Now, you are mine. He placed a hand onto the door, his runeblade in the other. A rune flared up, he called on it, demanded it to do as he wanted. Frost and grime began to creep out from where his hand was, the wood creaking in response as it froze, he knew its material would be easier to shatter once it had completely frozen.
As the ice had covered half of the door, he began to hear talking from the other side, the voices sounded, terrified. The door stood completely frozen solid now, now was the time... The time he had waited for so long. He leaned against the door, felt the necrotic energies release into the ice and door, a crack came, loud and clear. Then another, a third, and then shatter. It fell down upon itself, then the remains tumbled inwards, revealing well-lit room, with four soldiers with bows and two with melee weapons, one a shield the other a two-handed blade. Only one of them wore a helmet and plate armor, the rest wore mail.
The arrows pierced the air, before plunging into his armor, he felt the force of the collision but paid it no heed. His armor was made for this, made to take a lot of damage while he decided the next step. As the second volley flew, he grabbed his chain. The arrows plunged into his armor once more, before he swung out with the runed chain. He managed to catch two of the archers, the hook locking inside the ribcage of one of them. He pulled the chain, forcing the two to become unbalanced and collide. He charged the two, expecting the melee to step forth. As they did, he said with a thundering voice: “Await your turn!” and then a wall of ice formed before them, locking them away from his prey. The archer with a hook in his ribcage was coughing blood uncontrollably, the other was gathering himself and reaching for his bow. Galot landed a kick to the archer's arm, breaking it. He then plunged his blade into his back, straight through the spine, and, considering the width, the edge of the blade cut his lungs too. The blade seemed to glow, the runes flared anew, the energy of the living was… A great source. He let the runeblade be, as he then grasped the chain with both hands and pulled as hard as he could. A sickening crack and gush were heard, as the ribcage of the archer came apart and a part of a lung came flying out. It would be a matter of moments before he died. Galot reached for his runeblade, dragging it across the body of the fallen to drain his energies too.
The wall of frost shattered, arrows came at him once more. He managed to dodge one of them, the other settling in his pauldron. The melee combatants charged him, the shield bashing him straight on and the other cleaving with his blade across the top of the shield. Galot leaned back, the blade hit his helmet and sent it flying. His face was revealed, he grabbed the shield with one free hand, forcing it down as he headbutted the soldier carrying it. He then laid the blade on top of the shield and drove it straight through its carrier. He looked up, before kneeling behind the shield and carrier. The arrows plunged into the now dead man, the two-handed blade wielder seemed… Terrified, he had fallen backward once Galots helmet had been removed. Not... Unexpectedly, it had been a while since they last had seen.*
Enough games, time to finish it. The tip of his blade was pointed at the archers, through the corpse now stuck on it. A flaring rune was hardly seen through the corpse, but the ice shards shot out, striking the chest and stomach of the two archers, leaving them as close to death as possible.
Galot rose, kicking off the corpse from his runeblade. He sheathed his runeblade, looking at the man remaining.
“Surprised? You thought you would be safe, even if I was dead? All these years? Hah... Come on, Lieutenant, show me what you got.”
The Lieutenant groaned but got up. He charged Galot head-on, predictable. Galot used his gauntlet to redirect the strike, doing some damage but due to the angle, he was mainly unscathed. His free hand sought the neck of the Lieutenant, then proceeded to slam his other fist into his plated face multiple times. A crack was heard on the third hit, Galot grabbed the helmet and tore it off. The bloodied, terrified Lieutenant underneath was small, he had become old and… Frail.
He tossed him across the room, fuelled by unholy energies from his runeblade on his back. He grabbed his chain, swung it around, the sound of the chains through the air could be seen as... A bell tolling, for the fallen.
A sickening crunch filled the room, the hook had planted itself in the Lieutenants gut. His scream echoed out from the room, into the hall, and then outdoors.
He was dragged across the ground, his flesh tearing, blood gushing out as he gurgled, strangled by his own blood. As he was close enough, Galot let him have a breath, let him spit out the blood, and remain conscious.
“I will do this quick... I have other matters to attend to, then dealing with you alive. In death... However, you will serve me. As another of my minions at the forge.”
The blade sung, piercing through the air. The cutting of flesh and bone echoed, then silence fell. Death had taken all the living in the room.
Galot sheathed his blade, went to grab his helmet, and put it on. He took the lieutenant by his foot and dragged him along outside. Outside, he has dragged down the stairs that had let into the hall, his blood painted the snow red. Galot dragged him in front of his winged steed, before mounting it. It grasped the dead body with its talons, and then they flew off.
Returning to Acherus, for another minion to be made.
A forge minion that had just been created, stood working at the forges with the two other minions of Galots. Adorned in the same equipment, but being taught the basics.

Age

Unknown, Died in his thirties.

Height

1.96 cm (6.5ft)

Aligned Organisation
Ebon Onslaught