She was standing as stiff as steel not on the field of battle but in the practice ring, black but wet with blood. The other woman was strewn brokenly on the ground but her faint breath showed she still unfortunately lived. She wanted to die, but the death knight towering over her only laughed.
The fallen was draenei, the victor, Forsaken. Both soulless now, mindless, bound to the Lich King, who was at this point mildly directing them to kill and follow the orders of any of his officers. They had been told to fight, but only the Forsaken took it to the fullest, cracking skulls and spines and any other bone that got in her way.
The Forsaken Knight stood over the draenei woman, the lights in her eye sockets long turned icy white blue. Her voice was as thin as the tundra air. "What did he even see in you when he brought you into his ranks?"
Her metal boot shoved far into the draenei's chest, cracking ribs noisily. The woman huffed an ugly, rough sound, unable to speak coherently, though she said something stumbling in her old language.
The Forsaken laughed again, eerie and emaciated. "He must have wanted me to remove you from the service to spite your delicate existence - again." Her icy blues went wild, licking out of her sockets like flames. "And I only live to serve..."
Her runeblade swung down far too easily from her back, and she had the thing in her grip in an instant, all strength for just being reedy muscle and seemingly brittle bone. The Forsaken forcefully pulled up the sword and grinned widely, all sorts of repugnance shining with those bright teeth. The weapon hit the hard ice on the other side of the draenei's neck with a fine, pleasant crunch. The Knight kept the huge blade there, watching the crimson blood try to find its color among the black tundra surface.
Yet as she finally placed the dark runeblade back in its leather holdings, the death knight was laughing again, filling the practice ring made sloppy with the corpses of other fighters with the unearthly, malicious sound of her mindless joy.
