#without equal

Many people react negatively to the fact that there is no other name than that of Jesus to call on for salvation. Yet this is not something the church decided; it is the specific teaching of Jesus himself. He has no equal.

“Eventually, he made it clear that he was interested in some private shows and I found him strangely enticing. It was never a relationship in the emotional sense. I’m not sure he had emotions. I knew it wasn’t going to end well. I didn’t think it would end with me running to Silvermoon because that was the only place he couldn’t reach me.”

(As an aside, we'd originally intended for this to be a three part arc which took the Knights through each of the raid challenges between Classic and Wrath through plotted storyline, including a large D20 event with an undead gronn and exploration into the nature of insanity and what made a villain tick. However, circumstances forced us to end the arc after Act One and the remaining Acts may or may not be revisited in private, small group RP.)

Crimson light painted a florid glow along the reptilian underbelly of the massive winged lizard as it flapped twice before extending its wings out in a long glide. Amber scales blended seamlessly into light-eating ebony as the winged horror slid into the inky night with nothing more than flap, flap, SHIK! to mark its passage.

Ebon Watch, Zul’Drak – Northrend Northrend is understandably (in areas without direct Titanic intervention) a cold place. Jagged peaks and windblown glaciers batter the crystallized trees while frozen herbs sparkle in the dim sunlight made blinding by the refraction due to snow. Habitability is in the eye of the beholder in the North, where areas on the periphery of the icebound Citadel graciously allow the ‘southern’ races to explore crude settlements. The North was meant for creatures too fat, too magical, or too dead to care about the bitter cold. This was why it was a colony for criminals or those who wished to escape their past. The proximity of the Scourge – and the Ebon Blade who chose to man the ramparts and stand the Long Vigil – ensured that anyone wishing to forget that past would more than likely have it come back to haunt them. Few ventured to visit the Ebon Blade because of those uncomfortable notions; to the living, after all, a Death Knight was simply an agent of the Scourge who was waiting for the right moment to strike. It was a notion that the exiled former Brigadier of the 1113th was not readily keen to dispel at the moment. Eredis Orill stalked (‘patrolled,’ he called it) the perimeter of the Ebon Watch for what seemed to be the six-hundredth time. The Ebon Blade camp in Zul’Drak was a shadow of its debatable glory during the height of the Kingsfall Campaign. The small camp had only continued to contract, keeping a baleful eye on the remnants of Scourge and Trolls in the area. Argent Crusade, Horde, and Alliance forces all had taken a severe toll on the hostiles in the area, and anything they had not put to the sword had been crushed underneath a size five-hundred boot belonging to a particularly irate Storm Giant. The result was a squad of Knights who were cycled in and out on a weekly basis to find a target to sate the urge they all shared – all, it seemed, save one who had fallen to the bane of all military units to ever exist: misfiled paperwork. Every Knight there knew this was a dangerous game that Central played with Eredis; the officer had been on every major and minor battlefield that Northrend presented during the height of the campaign. If there was a foe to be slaughtered, information to be gleaned, or tasks to be undertaken, Eredis had been there and done it. Now, years after Arthas had been deposed and the living had long since returned home to kill each other in more receptive climes, Eredis was reduced to walking the perimeter of a post nobody cared about, scanning the skies for a messenger he knew would never come. Nobody approached the Ebon Watch unless they were already dead or running from something. It was a desolation post, nothing more and nothing less. Such certainty in the remoteness of the outpost provided surprise for everyone involved when the clattering of a gyrocopter, punctuated by the odd concussive blast of a bomb exploding, grew over the bitter wind that only served to further irritate angry Knights, chief among them Major Eredis Orill. “Ebon Blade!” the Knight roared, “Positions!” Each Death Knight of the Watch scurried to their designated positions. Each was selected to ensure that no Knight would endanger another from wayward ordnance while the positions themselves forced airborne foes to take a Hobson’s Choice of exposing themselves to strike or forgoing a probable kill altogether. The Ebon Blade’s own airborne assets could have handled any threat provided the Watch had any – they had sent them away entirely as to provide entertainment during the long stands in the middle of nowhere. Verdein, the Netherdrake who worked with Eredis despite his handicaps, would “air drop” the occasional Ghoul while on a bombing vector. If the Knights could disarm the Ghoul while Verdein still held it or before it hit the ground, it was considered a victory for the Knights stationed there. They could always sew the arms back on afterwards, anyway. The clatter of the gyrocopter grew louder. The assembled Knights tensed, waiting for the vehicle to be picked out of the sky. Bluer-than-blue eyes scanned the horizon, waiting for the machine to crest the jagged hilltops that protected the post from wind. Each could hear the whine of the rotors and the flutter of the turbines as the craft fought for altitude. One of the Ebon Blade group began to snicker as it grew louder. “The pilot has unwanted guests!” he called to the others. “Prepare!” The gyrocopter crested the hills with a cough in the engine as smoke began to billow from the craft. Two Trolls hung from the vehicle’s skids as the Human pilot swore in an undeniably Gilnean cant, tossing a short-fused Cobalt Icebreaker over the side in an attempt to dislodge one. Each Troll worked furiously to try and pull themselves up on the skids to get a hold of the pilot, only to be rebuffed by a grenade blast or a smack on the head with a battered mace. The crack of the blast washed over the assembled Knights, and the mood began to change in the camp. No longer despondent, the squad stilled behind their cover and waited for the perfect moment to free the gyrocopter pilot of his heavy passenger load. They did not have long to wait. Losing altitude, the pilot of the gyrocopter threw both hands on the stick and cut power to the bare minimum. The vehicle dropped out of the sky, both Trolls nearly losing their grip on the skids. The motley arrangement was on a direct collision course for the Watch post. It was also close enough for the Knights to pluck the Trolls off the craft with timed Death Grips as the ‘copter roared in. The whine reached a fever pitch as the pilot attempted to soften the landing as the vehicle plowed into the snowy ground. Eredis was the only one to stride out from cover towards the dazed pilot and the damaged craft. The cries of surprise, then pain, then terror from the Trolls suggested that the Ebon Blade had matters well under control. - “Badger,” Eredis said to the Gilnean huddled before a bonfire made specifically for the only living person in leagues, “By Kil’jaeden’s purple teat. What are you doing here?” “Well…Lookin’ for you,” replied the petulant, plate-clad layabout, holding his hands out to the fire. “ ‘Ad a bit of a discovery I figured you’d want a look at.” Both the warrior and the Major remained within the Ebon Watch perimeter. The circumstances of Badger’s arrival afforded them some privacy, though not out of the kindness of the Ebon Blade’s heart cavities. The faint cries of agony from a pair of Trolls could be heard on the bitter wind blowing through the camp. Badger had paid one of the finest bribes one could give to a Death Knight: a living Troll with full regenerative capability was the gift that kept on giving. In thanks for the serendipitous circumstance, the Knights had retrieved enough wood to have a crackling bonfire available for their guest, and Eredis had enough preserves in store to make a rudimentary meal. “Why didn’t you go through the Broker?” Eredis asked. “That’s why she’s there, to package the information and get it to me and my people. Nobody in their right mind comes out here willingly.” “I…figured it was real important,” replied Badger, hunching over the fire. He avoided looking at the Death Knight, instead sniffing around the cookpot that the aforementioned had set up close enough to the bonfire to get bubbling. “Them beans almost ready?” he asked. “Couldn’t ‘ave an in flight meal, if you catch my meanin’.” Eredis opened his mouth to admonish the Gilnean again, but something in the man’s tone made him consider his words carefully. “Badger,” Eredis said slowly, “You…haven’t even met the Broker yet, have you?” Badger snarled at Eredis, his white teeth looking all the world like they were about to elongate into fangs – with a snout to carry them. “Don’t ‘preciate your tone,” he spat. “I ain’t takin’ orders from no-“ He broke off, looking at the Death Knight. It was a reaction the scoundrel had never seen before, not in all of his days of working with the dead, not in all of his jobs. Eredis was laughing. No, the Death Knight was doubled over, decaying lungs heaving in breaths as fast as they could muster. If he was capable of crying, Eredis may well have had tears rolling down his cheeks. One could even hear his Bloodworms chittering as if they shared an emotional link with their host. “From what?” Eredis asked, his face screwed up in a rictus of expansive hilarity, “Go on. Tell us! What is the Alpha pouting about?” That did earn a snarl from Norm as the warrior jumped up to face the dead man. Dark hair flowed into dark fur as the man grew, the beast within coming to the forefront. Leather straps creaked and stretched with long-suffering familiarity as the plates adjusted to their wearer’s new bulk and height. Well-engineered boots found their soles rotating upward against the shin protector plates, locking into place as leg ‘warmers’ as clawed feet pushed them out of the way. Spittle flew from the elongated jaw as the Worgen advanced on the Death Knight, the creature’s voice dropping to a feral growl as it advanced. Eredis barely noticed, still guffawing at the situation as the beast advanced on him. The Knight felt his center of gravity shift as he overbalanced from a shove by the furious Gilnean, and before he knew it he was doubled up on his side, still laughing. Badger aimed a kick at the Knight’s midsection, yelping as it connected with Saronite plating covered in a sheet of frost. He earned another round of laughs from the dead man. Furious, the warrior started to rant. “From a woman!” he shouted. “There, I said it, aright? I ent never takin' orders from no woman, even if I am still in charge on paper!” Badger shoved a slip of paper at the fallen Knight, continuing to rage. “I brought ‘is thing all the way from that damnedable Guard job I ‘afta keep, shoutin ‘ur unner arrest’ at every skip, roscoe ‘n bint who won’t give me a sip of the day’s soup, makin’ nice with folk who woulda thrown me in the clink if they knew who I was, an’ this is what I ‘afta deal with? That I ‘ad to roam around a charnel ‘ouse like I was that daft investigator with ‘is glasses, lookin’ all the world like ‘e belongs in a butcher sho-“ Eredis had stopped laughing. Instead, he was looking at the paper. “Where did you say you found this?” he asked. His tone was the chill of severity that Boyd Macnormelton, of the Tempest Macnormeltons, known by his codename of The Badger, knew well. The Knight had already started to get to his feet, somehow utilizing not hands nor arms, nor possibly even legs. It was as if the hand of Providence (the Naaru have a plan for everyone, Badger had heard a hefty Draenei say once) had picked the dead man up and placed him gently on his feet. Said corpse did not look pleased, but instead, driven. “Goldshire,” Badger replied, subdued. “It was, er, one of them scenes you were payin’ to find out about. One of them mowed us operatics.” “Modus Operandi,” the Knight replied. “How old is this?” “Maybe two days,” Norm responded. “Came as soon as I could filch the paper, figured it was important. Are those beans-” “Good,” replied Eredis, looking at the paper again. “Go meet with the Broker. Immediately. Tell her we have a rush job to get started on, and that she’ll have Knights coming to support as soon as possible.” Badger whined, looking at the pot. “Butbutbut-food!” he yelped. He could smell the delicate blend of bold and savory aromas wafting from the pot. Salted pork, hearty beans, peppers, onions, some sort of tangy sauce- The Knight looked up again, placing the torn book page into a bag. “Let her know to watch Blackrock Mountain for Gilnean carriages. Our quarry may well be heading to Nefarian’s lair.” “Now?!” “Now. You can eat when you’re dead.” “Keep treatin’ me like this an’ I will be!” “Get moving, Badger.”

Satisfied to have regained his drinking space, Norm slumped back in his seat and finished his whiskey.