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The Haunting

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Shacking up in Lordaeron wasn’t the worst living situation he’d been in before, nor would it be the last; as annoying as that miserable parasite was, Nergal enjoyed the breadth of power it gave him. Sure, it meant he would have to suffer through its needy requests for this ore or that herb every so often, but it was an inconsequential sacrifice in comparison to what the sin’dorei would accomplish during these little errands.

Usually, he didn’t even need to leave; he would send Enmesarra out to do most of the heavy lifting – actually acquiring the items needed by H’di, or to rough up a person to convince them to visit the eldritch coward in Lordaeron, or to get whatever it needed for its new stupid scheme – but on occasion, Nergal found himself pulled to do one task or another by himself.

Given his condition was stable, that is.

Sometimes the sudden urge to wander away from the fallen kingdom’s capitol settled like an insatiable itch deep inside himself that would only go away when he followed the old god’s instructions. Other times, it would keep him up for days at a time in a hazy mania where he lost most of his memories, leaving him to wonder why he has a ticket for a midnight flight from the Eastern Kingdoms to Kalimdor, and how he became stranded in Orgrimmar with nothing else to go off of than a feeling he  needed  to be there.

On those days, Nergal knew something was very, certainly wrong with him.

Nergal went on like this for over a year, wildly swinging between an obsessive need overwhelming him like a feverish high or throwing him into a daze that left him in another part of the world with no certain way of returning to Lordaeron.

Then, suddenly, for almost a year, he didn’t go through with any of that crazy behavior.

It made the death knight wonder why he did it in the first place, but beyond grateful that it was over.

Until the Summer Festival, that is.

The sin’dorei woke up just before dawn, that itch digging deep into his and coiling around every fiber of his being until he felt like he was on fire. He threw himself around his isolated tower, destroying parts of the crumbling stone walls and chipping ancient wooden frames in his rampage.

He demanded that H’di would explain this madness to him, but only received a simple, Enjoy yourself during this celebration, as his answer.

It drove him absolutely insane – but, with the goblin at his side pestering to join in on the festivities, Nergal decided to give in.

The grounds had been transformed from ghost-filled courtyards to a lively environment, reminding him heavily of the Menethil boy’s name day celebration; for once, even despite the fire licking in his belly, Nergal thoroughly enjoyed himself. The first evening drifted somewhere between a really fun party and an almost perfect dream, putting the sin’dorei in a position he hadn’t been in since he was alive.

It was like that for another two days, leaving him full and more content than he’d been in literal ages.

On the fourth night of the festivities, the fire came back, washing over his head like a massive migraine. He quietly left the courtyard, blindly walking through Lordaeron’s maze-like corridors, just begging for this fire to pass him as it always did.

In his peripherals, he saw some movement that caught his eye – and the attention of the pain washing over him. He followed the movement at the push of the feeling, unsure why it was pressing him here.

He found himself back out into the courtyard, a young couple right in front of him that instantly chilled the fires as if he’d been thrown into the ocean. The wheat-haired sin’dorei laughed and smiled carelessly as she leaned into another elf, the boy’s arm wrapped around her as if enjoying her presence.

Rhy’os, Nergal thought, a snarl escaping him as he took a few steps forward to confront her. That little bastard child, how dare she kill me and act like she's innocent?!

Before he could reach her, he was pulled back into the castle violently, yelping as he was drawn back. Despite his shout, no one turned toward him, as if he hadn’t even been there.

Scrambling to his feet as he was pulled back into the shadowed corridor overlooking the courtyard, Nergal still felt an invisible tendril squeeze his torso as H’di’s voice overshadowed his own. Not yet, the being hissed. I have plans for this one.

“Her?” he asked, frowning as his eyes continued to watch every move his step-daughter took with that idiot on her arm. “Why this one?  Do you know what she did to me?!”

With a noncommittal huff, the eldritch being replied, She’s a fool, and you seem to have a way with working fools to do my bidding.

Nergal stopped for a moment, working over H’di’s words.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try,” the sin’dorei murmured, his anger placated for a moment. “Let me know how I can best serve you.” Humming in approval, he felt the old god’s invisible tendrils (and that gods-forsaken migraine) leave him.

He didn’t know what he would do, but the death knight knew he would start by working her down slowly – first, he would have her second-guess herself and that boy she readily pushed herself into. Then, when she had pushed everyone around her away, he would make sure that every moment she was alone would be filled with the memories of what she did to her own step-father.

He found that he really was enjoying this year’s Summer Festival.