Prompt: May 27, 2012 - Either by dream or thought, your character finds themselves thinking/dreaming about executing one person of other faction. This person could be known, nameless or one person of this server. However the catch is this, your character is thrown up in all the politics surrounding said death. It is going to be public and brutal by your hands. Do you go through with it? Whether you do or don't, who is it and why? What would you (or were going to) do to them?. . . . . "At least my womb can still bear children, unlike your barren corpse!"
. . . . . White-hot rage exploded across Valdiis's mind, blinding her for a heartbeat - or what would have been one if hers still functioned. The searing rage shoved Colonel Valdiis aside and cleared the way for someone else to step into control, someone rarely seen except when the rigidly regimented and structured death knight lost her grip on the leash of the personality she referred to as the Midnight. That had been the hour the voice began arguing with her, at the beginning.
. . . . . The orc had uttered that statement while hauled up against Valdiis by thick chains covered in ice. She was still dangling from the death knight's grip, unable to stand on her badly mangled feet. Valdiis lifted her left hoof and slammed the titansteel shoe down on the orc's worst foot, the one the Songstress had removed bones from. The orc's scream of pain was a delightful balm to the rage fueling her, but then the foul creature had the gall to pass out. She dropped the heavily pregnant orc on the floor in a heap and stalked out of the underground cell.
. . . . . Already, she was planning how the orc would find her end once that whelp they were researching was delivered. There would be a silithid hive, four stakes and rope, a mallet to break every joint, and copious amounts of honey and bacon fat. It would be a gruesome, slow, painful death. The Midnight relished in the imagery, wallowing happily in the anticipated agony.
. . . . . "I want her woken and I want to be informed when she is able to answer questions again," she snapped at one of the cell's two door guards - Sergeant Kueliig. The lack of accent in her voice and the deeper octave as she no longer strained to push her voice past the damaged throat and palate clearly startled him. Almost no one had heard her speak with that voice.
. . . . . Celuur had. He followed her as she descended into the labyrinth of tunnels surrounding their underground operation. "What triggered it?"
. . . . . Valdiis stopped and turned. "I do not want to talk about it."
. . . . . "Consider it an order." Her General's tone was surprisingly reasonable.
. . . . . Phantom aches she should not have, old wounds which should not bother her flared, and two plate-gloved hands briefly came to rest over her abdomen. She told him, and the Midnight ebbed back into her dark recess.
. . . . . In the ensuing weeks after the completion of the research, Valdiis discovered there were some traitors among the Alliance who cared for the foul greenskin. Although they had run an exceptionally clean black op, the word that it had been death knights who captured, interrogated, and experimented upon Horde captives had gotten out and the Knights were the most prominent group of death knights in the Alliance.
. . . . . Of course, she denied all knowledge of the rumored operation and always turned it to questioning the loyalty of those seeking vengeance for damage done to Horde scum. After all, the Knights had been able to provide their liaison among the Alliance with a cure for the Shadarim's successful plague strain after that operation. No one questioned the loyalty of the Knights of Menethil.