Currently listening to: Nonpoint – To The Pain
This is a continuation of the The death of a hero, click the link to read the previous chapter.
The birth place of death…
Darkness, there was nothing, an endless void of… Wait, what was that? Did someone or something just speak to me? No it couldn’t have, there is nothing here, wherever here is. “Focus Uledrass, this is hardly the worst situation you have ever been in” I said to myself aloud. My voice, it was deeper, and hollow, devoid of any emotion, of any sense of humanity. Who was this? This isn’t my voice…
“Arise Death Knight and witness true power”
Instantly I felt my legs under me, the heft of my swords, and the cold. It was so cold, but not like the cold that chilled you to the bone, no this cold was much different, it had a purpose, an agenda. The cold wrapped around me as if cloaking me, and suddenly I was aware of my surroundings. Looking up, I saw a tall figure wearing frost as if it were armor, his cold eyes through his helm, glowing as blue as the waters of the Nazferiti river flowing through Northern Stranglethorn. He spoke again but it was not audible to the ears, instead it was a ghostly voice projected directly into my mind, as if he was speaking to my soul.
“Arise and become a servant of my army, a commander of death itself” it spoke to me. “You will lead my armies, into the Eastern Plague lands, and decimate the Argent crusade in my name, for I am your master and my will shall be done by your swords. I am the blight that will befall this world, I am the grip that will lead us into apocalypse, I am the Lich king!”
As his voice faded from my head, the echos left behind began to torment my soul, compelling me to channel the cold that I commanded within me. In a burst of power and incandescent blue light, my armor and weapons began to glow a faint shade of blue as if the power that flowed through me was somehow also flowing through my armor making the bones that I wore an extension of my self. I pulled my swords from the sheaths, and gazed upon the power emanating from them. I swung my massive swords effortlessly as if they were made of Silk, but seemed much larger than they were in life. I remember feeling the power that coursed through them, and the ghastly sound they made when they cut through the frigid air.
The march on Light’s Hope…
Some time had passed since I had led my army of the scourge through the catacombs and plagued lands that lead to Light’s Hope. As I passed through a clearing of trees astride my Deathcharger, I noticed a heat, a relentless burning took hold of me, as if my soul was on fire. Not a physical pain, but an emotional pain that weighed on me like the problems of the world had resided squarely on my cold shoulders. Looking up I saw her, a woman dressed in radiant plated armor, light emitting from the gold inlaid symbols that emblazoned the pure silver armor. The pain was intolerable, I had to douse this light, or it would surely consume me from the inside out. I charged, with the fervor a thousand warriors screams that I now tormented for power. The closer I got though, the more the light tormented my soul. I struck at the woman with a strike of pure frost, but in a flash of light it was deflected, and she stood as if I had not even struck. Jumping back from the disbelief that this mortal being had parried such a massive strike, I wondered if she was wielding this light as a weapon. I noticed she had not pulled the massive sword that hung from her back, and concluded this must be the case. I struck again, but this time instead of striking with a physical attack a large cloud of frost enveloped her, this was indeed the correct course of action, as the frost closed in on her shrinking the magic shield that was protecting her. She then gasped as if the power of my attack had harmed her. She pulled her giant sword from its sheath on her back and began to charge as well, this is where she made her first mistake. Though I did not remember my name or former life, I still had the battle prowess of a grizzled veteran of old. I stepped aside and conjured a blade from thin air. It mimicked every move I made, so when I struck from the front my rune blade struck form the back. She never saw it coming, her death was so close I could feel the life draining from her into my command. I walked over to look into her eyes as she died. I wanted to revel in her death and watch the light leave her eyes. She was slumped over on one knee sword still in her left hand, right hand on the ground and her helm had fallen to the ground in front of her. Her hair was long and golden, very similar in color to the emblazoned gold on her silver armor. I picked up her helm and stored it on my belt, as a grizzly trophy, commemorating the defeat of such a resistant foe. It’s glow fading as I touched it. I then reached my hand out and whispered. The female warrior clutching her own throat and flailing about rose 3 feet in the air. She was able to speak but unable to move or use any of her cunning light magic. I pulled my helm from my head and tucked it under my arm, and looked upon my captor. Her eyes locked with mine and my mind snapped to the past. This startled me, the past was lost to me , now I was a servant of the apocalypse, a rider of death, what would memory have to offer me? The last thing I heard before losing time to the memory was a faint cry, not of fear, but of sadness. “Uledrass my love, why?”
Authors sign off…
I hope you enjoyed this part of the story and as always please leave feedback!
I leave you with this:
“In this world where time is your enemy, it is my greatest ally. This grand game of life that you think you play in fact plays you. To that I say… Let the games begin!” – Nefarian