Battle of Scourgeholme

"This is by far the craziest thing I've ever done!" Alakaia shouted. Her Green Proto-Drake roared and flapped its spiny wings faster. Scourgeholme quickly came into sight, a circle of blackened earth ravaged by green Plague vapors and Fel fire. Nerubians darted everywhere, clacking their mandibles and weaving webs. The skeletons of fallen Crusaders ambled slowly around the borders, dragging their weapons against the frozen soil.

"It's not that unusual!" Dazze shouted over the wind. He handled his Drake with ease, adjusting his grip on the reins unconsciously. "Heads up. We're entering enemy range. Remember, we got to save as many prisoners as possible. The Lich King's counter-attack took out a lot of men, and we need every soldier we can get."

Alakaia searched the ground for any sign of captives. At first she saw nothing that even remotely resembled a Crusader. She flew closer, and spotted bundles wrapped with black Nerubian webbing.

"There!" Dazze said, pointing to the bundles. "Fly in low, but don't get too close to those spiders; they'll eat you for breakfast!" He urged his Proto-Drake onward, headed west. She was on her own.

Alakaia's Drake flew close to the ground, snatching up a trapped Crusader in its claws. They flew back to Light's Fist, the Argent Crusade's forward base. The Drake hovered just above the ground and gently lowered the prisoner done. Alakaia had to use her sword to cut through the webbing. The man coughed and spluttered. He grasped her hand in his thanks and staggered into the Infirmary. Together, Dazze and Alakaia returned to Scourgeholme, snatching away captives out from under the Nerubians' mandibles.

With only one prisoner remaining, Alakaia dared to land among the Scourge. When the prisoner was secure, the Proto-Drake flapped its powerful wings, and suddenly cried out. It flapped harder, but failed to leave the ground. Glancing back, Alakaia saw the problem: a chain of blue cobalt was wrapped around the beast's ankle.

"This will be your last incursion against the Scourge!" the Lich King yelled.

Alakaia's blood froze. The King of Death was there, only a few feet away. The Proto-Drake panicked, bucking and flapping wildly, desperate for escape.

"Lay down your weapons and dismount! Surrender your soul! There is no hope for you!" the Lich King boomed. Alakaia could not move; she was going to die at the hands of Azeroth's greatest evil. She would find no peace. Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain in her side. She pressed her gloved hand against the pain, and withdrew it slick with blood. A spear had passed straight through her armor and lodged in between her ribs, narrowly missing her vitals. She tried to breathe, but the effort was too much. She swayed in her saddle, almost falling off the Drake.

A man's battle cry broke through the haze of pain. Alakaia looked up to see Dazze diving towards her. With a mighty blow, he broke the binding chain. Alakaia's Drake, scared witless, ungainly took flight, nearly unseating her. She heard a dark and deep voice yelling after her. With her left hand, she grasped the top shaft of the spear.

"Stop! Do not try to remove it! You'll bleed out before we get you back to base!" Dazze called from beside her.

She moaned, each beat of the Drake's wings bringing another wave of searing pain. She sagged against the Drake's neck as the beast headed for Light's Fist.

Dazze had to carry Alakaia into the Infirmary; her legs were made of jelly and her head was spinning. Her cold and bloodied hands clutched at the spear. Dazze stayed with her and held her hand while the surgeon removed it. She screamed in agony, making Dazze wince and look away as the spear left her flesh. She looked washed out and prepared to swoon by the time the surgeon finally stopped the bleeding. Dazze helped her sit upright as the surgeon cleaned, packed and bandaged the wound. She would be in constant serious pain until the wound healed; her muscles were bruised, and there was a chance that blood would begin to pool in her chest cavity. Alakaia was given new orders: bed-rest, until further notice. Dazze offered to take her back to her tent. Her wound would need to be examined every few hours by the surgeon.

Halfway to her tent, Dazze turned on her, right in front of the tents housing the rest of the Crusaders. At that time of day, most of them were lounging on their bedrolls or playing cards. Heads swiveled towards her as Dazze raised his voice. She staggered on her feet, trying to keep her balance. She almost too weak to stand.

"What the heck were you thinking?"

"I-"

"No, stop! You weren't thinking at all! I told you not to land, and you blatantly ignored me! The Lich King knew we were going to be there; he was waiting for you to drop your guard. Younglings always do."

"I was doing my best, okay?"

"No, it's not okay! Do you know what would have happened if he'd gotten a hold of you?"

"I would've fought him off," Alakaia said, struggling to think clearly. She almost raised her hand to finger her bandages, but she resisted the urge and clenched it into a fist. She could not show weakness now.

"He would've killed you and taken your soul, you fool! He would've made you an eternal slave! You never listen to orders, and that's why you'll never live to be a Veteran."

Alakaia felt her cheeks redden. Before she could say anything, her brother arrived. His hair bristled with anger.

"What's this about the Lich King's presence at Scourgeholme?"

"He attacked your sister."

"What?" Lucian rounded on her. "What's the matter with you? Are you asking for a death sentence?"

"Look, I made a mistake. It won't happen again."

"You're right, it won't happen again, because from now on you won't be going on any missions without me again." Lucian folded his arms and shifted his glare from Dazze to Alakaia.

Alakaia bit the inside of her cheek in frustration. "But-"

"Silence. Out here, a simple mistake can get you killed. So from now on, you're not allowed out of my sight. I may have failed to save Mother and Father, but I'm not going to let you get yourself killed. To your tent. Now."

Reprimanded before all the others, Alakaia had no choice but lean on Dazze as he returned her to her tent. He left her at the entrance, holding the flap open for her. She took off her helmet and chucked it at the canvas walls. She scrubbed her fingers through her hair. Hot tears stung her cheeks. She collapsed onto the bedrolls and sobbed into her blankets.

Dazze was ticked. He couldn't believe he'd lost it in front of everyone. Alakaia was embarrassed beyond belief, and on top of that she'd lost a lot of blood. She was in no shape to deal with anything. "That was harsh, even for you," he said to the Worgen's back.

Lucian rounded on him. "It's the only way she'll learn. I have to be forceful, or she won't get it through that thick skull of hers. She's going to get herself killed by her own stupidity."

Alakaia could hear her brother yelling at Dazze. She hated it when they fought, but she couldn't do anything about it. An unnatural fear had gripped her mind, making her senseless with dread. She wanted to dig a hole and bury herself in the earth, just to get away from the feeling of panic. She knew who was responsible for the emotion, and that made it more terrifying. She felt warm liquid trickle down her arm. Blood had soaked through her layered bandages. The spear wound had been tipped with poison, she was sure of it. Now she could hear the Lich King's voice in her head.

"Why do you resist me?" he whispered. "I can give you more power than you've ever dreamed of."

"Get out of my head, madman," she said weakly. She turned onto her side. The bedroll was now slick with her blood, but she paid it no mind.

The Lich King cackled, "Who is the madman here? You're taking to a voice in your head!" Alakaia huddled, curling into a ball. She moaned in pain and fear and her fingers clutched the bloody blankets convulsively.

The Lich King broke the connection. The channel remained for his next contact. With a little grooming, he'd tame the young warrior and use her to bring the Veterans to his citadel. He knew they could not resist the glory that awaited them for defeating the King of Death. Taming humans was so simple; once you had the first one in your fist, the rest would meekly follow, lambs to the slaughter. He reached out and brushed the girl's mind with his own. He felt her shudder at the contact, and he smiled.

Fear. His greatest ally. And the girl was full of it. Her brother, as well. He feared failure and Death, the Lich King's own domain, and now the Worgen was in the heart of it. The paladin would be the hardest. Trained to embrace the Light and shun the Darkness, he would put up the greatest fight.

"It will almost be a challenge," the Lich King said aloud. He flexed his fingers around Frostmourne's hilt, and the souls within whispered. "Soon, they will be mine." He held the blade up to the light, admiring how the metal glinted. He stroked it with a gloved finger.

Dazze gasped as a cold breeze seemed to squeeze his lungs. Something was coming, and he had a feeling they wouldn't be able to escape it.

Lucian could tell the paladin was angry. He chewed on one side of his cheek and kept flexing his fingers.

"Lay off, man. It's not like her self-confidence was all that great before," Dazze said.

Taking a breath and letting it out in a sigh, Lucian wiped a paw across his face. "You said she had a spear wound?"

"She took a spear through the left side of her rib cage. She said she didn't see who threw it, but I have a hunch who it was." He shivered. "It was clean, but it punched all the way through and out the front of her chest. The Doc said to keep an eye on it in case the blood starts pooling around her organs." He gasped suddenly. "By the Light, that chill… hurts to breathe."

Lucian frowned as the Paladin struggled to breathe. The air was as cold as it ever was. "I'm going to check on her."

Dazze rubbed at his throat and panted before finally relaxing a little. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. She's pretty upset."

"You think I don't know that? She is my sister, after all." Lucian left him standing in the snow and strode to Alakaia's tent. He listened at the entrance; it was quiet.

Entering cautiously, he let his eyes adjust to the tent's dim interior. Alakaia was asleep huddled in her blankets, her knees drawn up to her chin. He wanted to see the injury for himself. He gently rolled her onto her back and peeled away the layers of blankets. Lucian recoiled in shock. The bedding was soaked with blood.