Prologue: Cold Thoughts

The Lich King

Cold.

That was all the Lich King could feel after all these years. His humanity forsaken, his people betrayed... All the Lich King could feel now, was cold. Sitting on his throne, atop the very spire he first climbed many years ago, the only sound that came to Arthas' ears was the rustling of the wind against his armor, and that defiant voice in his memories...

"ARTHAS!"

"Fordring..."

The paladin. The wielder of the Ashbringer, the one weapon that could rival Frostmourne. Appearing to face him at Light's Hope Chapel, creating the Argent Crusade to oppose him, organizing the Argent Tournament to find adventurers powerful enough to face him...

"Hmph."

The thought of an army confronting him made him laugh. Sooner or later, they would all feed his blade. Sooner or later, they would all serve him. Yet, the paladin was always there opposing him, daring to face Death Itself. Maybe, just maybe...

A dim flash of blue light interrupted his thoughts. Coming from the metal teleporter that linked all of Icecrown Citadel to the Frozen Throne, appeared a man wearing green and rotten vests. A few chunks of purple hair fell from his head, and a putrid smell came with him.

"My king." The man bowed before Arthas, looking at the floor in respect.

"Putricide." The Lich King's voice echoed above the Frozen Throne, "Inform me of your progress."

"Of course, milord. The creation of Abominations has been greatly increased, thanks to the great number of corpses brought by your army. The progress on the new Plague toxin has also bee-"

Arthas' powerful voice interrupted the scientist. "About the task I gave you."

"Oh... Milord..." Putricide had hoped that it wouldn't be him who had to give his King the bad news, "I-I-I'm really, re-really sorry to inform this, but about the task..." Putricide stopped talking for a second. He could feel the overwhelming pressure the Lich King was exerting. He carefully chose his next words. "We've had... in-inconclusive results about its... non-physical properties. No test has given any indication about its involvement with the su-sudden madness sparking in some of your soldiers, milord."

Arthas pondered for a minute. He knew the metal had at least some involvement in the blossoming madness that appeared in some troops, both dead and alive. He already recognized its physical power; the very citadel he stood upon was made from the metal. But if it had other properties... Could a power like that be harnessed? If he could bend the metal, not only as a crafting material, but as a weapon to drive his enemies into insanity, he would be one step closer to bringing both Fordring and Azeroth down.

"Putricide, continue the testing on the metal. If any results appear, inform me immediately."

"Of course, milord." Putricide stood up from his kneeling position and walked towards the teleporter. With the same dim flash of light that announced him, he was gone.

Arthas remained on his throne, wondering. The chilling winds of Northrend breezing across the spire, all he could feel was the sound of his thoughts, looking for any knowledge that could be useful. After some minutes, he remembered a conversation with one of his death knights, many weeks ago, who had been sent to Dragonflight to convert the Kalu'ak people to the Scourge.

"They are brave fighters, my king, but they are still afraid of one thing." The death knight had come to inform his King about the Scourge's progress. "Our scouts concluded that they referred to the saronite veins spread across Northrend. They call it "the black blood of Yogg-Saron".

Yogg-Saron. The Old God of Death.

Arthas knew of its existence below Northrend, as well as the influence it spread across the continent. Even though stories of its defeat at the hand of adventurers reached his ears, he could feel the twisted magic of the god still resonating upon the land. But even then, he never considered it as a threat. Even if some minor skirmishes occurred between the Scourge and influenced locals, as well as within the Scourge itself, they were never mayor enough as to give them importance. After all, he had the Argent Crusade, as well as the Knights of the Ebon Blade, the Kirin Tor, the Alliance and the Horde to deal with. He could dismiss a fallen deity.

Arthas pondered about his plan of action. If Yogg-Saron's influence was the reason for the "special" properties of saronite, maybe there was another way to harness its hidden power. He would have to take a more dangerous, direct approach...

He stood from the Frozen Throne and descended the stairs towards the platform, the sound of his boots stepping on the ice echoing through the air. Once down, he focused dark energy on his upper limbs, his mind forming the image of the resting place of his blade. Unleashing the gathered energy with a wave of his hand, a black portal appeared in front of him; purple smoke covered the gate, and a black skull rested upon its top.

Before stepping into the portal, Arthas had one last thought.

"When I've mastered this power, Fordring, you will crave for the cold embrace of death."

Hi, my name's Nicholas, and this is the first fanfiction I publish. As such, any reviews and comments will be appreciated! If you have any criticism, opinion or idea, please feel free to tell me. I hope you enjoyed the start of this story!