DISCLAIMER: Do not own Warcraft or Frozen, they're owned by Blizzard and Disney respectively, etc.
After years of wanting to spend time with her sister, the one time that Queen Elsa sends someone to summon her to her chambers, Anna doesn't want to go.
As she opens the door to her sister's room, she reflects on all the times this door has been locked to her. "Queen Elsa?" She asked almost timidly as she peeked into the room.
"Its fine, Anna, we are still sisters." Elsa said, chuckling a little.
"Right, yeah, sorry, it's just, you know," Anna began to babble awkwardly as she entered the room. It hadn't changed much since they were kids, "having a sister as Queen is still a bit, well, weird." Anna admitted quite hastily.
The nerves left the room when they both laughed together, and Elsa's chambers were filled with the warmth and familiarity shared between two sisters. However, when Elsa's smile dropped, Anna knew that Elsa had called her for some serious business; and Anna suspected that it had something to do with the sound that had been heard that night, at the hours of twilight.
The horn had been heard through all of Arendelle; a beautiful yet terrible noise that had not been heard in the fjord since the days of the Vikings.
"Do you know what that horn means, Anna?" Elsa asked in a calm but stern voice.
"Uh… its hunting season…?" Anna hesitantly suggested.
Elsa sighed. "That was a war horn, Anna. And I pray that that war horn was blown without the knowledge of what it signified."
Anna nodded, agreeing with the statement, but she was also worried about her sister. Though Elsa did always have the gates open, and she turned the courtyard into an ice skating paradise every Saturday, she had been becoming a bit more stern and concise since becoming Queen properly.
Nowadays she rarely spoke unless she needed too.
Anna was worried her sister was closing herself off again.
"So… what do we do?" Anna asked her sister, wondering if the situation was really as dire as her sister made it out to be.
"We will send a group of people to investigate the North Mountain and see if there is anyone there. If not, then they will return and we will assume whoever blew the horn has moved on." Elsa responded, and Anna realised that Elsa has been talking about this with their parents' faithful servant, Kai, who had become the head servant and an advisor to Elsa.
"So… what did you need me for?" Anna asked, wondering what her sister could've wanted to call her in for.
"I… wanted to inform you…" Elsa began, somewhat hesitantly.
"What is it?" Anna asked her sister. "I'm sure it's not that bad." She reassured the Queen, smiling at her.
"We... made Kristoff leader of the scouting group…" Elsa told Anna calmly, masking her fear of upsetting her sister.
Instead, Anna just smiled.
"That's great! It's good to know that he's doing more for Arendelle than just selling ice." Anna half-spoke half-laughed, to which Elsa joined in the laughter; the seriousness of the previous conversation forgotten.
"I just hope you and Kai know what you're putting that group through!" Anna joked.
"I just hope you know what Kristoff is going to be put through!" Elsa retaliated, almost smirking.
Meanwhile…
"So this is what Arendelle's military is like." Kristoff thought to himself as he walked into the most common gathering place for the military; The Glacier.
The Glacier was a public house that opened literally a month after Elsa returned summer to Arendelle. It was a brand new, made entirely of grey stone brick with a fresh wooden roof painted royal blue. The Glacier had two floors, downstairs was the bar and tables for eating, and upstairs was where the family who owned the public house lived. It was impossible to look inside because the windows were made to look frosted over.
As soon as Kristoff entered, he had to duck to dodge a flying chair. The inside was lighted by torches on the walls, but right now Kristoff wished that the lights were off.
The Glacier was in chaos and a massive fight was happening. Four or more of the participants were evidently hammered and it didn't take long to figure out what had started the fight. There was broken glass all over the place, and liquid was all over the floor; spilled drink, chucked up drink, peed out drink. Whatever it was, it was alcohol in some shape or form.
Kristoff carefully made his way through the chaotic battleground the public house had become and eventually came across a man wearing a long, black leather coat with a high collar and a loose royal blue shirt, and black leather trousers that weren't baggy, nor were they ridiculously tight.
His hair was blackish-brown, short, spikey. His eyes were dark chocolate brown, and he had a stubble, with a slightly thicker moustache.
Kristoff approached the man when he slumped up against the wall, having been punched hard in the face by another drunken patron.
"Excuse me," Kristoff asked as the man slid down to the floor, still conscious. "Do you know where I could find the Commander of the Military?" He asked, hoping that the Commander would be a lot more dignified than this.
"Yeah…" Stated the drunken man, who attempted to get up only to fall on his arse again, and laughed, "Right here."
"You're the Commander!?" Kristoff gasped, almost horrified.
"Yep, Commander Killian of Arendelle's fine military." Killian gestured to the patrons drunkenly brawling in The Glacier. "What can I do for you?"
Kristoff stopped himself from gulping. "I'm here to form a scouting party…"
"Ah!" Interrupted Killian, finally standing up, albeit still wobbling on his legs unsteadily, "that makes you… Christopher?" Killian asked, gesturing to Kristoff with his green bottle.
"It's Kristoff!" Kristoff retorted.
Killian laughed. "Well, Kristoff, I think you and I will get along fine," He smiled, and then fell over trying to take a step towards Kristoff, though fortunately Kristoff caught him, "once I'm sober." Killian added, laughing once more.
Kristoff despaired. "Why me?"
Meanwhile…
The main hall of Elsa's Ice Palace was beautifully made. It was a wide open, round space with two stairs at the far end of the hall, one on each side, which led up to an indoor balcony of sorts that had two doors, behind the first of which was a hallway, and the second held behind it another case of stairs.
The Blackrock Clan of Orcs had, however, found a new use for the main hall.
The Blackrock Clan was one of seven Clans that had followed Teron Gorefiend through the Dark Portal into this snowy land, but they had done so without a Chieftain.
Now that they had a secure place in this world, they needed a Chieftain; and the main hall became their proving grounds.
The grey and green Orcs of the Blackrock Clan had gathered around, forming a ring in which two Orcs fought a duel to the death, as was the custom of those fighting for the title of Chieftain.
The two combatants, one a pure, healthy green, the other a sickly greenish-yellow, circled each other as the Orcs around them chanted barbarically.
The healthy green Orc, wearing nothing more than a helmet with two pairs of horns, a leather loincloth with a chain belt, a single shoulder guard and hide boots, swung at the other Orc with his hefty two-handed, double-headed axe. The sickly greenish-yellow Orc, wearing full hide trousers, fur boots and red plate armour that only covered half of his torso, managed to dodge the swing countered with a vertical strike from his own two-handed single-headed axe.
The main hall was silent as the axe ripped through the unfortunate Orc, through helmet and head right down through neck, chest and stomach, red spray following where the axe cut, only coming to a stop at the pelvis. When the axe was pulled out, blood spurted forth like a fountain for a few seconds before the body fell, colouring the ice red with blood.
The crowd of Orcs cheered whilst the victor roared with ferocious bloodlust. However, as the body was dragged away, another challenger stepped up.
This Orc was dark grey, the same grey as cobblestone streets at night. His hair was done in a messy Mohawk, and was black in colour. Unlike most Orcs, he wore full plate armour with leather straps, the pauldrons of which were each adorned with four massive, sharp spikes. The hulking armour was faded silver, trimmed faded gold, and he had a beard the same colour as his hair.
"Malkorok," the whispers went around the crowd, "managed to defeat The Backstabber in single combat…"
Malkorok pulled his massive, curved, two-handed sword off his back and pointed it at the previously victorious Orc, who almost let a whimper escape his mouth, but held it back. He would rather die than be forever branded a coward.
"Come then, Malkorok!" The Orc growled at the new challenger, "I shall show you how powerful I am! You will-"
"Enough talk!" Malkorok interrupted, "Let it be FINISHED!"
With that, Malkorok charged forward, curved blade above his head, roaring with brutal ferocity as the second Orc prepared to knock Malkorok flat with the flat of the axe...
Then the sword came down, and the Orc blinked… he wasn't dead… but he couldn't feel his right arm.
Looking down at his arm, he saw that it was gone. Blood was spurting forth from the wound and the ice floor was red where his arm had fallen, the fingers still twitching. Before anyone could react, Malkorok's sword had come down again and severed his left arm. As the Orc gladiator's vision started to blur, Malkorok kicked him onto his back. He expected to feel a finishing blow, but no such thing came. Malkorok knelt next to the suffering Orc.
"I'm not going to end your suffering; I plan on prolonging it for as long as possible." Malkorok grinned and stood, looking at the silenced crowd. "This is how the Blackrock Clan is run now! I will not tolerate failure!" He announced. No one uttered a word, but instead the crowd parted for another challenger.
Before Malkorok stood an Orc glad in mystical armour-robes that could only belong to a Shaman.
However, before Malkorok could point out that a Shaman was no match for a Warrior such as himself, the Shaman pulled out a weapon that made everyone gasp.
The Blackhand Doomsaw was in the grip of this Shaman, and Malkorok had to ask; "Who are you, Shaman?"
The Shaman smiled under the hood and visage of a skeletal deer or some such creature. "I am Blackhand, the last Blackhand, and so I go by the name of my father."
Malkorok, and all of the Blackrock Clan, were shocked. "But Blackhand only had three children…"
"You better learn how to count if you want to become Chieftain, Malkorok." Retorted the Shaman-Blackhand, "I am here to claim my rightful title through battle against its current holder, which would be you."
Malkorok smirked. "Then I will grant you a swift death, son of Blackhand!"
With that, Malkorok jumped into the air, sword in hand, and came crashing down onto the Shaman, who blocked the strike with the Doomsaw.
The sound of their weapons clashing against each other rang out through the palace, and soon it was more than just the Blackrock Clan gathered to watch the battle that would ultimately decide the new Chieftain of the Blackrock Clan.
Eventually, it happened.
Malkorok ran at Blackhand and lifted his sword, forgetting that Blackhand was a Shaman as well as a warrior. Soon, Malkorok found himself disarmed and on the floor with the Shaman-Warrior standing over him, but rather than surrender, Malkorok threw himself at Blackhand, who lunged the Doomsaw forwards.
Malkorok looked down at the blade that had pierced him, and then at the Shaman. "You… truly are… the son of Blackhand…" with a final breath, Malkorok slid off the blade with a sickening noise and hit the floor, staining it red.
There was silence, and then from somewhere in the crowd of the assembled clans the cry started; "All hail the new Chieftain of the Blackrock Clan! Blackhand the Last! Blackhand the Last!"
And soon all the Blackrock Clan and many of the other Clans had taken up the cry. "Blackhand the Last!"