An unlikely group on a mission. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own (World of) Warcraft. If I did, I would be busy making the next expansion instead of writing Fanfictions
52: Earning Respect
"We're gonna have to go by the dragon's tower."
Mattheus looked back at Jonas. None of the men were given horses for this journey, with Westwind saying they couldn't spare any (They're all needed near the base right now, he told them), and although Mattheus, Brommen, and Lyssa could've summoned their deathchargers, they didn't. That didn't mean Mattheus responded to the statement with kindness.
"It's called the Wyrmrest Temple," he said. "It's where all the emissaries from the five dragonflights have gathered to deal with the Lich King. Rumor has it that the dragonqueen herself is there." He smiled.
"Well if that's the case," Danthor said, moving up next to Mattheus, "then I'd like to keep as much distance between us and that tower as possible."
"As you wish."
They had twenty men for the expedition, all good crusaders they were told. While Danthor, Jonas, and Lethella were in command of the expedition, the three death knights were their official guides. They'd been in Northrend for a long time, or so they had said. It was midday and they'd managed to travel past Venomspite without detection (which in itself was quite a task) and stopped at the base of the mountains to the east of them before Danthor ordered a rest. In the distance was Wyrmrest Temple.
Lethella sat silently near the edge of camp, right by Crusaders Mellar and Garris, who were assigned to the expedition. Danthor sat with her for a bit, but moved when he heard Jonas make his comment about the dragon's tower. He didn't want to cause rumors about them to the unsuspecting crusaders (or death knights, for that matter). It was time to get moving anyways.
"Come on, we're burnin' sunlight," he said. He looked at Mattheus. "I trust you'll show us a path that doesn't involve getting close to dragons?"
"Leave it to me, chief," Mattheus said, standing up.
They travelled for a bit, not moving at a particularly fast pace. The troops really did have few supplies with them, certainly nothing to start building a base with. They were the calm before the storm, so to speak, sent to make sure the entire base was clear before sending a few scouts back south and waiting until the supplies come in. The whole thing was idiotic.
It wasn't particularly cold that day, but Danthor found that just by standing near Mattheus and the other two death knights made him feel colder. They seemed to exhume continual coldness. "So why'd you decide to join the Onslaught anyways?" Danthor found himself asking.
Mattheus looked at him for a brief second before grinning and looking up ahead. "You think I'm not allowed to join?" he asked. "I was a human before the Scourge killed me, ya know."
"True enough," Danthor said, "though it's not like the Crusade is known for its tolerance for anything different than a living human."
"Not true," Lyssa said. "You once had a few elves and dwarves in your midst."
Danthor shrugged. "Maybe in years past, but you're avoiding the question. Why did you decide to join the Onslaught?"
"We had nowhere else to go," Brommen said. "After the Lich King betrayed us at the Battle of Light's Hope Chapel, we couldn't go back. We became wanderers."
"What Brommen means to say," Mattheus said, "is that the three of us have been friends since we were resurrected and trained under Instructor Razuvious. The Lich King's betrayal hurt us all, and we quickly joined the Knights of the Ebon Blade and were sent to the Northrend division. We didn't much agree with what Lord-Commander Arete thought, so we split and have been wandering Northrend ever since."
"Quite a story," Danthor said. "So you saw the Onslaught as your last hope?"
"All that matters is revenge," Mattheus said. He looked at Danthor and smiled a bit. "We're not that different, really. The three of us can't kill the Lich King alone, so we've decided to lend our talents to the next best organization that can."
In the back they could hear Lethella scoff.
Mattheus looked back for a second before turning to Danthor. "I can understand that you feel uncomfortable around us," he said, "but we don't appreciate the distrustful glares you're all giving us. We don't ask for acceptance, but we do ask for respect."
Danthor looked to Lethella. "Around here," he said, training his eyes back forward, "people get respect when they earn it. Don't expect to get it so easily from a group of humans who've lost everything because of your former master."
Brommen grunted.
"I suppose that's fair," Mattheus said. "As long as we can work together, that's enough. We don't need your approval in order to kill the Lich King. All we need is—"
Suddenly, Lyssa whistled. Mattheus immediately snapped to attention, looking over at her. Without any words, she pointed to in front of them, near the mountains.
"What is it?" Danthor asked. He couldn't see that far ahead.
Brommen took off his helmet and covered the top of his eyes with his gauntleted hand. "There's a group of snobolds gathering near the base of the mountain. I can't hear what they're saying, but they certainly notice us."
Danthor's hand trailed to the hilt of his blade. He moved back towards Jonas and Lethella, asking, "What do you think?"
"A scouting group, definitely," Lethella said. "They sound too small to be any kind of attack. They'll be on us soon enough to take our supplies."
The group silently padded on for a second.
"Whatcha want us to do, chief?" Mattheus called from up ahead.
"We keep moving," Danthor said, "but keep on alert."
In the background, he could hear Mellar say to Garris, "We'll be walking into an ambush . . ."
Maybe so, but what could he do? He couldn't just stop the group—that would cause even more suspicion. As commander, he had to make sure they got to their destination as soon as possible, but he also had to make sure they got there alive. Either way, he didn't intend on letting a group of snobolds get the better of more than a score of crusaders.
"Form up," Danthor said, moving towards the front. "Jonas, take control of the middle, Lethella move to the back. If the shit hits the fan, you're in command of the crusaders around you. I'll be up here with the death knights."
Danthor expected Lethella to protest, but she didn't. They moved to their positions, all the crusaders on alert, their hands on their weapons just in case. "Good thinkin' chief," Mattheus said with a smile.
"Stop calling me that."
The next few minutes were tense. The crusaders kept at their pace, eyes constantly scanning to the right of them—towards the mountains. The snobolds were notorious thieves in the area, but they wouldn't get the better of them. Wyrmrest Temple was a silhouette behind them when they—
A noise!
Danthor's head shot to his right and he saw them. At least thirty snobolds pouring out of a small cluster of caves burrowed into the mountainside. Drawing his shield and sword, he yelled, "To arms, crusaders! Push them back!"
Everyone drew their weapons as the snobolds let loose a guttural battle cry, their homemade stone weapons gripped in their paws. Mattheus, Lyssa, and Brommen all drew their weapons and were the first to rush towards them, Danthor following behind them. Before he could even raise his sword to strike, Brommen held his arm out towards one of the snobolds, and ice around him sprung up from the snow and chained him there, motionless. He decapitated the hapless creature with one swipe of his runeblade.
Lyssa stopped in the middle of a group of snobolds as the ground around her turned green and the snow began to rot. The snobolds in the circle immediately collapsed on the ground, coughing and sneezing as if taken suddenly with a horrible disease. In fact, they were, but Lyssa made sure it was her blade that killed them—not what she used to poison them. Laughing a bit while doing so, she moved on to the next group.
Mattheus surrounded himself with a shield of whirling bones. Whenever the snobolds tried to strike him, they would hit only his barrier. Smiling under his saronite-plated helmet, he set off immediately to attacking the creatures around him with his red-tinted runeblade. He struck a snobold in the heart, releasing a torrent of blood from his body. As more snobolds moved towards him, Mattheus flicked the blood from his blade onto them. They shrieked and dropped to the ground, the blood working like acid and melting their faces and bodies.
Even before Danthor killed his first snobold it was clear who the victor was. The Onslaught set upon them like a tidal wave, sweeping through their rudimentary line and eviscerating all in their path. By the time the last crusader hit the battlefield (Garris, actually, swinging his spear at the nearest creature), the fight was almost done. Within three minutes of engagement, all the snobolds were either dead or retreating. The crusaders lost no one.
Danthor breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the last remaining snobolds scramble away into the mountain path. There wasn't anything to worry about after all. He counted the bodies of about twenty-five snobolds. He looked at Jonas and Lethella and smiled. Mattheus strode up next to him and nudged him with his elbow. "Not too bad, eh? Let's loot 'em and see what they got."
"Be my guest," Danthor said. He was about to turn to Lethella and say something when he heard a shattering roar from above.
Every crusader looked upwards towards the hills of the mountainside. On it, they saw three magnataurs—creatures who were half giants and half mammoth—glaring down at them, massive pikes gripped in each of their meaty hands and a yelling group of snobolds holding onto their back.
"Oh you've gotta be fucking kidding me," he heard Lethella say.
The magnataur gave one more roar before charging down the mountain path, their hooves sounding like thunderclaps. "Spread out, quickly!" Danthor screamed. "Don't bunch up for them to kill you in one blow!"
His orders were heard by most, but a few were too shocked to see such a sight that they didn't heed his warning. The magnataur were on them before they could move away, one of them smashing away three crusaders with an easy swing of his pike.
"Archers and magic-users, fire!" Lethella yelled, summoning two fireballs and throwing them towards one of the magnataur. She hit two snobolds and send them barreling off their backs. The giants didn't mind. The three magnataur spread out to destroy the group in one sweep.
Chaos ensued as the crusaders ran to all sections of the compass. A few brave ones stood in one position long enough to fire a crossbow bolt or shoot a spell, but most were constantly on the move as the magnataur gave chase. Desperate, Danthor moved towards the closest one, yelling to Jonas, "Get 'em outta here! We don't stand a chance, we have to retreat!"
"Don't be a damned fool!" Jonas yelled back. "We can't outrun them. We have to stand our ground and fight!"
"Then I'll see you in the afterlife, Light willing!"
Letting loose a primal scream, Danthor rushed straight towards a magnataur that had his back turned to him. With his sword pointed forward, he jammed it into the giant's woolen leg. The blade pierced through and blood spurted out, some of which hit Danthor, and he was rewarded with a satisfying cry of pain.
It didn't last long, however, as the magnataur spun around and swung his meaty hand (not the one with the spear, thank the Light—if it was, he'd be dead) straight at Danthor. The back of his hand struck the knight dead on and sent him flying, sword still gripped in his hand. He landed several feet away, dazed and unable to move. Looks like the snobolds are the most dangerous, he thought disjointedly, and wanted to laugh—if only it didn't hurt so much.
He stared up at the rather beautiful midday sky, hearing the footsteps of the magnataur coming closer, ready to accept the end. Then he heard a horn blare through the crisp air. Danthor's half-closed eyes shot open at once as he heard the trotting of horses. The horn blared again.
The horn of winter, he thought with a half-smile.
Now fully mounted on their deathchargers, Mattheus, Brommen, and Lyssa rode past the fleeing crusaders towards the magnataur, their runeblades drawn. "DEATH AND DESTRUCTION!" roared Mattheus.
The three moved swiftly, all focusing on a single giant. Brommen swung by first, swinging his two-handed blade at the magnataur's leg, splitting a section of it open to reveal a pool of red. Before the magnataur could retaliate, he was moving away on his horse. Lyssa moved next, summoning the same green swamp of pestilence from underneath. The beast was stricken immediately and began to wobble. Several snobolds on his back fell off.
Mattheus moved for the kill, riding under the magnataur (strangely unaffected by Lyssa's pestilence spell) with his runeblade raised high. While completely underneath him, he thrust the sword into the beast's stomach. The sharpened blade met some resistance, but ultimately did its work as Mattheus rode on, rending the creature and leaving his guts to spill out behind the death knight.
The other two magnataur (including the one coming to kill Danthor) saw their comrade fall and moved towards the three death knights immediately. They rode in a synchronized unison to meet their challenge. Mattheus was in the lead when he looked back at Brommen and Lyssa, pointing to the magnataur on his right and saying, "That one's mine! Take care of the other one!"
They nodded and the riders split. The blood-drenched Mattheus rode fearlessly, his blade held firmly in his hand. Danthor was sitting up at this point, watching in complete awe. All the other crusaders were doing the same.
Just as the magnataur raised up his pike to skewer the death knight, Mattheus, empowered by the presence of blood, leapt from his deathcharger and barreled towards the giant. Before the magnataur could react, Mattheus had his blade plunged into his chest, right where his heart is. The magnataur roared in pain and went onto its hind legs as blood spurted from Mattheus's heart strike.
Leaping back to the ground, Mattheus surveyed his work with a smile. It only took a few seconds for the magnataur to fall to his side, the snobolds scattering as soon as they hit the ground. They heard a similar roar and looked to see that Brommen and Lyssa had taken care of their target as well.
All at once, the crusaders cheered! There were three dead and one wounded (Courier Bronson, actually, who had, for all intents and purposes, seemed to had forgiven Danthor for stealing his horse that day at the King's Harbor) from the attack, but they lived through it, and thanks to the death knights, they had killed three magnataur in the process. Danthor shook his head in amazement as he saw his men mulling about to pick up their scattered things.
Mattheus was the first to approach him, most of the blood that covered him drying and his runeblade sheathed. The same cold still emanated from his entire body, but he gave a warm smile as he held his hand out in front of Danthor.
"Did that earn your respect, chief?" he asked.
Danthor couldn't help but laugh. Nodding, he gripped Mattheus's hand and was pulled up. "Yeah, I'd say it did."
They arrived at their destination in two days time after that with no further incident.
What awaits at the cave?
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