Prologue II: Violent Memories
Tirion Fordring
"¡Again!" The sound of lances striking the wooden targets, especially made for practicing, filled the training grounds of the Argent Tournament. Tirion Fordring, Highlord of the Argent Crusade, watched the new recruits as they rode on their chosen mounts, horses, hawkstriders and even kodos charging against their objectives.
Heroes of all races had gathered at the call of the Crusade, eager to show their worth and receive the honor of accompanying the renowned paladin on the final attack against the Lich King, at the Icecrown Citadel. Even though there was still some friction between members of the Alliance and the Horde, Tirion had made it clear that they had to work together to bring Arthas down.
The Highlord observed, sitting above one of the wooden fences that limited that part of the training grounds. Even though they were in one of the warmest zones in Icecrown, the cold still managed to make even the strongest mortals to chill. Thus, Tirion had decided to wear his bear fur robes and boots, in attempt to keep the cold away. His grey hair, proof of the passing of time, twirled around with the winds that blew through the mountains.
As he supervised the trainees, his mind wandered through different memories, eventually reaching that fateful day at Light's Hope…
"Pathetic." His voice resonated through the holy grounds, spreading fear on his enemies' hearts. The Lich King stood in front of him, his black armor reflecting the weak sunlight that shone across the Eastern Plaguelands. Frostmourne, the cursed soul-devouring blade, rested on his hand, after having swept the very commander of his attacking forces, Darion Mograine.
"You're a damned monster, Arthas!" Even without a weapon as mighty as Arthas', Tirion stood defiant against the Lich King. He would not let anymore of his brothers die against the Scourge. Too many had already fallen defending the Chapel against the invading forces of the dead. Their sacrifice would not be in vain.
Arthas let out a low, evil chuckle. "You were right, Fordring. I did send them in to die. Their lives are meaningless, but yours..." He saw as Frostmourne was pointed towards him. "How simple it was to draw the great Tirion Fordring out of hiding. You've left yourself exposed, paladin. Nothing will save you."
He wasn't able to react in time, as a bolt of black magic struck him in the chest. "Aaaaaagh!" he roared, as the attack made all of his being twitch in pain, falling to one knee. It hurt, it hurt a lot. He gasped for air, trying to recover himself. He could barely hear his paladin comrades yell an attack shout towards the Lich King, nor could he do anything to stop their incoming end.
"APOCALYSPE!" A black smoke surrounded the Lich King, advancing towards all the attacking Defenders and slaying them on the place. All warriors lucky enough to survive the spell, were thrown yards away by the sheer power of the attack.
He would not let it end like this. He couldn't. A desperate thought crossed through his mind. "Light, please, answer my call! Give me the strength to defend my people!"
He barely heard his name being shouted by the very person who started the attack. "TIRION!", he saw the Death Knight, Darion Mograine, throw his very weapon towards him before collapsing. With a surge of newfound strength, he quickly stood from his knee and catched the whirling weapon.
He could feel as the warm, protective embrace of the Light washed through him and the blade. The once tainted sword recovered its original shine at the contact with Tirion's hand, and where once stood a skull, now a golden disk marked the revival of the legendary sword. The Ashbringer had been cleansed.
"ARTHAS!" He shouted against the Lich King, who was still surprised at the turn of events.
"What is this?", he asked in disbelief, tightening the grip on Frostmourne. Preparing to attack, Tirion answered. "Your end." He ran towards Arthas, preparing to strike…
"Highlord, are you okay?" Tirion blinked for a moment, surprised at the interrupting of his thoughts. He looked up to the sky; the sun had almost set. For how long had he been there? He then observed the small child that stood before him: his rudimentary clothes had the same color as his brown, dirty hair. Probably just a stable boy sent to look for him; he remembered having a reunion to discuss the organization of the Trials.
"I'm fine, boy." He gave the child a sweet smile and put his hand above his head. He had always liked kids, even though his life as a paladin had made him celibate. "Just remembering better times… Tell everyone I'll be there in a couple minutes."
The kid smiled back and started running towards the organizer's tent. With a last sigh, Tirion jumped from the wooden fence. Upon contact of his feet with the ground, he started flexing to recover the feeling on his limbs. Even if he didn't know for how long he'd been there, it had been enough to let the cold take its toll on his limbs.
He looked southeast, as if searching for the menacing shadow of the Icecrown Citadel. Soon, they would attack Arthas and claim justice for all he had done. He hoped the Light would accompany them until that day, and with a last glance, started walking towards his meeting.
