Speech = ``….. ´´
Thoughts = ….
Inner thoughts = " … "
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``So this is how you felt father? Looking down your subjects from your high throne while everyone tried to suck up to you? I cant say that I complain…..´´
The words echoed freely inside the room, their coldness mixed with a sick sense of sarcasm of a joke that only he could hear, a wicked smile locked in place on his face as a result, showing a pair of dark circles covering the lower part of his eyes, eyes that were once emeralds now remained bloodshot, giving him the appearance of a vagabond rather than a prince.
Yet as time passes no voice rises up to challenge his statement, no valiant men to interrupt this somber gloomy atmosphere that had settle over the room since his arrival, since his declaration.
For none remained.
Tucking away one strand of his now ghostly hair he took a glance at the figures kneeling on the ground. Rows and rows of knights and warriors stood before him, paladins, footmen and even the royal guard.
Yet one thing made them all equal in his presence, their cold shining blue eyes that could no longer blink. Wearing the same damaged armour, prominent cuts and dents in the forged steel from where death had taken them with its cold embrace.
Silent
Patiently awaiting his command.
And they shall wait more, for every passing moment that passed he could feel a strange yet benign sensation washing over him like a warm blanket. It could be joy, happiness even, and though he did not know the veracity of his very own thoughts on the matter after he had taken the blade, he could not deny he had found himself quite comfortable feeling such strange sensations.
He slowly leaned back on the throne, letting out a sigh of triumph when he found the proper posture where the crown would not dig into his skull. Oh, how glorious had been that day…...
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/ Weeks ago /
Cheers were erupting all around him, the voice of hundreds if not thousands of throats of men and women alike filling the air with their undesired sounds. Almost to the point to deafen him from his very own thoughts.
If one tried to listen closely they could even hear the faint struggles of musicians, though such act should have been deemed worthless as it was lost in the never ending chorus of voices that did not look to be in a hurry to end.
Mothers carrying their children over their shoulders to allow them for a better view. Old men sitting over empty cradles of grain, gazing with amusement at the event taking place before their aged eyes and the wrathful expressions of those clad in blue and gold with a silver fist drawn in their plated chests.
Those who for some reason beyond his imagination had found themselves still within the city before his arrival or had come there because of his presence. Hammers at the ready…..
He did not mind that, in fact he left out a snort. Perhaps things will not be as bad and simple as he first thought. At least there were those willing to be honest in their hatred. He will reward them in kind, soon...soon enough.
The path towards the keep was nothing but a straight line, guards posted at each side of the ever thinner line of empty space that kept the civilians from latching to him and his servants. The cobble stones of the street now painted with a dozen different colours from the flowers and confetti, falling down all around him like morning rain.
Some of them landing softly on him, before they fell down on the ground. For a moment he remained still, his eyes lost on the horizon as thoughts started to plague his mind, faint voices whispering on his ears.
When was the last time he had witnessed such a parade? Too long if he was honest. The end of the second war would have been a close second….though the city did not have any of the destruction carried from the battle, nor the smell of blood, or the tired yet enthusiastic glares of the people.
When had it actually been for him? Never…., perhaps it was that very thing that had taking him by surprise. He did not know why though, a strange numbness pulsating within each time he prodded for answers. Before he realized he had stretched his arm forward and grabbed one of the fallen petals….
Only for it to turn to ash, a sudden blow of wind wiping its remains from existence.
Of course….nothing is meant to last
He did not know how long he was walking, the faces of the people around him becoming more and more, the buildings and the very ground he stood loosing their colour, until they reached a soft shade of grey with red hues.
Before he realized he arrived at the royal keep, as if the massive building had sprung from the ground in that very moment instead of getting bigger as he approached from afar. His footsteps and those of his servants echoed on the cobble stones within the halls with a particular rhythm.
Servants quickly moved away from their path, haste moving their feet away from them, footmen stood at attention, spears in hand, and last but not least men and women dressed in lavish clothes who looked unfazed by the expectable before them.
``Welcome back my prince!´´
``The prince is back, Lordaerons future is once again secured!´´
``Long live to the Menethils!´´
By the way they bowed and uttered his name with such vigour in his presence a younger version of him would have been touched by their dedication, perhaps a bit star struck with it. Now? The only thing he saw were walking cockroaches, showing off their wealth and greed like a bunch of peacocks. Trying to seize whatever power they could in these turbulent times.
A game that they had played for far too long….
"Foolish mortals, your kin never understood that power doesn't come from useless vanity or false pride, true power is something that their meager brains could never hope to understand´´
He couldn't agree more with the icy voice of his new master, what use was wealth when your organs were rooting from the insides by necromantic powers? What use was it to defend one self against the vile beast that roamed the kingdom?.
Many of this bastards had convince his father to spare the green skins, not. Not for a sudden feeling of empathy, not because they thought that exterminating them was an awful idea, but because they could make money with them in the gladiatorial arenas.
Yet how they kept the security measures over the containment camps at the minimum, trying to save money. See what it had led to….
Villages burnt to a bloody crisp, civilians massacred like pigs for slaughter, knights murdered without mercy by the uncaring orders of fools. Cities burning to the ground, the world rotting away, the cold touch of a rune blade…..
"How could even consider that!? there must be another way!"
Fool
"You have lost your mind"
Traitor
"I cant watch you do this"
Murderer
"Is vengeance all you think about"
Failure
The cacophony of voices ranging through his mind started to overlap one another, their intensity growing out of control as they started bashing down every single wall of apathy he could muster to keep them at bay, relentlessly and without end.
The scent of burn flesh mixing with the arctic winds filled with frost, clogging his throat to the point his throat looked more like a straw than a healthy human organ. And yet he did not stop, he did not even slow down...
"You have passed a terrible threshold….Arthas"
For once he was grateful for the dark hood for obscuring his features, for nothing in the world could hide away the scowl forming, his eyes glowing with murderous intention. His hands turned into tight fists as the memories started to flow before him, the metallic taste of blood quickly reaching his tongue with the way he continued to grin his teeth with one another.
How dare they abandon him!? How dare they leave him alone to pick up the pieces of their bloody mess and then claim the moral high ground!?
How dared his father to allied himself with those traitors? To try to impose his will upon his own and only son when the only thing he was doing was saving this miserable kingdom from his own foolishness.
"Humans are weak, driven by unnecessary emotions and desires. Their self serving path only will only destroy the lives of those around them as well as themselves. But you are perfect, my champion….soon you shall open their eyes, forever"
Yes, and he could not wait.
With ease he pushed the massive doors leading towards the throne, their frames creaking loudly through the chamber by the sudden force. For a moment he found himself needing to adjust his eyes at the bright light of the room, intensified by the dozens of burning candles hanging from the ceilings and the light of midday falling down the upper dome.
His entrance had not been subtle either, dozens of pairs of eyes were now lock in place towards him. The royal guards as always stoic in their stance, aristocrats with baffled angry expression in their faces by this interruption in their precious schedule, and his father…..
Of all the occupants of the room his father was the only one that remained sit, his frail body resting against the throne. With a quick glance he realized that his appearance had degraded slightly, as if he had aged twenty five years in his absence.
``Prince Arthas….´´
``Young prince...´´
Slowly, one by one the voices of those present started to reach him as they greeted him.
He paid them no heed, continuing forward through the room at a quick pace, it was only when he reached the symbol of the kingdom on the floor that he halted his advance. Swiftly unsheathing his new blade from its sheath, dark blue energies pulsating through its body from each rune carved into the cold steel as before he knelt on the ground before the throne of Lordaeron.
Frost slowly spreading from the tip over the cobble stones.
His father slowly rose from his seat, a pained look settling on his eyes as he tried not to stumble forward, using one of the throne armrests for balance ``Ah! My son…, it feels me with joy to finally have you here….´´
"It is time, my champion….full fill your destiny!"
He did not need the voice to elaborate further to know what he it actually meant, or what he had to do. Slowly, an aura of frost started to spread through the room, his shallow breath leaving faint traces as it left his mouth.
``The stories I have heard from beyond our walls have been dire and terrific, though I knew of the strength of your arm I feared that something terrible had happened to you, glad my fears were unfounded´´
``You no longer need to sacrifice for your people….´´ The hordes of the disguised undead inside around Lordaeron started to move, the sound of their weapons being drawn from their shaft before descending on the unexpected terrified gazes of the people that had stood around them a moment prior in peace.
``But I knew that you would return safe and sound…., there is much I wish to talk, this last months have been trying…...and I am sure that you more than anyone in this kingdom, the things that I have heard, when Uther came here I could not believe what he said about you…...´´
``No longer you have to bear the weight of your crown….´´ Both Falric and Marwin stood up from the ground, grasping the weapons from their backs, the sound of the metal scratching the ground as dark energy started to pump through their beings, a show foreshadowing the imminent blood bath.
``But the past is gone and I will not allow such thing to change my mind of who you are, who you really are. What you had to do...must have gone through on Stragholme, know that I am sorry that you were presented with such an impossible choice…, Uther was to harsh to judge you so quickly without aiding you…..´´
``I have taken care….of everything´´ He stated coldly with finality, standing up in an instant, grasping tightly Froustmourne with one hand while the other pulled down the hood from his head, revealing the effects his new found pact had taken hold over his flesh.
A wicked sneer warping around his lips as he observe with joy as he gazed at the shocked faces of all those around him. Surprised, baffled or down right fright intensified tenfold as their eyes took notice of the lack of warmth or empathy his eyes reflected upon them.
It would be the last thing they would see.
``A-Arthas? What happened? What happened to you?´´ The cries of distress of the elderly king would not reach his ears, it was far too late for that.
Chaos took the room by storm, nobles and servants alike running from one place to another in fright, crying out for help and bashing their hands against the now blocked doors. The sound of steel clashing against steel in a rapid fashion as both Marwin and Falric fought against the valiant yet foolish guards who dared stand in their way.
With each step he took over the royal carpet the sound of metal cracking into the cold cobblestones was followed by the anguished gurgles of the about to be former members of the living, a rather grateful upgrade from the incessant buzzing the people of the city had tormented him with...
Three men tried to stop him, cursing his name as they approached, swords drawn ready to pierce his heart.
Fools, they should had ran when they had the chance…
The first ones blade shattered like glass when it came into contact with Froustmourne, the look of surprise on his eyes would remain by the end of his days as his head fell down his shoulders in a clean cut. Before his body reached the floor he was already throwing himself at the next target.
The second guards blade struck right over his left pauldron in a clean arc, but instead of cavin through the dark metal as it should have…. it bounce back, making him loose his balance momentarily, that would be enough. With greater speed thought possible he lunged himself forward, grasping with his free hand the man's helmet, dents and spots of frost forming around where his clawed fingers rested.
Though it seemed like an eternity it could not have been further than a second or two as he viewed the look of utter agony spreading through his eyes before they burst out from their cavity as he pulverized his skull into a bloodstain with mere raw strength when the metallic surface of the helmet gave in.
The last one tried to turn tail once his puny brain acknowledge the gap in power between them with the absurdity he had just been unwilling witness, yet the very fabric of his cape betrayed him as he fell down on his back, allowing for him to plunge his sword through his guts. The icy blade tearing through metal and flesh like butter. He tried to grasp Froustmoure, an attempt to take out the very weapon that had killed him...in the end it was a futile effort as he quickly lost his strength, his fingers bloodied fingers slipping down one by one until he fell silent at last.
Now there was only one left to take care off….
A feral sadistic look warping on his features as he approached the figure of his father.
``What are you doing, my son!? What madness has taken hold of your mind!?´´ Came out the frantic screaming voice of his father, his words cracking almost at mid sentence by the anguish. He brought himself forward when his dark plated gauntlets grasped tightly his fathers shoulder bringing him closer to him.
His hand becoming an unmovable crushing machine as the very pressure behind his hold started to shatter his fathers bones. Ignoring completely the cries of pain and pleads of mercy that he was sputtering out, or the way those eyes glared at him with sadness, tears falling down his aged face to the ground below.
He chose his fate…..
His grasp tightens, earning another shriek of pain from the old man.
No, there would be no escape for him.
``Succeeding you….. father´´ And with the finality of his fate flashing through the old man's eye he struck him down.
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How curious it was to see the mighty king to find such an ominous end, how the man who everyone thought to be the only thing keeping this kingdom together would be so blind to the true threat looming over his shoulders. In the end the man betrayed the only one willing to do everything to save this kingdom..no, this world.
And paid the price for his defiance.
A dark chuckle echoed through the room as he looked down at the still large puddle of blood that his fathers body had generated in such short notice. To see him to fall down to the floor like a puppet which strings had been cut loose had been…..a revelation.
His father had not been wise, neither strong or competent. Had he been, nothing of this would have taken place.
Malganis and his minions may have wielded the sword, but it was Terenas in his inaction who gave them the opportunity to swing it and bathe it with his peoples blood.
No longer such tragedy would occur, for now they were his for all eternity.
In the end Terenas had been nothing but a weak, gullible man that died just as quickly as those puny civilians at Stragholme. There had been nothing grant or emotive about his death, no emotive meaning under the bloody soil like the stories he had heard as a child….just another number in the growing pile of bodies.
Good thing he put an end to such vermin, his only regret was not doing it sooner. Now no one would be able to dispute his claim to the thr- his breath halts, eyes blinking repeatedly firsts in confusion before horror settles in as a thought finally dawns inside his mind.
He stood up from his throne in an instant, the sudden motion making the old structure to creak under the punishment, though he did not care on the slightest. A few seconds later he was already out of the room, his mind a haze of turmoil, the halls becoming nothing more than a blur as he rans, his body moving almost by itself.
With all the carnage and the self satisfaction of now ruling as he should had long ago he had forgotten One. Crucial Detail.
He wasn't the last Menethil.
And that thought only filled him with unchained rage.
How could he have made such clumsy mistake? He was no longer that gullible child prince who believed in the empty words of his father, nor that blind paladin who followed his traitorous teacher like a lost pet. He was a death knight! The champion of the Lich king! Such failures should have been beneath him, so why did it slipped past his mind?
Had he been so drunk in victory for it to slip through his fingers in the end?
Shameful!
It was only after he had ducked through at least two corridors and one large hall that he stopped to regard the sound of footsteps coming from behind. He knew that there were no soul in the entire city hiding from view to strike him down, that only his servants remained... yet on his state he forgot about it.
Almost coming close to decapitate Marwin in the process, though if he was surprised by it he did not show it.
It took him nearly an entire minute to regain his focus and try to come up with a reason to why his two death knights were there of all places, when he left the throne room he had not given them any instructions.
Though it seemed that by fortune that he would not have it long to find out.
``Master, what happened? Are we under attack? We felt you in great distress!´´
``If an enemy managed to slip through our walls they must have more brawls than brains, let them come at us master we shall gift you with their bodies!´´
``…´´
``Master?´´
``Something happened, I have to make sure it doesn't change my plans´´ He said, yet even he knew how weak he sounded, luckily his servants would not care, silently nodding at him. It took him a few more seconds to realize that they were still there. ``Alone...´´
``Your will shall be done….., but master, how will we protect you then?´´
``I don't need your protection...´´ He snarled at them as anger once again started to circulate through his veins, removing his shock, he did not even dignified them to look back at them as he continued his march. The last thing he needed was for his pawns to see him in such vulnerable state, the nerve of them to think he could not do this on his own.
He will show them, he will show them all….
But first things come first.
Yet if he thought this would be the last thing to shake him that day, he would be for a surprise. For not soon after he entered a room, slamming the door violently against the wall which to his surprise was already open he stopped. Baffled at the sight that stood before him.
Though perhaps what surprised him the most was the fact that this room was by far the most untouched square of land by the uprising in the entire city, if not the kingdom. The door still left in one piece, not even scratches of claw marks remained on its surface, the way the walls were still polished and decorated with all sorts of vibrant colours, especially those different shades of blue and pink instead of the dark crimson shades from dried blood that made fr over the cold stones of the keep.
A lovely oval mirror stood hand on the wall before the bed, barely no dust on its reflective surface, while down below a series of cosmetics could be spotted out of their shelves, some open, others still closed.
It was wrong
This was wrong
It was utterly impossible.
Yet the scenery did not change, stubbornly refusing to yield this abhorrent light of purity against his corruption. How could this place had survive such onslaught? How could it have endured the utter chaos that had swallow whole the entire keep, no.., the city in such pristine condition? He did not know.
What he knew was that he needed, no...he had to remedy that.
By any cost.
He would not allow for even the smallest hints of the past to shine through the rubble, it was an animalistic desire, almost driven by blind fury rather than the cold calculations that had driven him until then, and yet the voice of the master was silent….
That only added another layer of unease, leaving a grunt of annoyance before he tried to push that thought to the corner of his mind, failing miserably. Was he observing from the corners of his mind? Was he asking himself as well the same questions as he did?
Or was he expecting something from him? A test of sorts?
He shook his head, whatever the case, soon enough he would make its presence known and then he would get his answers.
Unsheathing his blade he took a step forward, rising it over is head, energy starting to warp around it with a pale hue of blue. His hands tighten around the handle as the burning scent of mana reached his nostrils.
But the blow never came.
For a second the thought that he had stepped over someone else limbs crossed his mind, it would not have been the first time since his ascension. Froustmoore had proven to be not just a fine tool, but also an incredible sharp blade.
Yet instead of finding such thing, what lay below him was…...far less impressive.
A bear, a small brown bear with gold stripes over its limbs and ears, with a pair of candy coloured buttons for eyes….
It was then that he started to take notice of other things that were scattered all over the floor.
Plushes, many colourful animal plushes were stacked up all over the room, and where those miniature monstrosities of cotton could not be spotted dresses and ribbons would take their place. More than a singular room it felt that multiple individuals had been here. Even though that was impossible.
He did not needed to take a look at the royal emblem over the ceiling or the lightly coloured pink and blue curtains to know where he was.
It was a girls room.
It was his sisters room…..
``Calia….´´ The name came out from now cold lips like a faint whisper, almost by reflex than real effort. It seemed that his inner self had brought him just where he wanted to go without him realising, or so he thought.
A frown formed on his face. Now that he was thinking about it, when was the last time he had saw her? When was the last time that she had even been on his thoughts? Weeks? Months? More…? He did not know, and as quickly those came they left, like rain sliding over plated steel.
In the end it did not matter, nothing really mattered any more.
With a scoff he took a better glance at the room. Noticing this time the ample shows of dust covering both the furniture and mirrors alike, the window that led to the room were closed and like the rest it showed no sings of had been used any time soon.
All in all, it seemed as the room had remained as it was when everything just went to shit, or for the better, depended who you asked
Could the girl had been killed during the battle? Had she come out of it when she heard the commotion and never had the time to return? It would explain why everything was so untidy yet so pure, with the door remaining untouched.
After all…. why break through it when its already open?
But if that was the case, where was the body? Shouldn't she had joined the ranks already then like all the rest? Or had she not been turned but rather turn to shreds? Nothing more than meat to fill the non working organs of his ever hungering troops of life?
A gruesome end perhaps, but a fitting one, for one that had never achieve anything of notice she would at least be of use for a higher power. Though for some reason he felt a strange sensation as he pondered about the meekly girl, merely a strange discomfort though minimal discomfort within his chest.
With an annoyed scoff he waved away those pointless thoughts before taking a final glance of the room to leave him at ease from that pestering discomfort. His mind might just be playing tricks with him by now for there was no place for her to hid—his eyes narrowed when they laid over the form of a rather large chest, hidden from view initially as it was situated behind the bed.
Could it be…?
A smirk crossed his face as he came to a realization, his feet carrying him towards the object of his attention. It was big, large enough to even hide a body inside and mostly out from view from the simple minded pawns under his sway.
A nice spot to lay undetected if there was any in his new founded kingdom, a way to hide away from the reapers scythe. Though it seemed that fortune finally came to favour him once again, it felt like it had fallen out from the skies. Who was he to waste such an opportunity when it was presented in silver platter?
He tapped the wooden exterior with his free hand, wanting to let know whoever was inside that he knew and there was nothing they could do, a maniacal grin plastered over his face as he tried to imagine what kind of thoughts could be crossing through her mind. What last thoughts driven by despair with the barest hints of hope could be there before the end.
Then the blade fell down.
It all felt like time had slowed down, the wood cracked in protest, large webs rupturing through its surface in an instant before this cracks deepened and gave out under the pressure of both his blade and new found strength. Sharp splinters and dust flying away by his sudden action, yet that did not stopped him.
Nor his tool.
Froustmourne continued to do its task, digging itself ever deeper through the now open hole, the sound of fabric and cotton being torn down until he heard the unmistakable thud when he found that he could no longer dig the blade any further for the rune blade had trespassed not only the interior and bottom of the chest, but also the stone floor below.
An impressive effort, all of that in the spam of a few seconds...
Yanking the blade out he kicked the chest, tumbling it down on its side, the cracked opening spilling a torrent of dresses, books and even more of those damnable plushes out of its wooden confinement.
His cowl grew deeper as his satisfaction vanished as quickly as it had appeared. How could this be? There was nothing, no scream, no sign of blood and most importantly, no hidden body.
Just more trash.
Damn girl and her useless toys! And damn father for indulging her like that! He cursed internally as he kicked the chest with all his force, sending it against the closest wall where it would laid now battered and broken into different pieces.
Yet that wasn't enough, his anger remained seething from his form like a cold mist, his annoyance for daring to have hopes of thinking he had found her and be able to deliver the final and certain blow against the weak, rotten branch of his family.
He would have now to believe that she died in the initial assault and that his paws merely did not wasted their time coming at her room during his whole stay. Leaving things to chance…..
His grasp over the blade closed even more tightly, and he did not like that.
``Master!´´
From the sole entrance to the room had appeared a man, his form heaving up and down as he tried to catch up air for his diminished lungs. A minion of the cult of the damned if he could guess by his robes.
Now what!? ``What is it?´´ He demanded, lathing his words with all the pent up resentment he could muster, making his slave to shrill almost to a ball.
``I bring urgent news, a large contingent of humans are moving through the south of the kingdom, in Silverpine, destroying everything on their way. We believe that they might try to attack the city once they clear our outer outpost….should we redirect our forces?´´
Idiots...even a blind man could see what this is…. ``Is a distraction….., continue your advances against the human bastions in the area and block any routes out of the kingdom, including mountain passes….the Lich king demands their tribute...´´
``It will be done´´ The black clothed worm muttered with glee before fleeing from his sight, readily willing to comply with his orders.
With his drive now gone, replaced with mild complacent at the impossibility of her survival he walked out from the room, promising himself never to step inside ever again.
There were paladins to be slain, and hopes to be crushed under his heel, and those congregating at Silverpine forest would be a good start. It would be a bad idea to leave any contestants to his rightful rule over his kingdom if he ever had to move somewhere else by his masters command.
Though be it for his new found playthings or his short timed patience had he paid any attention he would have noticed the slim trail of fresh blood trailing down the tip of the rune blade, a detail that was lost over the dried blood staining the cursed weapon from days of being left uncared for after extended use.