Grudamere had always thought that Randall and he would die together in a hopeless battle, charging hard into scores of enemies and slaying them in great numbers until the inevitable end came. But now that that very fight had finally arrived, he was walking through the main hall into the cathedral to make a final stand alone.
Grudamere had always thought that Randall had no equal in combat, save for Uther "The Light Bringer". Uther's connection to the holy light was legendary and he was a strong fighter as well. Grudamere couldn't help but wonder about Uther. After personally training Arthas for all these years, where was he now? Why wasn't he at Lordaeron and was it because Arthas killed him. No… Even this new grotesque and traitorous Arthas wouldn't be able to slay The Light Bringer. Nothing can slay him."
Someone is going to have to face Arthas in the end. It may as well be Uther. I just hope we can help him somehow today. He thought. We shall see. Of course Grudamere understood perfectly that even if he or Randall managed to get to Arthas, they lacked the trump card of holy power that Uther had. Still, he was ready. Grudamere had never before encountered a foe he wouldn't fight. Even if he couldn't possibly win, he welcomed, almost relished, the challenge, although, this time it was a little different. After everything Arthas had done in the past week, the sound of his name made the dwarfs stomach churn.
"Damnation!" He yelled aloud in frustration as he passed into the Cathedral. A young villager dropped the sword she was attempting to swing, startled from the sudden outburst. The rest of the crowd bustled a little and then went back to their silent grief. The only one who showed any real sign of "life" was the young woman who picked up her sword and began practicing again. Grudamere couldn't imagine why she had a sword. She was much too young to be a fighter and she wore common clothes so she couldn't even be a squire.
But he didn't have time for silly young girls and their futile efforts to suddenly learn the arts of swordplay and save them all from a ghastly doom. He had a job to do and the Scourge would soon break through the crumbled wall and then into the courtyard to kill them all, including the young woman.
On that thought, Grudamere let out a heavy sigh and ordered his men to form up. They all moved quickly into formation in front of the steps outside in the courtyard, but some of the fervor that was originally driving them forward had dissipated.
There was a loud crash coming from the other side of the castle. Grudamere recognized the sound of Dwarven cannons shooting at hard stone, but no sounds of battle yet. The Scourge must have commandeered our cannons. Either that or… Grudamere shuddered. …they have raised my fallen comrades. In his heart, he knew the truth. His faithful countrymen were fighting on the other side now, for Arthas.
The young woman hit the wall by accident with her sword. Grudamere looked again, this time at her face and he discovered that he recognized her. It was the girl who Randall spoke to earlier that day. Aria? Or maybe it was Allerya. He thought. Looking slightly embarrassed, the girl continued to practice. Grudamere wanted to tell here to choke up on the hilt and swing with her arm rather than her wrist, but there was no time. He had only minutes to prepare himself for the end. He started turning to the front but before he lost sight of the girl and her sword, she hit the wall again and lost her grip. The sword was headed right for Grudamere's chest, but he simply caught the slow moving blade by the hilt and held it up to look at it.
The young woman looked apprehensive and attempted to hide behind her bangs as she approached Grudamere. On the other hand, the dwarf was rather amused. It sort of reminded him of playing with his father's hulking battle axe as a child. He had chopped the kitchen table in two. His Father was so proud, but his mother spanked him with the flat side of that same axe. He read the elven engraving on the blade and swung it around a little. Ah… Arkerya was her name. "Come over here Arkerya."
The redhead approached Grudamere warily. She stopped in front of Grudamere looking like a young puppy that had chewed up her master's shoe. "You should choke up on the hilt. And keep your wrist straight. If you don't have a firm wrist, you will surely lose your weapon." Grudamere said holding out the sword for Arkerya. She looked a little relieved as she took the blade from Grudamere's hands.
She looked slightly less woeful than the rest of the refugees, but she was not smiling either. She had a look about her face that reminded Grudamere of his squire. It was the expression of a warrior's spirit in development, a state of mind that could not be made or trained, one that could destroy nations and build new ones. "Thanks." She said softly.
After a short pause, Grudamere tried to lighten the mood. "You know lassie, of all these men, women and children, you are the only one who isn't miserably depressed, not that I blame them." He mused, but it was to no avail. He wasn't really any good at that sort of thing, but he felt rather sorry for her. Here in the end she was to be a fighter after all and it didn't even matter that she wasn't prepared because she would soon meet fate anyway. Arkerya said nothing. Grudamere changed the subject.
"You were the first to arrive here weren't you, the common girl who gave Randall his initial report?" She nodded. There was another awkward pause. "Would you rather I left you to your training then?" He asked. "No." She replied quickly. "I'm sorry if I seem uncongenial. It's just… well…" She lowered her voice and spoke in a somber tone. "We aren't going to make it out of here are we?" It was almost as if she could read Grudamere's thoughts. Another loud crash from the other side boomed through the hills and the refugees stirred. This time it was followed by more. It seemed the Scourge were organizing and preparing for the breach. But there were still no sounds of fighting. Arkerya stared down at Grudamere, waiting for his answer. He didn't know what to say, so he did what he always did when he got speechless. He quietly told the truth. "No. I don't imagine that we will."
There was a long pause before the woman spoke. "My name is Arkerya Sulgorio. I came from the hillside in the west." "Grudamere Broadbeard is my name. I come from Dun Morough." Grudamere replied. "Judging by your weapon, I would have guessed you were an elf. But, if you don't mind me asking, why do you have it?" "My father gave it to me right before he joined the rest of the troops outside." Arkerya replied.
"Your father is a soldier then?" "Ex-soldier. He retired years ago, but he rejoined the army when the king called for aide from the people. That's him in the back row there." Arkerya said, pointing at the formation. Grudamere was a rough and stern dwarf, but he had more compassion for those weaker than himself than most. He called out to Arkerya's father.
"Soldier! You there, in the back on the left. Step out of rank and come over to your daughter." Several men turned around and a blonde middle aged man quickly left his rank and headed quickly to Arkerya. He wrapped her in his arms and held her tight and Grudamere stood with his arms crossed as rigid as a tree trunk, vowing not to get emotional.
There was more artillery fire outside but there were still no sounds of battle. As father and daughter held each other in mutual bliss, Grudamere lost himself in the memories of his own daughter. It was a day of terrible sorrow for Grudamere as he hugged his child the same way Arkerya's father did, only to march to battle himself and return to find that his beloved daughter had been killed in a raid on his home in Kharanos. And here another father would not only surely meet his end, but his daughter would also meet the same gruesome fate.
Grudamere almost lost his bearing, but smothered his emotions and recovered his hard outer shell. "Where is your mother Arkerya?" Arkerya's father asked. Arkerya paused and gazed at her father as though she might die on the spot and said: "She's in labor dad."
Arkerya's father blinked. "Where?" He asked. "They are in the room behind the altar, but the head priestess won't let me in." Arkerya's father made a run for the altar only to be knocked flat on his back by a holy barrier. "I already tried that Dad." Arkerya said. "One of them conjured that to keep me out and to keep the…" Arkerya's voice trailed off, but her father understood what she had meant to say.
Arkerya fell to her knees and started to sob. Her father kneeled down in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders and his head against hers. Grudamere felt as though his heart was being torn from his chest. How many families are going through this? How many more are watching as everything they love is torn to shreds? How many newborns will be have been slaughtered? And then, for the first time that evening, Grudamere hoped for victory. And quickly his hope turned to anger and sorrow as he remembered what awaited him outside. He HAD to save this girl and her family. He HAD to help them survive. He would never be able to live or die happy if he didn't.
There was an extremely loud crash outside and now Grudamere heard the sounds of armor and steel. The Scourge was coming and the end was near. Grudamere almost didn't have the heart to tell Arkerya's father to return to his rank. But he did anyway. "Goodbye Arkerya." Her father said solemnly. "I love you daddy." She sobbed. "I love you too sweet heart." He turned and started walking, but then paused and looked back. "Together we stand." Arkerya rose to her feet with sword in hand and replied in a manner that made Grudamere shed a tear at last: "Together we fall."
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Randall and his men took cover under their shields as more rocks showered over them. The buckled wall would soon topple under this heavy bombardment and the end would come. Randall found the situation ironic. After an intense fight with the superior numbers of the advancing Scourge, he and his men destroyed their own wall! And now that cluster of rubble was the only thing between them and the twisting nether. But the plan had worked exactly as he intended, so he did not press the matter.
Another loud blast from the other side of the wall issued and the whole unstable pile shifted. Randall, realizing just how little time was left, took his position at the front with his shield. Another bombardment and then another. And then, finally, the wall crumbled.
The Scourge climbed over the top of the low mound of stone and began the push. It became harder and harder to hold them back. "Keep pushing back!" Randall yelled over the pandemonium. More and more skeletons, ghouls, walking corpses and zombies flowed onto the line of shields. "On three men!" He shouted again. "One, two, three, HEAVE!" The line of protectors shoved the Scourge back as hard as they could and the spearmen thrust over their shoulders and into the Scourge. It was fairly ineffective as the undead had little flesh to begin with and were almost undaunted by the stabbing power of the spears.
"Aim for the heads spearmen!" Randall yelled. The first volley of arrows shot over the infantry's heads and thinned the Scourge momentarily. They were building up again on the front line and Randall ordered another push. The spears went into the heads of the undead soldiers and it had a much greater effect. But the shields were weary before this plan and the constant pressure was almost too much for them. Never the less, the line held and the fight pressed on. Again they pushed and again the spears thrust. And then again they thrust, and again and again, but at long last, the line faltered and the Scourge moved through. They began biting and scratching and the ones with weapons cut down anything in their path. More abominations plowed the road, taking out ten at a time with their massive cleavers, clubs and hooks.
Randall ordered the retreat into the main hall of the castle. "We'll bottle neck them at the doors. Hold them back at all costs. The arrows continued to fly until the Scourge finally got to Alwen and his archers and tore them apart. More of the huge abominations Randall had fought were entering the fray. Randall and about 30 men made it to the castle where the narrow doorway would provide an even playing field and force the Scourge to go one for one with the living. They drew their swords and with a final war cry, the men made their last stand. Scores of skeletons crumbled to the ground as the men continued their gallant final fight.
The battle lasted long and the Scourges losses were many, but in the end, Randall found himself with only five men left. Five, of what must have been 350. Randall never got scared. He only got angry and this was no different. The furious warrior's blood boiled as he raised his sword to charge into his ultimate demise and the end of all living men in Tirisfal. He swung his blade with lightning speed and godly strength, taking out three or more zombies with each swing. His heroic strikes cut through the undead as if they were only air. One of his men succumbed to the onslaught, and then another. Three remained. Then two, and at long last, Randall Von Gunhilldur, the unbeatable, stood alone. He continued to fight for all he was worth and more and more Scourge fell to his mighty blade. He cried out in agony and hate for his foe like a mad man from hell until his body became too weak for his resolve and at long last, the Scourge tackled him, and consumed his flesh. The way was clear. The Scourge advanced.
Grudamere heard the furious cries of Randall and ran to the front of his formation. The non combatants screamed and moved closer to the back of the cathedral. Grudamere steadied his nervous men. Randall stopped screaming and Grudamere kneeled and said a prayer for him. When he rose to his feet again, he saw the Scourge begin to surge into the cathedral.
"This is it. Fight hard and don't let up. For Tirisfal! AND FOR RANDALL!" The handful of men charged forward and the battle raged. More Scourge piled up on the floor and fewer and fewer men fought on. Grudamere ducked just in time to avoid a slash from a skeletal swordsman. He quickly answered with a slash of his own and cut the skull off of the spine. A ghoul jumped at him and Grudamere blocked it and threw it off of him.
More and more of his men fell to the monsters until only about ten remained. It was then a new type of enemy charged the living, this one impervious to their weapons. Ghosts flew through the walls and past the Scourge. The skeletons and ghouls halted and the ghosts flew into the men. A black shade coiled Grudamere and he keeled over to the ground and was unable to move. There was silence, the same eerie calm that had plagued Tirisfal for weeks now. The living army was beaten.
Grudamere looked around at his men to see them all in a similar state of bondage and what happened next changed Grudamere. The Scourge parted at the door to reveal the mastermind behind the whole ordeal, the one responsible for the pain and suffering of thousands. Arthas the betrayer strolled leisurely into the holy hall and stopped at Grudamere.
As he spoke, a feeling of hopelessness took Grudamere by his entrails. "Who among you calls yourself commander?" Arthas said calmly. Grudamere hesitated and then spoke up. "I do, you son of a bitch." "Tsk tsk. Strong words for a defeated dwarf. And what do I call you?" Arthas replied. Grudamere said nothing. "Very well, I will call you slave." Grudamere shuddered at Arthas's words as he knew exactly what he meant. He wanted to struggle, but the ghost had him completely paralyzed.
"And what's this? Non combatants? They will make a fine addition to the work force." "You sick bastard!" Grudamere blurted out. Arthas ignored him and instead paid attention to a woman who was screaming in the back room. He started walking and hit the barrier that barred his way. "Humph. How Quaint." He said as he waved his hand and dispelled the barrier, much to Grudamere's dismay.
Arthas strolled inside, punched the two priests inside and the screaming stopped. Arthas then walked slowly back over to Grudamere with a new born in one hand and a woman by the throat in the other. "It seems we have a new addition to the family." He said. "You there…" He held the baby out to a ghoul with a broken jaw. "Take the infant." "Don't you dare!" Grudamere shouted furiously. "Put them down!" Arkerya screamed as she lunged at the ghoul. Arthas ignored them both. Arkerya's mother screamed and Arthas's face remained remorseless as the ghoul took the baby by the arm. "Eat it." Arthas said.
Arkerya jumped up and beheaded the ghoul with her sword, catching the baby as it fell. Two skeletons subdued her and a third wrenched the baby away again. The priests who were in the back room cast some holy magic at the evil man. Arthas slowly walked forward through their onslaught of spells and cut them both down and then lifted Arkerya's mothers head by her hair. "You will watch this." He said as he nodded at another ghoul.
The second ghoul took the baby, opened his mouth wide and swallowed the poor infant whole. Grudamere cringed. "YOU REPULSIVE AND TRAITOROUS BASTARD ARTHAS! THERE IS NOWHERE YOU CAN HIDE AND NOWHERE YOU CAN RUN. I WILL STAB YOUR HEARTLESS CHEST WITH THE SWORD IN MY HANDS. BY THE LIGHT I WILL GET YOU FOR THIS, I SWEAR!" Arkerya blared, struggling with the skeletons and with tears flowing out of her eyes. Arthas made no expression.
"You will learn to love the taste of flesh and forget all of your useless compassion in a few days. For I will release you from your mortal bonds and replace them with immortality." Arthas pointed at all the Scourge in the room. This man is truly mad! Immortality? More like purgatory. Arthas then threw down Arkerya's frail mother. "Your soul now belongs to me." He hissed and held his hand to her face. As his hand retracted from her face, a ghostly white image of Arkerya's mother flowed from the body and into Arthas's mouth. With a shrill gasp and a thud, Arkerya's mother laid still on the ground. "Kill the weak and the elderly." Arthas said to his Scourge.
All of Arkerya's fear and preoccupations had left her by now. All that mattered is that she got at Arthas. "You are a traitor and a coward Arthas. I WILL destroy you. On my family's graves I WILL destroy you." Arkerya said savagely.
Arthas raised a hand to halt the Scourge and strode over to Arkerya and looked closely into her eyes. He put a hand on her chin and lifted her head slightly. His hands were cold and his stare and smile were even colder. Arkerya bit his finger as hard as she could. Arthas made no sound but simply smirked as though nothing had happened. "But your family doesn't have any graves, remember?"
He grinned a wicked grin and then turned to his Scourge. "Throw 'her' in the dungeons with the experiments. She has already been infected and is only in the early stages. But in the meantime, I want her to suffer as much as possible before she finally succumbs and joins me." He said with an unsavory chuckle. And he left.
The Scourge wasted no time. They trampled the young and tore the old apart. Arkerya was horrified at the merciless massacre and she thought of her family: Her brother who had been ripped in two before her eyes, her poor mother who was deprived her new born child and awarded instead a swift separation of body and soul, her father who died in battle with the undead, and now her newborn sibling whom she watched be literally devoured by a ghoul. Arthas had taken everything from her, and soon, she feared, he would take her freedom. He would make her his slave to commit more atrocities for his terrible cause.
When the blood bath was over, the Scourge dragged Arkerya, Grudamere and a few others out of the castle and down the road back to Lordaeron. A long hour passed before Arkerya saw the once strong and welcoming gates of Lordaeron again. They were no longer the gates to safe haven, but now, foreboding. Lordaeron was truly lost to the darkness.
Through the ruined and awful smelling court yard of corpses that didn't lay still and into the keep they took her. Past a strong wooden door and down many flights of stairs they took her and finally, they locked her in a cage. Arkerya felt as if she might go mad. A sharp pain shot through her arm from where the bite wound was. Her veins were turning a deep purple and she slipped into a cold sweat. In her heart she knew; it wouldn't be long. She was turning. She was doing exactly what Arthas wanted. She was suffering.
