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Summary: Running an army of Undead is more taxing than one would think as Arthas works through weight problems and Kel'Thuzad goofs off in every way imaginable.
It's A Scourge Life
Episode 02: Administrative Problems
The Lich King rested against his throne, contemplating his next move, not at all bothered about his surroundings. Being King, Arthas was rather tied up in affairs, mostly management of the Undead Scourge and the gross incompetence those under his chain of command brought him. Now was a time for rest, and during his spare time, Arthas did not wish to be disturbed in his thoughts. However, like all of his commands, those that were beneath him didn't take him particularly seriously.
Which explained why Heigan was in a leotard doing cartwheels around the throne room, much to his annoyance.
"Up and at 'em, lazybum!" the bearded Necromancer called out cheerfully, intent on removing the Lich King from his sturdy iced-metal chair and onto his exercise routine.
Arthas glared balefully, his visage scrunching menacingly underneath his helm.
"Heigan, I'm not moving from this throne." He said, hoping that he got the message through to the thick skull of his personal trainer.
Heigan only put his hands on his hips. No, the message had, unfortunately, not gone through the thick skull of his personal trainer. Arthas' mind wondered for an instant: if his words didn't perhaps Frostmourne would. Been a while since he actually killed something.
"Not if you want to stay fit!" came the indignant shrill. Arthas felt a headache coming along; he was used to the eccentricities of his Scourge, really, he had been their leader for the better part of six years. But sometimes, sometimes there always had to be someone to attempt at giving him a migraine, "Come on, follow me, Mr Flabby!"
Arthas tried to settle it without bloodshed, summoning all the patience he could muster, lest he lose quite possibly the only person that could be deemed physically fit within the Scourge.
"Heigan, when I hired you as my personal trainer, what were the specifics of the task that I presented you with?" He began.
"To help you lose weight!" Came the reply.
"Yes, and what did I say about my schedule?" he continued.
"That you were not to be disturbed during naps?"
Arthas nodded with a smile.
"Exactly."
Heigan's skull, once again, however, proved too thick for the implied message to be delivered to his brain.
"Well, staying asleep isn't going to lose all that flab, mister!"
Arthas rose menacingly.
"OUT! OUT! OUT!" he came stomping towards his Necromancer, who in turn bolted, lest he face the wrath of one of the most powerful beings in Azeroth, running out the saronite doors and tossing Arthas a final look: a mixture of disappointment, fear, indignancy and a dash of incredulousness.
"Gee, grou-chee!" was the final call, to which Arthas let out a growl, seething with frustration.
He stomped back to his throne and plopped down on it unceremoniously, letting the jagged tip of Frostmourne slot into the ground beside him, resting his back and breathing evenly again. The day was beginning to look very troublesome: Heigan had come in with yet another exercise routine. What next?
Arthas' question was answered by the creaking of metal doors, and the entrance of his not-so-reliable Second In Command coming in with an incredulous look of his own, looking to the corridor, to Arthas, then right back to the corridor before finally resting on his King's still form.
"Was that Heigan cursing under his breath?" he inquired, curious.
Arthas responded with a growl before he answered the question.
"Yes. He's lucky he's still walking."
Kel'Thuzad looked confusedly to the corridor, then back to his King again, before shaking his head, shutting the large doors and coming up to Arthas, a file in his hands. Upon observation of the title (Monthly Evaluations) Arthas groaned inwardly. Ever since Kel'Thuzad and that blasted Razuvious seen the administrative duties, he had been subject to their boring and outright insanity-driven reports. He swore that the whispers of the Old Gods couldn't have made him crazier!
"My Lord," Kel'Thuzad began, much to Arthas' chagrin, "I have gone over the Vrykul evaluation reports." He plucked out one particular sheet of paper, handing it to the King, who took it with one hand, giving it a quick skim so that the darned affair could be over and done with, "They're much less stellar than you would wish them to be."
He tossed it back to Kel'Thuzad, praying to the Hells below that it would make the Lich walk away.
"Let Ymiron take care of it." He said in finality, shifting himself for a good napping position.
If Kel'Thuzad were the type to blink, he would have.
"I can't."
Arthas glared hotly.
"What do you mean you can't?!" he sneered, brandishing Frostmourne in what he hoped to be a show of authority, "Send a messenger or something and let me have my nap, for goodness' sakes!"
The Necromancer cleared his throat.
"Sire," Kel'Thuzad began slowly, "I can't because he quit."
The silence was deafening.
"HE WHAT?!"
/-/-/-/-/
Ymiron was enjoying life.
Nice sun, cool weather, a choice board and an awesome beach with beautiful scantily-clad Vrykul women for the picking.
Quitting the Scourge was the best decision ever.
"Dude, that's like, a totally righteous wave right there, dude." A blonde well-chiseled and muscle-bound excuse of a Vrykul said in a whisper of awe, watching a wave crash against the rocks of their domain.
"Uhuh, awesome," Ymiron removed his shades, looking to the waves himself, bright yellow board shielding his tan against an over-cook, "Dude, I totally can't believe that I missed out on all these radical surfs, man, it's like, centuries."
The Vrykul gave him an incredulous look.
"Dude, centuries?"
"Centuries, dude."
They high-fived.
"Wicked awesome, man."
Ymiron smiled in content, moving to his side and reaching his hand towards the nearby table. He struggled slightly to reach for it, before turning a bit to his right, facing the blonde Vrykul.
"Pass me the reefer, dude?" he requested.
The male gave him a smile, complying with Ymiron's request. To which the former Scourge commander took a puff contently, feeling the weed start to effect him. He looked to the ocean: there was no ocean. It was a sea of watermelons. He looked to the blonde vrykul: there was no male vrykul, only a polar bear with a surfboard under an arm. He smiled absent-mindedly.
"Oh, yeah, that's the stuff." He sighed happily.
That is, until his ears met the voice of an all-too-familiar former employer of his.
"Ymiron."
Ymiron's eyes wandered to see the Lich King, clad in armor, boots sinking into the sand of the Fjord's beaches. It was a surprise: he hadn't expected him to come here so soon; he didn't even have the cabana set up!
"Hey, sup, it's my ol' boss Artie!" he motioned for a high-five.
"Totally righteous, man." The vrykul gave him one, causing the Lich King to develop a tick.
Arthas shook his head, getting straight to the point.
"You quit?" he frowned disapprovingly at Ymiron's state of dress: tropical trunks? How tacky.
"Yeah, decided there were funner things in life, than, ya know, killing people and ruling with an iron fist." He took another puff of weed, "Oh baby, yeah…"
"You can't quit." Arthas declared, studying himself to use force if needed be, "I won't let you quit."
Ymiron only smiled serenely, as if he didn't have a care in the world.
"Sorry, dude boss man, the surf is where I belong!" the King of the Vrykul returned, opening his arms wide, as if to embrace the sight before him.
His declaration caused many catcalls and whistles from the slowly-gathering crowd of beach-goers, all cheering for the Lich King's former servant, some pumping fists and some shouting his name.
"Woohoo, totally righteous, Mimi!" one female called out.
"Stick it to the man!" another one yelled.
Arthas counted backwards from twenty, feeling the migraine coming on very quickly.
"Be reasonable, Ymiron. This is not where you belong." He reasoned, coldly stating the fact.
"Oh really, then where do I belong, dude boss man?" Ymiron crossed his arms.
"In your castle in the Fjord watching over the Vrykul with wisdom and brutality."
Ymiron actually looked thoughtful about it. After all, it was a pretty good life before. Kill, stomp, kill, angst over dead wife, get over dead wife by ogling that hot Sollowgrave chick…
"Do I get a pay raise if I come back?" he enquired, sounding genuinely honest.
Arthas hefted Frostmourne.
"No."
Ymiron whistled loudly.
"Well dude, then I got one answer for ya." He grinned widely, "Surf's up!"
Arthas had not time to react, as he suddenly felt many hands raising his armored form into the air, the cheer of many a laughing Vrykul below him, before being tossed high into the air and into the shallow end of the water, ending with a loud and wet splash. Frostmourne followed: the hilt banged onto his helm painfully, before going tip first into the muddy sand and water.
As Arthas cursed, his most powerful Lich came walking up to him clad in nothing but a speedo, his sipping what looked to be a coconut with a straw in it.
"That could have gone better." Kel'Thuzad pointed out.
Arthas seethed with anger.
"Where were you?!" Arthas demanded.
"Over there chatting with that nice lady." He pointed out a partifularly pretty Vrykul specimen by the beach, who was bashfully waving at him as she sipped from her own coconut, "Quite the thing, isn't she?"
Arthas pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Kel'Thuzad, you positively amaze me."
The Lich only grinned.
"Hey, when you got it…"
/-/-/-/-/
It was the end of another day.
"Ymiron quit and he isn't coming back until he's offered a pay rise." Arthas clunked wetly beside Kel'Thuzad, walking up the spire towards the throne room, intent on getting a good night's rest at the very least as the Lich went through the files, "Were we even paying him to begin with?"
"I suspect no. But the idiot's so delusional he probably thinks I give him a year-end winter veil bonus." Arthas sniffed, still tasting the salt at the tip of his tongue.
They paused in stride.
"You don't?"
"No, I don't."
There was an awkward silence for a moment, before Kel coughed into a fist, going over the reports once more.
"In any case, we have to find a replacement for Ymiron. No sense letting those Vrykul wonder about unchecked." He finished, arranging the sheets of paper in hand.
This time, only Arthas halted in step.
"Who are you and what have you done with Kel'Thuzad?" he felt for Frostmourne, ready to do battle if the impostor chose to take the aggressive way out.
He was greeted by an indignant huff and a cross of arms.
"What? Can't I be in a hardworking mood once in a while?"
"No. It's too disturbing. Go back to being lazy and stupid."
Kel'Thuzad looked appalled.
"I take offense to your insult."
"You're meant to."
"Meany."
"I intend to be."
"MY KING!"
And cue the Skeletal Messenger falling to pieces after running into his Master, the sound of dropping bones echoing throughout the spire. Arthas felt the urge to rub his temples again, and quite possibly the urge to stab something.
"For goodness' sake, Messenger, will you stop doing that?!"
"Sorry sir, just a little clumsy is all." Came the squeaky reply.
He sighed tiredly: it was much too late for this.
"What news do you bring me?"
"There's a visitor for you, sir!"
Kel'Thuzad and Arthas turned to one another in confusion.
"A visitor?"
/-/-/-/-/
Arthas marched down to the Great Doors, past the breach from three days ago (Which was nicely patched up now, by the way) and through the Hall of Entry (He briefly wondered why he didn't just have the soldiers attend to him or her, before deciding that he couldn't be bothered to call for them anyway), before ending right in front of the saronite-made hunks of metal. Kel'Thuzad, curious to who would possibly want to visit the Lich King, was propping right behind him, inquisitively looking at the doors.
He pulled the lever to open the doors.
Revealing a face he never wanted to see again.
"Sup, Shorty?"
He slammed the doors in Illidan Stormrage's face as quickly as they had opened before pushing against them with his two hands, enforcing the metal hunks with his own considerable strength.
"Kel, release the hounds." He commanded.
"Very good, sir."
To Be Continued
A/N: Episode 2, finished. Welcome back, Illidan.