The tiny dwarf shuffles back to Tirion and whispers something quietly. Fat little hands wriggle around as the calm Tirion nods patiently. After a minute or two of strange movement, the dwarf composes himself and makes his way back to me.
"Hope Blackwood, do accept my apologies." He stops a few feet from me, a smile stretching his face. "Involuntarily Tirion exposed ye'identity to me, yet I have not given mine ta'ya."
His hand extends towards me again, "Light Bringer, I am King of the grand soldiers you see before you!"
As I grab and shake his hand again, he uses his free hand to motion at the troops, "King of the Frostborn! I am Yorg Stormheart, and it is a pleasure to make your…
"Yorg? Stormheart? You take a hit too hard to your head, dwarf?" Nathanos rudely interrupts the rather kind individual.
Releasing my grip, the smile fades and armor shuffles as the now disgruntled figure peers angrily at the undead fool.
"And who might ya'be?"
"Me? I am commander of the eastern forces, second only to Sylvanas, only human ranger to ever exist." He pauses to stand upright, "I am Nathanos Marris, and you, sir, never struck me as a 'Yorg' before."
The dwarf fidgets in his spot, eyes narrowing on the undead man. He takes a few steps forward and eyes the decaying soldier carefully. Squinting eyes examine for a moment longer before the dwarf grunts and shakes his head.
"No, ye'awr not Marris. Marris is a rugged, manly man. Ye are…sickly and homely."
Eyebrows narrow on Nathanos' face, "Yes, death and reanimation does that to a man. As does the cold freeze body and mind, Muradin."
Muradin? Who is Muradin? You need to look at the dwarf. He knows it is dwarf. Oh…
Suddenly the dwarf begins to laugh, "Ah, ye have the same attitude as good ol'Nathanos. But lad, death was definitely unkind to ye."
Nathanos simply nods before twirling his hand in the usual crazy undead fashion. I believe he is trying to be sarcastic with his hands, if that is possible. You are trying to decipher that? He is trying to do something…
Muradin…Yorg? Yorgadin throws a nod to the undead figure one last time before looking to me. Another head-bob flies my way as he makes his route back to Tirion. Half way on his path he hurls his arms into the air and proclaims.
"Tirion, it has been too long! Months went by and only tales of ye'adventures floated back to Frosthold."
Tirion leans on his handle and smirks, "Like I said, my friend, darkness was trying to creep across the lands, and I had to be there establish the holy road-blocks of light."
Yorgadin chuckles.
"Yes lad, I definitely felt the power of ye'crusade wafting back to me home here, but…"
He pauses to look back at me, yet not at me. His eyes float over my shoulders as he throws an angry glance at something far in the distance. A stern demeanor now rests upon his face.
"Death has come, lad. Death marches across these frozen lands. And it marches ferociously."
Quickly he spins back to Tirion and awaits his response. Calmly Tirion slides his metallic fingers through his long hair. Strands flop heavily upon his as if they are miniature worlds to burden.
"I know, Muradin, I know." He sighs, "Armies of undead have begun assaulting all bastions of life on this icy rock.
His eyes gaze upwards briefly, "The Lich King knows his end is near. And is not preparing for it lying down."
A wild head bob radiates from the dwarf. Tirion looks back to me as the dwarf speaks.
"Yes, lad, that he ain't." He points past Nathanos this time. "Dark clouds have been assembling far north of here. On the coasts of Icecrown itself."
Icecrown? You ninny, that is the home of the Lich King. He knows it is the location of the Dark Citadel itself! I wish I could say I did.
Tirion lifts his weapon from its firm lock with ground and moves to the dwarf. An expression of concern concocts on his face. Hairs matt to his forehead and block his vision. A frown forms.
"The Coliseum."
"Lad?"
"Constructed months ago, it was designed to test the strength of the strongest of heroes. If they bested the trial then they knew they were prepared for the final push on the Citadel."
Yorgadin shifts his arm back with his large paws before scratching his head violently.
"That was a mouth full, lad." He suddenly jerks and peers at Tirion, "Wait, lad, why wasn't I invited to ye'battle?"
Tirion simply shakes his head.
"Waste of time. You are more than prepared for death's embrace. I needed you to gather troops and train them into equality of yourself." He pauses, "And they look far more than ready."
Snow shuffles beneath heavy blue boots. A thick, bright yellow beard shakes as the tiny man rotates. Clanking armor clings together. Squinting eyes glare as snow clings to heavy eyebrows.
"Lad…what are ye'saying?"
Tirion does not move.
"It is time, Muradin"
Muradin stands stiff as a statue. A weak breeze draws powdery walls up and over the tiny man. More fine white crystals build upon his beard. He eyes Tirion as if answers are prepping to pour for his very armor.
Again clanking armor clings and the small man moves. He positions himself to the edge of the chasm and looks down. Firm fingers glide back to the top of his head and aid the fall of the helmet back to his face.
"I will gather my troops, Tirion. Gather them as swiftly as I can." His voice quickens and intensifies as he speaks.
"They should take no…"
Tirion interrupts, "No worries, my friend." His shift and locks with something past me. "Do what is necessary."
Muradin shuffles in his spot. "Lad, what are you planning to do?"
Tirion continues to stare past. Firm eyes are narrowed as eyebrows drag down. Strands dance wildly in the cold breeze. He sees something that we do not. He takes in what we cannot feel. He takes in the weight of the world. He takes it all…
Unexpectedly the man turns and takes off at a brisk walk. He directs himself for his mount and moves for it at a swift pace. Muradin turns and stares at him briefly before shouting.
"Where are ya'headed, lad?"
Tirion climbs on his bird, and I cannot help but rush to him. The Gryphon kicks snow up as it shifts through the powder and trots towards me. Thudding talons track the ground they crack upon.
Tirion comes up to me and throws me an unusual glare.
"Go north. To the dark clouds. There you shall find the trial of the Crusade." He whips the reins and speeds past me. However, before he continues he reaches into his pocket and pulls something out.
"Here, Hope, this is for you." With a flick his wrist he lets fly a tiny glinting object.
Just barely am I able to catch it. It rocks in my hands for a brief second. Fingers fidget with it, and I finally get a good look at it. Sharp teeth bore into a slender, flat body and end at a small circle of a head.
A key.
Before I can say a thing the bird takes to the air. As he lifts from the ground, I yell to him.
"Tirion, wait. Where are you going?"
The Gryphon stops and rotates as it hovers.
"To the rising darkness of the south."
He makes to move, but Muradin speaks, "Tirion, those clouds. Ye'cannot go to those clouds…" He pauses, "…they loom over the Citadel itself. There is no way…"
Tirion whips the reins again and takes to the skies, leaving behind the three of us. We stand baffled and confused. However, as he reaches the edge of Frosthold he shouts. A booming, traveling echo calls to all the land, but aims solely for one individual.
"Travel with the Light, Hope! With it, you shall never be lost. Even as the shroud descends, you shall never be lost."
His voice fades as he travels. His words wrap around my mind. Echoes call repeat rapidly all across the valley and chasm of this mountain-ridden terrain. What do they mean? You have no idea. He has no clue.
Gold armor glints. White wings beat upon silent air. Slowly he fades into a small dot. Firm hair glides with the wind. Trails of bright light burn behind the flying man. Slowly he fades into nothing. Nothing.
"Well, Worm, looks like it just you and me." Nathanos walks past me. He waves to the rider, "And some rather intoxicated looking drivers."
He slips to the back of the Gryphon and gives the man a pat on his shoulder before looking back to me. Shrugging shoulders suggest my movement, but my eyes bring only ignorance to his request.
I look back at the dwarf. He still stands at the ledge, but has himself positioned with shoulders facing it and myself. A yellow beard draws from the pit and shifts to me as if he knew I was looking at him.
"Muradin, will I see you at the Coliseum? It would be nice to have more than bony there as company."
He chuckles and looks to the chasm as he speaks, "If fate's hand permits, my boy. If fate's hand permits."
Tiny eyes direct back to me, "Go lad, the undead fellow is stressing what few muscles he has left to silently scream at ya."
I cannot help but smile. Again he peers into the chasm. At that, I move from my firm stance and jog quickly to the Gryphon. In a flash I leap confidently to the back of the bird.
"Ya ready, lad?" He wobbles on his saddle.
"I don't know. I am pretty sure the question to be asked is 'are you ready?'"
He chuckles and instantly whips the reins. Speedily the beast shoots vertically before rotating mid-air. Wow, these birds are maneuverable. You said it. He certainly did.
Reins whip again. Force pulls at my body. Hurriedly we shoot forward. Gusts of wind break against my skin. Mountain peaks float into vision, whip under us, and vanish only to repeat the cycle. We are moving incredibly fast, speedier than the ever prior.
Flashes of light borrow into the heart of darkness. Bellowing clashes hold back the light and draw into shadow. Overhead the rumbling roar of menacing, enraged clouds calls to us. They scream for our attention. They scream for our sanity. They scream…for our fear.
They scream…Icecrown.
"My word…" The dwarf whispers softly as he skillfully navigates the mountain's edge.
"Lad, are ya'seeing this?"
I throw a quick glance to him. His eyes divert up then down, up, down, up, down. He tries to steer the bird at the same time as he keenly spies something below. I make to check, but Nathanos draws my attention.
"Sweet mother of Azeroth, there are so many."
Without hesitating I shift my vision downward. At first I simply see a thick black coating over the average white snow. As we move I notice that the mountains seem darker, almost black in hew. Snow doesn't cling to the surface as readily as before, and even than it seems almost gray in the incredibly dim surroundings.
A strange broken yet rhythmic beat drums of my ears. Light thudding riddles my mind, but I cannot make out what it is. You need to look closer at the black mess below. He will be distraught. What? Even as I squint now, I cannot…oh no…
That is no simple black layer of black coating. It moves slowly, yet definitely from here. Tiny white objects bobble perfectly to the step I hear. Glinting metal shines from amidst the sea of darkness…
An army of unbelievable proportions is marching north. Marching north to a beat of death's own drumming hands. Marching north…to a large, glowing structure.
The Coliseum.
Ahead is a large, illuminated opening. From here I can see movement, and with every passing second it grows larger and brighter. Miniature figures shift at an opening the many mountains give. These same mountains feed south, down a great sloping climb and through fields of spiky rock formations.
The rocks jut into the sky and collect light from the pulsing clouds. They cover the mass of this almost lifeless, cold region of death. They give only a few courses to march, but give plenty to the Coliseum. These rocky mountains wind, twist, and bend a snaky path for advance.
The dark, sickening paths have no place for the beautiful Coliseum. It is a bright, illuminated wound, a sore amongst these lands. And, like blood through a vein, the armies are being directed to the fresh break of normality. They are rushing through darkness to crash against the shining crack in dark flesh or these horrible lands. They are riding to clot the flow of light. They are moving, thousands of them, and a force drives them unyielding.
The march of the damned. The march…of the fallen.
"Hug the mountain, lad, hug the mountain!" My rider shouts to the other.
I throw a glance back, and notice he is doing perfectly. We shift high above the moving army, but we will not stay unnoticed forever. Second by second the Coliseum grows larger and grander. Second by second the mountains diminish in grandeur, and we soon find ourselves descending towards the ground.
Thankfully, we slip into a small break between two peaks and fly unseen towards the now enormous structure. White banners rise from the brown, circular building. From either side are long, short, straight walls that together triple the length of the building.
Light seems to build from the walls themselves, and you can almost feel Tirion's guiding hand waiting for us. You can almost feel his strength and courage within every brick. You can almost…
We whip over the slope that the army approaches. Hundreds of Scourge already advance towards the base, and begin their slow ascension as they wait for the bulk of the force. At the front I catch a glimpse of a figure with white hair. Black armor clad to his body. A portion of his shoulder seems broken.
The Herald. Jon Chapel Lightbreaker.
Quickly we shoot over the army and smoothly float over a mass of soldiers. To the left of the main road into the Coliseum rest a good hundred of soldiers clad in blue, yellow, and white. Lions sprinkle the chest and shields of the soldiers.
To the right are green, blue, and all sorts of colored warriors embracing a black and red combination of colors. A black "H" rests on their flags that flutter. At the rear of the force is a familiar figure wearing yellow, spiky shoulders.. Thrall. You remembered! He did! To his side is a shorter, brown skinned orc with equally as mud colored armor to match. Two twisted axes rest in his angry appearing hands.
We sweep over the unnoticing and preparing forces and guide towards the left side. There a tall man with black hair slicked to a long ponytail stands with two, massive blades in each hand. A scar runs across his face, and he seems familiar. You don't know that is the King Wrynn? He isn't alone there, I didn't know.
Next to him stands the elegant, blond hair, blue-eyed lady that is Jaina. Together they shout orders at the gathering blue and yellow troops. You know those are alliance. He knows the red and black fellows are horde. Yes, of course.
No one below notices us as we slow, bounce towards a wide, short tent and trot calmly to a stop. The rider quickly leaps from his bird and heads towards the alliance forces.
"Sorry, lad, battle is calling!" He shouts back as he runs. "Meet ya'on the field, lad!"
Nathanos' driver does the same, and we are left staring at each other. After a second of confused awkwardness we jump from the birds and they naturally slip into a few posts at the side of the building.
"Well, this a way to great someone as great as I." He pauses to flick his wrist at me, "Of course, you are important too. Someone should welcome you as well, Worm."
I glare at him, and suddenly, a familiar, welcoming voice bellows.
"Hope! I didn't think you were coming!"
Just as a make a full rotation, Jessica slams into me, letting her arms wrap to my body. Quickly, and a bit bemused, I hug back before she lets go of me.
"Uncle Carlin, Mark, and I arrived here a few hours ago. We flew to Dalaran and instantly were taken to the northern gates here." She motions back to a bloody patch of snow that leads into the mountains. "We have been fighting since then."
She stops to catch a breath, "His old body isn't fairing so well, but that is ok. He is still alive."
"Hey, don't you be mocking this old, yet strong frame." Carlin leans back to crack his spin as the large Mark moves next to him.
The young giant slaps Carlin rather hard on the shoulder and smiles. Carlin looks up to him and shakes his head disappointingly. Mark smiles in response before he looks to me and nods. He is always so quiet. You said it. He speaks less than us. You know that isn't saying much. He is right.
Carlin sighs and looks at the Coliseum briefly, "Well, anyway, welcome to the Crusader Coliseum." He looks back to us, "Not much remaining after Arthas smacked the bottom out of it."
Nathanos whips to Carlin, "What do you mean 'not much remains?' We were told that Tirion was going to have Hope fight here!"
Carlin lifts one eyebrow, "Strange, there is a massive tunnel where the main floor used to be. Heroes haven't fought here for some time. So I was told."
He looks at the forces behind us, "Actually those soldiers you see there are the bulk of the worthy combatants."
"What?!" Nathanos' voice rises insanely, "There is no way that meager force can storm the citadel! Hell, I don't even know what it looks like, but that isn't nearly enough!"
I twist to see the force, and notice a pair of booming eyes and another set of raging red rubies glancing at me. Quickly Sylvanas scurries across the path and marches straight towards me. Thrall takes notice to the woman's movement and begins in my direction. Sadly, at the same time Jaina motions to the King Warmy and they too begin their focused march to me.
Great…attention. You know how much you love that! He does ever so much.
A strong grip shoots through my arm, and I suddenly find myself moving towards them rather quickly. I look to see Nathanos almost running as he drags me. I am not certain what he is hoping to accomplish, but we are certainly rushing at the approaching leaders.
"Hope, we are going to get to the bottom of this, right now!" Nathanos speaks…wait, did he just call me Hope? You heard it! He wasn't acting crazy or anything!
We shuffle past the advancing Jaina and King, and they cannot help but throw strange glances our way. As I move I attempt to shrug and communicate verbally, but I am lost in Nathanos' plot to speak.
In a hurry I find myself in front of Sylvanas, Thrall, the angry brown Orc, and exactly in the center of both armies. Thank you, Nathanos, for placing me exactly where I wanted to be. Center of attention right here. You better not hit on someone! He better keep his cool.
"You daft warriors of whatever faction you call your babysitter, here stands Hope Blackwood, the Light Bringer! He has been summoned by Tirion Fordring himself to fight in your foolish trial, and so he shall!"
He spins me as he moves,
"Now, where might this challenge be?!"
Nathanos, I hate you so very…much.
A deep, commanding voice booms from my left. "Who are you, you pompous undead filth? And why…wait…" The King Whipy squints at Nathanos before continuing, "Nathanos Marris? I thought I had you killed."
The grip falls as the undead locks eyes with the King Worm. You know it is Wrynn. He knows, Wrynn, Wrynn! Ok, ok!
"Terribly sorry to displease you so, but you failed. Miserably. How about you send real champions and not wriggling maggots, hmmm?"
"Why you daft, insulting insect!"
"Hey, don't you talk to my commander in such a tone, you ugly, moronic human!" Sylvanas slips to Nathanos' side.
"If you strike, Lady, then I shall join to bathe in his demise!" The angry brown orc shifts next Sylvanas and shoves me to the side.
Thrall's glinting armor gleams as he makes next to the brown orc, "Control yourself, Garrosh, Lady Sylvanas! Tirion would not approve of such foolishness!"
"Listen to Thrall, Wrynn, this is not what Tirion would want!" Jaina moves to the King and he looks to her.
"Tirion?" King Wrynn shifts to the young woman, "You speak of him so highly, yet in the moment of greatest turmoil, where is he?"
Garrosh, the brown orc, I believe, grunts and shakes his head, "As much as it burns my soul to say this, I must admit…this filthy human makes a point."
What in the world is going on? How did we go from standing calmly to yelling at each other? It is as if the world itself has become like my very mind! As I begin to wander into said cavern, the figures begin shouting louder and angrier. You have no idea what is going on. He is better to escape here.
Even as I try to escape here, I can hear them. They are so angry, so bitter, so violent. About what? About each other's existence? They are bothering me! They are bothering my focus! They need to stop!
"Enough!" My voice whips uncontrollably upon the frozen, warring air. "Stop with your idiotic, dim-witted, childish bickering!"
My body spins and thrashes, "I cannot even escape to the swirling torment of agony that is my mind with you jabbering tools!"
One by one I glare at them, "No wonder Tirion left you all behind, all of you are fools. There is an army marching up the very slopes of your land, and all you can do is turn blade to the man that is supposed to be holding your shield?!"
King Wrynn, then to Sylvanas, past to Garrosh, and finally to Nathanos, "Tirion didn't come here because he found it better suited to fight at the foot of the Citadel itself! At least there he could fight with troops that understand what is truly happening!"
Chest pounds rapidly. Mind races uncontrollably. Thoughts mangle within my skull as veins pressure and swell with adrenaline. Everyone stands silent. Everyone stands speechless. Everyone stands as still as statues. You scared them. He did, finally.
I draw air in heavily then release.
"That would be impossible boy." A deep, raspy and almost inhuman voice crackles upon the still air.
"My death knights and I recently departed the base of the Dark Fortress. Overwhelming Scourge numbers burst from all directions. Nerubians from the south, giants from the north; only a force of stubborn Horde and Alliance troops remained. Suicide, if you ask me."
I slowly turn. Black armor drapes the bulk of the man as heavily as the hood upon his head. Pockets of dark, murky cloud bursts from his mouth as he breathes deeply. Blue flames billow from beneath his cloth covering. Two separate blade handles stick from his back.
"You must be mistaken, boy."
I hesitate before responding, "No, Tirion took to the fortress. Nathanos here saw it as well." I do not look to see if the undead man replies.
The rather terrifying man takes a step towards me, "Then it would seem Tirion Fordring marched straight into his own demise."
Another step.
"He willingly assaulted the fortress."
Only yard away.
"There is but one conclusion to his ignorance."
Blue eyes beam down to me.
"Lord Tirion Fordring, commander of the Argent Crusade, hero amongst men, is no more."
"Lies!" Thrall approaches the man angrily, "Darion, Tirion would never do something so foolish!"
The man called Darion comes closer, drawing his face to mine. Dark, yet calm eyes call to me. Gently pores hold all signs of evil, yet do not bare the mark of damnation. He is a death knight, but still retains his humanity. You helped set many free. He is free on his own accord.
"Tirion lost sight in the blind ambitions of your factions. He blurred your sides into one single unit of cooperation, yet all you could were outlines." He glares inquisitively at me, "So he did what was necessary for victory…"
"If you speak the truth, then we are lost." King Wrynn speaks softly.
"Stay you tongue, human! We horde need not your cowardice ways! Our strength will shatter this army, and drive to the heart of Icecrown by ourselves!" Garrosh steps behind me and towards the king.
King Wrynn shifts angrily in the corner of my vision, "Fool, you filthy pigs wouldn't be able to roll down this hill before you got winded!"
Weapons unsheathe behind me, "Tirion isn't here to protect you, human!" Footsteps fill the air. "Feel my wrath, King!"
"Garrosh, no!"
"Wrynn, stop!"
Blades clank wildly behind. Unheard voices call for peace, but the smell of blood is already laden upon the air. Blue eyes stare to me still, and I do turn to see the rapidly increasing uproar.
Warriors of both sides scream and shout as armor crashes and breaks upon the frozen ground. Cries of foolish ignorance fill the air, but I do not focus. Darion simply looks at me, and I cannot help but gaze back.
His lips flinch before sundering, "What did he see in you, boy?"
I narrow my sight and boom confidence as I speak, "He saw…"
I pause, "The light. The confusion. The blind ignorance. He saw…me"
Oddly a smile forms on his face. "Hope. Very cute, very cute." Suddenly he shifts and points at a large, brown container side of the coliseum.
"He told me when you came that that was for you. I did not know what it meant at the time, nor do I now." He looks back. "How about you show me?"
Almost baffled I gaze at the death knight. Without looking I draw a key from my pocket. My eyes navigate downwards, and for a brief second, sounds of feuding warrior fill the air. Crashing bodies slam into each other as fleeing Carlin, Mark, and Jessica move from the mess.
In a hurry I take to my feet. A long, brown case lies before me. A key rests in my hand. Factions feud as an army marches. The light dims each passing second, and all I can see is the gathering shadows.
Tirion, what are we to do? We have lost ourselves, and all there is this chest. You should open it. He should.
I lower to my knees. Snow crushes gently beneath my slowly chilling flesh. I wipe pockets of ice from the top of the casing before I glance to the small hole below. Carefully I spin the metallic jaw in my hand.
I let its sharp edges remind me of the skirmishing behind. I let its dark hue remind me of the dark army closing in. I let its smooth edges remind me of the better days. I let its glint remind me of a man we all need.
Tirion, wherever you are, pray for us.
We need a miracle.