Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard.
Chapter 6: Northrend II
XXX
The treck back to their camp was as slow as coming from it. The snow was as difficult to go through as before, even harder. Yet at the while, in the back Sylvanas was secretly examining the nerubian-arrow under her cloak - it had numerous hairs on it, like a spider' leg; it was light-weight, despite it obvious size which was twice as large as a regular arrow; also its tip was covered in a weird venom/poison mixture, that she dared not touch. She was still torn, if she should tell the others or keep it a secret; but for now, she'd hold onto the arrow, incase Mal'Ganis decided to show up.
"Captain, why are the guards not at their posts?" asked Arthas, arriving back from Falric, as he saw that his troops were packing-up numerous stuff.
"Well, M'Lord, your father had our troops recalled at Lord Uther's request," explained Falric.
"Uther had my troops recalled? Damn it! If my warriors abandon me, I'll never defeat Mal'Ganis," cursed Arthas, putting some distance between him and the camp - until he was farther out, so they wouldn't hear him. "The ships must be burned before the men reach the shore."
"Isn't that a bit much, lad?" asked Muradin, understanding but also suprised at the extreme retaliation.
"Burned down to their frames!" roared Arthas, yet kept his voice low. "No one goes home until our job here is done!"
"Not to bust a hole...yet...how the heck would WE get home?" asked Sylvanas, annoyed at his rash behaviour.
"Well...I..." mumbled Arthas, before his words got stuck and his plan ripped apart.
"Yeah, troops leaving is bad. Yet your idea of keeping them here is even worse!" said Sylvanas. "Burn your own ships? Your own ships! How would you get home, if you succeed here, huh? You'll end up freezing here to death!"
"She got you there, lad," added Muradin, realizing the full-extent of Arthas' plan.
"Well...what other choice do I have?!" asked Arthas, a bit loudly and angrier.
"We have some mages, they're specialized in various magic: pyromancy, transmutation, illusion; you can go talk to them and ask for their aid," replied Sylvanas. "I bet they know a few spells or tricks, that can aid you. Without, having to blow up your own damn fleet."
"...fine..." sighed Arthas after thinking it out, heading back to camp to speak with some of the high elf mages.
"I don't like this, one bit," said Muradin, once Arthas was out of ear-shot.
"Would the alternative be better?" asked Sylvanas. "I don't suppose you dwarves have a ship nearby?"
"No. Ours got wrecked as soon as we landed," replied Muradin, sighing. "This is bad."
"I agree, Arthas is taking this vengeance to personally," added Sylvanas. "And I fear, what he might to in his state of mind."
"Well let us hope, that you can keep him in check until we can get the heck out of here," said Muradin, suprising the young elf.
"Me?" asked Sylvanas, suprised. "I barely know him."
"Aye! Yet your words seem to strike a sense of reason in his head," replied Muradin. "One, even I can't do here."
"Just common sense," said Sylvanas.
"Maybe," added the dwarf, when he saw Arthas return.
"...Alright...done...Muradin...lets go..." sighed Arthas.
"I do hope you aren't planning anything rash," said Muradin.
"No..." sighed Arthas. "Magical explosive shells...farther away, yet appearance of the real thing. Some of the elves are already enchanting some mortar shells."
"Good idea," said Muradin.
"Alright...lets get this over with..." sighed Arthas, as two mortar crew appeared and were prepared to go.
"I'll stay here. Incase of any undead attacks and don't worry about the mages, I'll tell them to keep 'this' a secret," said Sylvanas, as Arthas and Muradin soon started to head towards the ships from around.
XXX
Even though the ships were far of the coast and their sight blocked by the trees, she could clearly see the magical explosions happening where the ships were. The men opting to go through the woods instead of facing the undead on the way.
Each explosion hastening their speed; until they arrived at the coast, after several grueling hours of going through the woods to avoid the undead and saw Arthas with Muradin standing at the coast, along with a trio of creatures a bit farther away.
"Prince Arthas?" spoke up Falric, suprised to see the prince here.
"Quickly, my warriors! These murderous creatures have burned down our ships and robbed you of your way home! Slay them all in the name of Lordaeron!" said Arthas, pointing at the creatures away from him.
"Kill them all!" roared a soldier in anger, as they charged at the creatures. Sylvanas staying behind, as she knew what was really happening.
"Our ships are ruined. What will we do now?" asked Marwyn, as the creatures soon layed dead on the beach.
"Listen to me, all of you! There is no way home for any of us, save through victory! In this land we will stand or fall together. Now, return to the base and man your posts," spoke Arthas, trying to remain calm. The men saddened, yet they followed and started to treck back to their camp.
'Lies to lies, yet this is too much,' thought Sylvanas, as she saw the hopeless faces on some of the humans. Even she felt a bit off, knowing her part in this.
"Don't, lass..." said Muradin, grabing her arm, when she wanted to confront Arthas. "...not today..."
"Fine..." replied Sylvanas, as her arm was released and she went back to camp as well, not uttering a single word.
That night, Sylvanas couldn't get much sleep as the bitter truth kept her up. The skies of Northrend was a sight in its own right - unseen beauty, yet one that harbored a dark force, the Scourge. She tried not to think about the scale or vastness of them, nor of the nerubians who fell; just that the same fate wouldn't befall on her beloved home.
Muradin himself was sharpening his axe in his tent - he didn't like how things had turned out here. From a simple treasure hunt to a frozen nightmare: undead, cursed lands and his old pupil. Arthas was a changed man from years ago, when he had trained him. He was changed that was certain - once he could barely wield a sword properly, now he was leading expeditions and wielding his maul like a veteran miner. Yet for the wrong reasons in his mind: chasing a mad-man was one thing, but Arthas was getting obsessed with chasing this Mal'Ganis.
"Bloody wasteland!" cursed Muradin, stopping his sharpening and going over to his stuff. Finding his good 'ol flask of ale and pulling off the cork on it. The only good thing about this place, was that it kept ale cold always.
Nearby, ontop of a watchtower sat Captain Falric of Arthas' Forces on watch duty, ignorant of a certain dwarf drinking. He was more worried about what was to come - no ships, no reinforcements and barely any hope left. Arthas' agenda was getting more desperate and more suicidal as the days passed. Falric was a certain kind of man: loyal to the death, no matter the odds. It what made him a good captain to his prince and his men. Yet by far all the horrors he had seen and cold he was feeling, Falric had a doubt if Arthas might have been pushed to the edge of his sanity.
In a tent, in the middle of the camp, sat one such prince, Arthas - examining a map piece in the candle-light; he couldn't sleep either. It was something that the dwarves had managed to draw up, while they were here. It wasn't much and barely covered their surrounding area, yet it was an alternative to going in blind. A few hours treck ahead was a small keep of an unknown type, a likely place to go searching for Mal'Ganis. Was that a name that haunted him, a daemon, that drove him mad at the mere mention of his name. A bloody coward, who fled to this wasteland instead of fighting him face-on.
"Ahh...damnit..." sighed Arthas, as he slumped down onto a nearby chair, tired out both physically and mentally. Lying to his men, arguing with an old friend and nearly going over-board with his anger, this trip was getting more hard on him by the hours and he was even doubting himself.
"...passion to turn into bloodlust...vile as the orcs..." echoed Uther' words in his head, a constant reminder yet one proverb that kept haunting him still. Was his drive for justice turning into vengeance, bloodlust or something worse?
'Damnit Uther,' cursed Arthas, as he stood and went back to planning, trying to forget those words. Passion, bloodlust or not, he needed a clear head to give orders and fight. He would deal with aftermaths later, right now people, his people, needed him to be strong.
XXX
A/N: Developing nicely, ya?
Please review.