Warcraft Fan Fiction ❯ Bloodstained Shadows - Chronicles of a Lost Soul ❯ Frozen Hearts - Chapter 1 ( Chapter 46 )

Chapter 1:

 

 

The sun is shining and the birds are singing on this warm summer afternoon in eastern Lordaeron.

Luckily for us the small lake going directly through our little town offers refreshment for everybody.

The rays of the sun reflect on the surface of the water letting it look glittering like liquid gold.

A warm summer breeze goes through the trees nearby.

Just as usual I'm lying directly at the water daydreaming.

Every day I think about how great this place is and that I never want to leave it. Northdale is my home and I just want to stay here forever.

I sit up straight for a moment as I hear someone approaching. As I turn around I recognize our neighbour, Mister Browman. He is about as old as my father. A kind man and owner of the sawmill north of town.

With a friendly smile he greets me as he passes by. Sometimes, when I was younger, he brought me a present from the sawmill. Usually when they had very little to do some of the workers, including Mr. Browman himself, started carving little animals or other figures from spare chunks of wood, for their children. He has no family of his own therefore he just started making them for me.

I wave at him as he passes between me and the house of my family and heads for his own home. I then turn back to the water for a moment before I decide to just fall back into the green grass.

Come to think of it, Mr. Browman is already home, where is dad? What is taking him so long?

On the other hand, I guess I shouldn't worry too much. My mother always tries to soothe me when I get worried. She then tells me that my father is a strong man and that he knows what to do if he is in danger.

I closed my eyes for only a minute, yet still I guess I fell asleep for some minutes.

I wake up from my slumber to the sound of a familiar voice in my ear. I open my eyes and look into the face of bearded man with long dark brown hair. The expression on his face is stern. The armour he is wearing is of a light grey and making sounds with even the smallest movement he makes.

I'm still drowsy for a moment, but after I realize who I am looking at, I jump to my feet.

Within an instance the man starts to smile, kneels down to me, he is a lot taller than I am.

“Father!”, I say, “What took you so long?”, the sound of my voice is a bit reprehensive.

My father replies with his warm voice, “Everything is fine, Marc. Just a little extra round through Corin's Crossing.”

He gives me a hug, pressing me against the metal. To my surprise, it is still rather cold.

“Do you have any idea what mum made for dinner today, son? I'm starving...”, the way he talks and pronounces the words is clear and free of dialect, although he always loosens up a bit when talking to his family alone.

The people of this area respect him as a strong and kind man, as an authority. He is a paladin, a member of the Silver Hand.

He gets up to his feet again and walks towards our home, I follow by his side. I'm sure that mum has everything already set up as every day.

“Tomorrow is my day off, Marc. What do you want to do?”, he asks me with a smile before he opens the door. I take my time to think about this question. I still have a lot of time to answer it until tomorrow.

“Sarah, honey?”, my father asks blindly into the room after opening the door. She comes down the stairs immediately, hugs my father and gives him a kiss. She is a beautiful woman with dark blonde hair and clear grey eyes. She is only a bit smaller than my father and rather slim.

Usually her mood is great, she is always smiling and spreading happiness, but today something is different. She whispers something to my father and even the smile on his lips disappears.

“Already?”, he asks in a low voice. The expression in his eyes showing sadness and fear. I have never seen him like this before.

Dinner is ready just as usual. After my father has changed we sit at the table and try to eat something. The bread tastes wonderful, just like every time my mother decides to make some. It is a bit sweeter than the bread of the baker, but that is something I love about it. But still, something about this evening is wrong. I cannot even swallow the second bite I have taken.

My father and mother do not eat anything at all. He only holds her hand while she is crying silent tears. She looks down to the floor, trying to hide it from me, but I have noticed some time ago.

I look at my father with a questioning look.

“Should I tell him, honey?”, he asks my mother. Unable to respond with words, she only nods with her head.

“Well, Marc...”, he takes a deep breath, “Your mother received a note today telling her that she would have to return to Dalaran for a while.”

`A note?', I ask myself. I didn't see anybody coming to our house today. I guess I must have fallen asleep more than once today. I want to ask why she had to go there, but I am too startled to say anything.

“That means for us... that we will leave Northdale. Only a few days ago a messenger from the Capital City came hear.” I remember that guy, he came here last week. He was wearing almost the same armour as my father usually does.

“He told me that I could get a position in the royal guard of King Menethil II. He also told me that we could get a home in the town of Brill directly north the Capital City.” It feels as if my throat is tied. I can't say a single word. My mother is taken away from me, then the place where I like to be the most within only three minutes?

We sit at the dinner table for while without saying a single further word, none of us eats anything.

After some time I ask if I could stand up and go outside until nightfall. My father nods, while looking at my sobbing mother.

The sun is still high on the firmament, although the colour of the sky is already turning to a deep red.

I sit there for hours staring at the clouds. Why is this all happening? Everything was fine until this evening, and now within minutes they told me everything would change.

I roll around in the grass so I can look at my home here in the right angle. A sole tear rolls down from my right eye. Right in the middle of my cheek it stops and turns cold, cold as ice. As I look into the sky again, I see snow falling.

This is the moment when I realize, that I am only dreaming.

 

I touch my face with my right hand.

There really is a drop of ice hanging in my face. I remove it from my cheek with my fingers, hearing it crumble between the fingertips of my black Saronite gloves.

This is what I hate about being undead. You may not have to sleep anymore, but sometimes, if everything is quiet and you feel safe, your mind just wanders off daydreaming.

The snowfall is increasing dramatically.

I'm sitting on my deathcharger Abigore with my blade Armageddon tied to my back. The axe Shadow's Edge is fastened to the back of my steed.

We are on a mountain ridge in the north of Icecrown. From here you can overlook everything. To the west there is a building called Aldur'Thar, basically it is a gate with a large watchtower, they also call it `The Gate of Desolation'.

To the east there is an area known as Sindragosa's Fall. It is supposed that the mighty dragon Sindragosa, the former prime-consort of Malygos died there. Now there is only a large open pit pointing out that the rumours are true, that Arthas has raised her as his own companion. The Frost Queen, Empress to the frost wyrms of the Lich King.

To the south I can see Ymirheim. I despise the ymirjar. They are such fools. None of them ever survived a fight against me, still the rest of them run blindly into death because none of them knows fear. Each and every one of that village has never lost in combat. So if one of them is defeated, none of the others will know that they don't have a chance. They are such a meddlesome folk.

Behind Ymirheim the Icecrown Citadel winds up the Frozen Thrown.

In there he is, he sits waiting for his enemies to strike so he can turn them into ghouls and make them his own.

In there he is, he sits waiting for his doom.

At the foot of the mountain I'm standing on there is a large open space festering with ghouls and skeletons. Some officers of the Kor'kron refer to this area as the bombardment.

Every day hundreds of soldiers fly over this area blasting holes into the ground with their cobalt bombs constructed by engineers just like myself.

Many things have happened until today, great and terrible alike. Many people died so that a few could come this far as we are now. Some of them are probably down there in between all those ghouls right now.

At the moment this is an all-out war against the Scourge. The Horde as well as the Alliance are gathering their troops. But not only they are mobilizing everything they have. To the north-east of my current location the Argent Crusade is having a Tournament to determine the strongest and most capable of warriors to stand against the Lich King in the final charge at the Citadel.

The effort Tirion Fordring is making might be a key to victory, but this is just silly. I heard they run around with lances jostling each other off their horses. It all looks like a large playground.

It is a shame that I originally planned on going there too.

Yet the first great victories have already been achieved so far. After Naxxramas had disappeared from the sky of the eastern plaguelands, it was relocated to Dragonblight, where it lay siege to the outposts of Horde and Alliance as well.

Only a few weeks later a group of strong men and women were sent into the necropolis to bring an end to Kel'Thuzad. Members of every faction and even renegades like myself were included in this little army, our number in the hundreds.

About twenty of us were able to make it to the Lich. The fight was straining and only few of us survived. In the end a total of seven people overcame the former sorcerer.

I can't recall what happened to the phylactery of Kel'Thuzad, if it was destroyed or handed over to Tirion Fordring or somebody else. To be honest, I did not care too much about it. I took my revenge on the Lich, but more importantly, I also was able to kill Anub'Rekhan and Noth the Plaguebringer. Both of them had been a thorn in my side. I brought ease to my savage soul for a while, but still it did not bring any real satisfaction.

Another great victory was achieved in the Borean Tundra in the far west of Northrend. The head of the blue flight, Malygos, was gathering strength to attack the Kirin Tor in Dalaran. After his beloved Sindragosa was revivified by Arthas, the aspect of magic slowly grew insane. He accused the Kirin Tor for her death at first, but by the time this thought spread and he swore revenge for her on all living beings which use magic. He wanted to protect the world from further harm, but his growing insanity and the pain blinded him. Because of this the Wyrmrest Accord was created, an alliance of the four other dragonflights, to bring an end to the crusade of Malygos.

Eventually Malygos was defeated and killed by Alexstrasza, the mistress of the red flight and the only one of the aspects that could stand up against Malygos, for Ysera is still dreaming in the Emerald Dream and Nozdormu is fighting against the eternal dragonflight. The whereabouts of Neltharion, better known as Deathwing, are still unknown, though many believe him as dead. And he surely would not be welcome in the Wyrmrest Accord.

Recently a large Titan facility was opened in the north of the Stormpeaks. Over the past months everybody thought that there was no way to get into this place called Ulduar. But now, only days ago, the gates opened up on their own, no one knowing why this was happening. It didn't take long until iron dwarves came charging out of the gates attacking every living being near the entrance. Only a small group around the dwarf Brann Bronzebeard and a few mages of the Kirin Tor were able to set up a magic sphere directly at the entrance keeping the iron dwarves at bay.

Slowly the snow flurry around me turns into a blizzard.

The wind is howling in my ears.

Only minutes later you can only see a few metres ahead of you.

I turn Abigore around and I head towards the pass leading to the Argent Tournament.

As I ride through the dense snowstorm, I think of Frostmourne once again. Since the day I vowed my loyalty to Sylvanas Windrunner, the image of the sword kept haunting me once in a while, maybe once a week.

But now, as I draw closer to Arthas, I see it more often again.

I know where it is - at the top of the spire.

It feels my presence drawing closer to it again.

As I touch the bag tied to my belt, the image vanishes immediately.

I know Frostmourne is a dangerous weapon, still I want to wield it as my own.

It is not any different from the Ashbringer.

It has a mind and soul of its own.

Both these weapons only toy with their master.