Warcraft Fan Fiction ❯ Bloodstained Shadows - Chronicles of a Lost Soul ❯ Frozen Hearts - Chapter 3 ( Chapter 48 )

Chapter 3:

 

 

I follow a pass near the foot of a mountain to my left.

It leads directly past the large crater in the ice where once the Frost Queen Sindragosa rested. I take a look over the edge of the ice as I ride by. Down in the pit necromancers are at work trying to create more offspring of the former blue dragon matriarch.

I personally don't know whether I should laugh about it or pity the little dragons, but the necromancers actually were able to create little undead whelps out of the remains of Sindragosa that were still trapped in the ice. They even hatch from strange blue-glowing dragon eggs.

The little whelps are already fairly aggressive. As I ride by, two of them try to attack me. I hit them on their little skulls with my fist, letting them tumble backwards and fall to the ground.

I wonder if the necros intend on letting them at that size or if they have some spells to let them grow like a live dragon.

The longer I think about it the more I plan on capturing me one of those and have it as a little pet. On the other side... where should I keep it? Or, perhaps I should just kill it when it starts to get annoying. It's not like a real animal, I mean, come on... it's a zombie dragon.

Yet again, I don't talk about Ratcarver like that, they would be somewhat equal I guess.

I ride on thinking about this for another moment before I clear my mind from any of it. I shake my head and whisper to myself, “What nonsense...”

The necromancers near Sindragosa's Fall had noticed me some time ago, but they just kept on working like machines; plain puppets on a string dancing for their cruel, unholy king.

I come to an open area, a few smaller frostwyrms are circling above my head.

It looks like they have followed me for a while, but they turn around the moment I reach the slope leading to the tournament grounds, that area is filled with guards and fine warriors. Even though there are many of them, the Lich King is not that foolish enough to send them directly into certain death.

On my way I come past five wooden archways standing in a circle, each of them has a light hanging down from the middle of the arc.

They were built around a crack in the ice, the hilt of a sword reaching out of the ground.

I can sense there is something magical about this place, although it's not too strong.

I don't bother to waste more thoughts on this place

A large circular arena forms the centre of the tournament grounds. It outshines the rest of the grounds completely. But still the crusaders had to build it in a way that it would look like some kind of a church or giant cross when you look upon it from above.

Two guards of the Argent Crusade look at me as I come up the small hill. They grant me a rather friendly greeting to which I don't respond at all. To the right I see a large magnataur lying in chains. They are large four-legged creatures with a thick fur and muscular humanoid torsos, they could be related to centaurs. The stench coming from both those races could be a proof of their relation.

The head of the... animal... is hanging low, seems they got it to sleep somehow, which should be rather difficult, because the magnataur are usually hostile to any other race except for kobolds.

Behind it I see a round tent with flags of the Horde hanging above its entrance.

I can already hear the horses riding along the fighting grounds to my left.

The finest warriors of Azeroth, sitting on the back of a horse, poking each other out of the saddle. Why do they have to do that anyways? It's not like we'll be able to use the horses inside the citadel.

I turn to the left to head to the tent of the Argent Crusade to the far west. If Cassi and the rest weren't there, I would surely find them in the Horde tent.

The tribunes next to the fighting grounds are actually filled with spectators, most of them even warriors that are waiting for their turns.

I also come by the stables of the tournament.

They actually put in a great effort to get loads and loads of mounts from every different faction. They even got the awkward birds the bloodelves usually ride.

The long entrance way for the spectators into the area is flanked by statues of heroes of the Argent Dawn. At first I can't really believe what I am seeing there, they actually built statues?

What are they thinking? Holding this tournament, building statues... are they stalling for time? I thought we'd have to make haste, and not waste resources and time on bric-a-brac like this.

I get off my deathcharger and order it to stay outside the tent.

I don't worry about Abigore. My steed wouldn't let anybody except for me touch it, and in case of real danger while I am not around, it would probably vanish to the realm of shadows.

A women named Mariel Trueheart greets me as I want to enter the tent.

“Welcome to the Argent Tournament, Champion of Undercity.”, she smiles at me. “Magister Edien Sunhollow is the Sunreaver representative of the tournament and he will...”

I turn around and leave her while she is still talking.

Her look showing her bewilderment she stops talking right in the middle of her sentence.

None of the people I'm looking for is here so I have no need in staying here listening to the rubbish of the paladin.

I take Abigore by the rein and head back for the east side of the tournament grounds.

The people on the tribunes are cheering for their favourite fighters. They start to see all of this as a game, a stupid, little, harmless game.

The tent where the representatives of the Horde reside is a lot smaller than that of the Argent Crusade.

As I enter, I see them immediately, Cassiopheia, the bloodelf warlock, the troll called Seljun and a tall tauren shaman called Canthar are awaiting me here.

“What took you so long?”, Cassiopheia asks me with her usual slightly aggressive tone. I don't bother to respond.

Her imp is jumping around, squeaking happily.

After taking a look around me, I just can't hold back asking “What are we doing here anyway?”

I raise an eyebrow. “I'm not too keen on riding a horse of the Argent Crusade, shoving people out of their saddles...” I know I sound annoyed, but I can't conceal thinking this way.

“That's not what we're here for...” Cassi, now also a bit annoyed, replies. “We're here to enter our names into the list for the trials they are holding tomorrow. It seems not too many want to make an attempt on those because last time, a few days ago, almost everybody died in the arena.”

“So you are telling me that you want to enlist me, together with you for those strange trials of the old Fordring?”

“Yes, that is exactly what I plan on doing...”, she slightly narrows her eyes.

I think about it for a moment.

“Why? Just why? I know what I'm capable of, I mean... we all know what we can do, don't we?”

Seljun puts his hand to his long forehead covering his eyes with a sigh. He already knows what will happen now.

“You'll come with us, god dammit!”, Cassi almost yells at me. “You are the one that always talks about wanting to join the fight against the Lich King, always nagging and bragging about their fighters and that you'll probably won't be able to go in there alone. If you want to go to the black citadel with them, then you'll have to go through their trial. Cope with it!”, for a moment it seems she has calmed down again. Yet with a final outburst she yells at me one final thing. “NOW SIGN UP FINALLY!”

With a sigh I take the quill lying on the desk in front of Magister Sunhollow and as he offers me a bashful smile I enter my name into the list for tomorrow.

“I'm going to Dalaran for the night, we'll meet here again tomorrow evening. Be there... in time...!”, she is still angry, but I know by tomorrow she'll have forgotten about all this and be in a good mood again.

All three of them leave only moments later.

I don't care what they intend to do, but I planned to stay at the tournament for the night. Outside the Horde tent there are several fireplaces and areas where one can rest. I take a seat at one of the long tables and look around for a while.

As night approaches, the fires are lit and a group of squires brings along fresh meat that could be grilled, roasted or simply be eaten raw by the fireplaces.

The orcs take great delight in this service, as well as the trolls sitting around me. The tauren on the other hand look at them with a certain disgust. I wonder if one or the other of them are worried if that meat could have been somebody they knew.

I don't see a single bloodelf sitting outside with most of the fighters, nothing too peculiar, most of the elves are surely in Dalaran, keeping a safe distance to the savage folk..., ignorant fools.

Like every member of the Forsaken, I look at the food impassively.

After a while the squires return, this time bringing drinks for us, beer, wine and mead. It barely takes ten minutes until the first orc jumps onto the table making growling noises which could actually have be singing.

As he comes jumping along the table, I take a moment to think about grabbing his right leg and sending him flying, but I already see where this would end. That brute would surely try to regain his `honour' after something like that. And I'm not too keen on spilling orc-blood today. I have enough trouble already with those orcs that cry out `Lok'tar Ogar' at every suitable moment.

I lean myself against the wall of the coliseum behind me and keep watching how that orc makes a fool of himself.

The only thing that is more disturbing than having to watch something like this, is the fact that the noises coming from the other side of the building are quite similar to these here. The Alliance may call us savages or mindless animals, but if they were honest for once, they would all have to agree that we are more alike than we all believe it to be okay. Although I have to admit, I think the dwarves might be closer to the orcs than the humans are, but that's not up to me to decide.

The flow of alcohol keeps the `festivities' going on for several hours. After the first orc collapses, the second makes his way up onto the table. And the idiot squires keep on bringing more and more. Was that too an order from Tirion Fordring? Only a healthy and drunk orc is a good orc? Still, the question would also apply to the Alliance, but I have admit that may be actually out of question... Only a drunk dwarf is a good dwarf. Although I like to alter this sentence a little.

Only a dead dwarf is a good dwarf.

Throughout the whole evening I haven't said a single word, I've only been sitting there watching. By now I have enough of this and decide to leave.

I head for the east-side of the tournament grounds.

As I walk along the way, I accidentally step on something that looks like a large white lump of snow. It turns out that this snow is actually a rather large beetle crawling around. With a loud crack its carapace bursts open scattering a violet liquid across the ground as well as my leg. I kick the dead insect aside, thinking about how to get this violet slime off my armour...

As I came here, I just left Abigore standing here without tying him somewhere. I can't find him near the Horde tent so I guess he returned to the realm of shadows in search for food some time ago.

I don't hesitate to summon him to my side. With a loud shriek my steed enters this world, the blue flaming eyes staring at me unremittingly.

Abigore slightly prods my arm with his head as a greeting. I don't know if its a strange gesture for a deathcharger, but after a while I figured that this might be a friendly greeting.

Shadow's Edge is still tied to Abigore's back. The moment I took the axe with me, I didn't realize it, but by now it has become clear to me: That axe is a truly vile weapon. The moment my steed steps out of the realm of shadows, you can see the overflowing energy from the weapon. It feeds on the dark energies, on the blood that was spilled, on the souls that were taken here. Seeing it in moments like this is the only reason why I haven't used it until now. Something about it strikes fear into my heart, even though I hate to admit it.

It takes several minutes for the weapon to lose its glow again. It takes up more energy than it can contain. The amount of energy that spills out of it is so great that you could actually see the trees next to me starting to whither.

In these moments I built up a kind of inner restraint on using this weapon, but then again, normally I want to reach out for the axe and grab it.

I can't really tell what the real reason might be for me not using it. Something about it seems unfinished to me.

I take Abigore's reigns and walk with him up the hill towards the east.

The first mountain ridge extends itself in front of me as I come to the end of the way.

The snow around me shines in a bright white. It is so clear and untouched, but with every step I take it becomes more churned up and dirty from the blood of the insect I accidentally had squashed earlier.

The wind rustles through the twigs and branches of the few snow-covered trees standing up here alone.

I step directly to the edge of the land to the north. The cliff is tall and jagged. No one would survive falling down there.

Directly to the north of the tournament there lies a small isle that was once home to a kalu'ak tribe. Now the former inhabitants lie scattered across the island..., dead. The sound of a low pitched horn is heard every evening. The Argent Crusade are investigating this matter currently.

I turn around and lead Abigore away from the cliffs. I take a look to the west, facing the coliseum. The wind is playing with the flags up high.

Don't they see that they are wasting time? They aren't preparing anybody with this tournament. Maybe they can actually sort out a few people that would only be dead weight for the charge on the citadel, yet... is toying around with horses and wooden sticks really the right way to find out?

To my left there lies a graveyard. Roughly sixty or seventy people have already been buried here.

I'm anxious to find out what this trial, as they call it, is about. On the other hand I already know that it will be nothing more than a huge disappointment.

With the wind howling in my ears I stand here alone and gaze upon the little playground of the Argent Crusade. They feel safe up on this ridge, such fools. If he wanted, everybody here would be dead already. He only lets them live because all of this is amusement for him.

It is times like this when the chill of Northrend clutches even my rotten heart. I see the faces of Corren, Keira and a few others before my inner eye and then it overcomes me.., this feeling.

This anxiousness.

I feel left alone.

Well I can't deny it, I am alone... All I want is somebody to talk to and yet I know I can't.

I wouldn't say a single word. I don't want to admit my feelings. They wouldn't understand..., they just can't! How could they? How could they know how it feels to be me? To live with mistakes as grave as the ones that I have made.

I turn around and take a few steps to the side of the graveyard.

My soul is at unease. I feel restless. I have been agitated since I first set a foot into Icecrown. But soon this will come to an end. Soon I will spill the last drops of the vicious black blood that is flowing through the veins of his undead body.

Soon I will find peace.

I signalize Abigore to stay outside the graveyard, then I start strolling the lines of little tombstones. I don't know why I am doing this, any dead body would do.

I stop in front of a fresh grave. For a short moment I concentrate on the creature I want to resurrect.

In need of company anybody.. or anything would do for now.

A digging sound announces the awakening of my minion. Seconds later an undead hand bursts out of the snow, followed by the horrible face of the ghoul.

After digging out of the ground completely, it shakes itself once to get rid of the snow in the rags it is wearing. I already turn around and head back to Abigore, the ghoul follows closely behind me.

"I LIKE GLITTER!", the wretched creature bursts out as it stumbles through the deep snow.

A few sole snowflakes come falling from the sky.

"I know Ratcarver...", I say without bothering to take a look at him, "...I know..."