Awakening in Chaos pt I

The chill of ice was what first sent a shiver through the huddled, ragged form lying face down in the gray snow and ash. Wisps of condensing breath wound their way up from the man’s opened mouth. His breathing was ragged and a cough broke through every so often when ash was sucked into his lungs. Darkness swarmed all around him and cave walls seemed to ever so slowly collapse his world.

            His right eye blinked open as another fit of coughing tore through the bitter atmosphere of the cave. He moved to lift himself but strength evaded all of his actions. A cracking of bone in his leg ripped a cry from his shriveling lips. “W-where … where am I?” The whisper echoed eternally in the confined space. A sliver of moonlight drifted down from a crack in the ceiling and landed in his vision. He blinked it away and turned his head the other way.

            As his head shifted a flood of bright red light illuminated every corner of the cave. Where the man’s left eye should have been there burned a fiery glow encased in glass and surrounded by pristinely shining yet jagged steel. He felt himself lift up as the mechadendrite attached to his lower spine pressed off from the snow packed dirt and helped drag him toward a wall. He perched himself against his back and looked around.

            The cave was small, enclosed, and by the density of the air far underground. He shook his head to clear his thoughts but could remember nothing. His vision settled upon a glint of metal and across the room rested a shining saber, stuck cleanly in the ground, and stained with black-red blood that etched its way down the blade. Other than that this man was alone.

            He glanced to his side and noticed the torn sleeve of his robes, prompting him to reach over and feel for wounds with his left hand. His fingers met the cold, hard texture of metal and he peeled back the layers of clothing to reveal an oil drenched mechanical arm sheathed in tattered remnants of scarlet silk. Shock flooded his system and his hand shot toward his left eye. The cold touch was … pleasing. He had not expected that No reason existed for why he felt that way but something about the metallic half of his face sent joy surging through his chest.

            “I am Tharan Kiloth.” He said calmly. “Lord Techpriest of the Scarlet Death Watch, former Brother of the Monastery and disciple of Doan the Arcanist; attended Dalaran for eight years specializing in Pyric Theory; failed to save my home.” He bit at the words and spat the memories he did not want to swallow. “Where is Ranek? And Chaplain Olaff? It’s been far too long since he’s delivered a sermon. Reginald, give me a progress report.”

            Silence answered off-set by the whistling of the wind through the small crack in the ceiling. He focused his eye upon it and thought hard, I fell … but I’m far deeper than any fall I would have survived. I must have been underground already … Memory is faint.

            He sighed and nearly pushed himself up from the wall before a shock of pain from his broken leg forced him back down. How to remember … need to remember … must see the past as I see the present and the future … ah, wonderful, that answered that.

            Tharan’s right eye slid closed and he focused a whirling tendril of arcane energy toward his mechanical eye. The iris blinked out of red and into a pleasant blue and his mind was flooded with images:

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            “Light be with you, Ranek.” Tharan bowed his head toward the gruff man he addressed.

            “Damn well better be.” Ranek responded and nodded his head as reply.

            Tharan fought back a grin. The man’s antics, while wholly and damnably heretical, were whimsical in their own way. The behemoth of a man turned toward the aerothopter and clambered onto its back to grab hold of a welded bar of steel. After that he simply waited. Ranek was leading the first wave … but not against the Citadel …

            “All is prepared, my lord.” Sir Jeremiah Landrick stood proudly before Tharan and saluted neatly. “My squadron will drop Ranek and his group at the Soul Forge before beginning our strafing runs.”

            “Excellent.” Tharan nodded and returned the salute. “The Light is most assuredly at your side, Sir Jeremiah. Your loyalty is refreshing in this heretical age.”

            “The Light guides and protects, my lord.” Jeremiah saluted again and joined Ranek at the aerothopter. The two shared a quiet joke and a boisterous laugh before Sir Landrick clambered into the cockpit. Five identical, compact airships designed for speed and agility were arranged in a V formation on the flight deck. Each bore their own human cargo and at Jeremiah’s signal their engines roared to life and screeched out into the undead air of Icecrown.

            Tharan watched their smoke trails sputter off into the icy air before turning quickly to his right, flourishing his heavy robes. Sir Reginald was there with his clipboard at the ready, “Inform Captains Calderan and Tannhauser to begin their approach on the Citadel now that the Alliance and Horde assault is in full force. The Valorous Templar will hold up the rear to insure we are not outflanked.”

            “I’ll inform the Magistress,” Reginald nodded as he jotted down his lord’s words.

            “Yes … keep a sharp eye on her in the meantime. I’ll be on main deck observing the battle and relaying orders.” The Techpriest waved away his assistant and marched his way toward the spiraling staircase leading toward his airship’s main deck.

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            “I remember that.” Tharan coughed through the ash again. “With the Alliance and Horde busy with one another our crusaders would land upon the citadel’s peak and engage the Lich King. Ranek was to disrupt the undercaverns.” He gripped his head tightly as pain shot through his nerves. “But we were heavily outnumbered. Defectors, fallen comrades, cowards, heretics,” the last he spat, “All of them sapped our strength. We had something …”

            He applied a bit of pressure to his leg and found the pain dulled. “The cold is numbing my senses. I can solve that.” Fire shot from his fingertips and ignited the traces of oil left from his wound upon the ground. A shimmer of arcane energy wrapped itself about his injured mechanical arm and kept the dripping mechanical fluid from destroying him. “The Censer. A deterrent causing insufferable pain to the undead. That was our weapon. It would have kept the Scourge, the Forsaken, and the Light-blinded death knights from interfering. But why did we fail … why …”

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            “Sir we’re losing altitude!” Reginald sprinted onto the deck as it gave a terrifying lurch. The air all around the Valorous Templar was ablaze with battle. On one side Orgrim’s Hammer battered away at the barely shimmering shield and on the other a squadron of aerothopters was hassling the Skybreaker. “Captain Tannhauser escaped with the last of his aerothopters but Cyrus is … dead sir.”

            “I know, Reginald.” Tharan spoke calmly, staring blankly out at his ineffective Draco-Ballistae. The beams of pure light glanced effortlessly off the unholy shell of Icecrown Citadel. One of his own aerothopters passed through the beam and burst into a torrent of fire and death. “I heard him die. Heard his last scream.”

            The techpriest threw his hand up to stroke his eye. “All seems lost. How could it have ended this way? Betrayal? Heresy? Was my faith not enough? Have I not dedicated EVERYTHING to our cause?” Fire roared overhead, drowning out the terrible screams of the techpriest.

            “ARTHAS! I’LL SEE YOU BLEEDING AT MY FEET FOR THIS! I’LL HEW YOUR SKULL IN TWAIN AND FEED YOUR MIND TO THE ABOMINATIONS FESTERING IN YOUR HALLS! DO YOU HEAR ME ARTHAS! THIS SERVANT OF THE LIGHT HAS NOT FALTERED! I … I never faltered.” Tharan fell to his knees as the power of the shield on his left buckled under the strain of bombardment. His eyes glanced up at the spire of Icecrown. All that remained within them was hatred. Pure and unwavering. “Our homes, Reginald. They took our homes … they took our people … they took our halls … they took our lives …”

            “S-sir …” Reginald moved toward his lord slowly, shivering not from the cold.

            “Olaff had a dream … maybe I misinterpreted it … but I wanted his dream realized. A new Lordaeron, reborn from the ashes of the old. But these … fools,” he waved his hand toward the flanking airships as their cannon fire superheated and blasted the outer hull of the Templar, “they’ve taken that dream and crushed it. What now do we have left? Feuergrad? A pale poltergeist playing at the true thing. And all of it the fault of ARTHAS!” He spat the final word. “If destiny is our choice … why can other men steal it …”

            “Sir I –” before Reginald could answer a final blast from the Skybreaker ruptured the Righteous Ascendency System. The Templar had already been losing altitude but now it plummeted straight toward the ground. Lord Techpriest Tharan Kiloth could not turn his sight from the ever approaching ground but could feel the tears from his one good eye freeze cleanly to his cheek as the wind threatened to tear his flesh.

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            “ARTHAS!” Tharan slammed his hand against the rock wall and shook with rage. “You’ve stolen everything … everything from us.” The proud Tharan Kiloth wept in the solitude of that cavern. Tremors of grief racked his pained form but he could feel nothing beyond the pain in his soul. “Why … for power … for your own selfish reasons? Maybe there is no reason. Maybe I’m not meant to know. Maybe Chaplain Olaff knows … Light be with him wherever he is.”