Arthas

Agony.

All encompassing, all consuming anguish.

She thought at first that she'd fallen unconscious – so brief was the warm respite.

The tender kiss of death had been stolen away.

((By popular demand... ok not really but yea... I felt I needed to bring him back))

They arrived alone, in pairs or small groups.  Slowly trickling through the portal to stand exposed at the top of Icecrown.  Snow swirled around Elrin's legs and his cloak drug a thick line in it as he strode to greet them.

He ran his eyes over them as they checked their gear and said their prayers or passed their hands over each other, sharing blessings and gifts.  Chapped lips cracked again when he shoved his second-to-last cigarette in between them, lighting it with a snap of his fingers.

They were ready.


Arthas pumped his legs faster, flying across the icy top of Icecrown and leaving Tirion Fordring encased in a block of ice behind him.

Amara stood ready.  He gave Elrin a curt nod just before Arthas slammed into him, bowling him over as he scrabbled for a hold in the icy ground.  Elrin stepped quickly, turning aside Frostmourne with a curving sweep of his polearm.

Trust is your weakness...

It's too damn cold up here.

((After a few months of missed or short raids due to real life events and after a welcome break for the Meet and Greet, the Ghost Scions finally got another full night of attempts on The Lich King...and guess what happened?  Big grats to the best little raid team out there.))

The house is the same as when I first entered, cobwebs line the walls and drape across the doorways; there are bats roosting in the attic and rats scamper through the servant’s quarters.  I don’t care that I can’t see my reflection in the woodwork so covered in dust it almost appears white. In fact I’ve covered every mirror with a shroud of black cloth. I don’t want to catch myself staring at my glacial green hair, its bad enough that everyone else does.

Cold has a tendency to place things in a state of suspension. Mages who use the power of ice and cold are able to slow the advance of an enemy, giving them time to flee or destroy. Even hunters use frost and ice in their traps, stopping a foe long enough for them to dispatch missiles of death.

I was a blood elf, a child of the addicted masses to whom Prince Kael’thas promised deliverance. I was a blood knight, the bastardized version of a paladin, come late into the class but still knowing of the Light. How can you live on Azeroth and not know of the All Power? I was called to wield the power of the Light but the Light of the Sindorei is tinged with crimson and laced with green; like looking through a glass darkly.

Another foray, different venue; this time the Rising Spirits pub which is also in Silvermoon City. Again with Zero in tow as well as another death knight going by the name of Beefjerky. Why anyone would saddle their child with a name like that is beyond me, but then I don’t know the tauren naming conventions. Perhaps it was a nickname… at any rate; this death knight is unlike any I’ve ever met. He does not possess the pallor of death or an emaciated appearance but rather retains his thick black hide and glossy black horns. He also retains a peculiar sense of humor. The only thing that seems to have been affected by the make over seems to be his ability to control his bodily emissions and his tongue. Zero showed another side of himself, this being his first experience with alcoholic beverages he seemed to delight in trying many different kinds. And I… I found myself waxing poetic. Peculiar behavior for me I assure you.

It's been some time since I first returned to the living.  I'm still quite conflicted on the whole matter, however.  I'm infinately greateful to have a second chance, to have the power I didn't have in my previous life...but grateful to who?  A monster who destroyed my people, brought havoc upon our world?  I feel like a walking abomination.  Without Arthas, I'd be rotting in the Plaugelands or turned into a Ghoul much like my own. 

Tiri glances up to see the Nagrand orphans playing fetch with a bone, as if her ghoul was a pet.

It wasn't too long of a flight before the gryphon came to land at Theramore. Saraness looked around, and the base itself was rather large. She couldn't help but wonder how the Admiral managed to keep this project a secret. However, this was no time to go poking around... she needed to get back to Stratholme to warn the prince.

Saraness made her way onto the Docks, there she found one ship getting ready to set sail.

She approached the ship, standing at the gangplank. She turned to the man who was tending to the ropes. 'Where's the ship heading.'

The man looked over at Saraness. 'Wetlands, Menethil Harbor Ma'am.'

'I see...' She said, looking back towards the ship.

'I've got some urgent business in Stratholme, can you offer passage?' She said, turning back to the man.

'I'll have to go check with the Captain.' The man responded, getting up and heading up the gangplank.

I've been marching for a long time now. I haven't stopped getting up and heading out every day, not since Durnholde, even when Kast re-formed the Scions. I started marching double-time when he showed up again. I have the feeling I'm still in retreat. The forces of the scourge seem a lesser obstacle than settling down and finding someplace to fit in again at times, but that's not really it. I could go back to Shattrath if I wanted to quit. The Scryers would laud me as a hero for the rest of my life, and even the aldor admit a grudging respect for my actions in the Shattered Sun campaign, even if I hung up my armor and lay in the World's End with six hired women until I died of booze. No, I'm not ready to quit and it's not because I don't fit anywhere.

This is the book of the rise and fall of Ellia Elisaveta. It is a work in progress, but will be updated regularly.

Taneel stepped onto the small ledge, blood soaked his armor, the nerubian’s claws had left many gashes on his skin, but his armor had been more than enough. He’s two huge blades were strapped to his back now, the beach had proven enough of a path to slip into the center of the Lich king’s domain, and as he crested the hill, he finally saw what that meant.

Zeth'anz stepped out of the inn in Telaar, eyes quickly scanning the horizon through her helm. Evening. Not that it mattered any more.

The sounds of the night were almost welcoming to her. There were less people about, less people to gawk and glare at her. The draenei found herself spending more and more time on Draenor, wetting her blade with the blood of those she was allowed. It was all she had in this life, unlife?, any more. The Dragoons had rejected her. There was not a military unit that would now be willing to take her in. Her entire life, the only thing she had ever known, over. Done. Gone.

She drew her blade and balanced it in her hand, tilting her head and looking at the runes scribed upon it. She was loosing herself. The trill of the kill, the surge of power that ripped through her as she watched the life fade from her foe's eyes. She lived for that now.

But isn't that what she lived for, even before this happened?

Splinters of memory, fractured images swirling through an icy wind…

The weekly meeting had been bizarre. Upon returning to Stormwind, she had met with Asilia to hear a report of Cultists in the city, trying to control the Death Knight through her blade, stolen and altered, and now destroyed.

Dreams and visions cracked at the edges…

She crouched down hidden within the whipping snowbank, her leg still throbbed slightly but she was well enough. Peering over Janiil watched him, the scourge king as he walked, so calm and controlled. It had dawned on her earlier just how great his power was when she witnessed him raising a massive Frost Wyrm with little effort.

It didn't change what she had to do however, if she struck hard and fast enough she might be able to catch the self proclaimed king offguard. Whispering lowly as she watched the Lich King continue his walk back towards the Citadel, no undead minions anywhere in sight Frostmourne sheathed.

"He doesn't need guards."

Taneel’s stride became a slow plod as he walked towards home. The fighting was over and as his focus left the battlefield it returned to thoughts of Janiil and the tortured fate that was taking her. He didn’t know for sure and he was still grasping at the strands of hope he could find, but when it came down to it, he couldn’t see this ending well and all the fighting was more of an excuse to avoid thinking than anything else.

He would destroy Arthas and rip Nerzhul’s soul from Azeroth and cast it down to the lowest reaches of Hell, but he was up against a time limit that he didn’t know to find a way to save Janiil, and in all his research he hadn’t found any way to break her bound with Dor’rah Alah.

llia's head rested upon her Master's lap, her kitten gifted from him resting in her own. He was slipping lithe, long fingers through her hair, and he was more at peace than he felt he deserved. A part of him had always regretted what he had become, but moreso what he had turned his sweet apprentice into.

"Master..." Her gentle, sleepy murmer perked his ears as though she had shouted.

"Yes, child?"

"Tell me about Arthas. You always speak of him when you tell me about your studies..."

He paused a long moment, his mind wandering. "Why, pet, do you wish to know about Arthas?"

"I don't know. Just... a feeling, I guess."

"I speak of him because what he has done ties into my studies. No more, no less."

"You always seem fascinated with him."

Snowflakes slowly drifting to the ground...
The sky filled with clouds... Dark... Ominous...

Opalissa walked through the snowy wilderness, a frozen spire looming off in the distance. As she crested a hill, the sight before her was grim. The stench rose from the creatures below, their decaying bodies shambling slowly forward. For mines, she could see the undead shambling forth. She raised her hand, signaling the troops behind her.

"Stand firm!" she cried, her opulent robes fluttering in the wind. The wind howled, and the horde of undead below let out a cry as one as they lunged forward. The sky darkened, the wind howled louder, but they stood firm, not wavering. They had come to Nothrend to end this threat, and they would not baulk from it now.

((Originally Posted 6/30/06 on Realm Portal)) +Black Rune+

My thoughts?

Dunè stood quietly, watching the quiet lapping of the sea against the shore of Stranglethorn. The quiet evening soon ended for poor Dunè, as the quiet whispers returned.

"You're so much like me, so very much. It won't be soon before you join me.."

"I will never join you. I will never commit your crimes." Dunè responded quietly.