Saturday, January 2, 2010

Bloodsword: 13 - Massacres

With the added prestige of a deathcharger, especially one as beautiful and deadly as the one he had earned, Purah continued moving up the ranks quickly. He raised ghouls for the Harvester, and dealt with the Scarlet Crusade as it prepared supplies for ships sailing for Northrend. Not wanting to allow those ships to make it out of the harbor, he found himself hiding in a mine cart to get past the multitude of soldiers at Light's Point.

That day was a glorious one for the Scourge, as he turned the cannons on the ships against the very soldiers who built them. At least a hundred Scarlet soldiers died by his hand alone that day, in glorious fire and destruction. The chaos and confusion he caused only made the cold indifference within him grow, that small part of him that still clung to the light nearly blotted out entirely.

Silea. What have I become? Does it even matter anymore? Does what I do in my death have any bearing on who I once was?

He was lost in these thoughts when Prince Valanar sent him back to the Ebon hold with the reports of the slaughter at the coast. He was going before the Highlord Morgraine himself. He couldn't afford to show weakness. Besides, he thought. It probably doesn't matter anymore. I've become a monster. Silea... he closed his eyes for a moment, that lone, warm place in his heart fluttering feebly. Silea would run screaming from me as those Scarlet fools do. My life is done. My death, on the other hand, could be so much more.

He could feel a cold forming deep within his soul as he approached the Highlord Darion Mograine. He wasn't sure what it meant, but had decided it wasn't any of his concern. His body and his mind were not his own, not anymore. He knelt in respect, holding out the report of the victory at Death's Breach for the Highlord's acceptance. He stood as Mograine took it, immediately breaking the seal and reading through Prince Valanar's words.

"The entire fleet?" the Highlord said, more to himself than to the death knight waiting patiently. Purah took little else in as the Highlord praised him, though Mograine's mind appeared to wander elsewhere, to his father. Nevertheless, he gave Purah new armor and a commendation, moving the dead elf further up the ranks of the Scourge army.

It was days later that he found himself in the middle of what was left of Havenshire, surrounded by ghouls and tossing human skulls into the newest plague cauldron of the Scourge. Noth the Plaguebringer stood nearby, talking mostly to himself, no doubt bored as his work was more or less complete. Purah had been in New Avalon, the town south of Havenshire, also full of the Scarlet Crusade. The skulls that now rested at the bottom of the bubbling cauldron had come from the town's inhabitants, both citizens and soldiers alike.

He was a shell of his former self, he knew. He rarely showed any emotion anymore, and when he did it was usually through a cold smile of triumph or frown of frustration. As he stepped back from the cauldron, his dreadsteed waiting patiently nearby, he looked back over the dead fields of Havenshire. The inhabitants were long gone, fled or dead. He rode slowly through the town, dead plague-hounds occasionally looking up from their pacing, but otherwise ignoring his passing. The lumber mill was still now. The paddock where he had once stolen his black stallion was now filled with other Death Knight's steeds.

Purah tied his stallion to a nearby post and walked up to a nearby tree. Its trunk was covered in deep gouges from swords and ghoul's claws. He touched it, running his gauntleted hand over the rough bark. The tree was trying to survive, but the plague and blight that covered the land was already starting to take over. He sat under it's branches, and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was naked, standing hip-deep in the snow. Well, this is something I never expected to see again, he thought to himself. Instead of being surrounded by impenetrable darkness, though, he could see for miles and miles. Snow and ice as far as he could see. He wasn't shivering, as the cold didn't seem to bother him. He turned around and nearly jumped back, reaching for a runeblade that wasn't there. A cloaked figure had appeared, just on the horizon. He said nothing, wary of this new development. I'm dreaming, of course. This is all just in my head.

The figure gestured, beckoning him to follow. He hesitated. He noticed how gracefully the figure moved and he wondered if it was a woman, or another elf. Perhaps it's... her. He moved, then, slowly towards the unknown person. Every step he took, the figure took, too. After what seemed like hours of walking through the snow, he grew frustrated and threw up his hands.

"End this foolishness! I'm done. Let me wake, so I can continue my work!" The dark and mysterious figure gestured again for him to follow, but then pointed towards the horizon. There, small and nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the snow, was a small crystal dome. At least, that's what it looked like. It seemed to shine and sparkle without any light, a small star on the ground.

With a goal in sight, Purah continued, patient and constant in his trek through the snow. He rarely looked to the figure anymore, instead his eyes fixed on that dome. It was important. He didn't know why, but it was, and he had to get there. It came ever closer, but he was tiring. It was as if the snow was freezing him in place, or trying to. His legs were dragging, catching in the frozen landscape. The figure was gone now, nowhere to be seen. Only the dome on the horizon, beckoning to him, kept him going.

Finally, after fighting for every little movement, he made it. The dome rose up out of the snow before him, glowing from within. He staggered closer and touched the shining surface. It was ice, distorted enough to keep him from seeing what was inside, from seeing whatever it was causing the glow. He walked all around it, searching for a way inside. It was solid and impenetrable.

Purah, come inside.

He wanted to laugh, as he had been trying to do exactly that, but there was no energy left anymore. He reached out to the ice again, touching it, his bare hand slipping against its shining surface. He felt nothing. He closed his eyes in frustration.

And awoke, his back against the blighted tree, his deathcharger standing patiently nearby, standing watch over him. Whatever dream had gripped him, it was gone, and he rose, slowly. I can almost see the snow, even now. It is no normal dream, that is certain, he thought as he mounted again, turning his mount once again towards the crypt.

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