Friday, October 8, 2010

Incoming

Fulguralis hit the platform hard and rolled to his feet. He glanced over his shoulder as another Val'kyr plummeted off the edge, trailing smoke behind it as it screeched death. Rips in the Warlock's robe from the thing's claws made clear the fate he had just barely escaped.  He glanced over and nodded his thanks to the hazy shadow Priest beside him, who barely paused in the midst of slinging darkness to acknowledge the gesture.  Fulguralis rejoined the fray, adding his own brand of shadow to the mix.

The fight was not going as planned.  With Tirion frozen in a block of ice, their group of adventurers was left to face the Lich King alone.  Ten brave souls standing against the might of the Frozen Throne.  More Val'kyr screamed overhead and large, pieced together monstrosities and spirits lumbered among the good guys, bashing at shields and plate armor.  It was barely organized chaos. 

"Defile!" the call went out.

The group scattered as Arthas opened up a dark patch of death on the floor.  It roiled menacingly, begging to nip at someone's robes, yet, as one, the group avoided.  A Val'kyr took the opportunity to swoop in and grab one of their Paladins, but several arrows answered the screech and took the thing in the chest.  The Dwarf dropped like a rock, clanking to the ground.  He hefted a shield toward his Hunter friend, quickly cleansed the Elf of disease, and then turned and charged back into the fray.

Rinse, repeat.  It seemed like they had been doing the same things for months now, though Fulguralis knew the time could be more accurately counted in minutes. Yet, it didn't feel like they had even so much as dented the Lich King's spiky armor.  Fatigue and strain was starting to show on all of the adventurer's faces, and yet Arthas looked as cool as ever.

Fulguralis focused in.  He furiously weaved spells together in a never-ending thread, occasionally sending bolts of shadow streaking toward the heart of the battle.  Flashes of light burst among them.  Arrows rained around them.  The deadly dance twirled on.

A deep, guttural grunt surprised the group of adventurers.  Fulguralis saw that his wife had somehow slipped Arthas's defenses and had pierced flesh.  Drops of dark red blood spilled to the floor.  The Lich King had been wounded.  He could bleed, just like the rest of them, and that meant, he could be killed.

With one mighty swipe, the attackers up close were knocked backwards in a clattering wave of armor.  Arthas pointed toward the sky, and the entire Citadel began to shake.  Spirits swarmed overheard, chattering maniacally in the cold air.  What magic was this?  The group redoubled their efforts.  The fall of the Lich King was close now.

Fulguralis froze as the Lich King pointed his long sword at the Warlock.  He felt an invisible rope, as if tied to his chest, pulling him inward.  A Priest, Druid, and Shaman frantically sent healing his way, while the rest of the group fought on, hoping their pressure would elicit Fulguralis's release.  The sword crept ever closer.  I'm going to die, Fulguralis thought. 

Arthas's eyes burned before the Warlock, and he could see a sneer of hate through the faceplate of the Lich King.  The tip of Frostmourne was pressed against his chest now, steadily increasing in pressure, slicing through robes, making it's way inevitably towards...

Light, all Fulguralis could see was light.  This must be what it's like to die, he thought.  Yet, the light faded.  Fulguralis was still on an icy platform.  Jagged rocks ringed the edge, and the sky... the sky was crossed by glowing blue chains.  Is this what it's like to have your soul captured?

Fulguralis was startled to find a shimmering form standing next to him.  What was this place?  The person was familiar, and yet the Warlock found it hard to believe.

"King Terenas?" he asked unceretainly.

"Just Terenas, son," the spirit smiled.  "No one is king forever."

"Then why do you still have your crown on?" Fulguralis observed.

Terenas frowned, "Do you want to get out of here or not?"

*      *      *

On a boat, just off the Northrend continent, Decedereful gazed at the approaching coastline.  She couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that she was arriving too late.  Mr. Wow retched loudly beside her, leaning over the railing.  She couldn't help but smile at her new friend's misfortune.  She was still a bit miffed that he'd found her so easily in Stormwind.  She'd stumbled out of the inn the following morning, the bright sunlight stinging her bloodshot eyes, and he'd been there waiting patiently as if there were nothing better to do.  Of course, his clothing was a mess as usual, but she hadn't been in a condition to judge.  The fact that he'd laughed as she complained about a headache was what provided the current situation such sweet justice.

"We're almost there," Decedereful said soothingly.  She had to admit she did feel slightly bad for the bloke.  It was not a short boat ride.

He stood up and wiped off his mouth, "Great.  I've never been so happy to see land before.  That hold was pretty stuffy."

"You didn't have to sleep down there, you know," Dece pointed out.  "My cabin had an extra bed."

"Didn't want to puke all over you," he said, turning slightly green again.

Suddenly, the there was a rumbling sound in the distance.  Decedereful swore she thought she saw the entire continent of Northrend shake.  Even the seas seemed unnerved by the disturbance.  The boat heaved around them.  Mr. Wow hung his head back over the side and did his own imitation of a Shadowflame.

Decedereful stared worriedly off into the distance.  "We'd better hurry," she said to herself.    

*      *      *

"There!" Minerva said.  "Perfect!"

The Undead woman was balanced precariously on a chair, arranging the last of the curtains she'd hung.  Captain Melvin Brightrune sat nearby, sipping a brown beverage.  Abi peeked above her book from where she sat on the couch.  She had to admit, the curtains did make the room a bit less... warlocky.

A light clinking of the chandelier was all the forewarning they got before the house began to bounce around as if it were on the back of a giant Mistsaber.  The Captain crossed the room in the blink of an eye to catch his wife in his arms as she toppled off of the chair.  After the rumbling subsided, he set his wife down softly.  Abigora calmly marked her place, set her book on the table, and stood up.  She cocked her head sideways as she observed the elderly couple eyeing each other.

"Faith," the both said simultaneously.

The Captain looked at Abigora, "We're going to Dalaran.  Now."

Recalling the speed with which he'd crossed the room, Abigora observed, "I thought you were a Paladin."

"I gave up following the Light long ago," he admitted.  "I'm just a plain Warrior now."

Abi nodded, and then looked toward the former Priest, "And that would make her..."

"A Mage," Minnie finished, waving her arms and producing a portal to Dalaran out of thin air.  "In now, dears, I don't want to have to hold this forever."  

She shooed them in. 

5 comments:

  1. You sold me the whole seat but I only needed the edge.

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  2. Excellent episode! Can't wait to find out what happens; talk about leaving us on a cliffhanger.

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  3. great story, very fun... I meant to comment a few days ago but work has you blocked and of course I forget all things computer related after I come home, hehe.

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  4. Thanks. Happens to me all the time :-).

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