A Conversation on the Precipice, part 4.
At this point, he was immobile. There was a rustle in the trees above Dariusz as he lay with his back upon the ground, the tendrils of his ebon hair falling over the side of the floating island as he lay dangerously near the edge of the precipice. Wind, perhaps. He was not entirely cognizant of his surroundings being so wrapped in his vision. Two faint green lights would be suspended near one of the branches. Most likely fireflies.
“Father… you…bade Voren’thal… to keep me from the front?” Dariusz whispered the aforementioned words, a tear falling from his eye. Gravity would coax it to progress past his temple and sink into his hair. He stared up into the star-filled sky, taking in none of it.
(You heard correctly,) returned the voice within. (Corbin thought you a liability. And he was right, looking at history.)
About an hour passed in the vision. The sun was beginning to set. They were running out of daylight, and out of time.
Dariusz watched as Kelanar’s expression changed, hearing the faint sound of the Lich King’s catapults in the distance making their way toward the city.
The unmistakable squeaking of their wheels. Reports of them had come in from the front, when there still was a front. They were described as crude, but effective. They looked as pieced together and horrifying as the abominations that Arthas had created–and were equally as devastating if they hit their mark.
Perhaps one or two more groups of Quel’dorei were able to make their way into the city under his watch, but after that, the battlefield was uncomfortably silent. Leaning forward, he extended his leather-clad hands and took hold of the wall. As he looked down the clearing, he noticed something peculiar.
An armor-clad knight walked out of the forest. Slowly. The sun reflected off of parts of the knight’s armor, and it appeared as if he was no worse for the wear. It stopped, and looked above and about the walls that comprised the outer layer of Silvermoon City’s defenses, as if searching for something out of curiosity. Kelanar narrowed his eyes.
“Those are Alliance colors,” he thought to himself. “Why is he not running into the city to join the ranks?”
Kelanar reached for the spyglass, tightened his grip upon it, and immediately brought it to his right eye. He focused upon the knight in an attempt to discern its identity, assuming that it was probably some new recruit who was exhausted from retreating back to the city in full plate armor. Perhaps his hawkstrider was slain amidst the battle and he narrowly escaped the slaughter?
As the lens centered upon the knight, it looked his direction, as if he could detect Kelanar’s lens. This gave the ranger pause, and he lowered the spyglass a moment before raising it to his eye once more. The Knight was looking directly at him.
“Who are you,” thought Kelanar, “and why are you loitering about as opposed to moving forward and-”
It was then that the knight removed its helmet, revealing the face of a freshly slain Quel’dorei man. Blood ran down his face. The life that was supposed to be in his eyes had faded and gone away. Kelanar swallowed.
“He…. I know… knew him,” he thought. “I saw him practicing swordplay in the Farstrider’s square….”
The knight smiled wickedly up at the Ranger. He raised an index finger up at Kelanar and mouthed out the word “You…” With that, the undead knight took the same finger and drew it across his own neck, offering a terrible smile. And instantly, others began to join him.
A woman wearing a beautiful gown walked forward to join the undead Knight. It would have been quite the fashionable garb if it weren’t drenched in blood.
Then another- a blacksmith that Kelanar knew resided in Fairbreeze. His own sword was imbedded in his chest. Many others joined, and a crowd of slain elves began to walk their way towards the city, their once-azure eyes dim and lifeless.
Kelanar’s eyes widened in horror. All of them. The people who lived all across Quel’Thalas, from the outer limits of the city to Tranquilien, were now approaching their own city to slay their kin. Kelanar watched the lush green grassy grounds below them become defiled with each step forward… creating something in the land that began to look like…
“STEEL YOURSELVES, MEN!” cried Kelanar to the soldiers down below. “THEY ARE YOUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS NO LONGER!!”
Of course, he thought. What better way to disrupt the front line than to send freshly slain elves to the front of the city? Sick, malevolent bastard…
It was at that very moment that the dead sprang their way through the forests of Quel’Thalas and began to assault the perimeter of Silvermoon. There were countless corpses in this terrifying army, and Kelanar watched the initial wave surge forth directly toward the center of the city and spill over the infantry below. The knight that just menacingly pointed at him began to advance toward the eastern entrance, and was suddenly joined by more skeletons and ghouls. The speed at which they advanced was uncanny, and the screams of dying soldiers immediately rose to the Ranger’s ears. He witnessed hordes of corpses tearing into his fellow elves below as if their existence were an insult. Only one ballista was able to fire, and Kelanar could not confirm if it hit its mark due to the cover of the trees obstructing his view. Horrified, he ran towards the eastern entrance and shouted down to the Knights and Magisters assembled for war.
“THE LICH KING IS UPON US!!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “FIGHT FOR YOUR LIVES!!”
In response to his words, the soldiers formed a wall of shields, swords and spears and stood in wait. The group of Magisters entered into their casting stances, and looked toward the eastern entrance of Silvermoon city with a mix of determination and fear written across their faces. Kelanar stood there a moment to confirm that they were ready, and then drew an arrow from his quiver. Running back and nocking the arrow upon his bow, he began to aim towards the undead amassing below at the center of the perimeter wall.
Without warning, the first volley of the meatwagons struck the center of the perimeter wall of the City. The dead paused, surveying their surroundings, and then began to crawl through, tearing at the new opening to widen it. Kelanar’s browed furrowed as he looked just beyond the tip of his arrow to let one fly. He let go, and it struck one of the dead. It turned around and snarled up at him, and then instantly crawled into the opening.
(The center of the city… that is not toward the Palace, where do they mean to…)
Kelanar swallowed as he made his realization. The Sunwell. They were heading towards the Sunwell.
Kelanar turned and yelled over to the side. ”THEY HAVE BREACHED THE WALL!!” He turned again to nock another arrow, and draw it back. “STEM THE TIDE, STEM THE TI-”
A direct impact from the meatwagons landed and shook the platform where Kelanar stood. The mixture of debris and dead bodies surged forward and tore him in half.
All of him would fall into the city streets beyond the entrance. It was about a four second fall until he fell into a wagon. The impact was noticed by the knights on the front line, but they had no time to react. The dead were making their way around both avenues of the entrance to their city and they rushed forward to fight.
Meanwhile, Corbin Frostblade had been spending this time perusing through his memories, thinking of all the different ways that he had spent his life. His wifes hand was in his as they stood by the inn. The rush of images went through his mind, searching his soul for happiness in an effort to calm it. He was always so consumed with ambassadorial endeavors, and training, keeping up with things going on in the capital. Then coming home, trying to be a good father. Playing and laughing with his twin boys when he could get the chance. And even before all that… learning how to channel magic. And a chance meeting outside the Court of the Sun, where he had met the love of his life. Mariannah, like him, was a lover of her craft and channeled magic even if it wasn’t necessary. There she was, looking absolutely captivating, an orb of ice magic hovering in her hand. Toying with it. Almost to show off.
He gathered the courage to walk up to her, and struck up a conversation. To his astonishment, the chemistry was there. They spent every day together since. From friends, to lovers… to her revealing that she was pregnant. To the surprise of both of them–twin boys!
The fates were kind to him. It had now been years. It was so strange how the time just flew… now their boys were grown. One was troubled, but the other showed much promise. And now here they were… in this time, waiting for word, waiting for something…
And all of these pleasantly distracting thoughts dissipated with the impact of the meatwagon’s delivery and Kelanar’s body fall from the wall to the street. Corbin looked towards Kelanar’s remains, and then looked towards the entrance where the fight was beginning. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed.
Death comes for us, he thought. Very well. Let us not make it -convenient- for it.
“Corbin?!” Mariannah Frostblade said with a tremble. Her husband was unbelievably stoic through all of this. He looked at her in response, his expression a sad smile. It was all he could offer her given the circumstances.
“Dalah sur’fal…” he began. “I want you to know… that I loved you since the day I first saw you.”
“Corbin!…” she returned in her small voice. There was a lump in her throat.
His eyes turned toward the front where the Knights were engaging the undead. He could see their faces and features, and that they belonged to Quel’dorei. “Let us show them how the mages of Silvermoon defend their home, yes?”
She nodded and swallowed, and raised a hand, summoning ice magic in her hand. “By your lead.” The image of her doing so gave him what he needed. It was the same thing that drew him to her the very day they met in the Court of the Sun.
Meanwhile, on the precipice, Dariusz Frostblade’s breathing was shallow and soundless. The pain was no longer a needle. It was a sword. He could barely move his mouth. Both of his hands clutched upon the fel-crystal tightly, which was now glowing more vibrantly than ever.
“Why… are you showing me this… ” asked the Magister, virtually soundless.
(Because you deserve to suffer.)
