Trying Times

BY : Parthe
Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft
Dragon prints: 2148
Disclaimer: I dont own World of Warcraft or anything trademarked by Blizzard that appears in this Fiction, Only thing I own are my OC's. I dont make any Money from this Fiction, nor would I want to.

 

 

 

 

I open the Book, taking out a quill with my right hand before inserting it in the Ink, giving a quiet sigh I open the first page, no content's seem to be written there.
'I write these Chapters as a reminder of who I was, who I am and in the future to look what I turned into over the Weeks, Years maybe Centuries of my Fight for the Order.'

6 Years Before Present Time

My Plate boots sink into the morass of the Eastern Plaguelands, Hammer held loosely in my Hand, my comrades in arms to all my sides.
Somewhere along the lines of the Patrol I'm part of someone complains about the smell and as always in these parts I tend to agree with him on that.


Of course we were all nervous, the Plaguelands were still full of Undead and Scarlet Fanatics trying to do their own thing, the Argent Dawn was just a little Order with a comparatively small hold here.
My free, left hand comes up to my neck rubbing it lightly before I go back to my thoughts, coming from the Shattered Draenor as a Paladin on the Exodar I quickly joined up with the like minded Dawn, then I got contacted by another Order, seemingly far more secretive but with goals just as noble if not more so, I recently joined with them as a small side thing aswell barely even an Initiate in their midst.

Suddenly a crunch is heard troughout this fetid cesspool of Plague Forest, a breaking stick most likely rotten trough to the Core, everyone perks up on edge, I grip my Hammer a little harder my eyes roving everywhere, taking in all sights, then another... another and another in rapid succession, something is approaching and the others take up defensive formations, side to side, shield to shield.

A deathly, sickeningly sweet smell wafts our way and then everything turned into pure chaos.
Plague Zombies, Skeletons and other scourge minions came rushing out of the Forest as fast as they could, the mass of Argent Soldiers surging forward to meet them in battle, my Hammer soon found targets, smashing heads into a pulp, bodies into oblivion, a few of my Argent colleagues fall, most likely soon to join the undead hordes that are seemingly endlessly pressing against our shield wall, my hope gets supressed but is soon lit again as the light surges trough me.

I barely even notice the man to my left falling without a head from a blow by a mounted Knight, ice blue eyes fixating on me as he turns his steed, he is armored in a bulky saronite plate armor, a clearly failed try at emulating my own Paladin Armor.

I turn, Men falling around me, my Hammer splitting another Undead's head on a return swing before I fully face the Death Knight, he rams his spur's into the steed's side, it rears and quickly speeds towards me, pulling the Hammer back into a strike, I let it loose as I step out of the Way, the Light coursing trough my Veins as Wings sprout from my back, the Knight gets lifted out of his saddle, Breastplate dented and I'm rewarded with a loud "Oomph" as I both take out the Air in his Lungs and he falls to the ground.

I use the full turn to smash a Skeleton next to me, my body not even realizing the pain of the hit I took, an arrow clearly sticking out of my Calf, my movements are barely slowed as the Light pulls trough, strengthening my Body beyond normal Draeneic limits.

A loud roar is emitted from my Lips "FEEL MY WRATH YOU UNHOLY CREATIONS!" fighting like a wild berserker I seem to be the last one standing from the Patrol, Wings glowing ever brighter as I almost feel as if the Light itself chose me as its Champion,a burning sensation spreading trough my body, which I was sure was the Light unleashing its true potential, my sight started to grey and that's when I noticed that something might be wrong, the Wings vanish... suddenly the Light itself seems to be gone, "No....W...Where is...." I pant out, my eyes wandering down my body to the tip of the Death Knights runed Broadsword sticking out of my chest, where my Lung would be, I let out a hacking cough, falling into the swamp face first as if in a lover's embrace.

Foul tasting liquid enters my mouth as the Sword is pulled out, surely this fetid forests with its sicknesses already seeps into the large wound, I barely feel the kick into my side the Knight gives me before leaving me to die.

My Mind runs rampant with theories why the Light would forsake me, everyone always told me it would safe me in desperate Times, clearly it did not, a sob tries to leave my mouth but doesn't get past any of the swallowed Liquid...

Hope turned into despair, despair turned into pure hate as my Eyes open... At first I'm confused why my Eyes were even able to be opened, then I was confused why my skin took such on such a pale complexion.

'Was it all a Dream?' I ask myself in my mind, my eyes wander up the unnatural seeming room with its open spaces and clash of Blades, clash of Hammers on Anvils and all kinds of other sorts, My mind reasserts itself but the burning hate against the Light stays.

'Why did it forsake me?', 'Why did everyone of my Trainers lie to me, all the Older Paladin telling stories of valour and glory in battle?' All these were questions in my Head, flittering around, desperately searching for an answer but never finding one.

A deep, gravely Voice sounds out right infront of me and my eyes fix up, actually looking at my surroundings, skulls everywhere, the same deathly sweet smell as in the Plaguelands, the Man infront of me is a true giant in Saronite Plate Armor, white hair falling trough his almost handsome face.

"Slyronia... You were a Paladin... You fought like a true champion of the Light and still it abandoned you, ignored your pleas in your time of need.... There is a different choice though, follow me... follow me into eternity."

I barely even needed time to think before kneeling willingly infront of Arthas, my Head bowed and my mouth set into a rictus grin... Some of the ones raised alongside me needed to be forced to work for the scourge but not me... no... The naive, young Draenei died in the Plaguelands.
Thus I gave myself willingly to the Scourge, championing the cause of the Lich King, taking up my new Runeblade I cut apart the haft of my Hammer, throwing it over the walls of Acherus, my new home..

 


Present Time

I close the book again, my Hands trembling as I put the Quill aside, leaning back into the padded chair I quickly stow the Book away into my travel Pack, Pick up my Blade before heading out to fight another tiring day at the Coast.

 



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