Aegnas: So Cold
((Really, I had this on repeat the entire time I wrote this. You’ve heard it a million times, but it fits. Also, some gore under the cut.))
In my mind’s eye I can see the smoke rising from the Spires. I can feel the City itself shake as we continue the assault. I can smell the sweet smell of battle, of the piled dead rotting in the sun. My deathcharger’s hooves are thunderous on the cobblestones as I survey the scene, the days-old carnage from my Master’s assault. Graceful towers have toppled to the street, and pinned under them I can see those too slow to escape. Dead now, many showing signs of having fed the ghouls’ hunger.
Silvermoon City burns under our assault. I ride the streets slowly. A surprising number of the Quel’dorei thought they could escape my Master’s fury. They are shown differently. Women. Children. None escape us. I remember the crunch of bone under my deathcharger’s hooves.
I remember Silvermoon City in ruins. Her inhabitants scattered to the wind. We, my new undead brothers and I, chase these Quel’dorei as they flee. Their magisters try to set us aflame. Their Farstriders try to shoot us. They command their pets to attack. We are a legion with the Endless Hunger driving us on.
I remember well the taste of Quel’dorei flesh and blood.
Ironic, then, that now I pursue Quel’dorei across the jungles and ruins of this Isle. I can practically taste their fear on the wind, and it’s a smell I haven’t truly savored since my Master first led me against Quel’Thalas, all those years ago. I have been greedy, eager for those last survivors of my Master’s fury.
The mace in my hand is the same one I held, all those years ago in Silvermoon City. Perhaps it isn’t so curious that this mace is so much more powerful than the weapons I’ve tried to create for myself. None of the others have participated in wholesale slaughter. Not of that grand a scale. Blood ran in rivulets down the street.
I fancy I see a magister or two among the Sunreavers who look at me warily. Perhaps they do. After all, these Sin’dorei are survivors as well. And I with my mace, I am memorable. I have always been so worried about the Ebon Blade or the Argent Crusade remembering me from the Citadel, remembering that I was one of the Lich King’s champions, opposing their advance on his stronghold. I didn’t think to wonder how many Sin’dorei remember me from the destruction of their City.
It gives me shivers just thinking of it.
Mmm, I am enjoying this campaign far too much. It isn’t a slaughter, as war at the Master’s side was, but it is satisfying nonetheless. I am eager to continue, to see what the Thunder King is hiding, but even more, to wipe the Quel’dorei from this island. That the Regent-Lord of Quel’Thalas wants the destruction of these Quel’dorei, the same as my Master did, is amusing and gratifying at once.
We’ll see if it continues. For now, I hunt Traejan. As much as I am pleased by his new, ruthless attitude, cutting down the living that he seemed so attached to, I can’t help but think he is being used by the Forsaken woman and the death knight that Rosefica tells me about. That can’t be allowed.
And I’ll have the opportunity to grind his face into the dirt, as I’ve wanted to do for a while. Always before, I’ve had to stay my hand or be careful not to hurt someone. Thistle. Rosefica. With just the two of us, I can show him what it means to be one of His guards.
I am not Solandis, after all. I will not be fought to a standstill.
In my mind’s eye I can see the smoke rising from the Spires. I can feel the City itself shake as we continue the assault. I can smell the sweet smell of battle, of the piled dead rotting in the sun. My deathcharger’s hooves are thunderous on the cobblestones as I survey the scene, the days-old carnage from my Master’s assault. Graceful towers have toppled to the street, and pinned under them I can see those too slow to escape. Dead now, many showing signs of having fed the ghouls’ hunger.
Silvermoon City burns under our assault. I ride the streets slowly. A surprising number of the Quel’dorei thought they could escape my Master’s fury. They are shown differently. Women. Children. None escape us. I remember the crunch of bone under my deathcharger’s hooves.
I remember Silvermoon City in ruins. Her inhabitants scattered to the wind. We, my new undead brothers and I, chase these Quel’dorei as they flee. Their magisters try to set us aflame. Their Farstriders try to shoot us. They command their pets to attack. We are a legion with the Endless Hunger driving us on.
I remember well the taste of Quel’dorei flesh and blood.
Ironic, then, that now I pursue Quel’dorei across the jungles and ruins of this Isle. I can practically taste their fear on the wind, and it’s a smell I haven’t truly savored since my Master first led me against Quel’Thalas, all those years ago. I have been greedy, eager for those last survivors of my Master’s fury.
The mace in my hand is the same one I held, all those years ago in Silvermoon City. Perhaps it isn’t so curious that this mace is so much more powerful than the weapons I’ve tried to create for myself. None of the others have participated in wholesale slaughter. Not of that grand a scale. Blood ran in rivulets down the street.
I fancy I see a magister or two among the Sunreavers who look at me warily. Perhaps they do. After all, these Sin’dorei are survivors as well. And I with my mace, I am memorable. I have always been so worried about the Ebon Blade or the Argent Crusade remembering me from the Citadel, remembering that I was one of the Lich King’s champions, opposing their advance on his stronghold. I didn’t think to wonder how many Sin’dorei remember me from the destruction of their City.
It gives me shivers just thinking of it.
Mmm, I am enjoying this campaign far too much. It isn’t a slaughter, as war at the Master’s side was, but it is satisfying nonetheless. I am eager to continue, to see what the Thunder King is hiding, but even more, to wipe the Quel’dorei from this island. That the Regent-Lord of Quel’Thalas wants the destruction of these Quel’dorei, the same as my Master did, is amusing and gratifying at once.
We’ll see if it continues. For now, I hunt Traejan. As much as I am pleased by his new, ruthless attitude, cutting down the living that he seemed so attached to, I can’t help but think he is being used by the Forsaken woman and the death knight that Rosefica tells me about. That can’t be allowed.
And I’ll have the opportunity to grind his face into the dirt, as I’ve wanted to do for a while. Always before, I’ve had to stay my hand or be careful not to hurt someone. Thistle. Rosefica. With just the two of us, I can show him what it means to be one of His guards.
I am not Solandis, after all. I will not be fought to a standstill.