The Lich King

Meeting Eroe

The linen cloth from my mothers dress draped my left arm, my weapon arm. I trudged along the dirt path towards the nearest village, exhausted from slaying more undead soldiers. It seemed anymore they poured from every piece of land, from every cave and every grave they swarmed. The Lich King’s hold was growing faster and bigger each day, one man could only protect so much land. Years had passed since the first undead invasion, when they invaded my home land of Quel’thalas and slain my family.

    A hand burst out of the dirt before me, grabbing onto the ground and pulling itself up. I drew my silver longsword, my fathers old sword, and sliced the hand off, then thrusting my sword into the ground and skull of the zombie attempting to rise. I pulled my sword from the ground and sheathed it once more, continuing on my way to the village.

    A strange smell wafted under my nose. I slowly and carefully took a smell, smoke.

    Something’s burning. I thought to myself.

    I turned towards where the village lay, a bright light shimmering from its location. I quickly drew my sword and began sprinting across the ground towards the burning village.

    As I neared the village, the screams of terrorized citizens pierced the sky. Blood stains and broken bones laid strewn across the ground, undead warriors marching door to door, slaying citizens and raising them as new warriors.

    Time for my work to begin. I thought boringly.

    The warriors began taking notice to my slow advance upon them, slaying ghouls and undead as I cleared through the village. A knight sat mounted on a fiery green horse, a long black sword in his hand, his face hidden by a black plate helm.

    “Paladin!” He shouted menacingly and deep. “You die today, for the Lich King!”

    He motioned his sword forward, sending the army of undead towards me. A smile slowly grew across my face, as if I hadn’t fought and killed higher ranking generals of the Lich King’s army already. Ghouls began charging me, I lifted my silvered longsword into an offensive stance, striking across and down through every ghoul. Their wails punctured my ears, the screams of citizens echoing through my mind, the screams of my mother and father as they were slain by the Lich King’s highest general. In a burst of golden holy light, the ghouls disintegrated to ash, leaving only the mounted knight with his black sword.

    “Ghouls, warriors, zombies, ghosts, I don’t care what you throw at me, I’m not dying.” I said confidently.

    The knight dismounted and let his blood cape fall from his shoulders to the ground. He slowly readied his sword and glared angrily at me.

    “I’m a Death Knight.” He said. “Far stronger than any ghoul, any undead warrior, you’ll die paladin.”

    Simultaneously, we charged each other, blades ready for striking and parrying, and our swords clashed together. His sword left mine struck with a scratch and a chipped hilt, mine leaving in perfect condition. I turned and struck again, the Death Knight flipping his sword around and parrying without turning. Back handing his sword, he turned and rushed his sword diagonally, I quickly transitioned my sword to his, parrying his attack once more, chipping away at his blade. He lifted his sword high in the air in anger, and as my master had taught me, I shoved my sword through his armor and into his heart, piercing through the back of his armor.

He stood for a moment, sword still raised, arms ready, then buckling, shifting slightly, and collapsing to the ground. I salvaged the remaining metal from his sword, placing it in my rucksack, and continuing to clear the village.

When I reached the church in the back of the village, it was a blazing mess, a couple of Death Knights circling the church, screams of trapped priests and worshippers trapped inside sliding out. In desperation, I burst through the front door to the church which had been trapped by a fallen statue of god. People all around me, men, women, children, began rushing out of the now-open door. I heard more shrieks of terror as the two Death Knights awaited for the lambs to come to their slaughter. A short woman with short red hair placed her hands on my chest, tears streaming down her face. Her face was sweet, light, cheerful and devoted, but now terrified.