User:Peregrine2976/Fanfiction/Call of the Lich King

Lord Errant signalled to the archers positioned within the trees - he had glimpsed the enemy bearing down upon their position. The archers, their keen eyes noting his subtle hand gestures, nodded and readied their bows.

Errant briefly allowed his eyes to wander over them. Dressed in greenish hues, the humans and elves were barely discernible from the surrounding foliage. Veterans, every one of them, their eyes warily sought the enemy down below. Bows were taught, arrows ready, eyes narrowed.

Lord Errant briefly wondered about the sanity of this plan. The war upon the Undead Scourge was not going well, he knew, and he knew also what these rangers did not: that this was essentially a suicide mission. A company of rangers against a dozen battalions of scourge? Impossible. And yet, he knew, he would kill as many as he could before the end. These... monsters had just come from his own home, Tarren Mill, which was why he had agreed to lead this desperate mission in the first place.

Frowning, he pulled himself out of his memories. He had to remain completely alert if he wanted to take some of these undead with him. Straining his ears, he caught a faint sound: marching feet. Noting the archer's strained faces and white hands, he deduced two things: One, that they too had heard the marching, and two, perhaps they knew more about the nature of this plan than he thought.

Perhaps he was not the only one present who had lost family in Tarren Mill. The marching drew closer.

Now the tips of helmets could be seen, the points of swords and spears, the glint of the fast-fading sun off metal breastplates.

"Prepare yourselves," came his whispered command.

An unnecessary command, but one that he gave automatically all the same. The marching was now thunderous, right below them. Straining to see below, Errant beheld a sight that would remain etched in his memory for the rest of his mortal life.

Thousands of Scourge, perhaps even millions. And at their head...

"Arthas," he spat.

The traitorous former prince of Lordaeron rode proudly in his seat, as though he were king of the world and not the scumbag he actually was. His cloak was wrapped around him, the wind carrying it ahead of him as he rode. It barely concealed his sword... a glint of icy metallic blue glared in Errant's vision, much brighter than it should be. He seemed to hear whispering in his mind, and at that very moment, Arthas held up his hand, commanding a halt.

The marching faded.

Slowly turning, Arthas looked into the trees, straight at Errant. He felt his blood run cold.

"Fire!" he screamed shrilly, all pretense of stealth forgotten. The rangers began to fire arrows at a fast rate.

But it was no good. The horde of undead advanced upon their position, and Errant was forced to watch as, one by one, all the brave souls under his command were killed. As the undead advanced upon him last, he heard an icy cold voice, echoing as though from the depths of vast crevasse:

"No."

The undead pasued in their reckless charge. Errant continued to chop at his former attackers, however.

"Bring him to me."

His sword was dragged from his grasp. He continued to punch and kick, for what good it did him. Inexorably firm hands gripped his arms, and dragged him towards...

Arthas.

They reached Arthas. The Prince looked down at him, and slowly drew his sword, Frostmourne. Errant faced his death.

He did not, however, die.

Arthas channeled power into the sword, and created in midair, another sword. Grasping the blade of this new weapon, he slowly reached out and touched Errant's forehead with the hilt.

Pain unimaginable coursed through Errant's body, and flashing, pulsing blue light surrounded him. When the light cleared, his hair, previously a light brown, had turned white as snow. His face was devoid of humanity.



Slowly, tremblingly, Errant reached out and took his sword, which he instinctively knew was called Bloodshadow, and took it from the hand of his glorious master.

"Now rise, Death Knight, and tell me your name."

Rising up to his feet, the new servant of the Lich King slowly smiled, maliciously, and spoke a single word.

"Frostblight."

Part Two --->