Ficlet: Where Kings Walk
This was my entry for the Midsummer Night’s RP writing contest sponsored by LoreCrafted, Too Many Annas, and WTT:RP. It references Where Kings Walk, the final quest in the death knight starting quest chain, and it is set just before the events you’ve read about in the series “From Beyond, She Comes.”
Since it didn’t accomplish what I hoped it would, I am humbly requesting feedback on this one. The good, the bad, and the ugly – bring it, yo. I’d like to know what needs to be improved so I can be more awesome in the future. And trust me, you don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings; I have a thick skin. ;)
Serreina Nightfury stood at the edge of the pier, gazing out across the sea. To the north, across the frozen sea, lay the harsh, unwelcoming continent of Northrend – the home of the Scourge.
The home of the Lich King.
Her jaw tightened; her hands curled into fists at her side. She thought about the letter from Fordring, the letter that had saved her life, such as it was. Its words were forever burned into her memory; bits of the text floated through her mind now.
The soul of a champion. Former hero of the Alliance. Knights of the Ebon Blade … turned against their former master. The end of the Scourge. Blood and honor.
A champion. A hero. Honor.
Serreina laughed. A champion? Oh, yes, some champion she was – raised into the service of the very enemy at whose hands she had died, proud servant to a master who had turned out to be treacherous to the core. A hero? She had died a fool’s death, having failed to pay attention to what approached from behind – she could still see her sisters fall, the enemy sword protruding from her chest, the expressions of horror on the faces of her own husband, son, and daughter as they watched her die. A fleeting glimpse of the demons bearing down on her beloved family as she fell into death.
And honor …
She knelt down and drew Sorrowblade from its sheath, her eyes fixed on the runes etched along its length. These were runes of death and pain and blood, designed to torture and maim and destroy the enemies of the Scourge and draw their souls into the very blade that had killed them. The runeblade had been and still was an extension of her own body and soul; even now it remained inextricably linked to her, constantly whispering, constantly hungering, constantly desiring the blood of its foes.
As a priestess of Elune, yes, she had been a woman of honor. As a death knight, she was the cruelest of killers – cold, heartless, merciless, unrepentant. There was no honor in this. Blood, yes. Honor, no.
Rising, Serreina turned her gaze once again toward Northrend. Was that her goal now? Was that her purpose? To destroy the Scouge and end the Lich King’s reign – that was the stated purpose of the Knights of the Ebon Blade, was it not? But if that was her purpose, then why did she feel so cold and empty? Had the Lich King’s control really changed her so much? Was she truly so damaged?
Serreina stared across the sea for a moment longer; then, with a sigh, she forced herself to turn away. A champion, a hero, a woman of honor … perhaps one day, she would be these things again.
But not yet. She would take care of personal business first, perhaps prove herself in other battlefields; then maybe – maybe – she would join the fight in Northrend.
She took a deep breath, slipped Sorrowblade back into its sheath, and began the walk back to Stormwind.