I'm just begining to write some parts of Althalos's past for fun, and well, as always I doubt my writing skills and such, and only hope that this would be good and entertaining to read. And well, mostly I'm always afraid to begin writing because I feel like there has to be much planning, and I have to spend much time thinking and coming up with the right format and words, etc etc. Like sometimes, I always feel like I get blocked or paused, because I have to be certain that what I'm doing is right, but now I'm trying a rather different approach, and that is to write anything which comes into my mind straight away and not to ponder much. So... here's hoping it would be good. Have fun, hopefully. 
(( When Althalos is recalling the past, it took place before our return to Lordaeron, in Zul'drak. ))----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He stood upon the edge of the balcony, his right hand clutched upon the crimson hilt of his runeblade. The wind was howling upon that night, flickers of snow and ice flowing through the mists of Zul'drak, as the echoes of thunder and lightning reached the Nazahnen from the north west; the echoes of Icecrown.
He turned to the west, peering into the distance over the high peaked frozen mountains, and could barely take a glimpse of the towering saronite citadels.. the citadels of his Master's empire. The sharp edge of his runeblade was pressed against the rough, solid surface of the balcony as he lowered his runeblade to the ground and raised the crimson, green helmet held from the palm of his left hand; frostings hanging over the edges of the rusted saronite, as a deep dent is made across the right eye socket of the helmet. He pulled his gaze away from the west, and peered into the eye sockets of what he once wore... he peered into the past.
Armies, large and far as the eye can see. The clattering of steel and flesh echoing through the great glacier plains of Icecrown. They stood before the great Citadel of
he whom they swore to serve, waiting eagerly to greet those whom dare to tresspass upon the hollowed grounds of their King. Gargoyles hovering above through the icy winds of Northrend, abominations standing atop the great peninsulas peering down upon the plains of the Citadel's threshold, Nerubians scattered across the frozen saronite grounds side by side to the large skeletal figures, holding weapons of devastation in hand as their foot steps rumble across the valley. And a vast army of undead; ghouls, skeletons and cultists standing upon the narrow streak of solid land, Corp'rethar the Horror Gate ahead of them in the distance, while the great Citadel of the Dark Lord towers behind them into the chilled skies above.
They all stood eagerly, silent and relentless, peering ahead as if the angel of death itself is to be unleashed upon those whose time has come to an end. But they were waiting, waiting for the Dark Knights atop the Shadow Steeds to lead them to war, brute cruel war... But perhaps war is the wrong term to describe what these Dark Guardians were craving for, for war depicts that both sides have equal chances of victory... but for these shadows of the past, the Riders of the Apocalypse... the Disciples of the one, true King... failure was not an option; they are to deliver death, and deliver it they shall.. for they will live up to their existance; Death Knights of the Lich King.
Yes, this was the great war of the Frozen Wastes, and he remembers it as if it only occured yesterday. He remembers gazing upon that flicker of light gathering before the Horror Gate, the folly of all races intertwining upon one location, seeking to bring judgement upon the damned. With a echoes of a few words reaching him through the howling winds, as he peered upon the enroaching assault, the mortals cheered and roared, the horns and battle cries of war thundering through the great large Gate; it was as if following only a mere utter of a chain of words, they plunged into an odd sensation, a feeling of ecstasy as they marched forward with their spirits and courage bolstered, their heads held high as they strived ahead for justice and hope.
Are they truely that naieve, he thought to himself? He never ceased to be amused by the dogma mortals tend to follow... for only by recieving a few words that would provide them with the "positive" emotions they so soughtly desire, they lock away reality and shroud their vision with an illusion.. treading so obliviousely forward, living in a dream as they are unaware that their logic and reason has been faltered. To uphold their faith to their beliefs, they tread so blindly ahead to prove to themselves that the mis-conceptions they follow is true, that their "light" and "justice" will prevail. But yet, one thing remains certain; it is nothing but futile and irrelevant segments of their imagination. No manner of faith nor belief has any effect upon the reality which awaits them, upon what they tread to. Their words and recitations affect only them, it bolsters only that weak fragile shells they are bound to, for words, ethics, law, beleifs, faith and all manner of mortal dogma is hindered useless against the physical manifestation of what awaits them. The only difference it would conjure, is that they would only welcome the inevitibility which awaits them with a "smile" drawn upon their faces, that they would so foolishly greet what is gazing right upon them.... death.
"What do you see, brother?" spoke the woman clad in dark, violet armour, to the kneeling man peering into the distance upon the bridge they were standing on.
"They are on their way here... the Ebon Blade and the Argent Crusade. They must have discovered this opening into the citadel." responded the man, as he rose, his eyes gleaming as he severed the connection he had with the shade he sent forth.
These Death Knights were different than the ones standing down below in the valley, they were similiar to himself.. Ashen Knights of Lordaeron. Their skeletal steeds endowed with long, blue cloaks as the shields upon each of their sides, symbolised with a skull, is pierced into the very bones of the Deathchargers while frozen gusts of chill air swirls around their skeletal figure. They were three Knights, including himself, amids't the many undead forces and other Death Knights gathered and scattered around that bridge which lead through a gap into the Citadel.
"Should we intercept their forces, Amelia?" continued the man.
"No, Sadon. I have informed our Captains of this... and it is yet not news to them. But our orders are clear.. none may disrupt the Master's Chamber. We will demolish the assault. It is only through death, that one may gain an audience with the Dark Lord." responded Amelia, as she turned her gaze from him, and peered upon Althalos. "Althalos." she spoke, as she nodded once.
Althalos nodded back, and raised his runeblade into the air, a rune consuming, and momentarily frigid cold winds surrounded the three. Sadon steered his steed next to him, and pointed his blade forward as a contingent of ghouls surrounded the three. Amelia stood between the two on the ground, her steed next to her. She withdrew her blade, a blood rune consuming as the very aura around her turns red, as if affecting the two and empowering them. She mumbles lowly to herself "Blood will flow...".
And upon that bridge, within the army standing ready, two more groups of Death Knights, amids't the many, followed the actions of what Althalos and his comrades have done. These nine Death Knights stood in a line running from one edge of the bridge to the other, each upon their steed, with the two gaps between the three groups only to be filled by all variations of undead littering those battlegrounds. A Death Knight rode forth from the citadel opening, past the line of the defensive march, and stood ahead of the Death Knights. He held a runeblade, a crimson axe illuminated by green runic lights through the carved runes upon that blade. In silence, they stood relentlessly, each gazing ahead. All that could be heard, was the rumbling steps of the enroaching assault, the howling winds of the north and the mindless growls of the living dead.
Suddenly, a war horn is sounded, followed by the sounds of war cries and roars as the mortals charged forward from the distance, straight ahead into the armies of undead. From the distance, one would see a wave of light rushing forward, attempting to pierce the everlasting darkness which loomed over the bridge.
"For the Light!"
"For Lordaeron!"
"For the Alliance! For the Argent Crusade! For Justice!!!"
They charged forward, the clash of steel with flesh, steeds with pikes, the light with the darkness. The thundering sound of battle echoed through the valley, but only to be interfered with the echoes of the armies clashing down before the Citadel. They all attacked at once, the Argent Crusaders holding their flags high, upon their steeds galloping into the vast army of ghouls and undead, both in the valley and upon that bridge, side by side with the traitorous Ebon Blade.
"Vengeance! Is now! Go forth, Knights of Acherus! The Lich King will answer to retribution! Ashes to Ashes!"
"For Acherus! For the Ebon Blade!"
"By the command of the Highlord!"
He peered silently across the battlefield, gazing upon the light washing over the armies of the dead, the fires raging across the vast battalions of ghouls, the echoes of a blade piercing into the abdomen of an abomination and the glaives clashing agains't the solid saronite of the dark structures of Icecrown. The assault was moving in with each minute, their cavalary carving a path through the bridge, similiar with those rushing through the valley to the great gates. Despite the sudden charge, despite the bolstered onslaught of "justice"... with every moment.. the light piercing through the darkness was diminshed. The more they tried, the more the dying screams of the living echoed through the great valley.
Upon the bridge, Althalos, and his brethren, remained unmoved, immutable and disciplined. With one hand clutched around the hilts of their blades while the other grasping the reins of their steeds, the frigid frozen winds around them swirls and howls, unholy energies circulate through their vicinity as the dead grew frenzier with each passing second. They peered ahead, with such devotion of silence and staunch. Unwavering, the runic energies flowing around the blades of death dissipate and slowly encase the sharp steel with the divine gifts each Knight has induldged in; unholy, blood and frost. And as their vampiric blades are empowered, one could see the steel itself shaking and echoing the lament of the souls within... their languish of suffering, with the Death Knights growing restless to the desires of the sentient being which they hold, but yet they wait. Their death steeds neigh and growl, eager to rush forward and carve a path of destruction while leaving only blood and anguish upon this death march, but yet the Ashen Knights remain resolute in patience... patience to hear only one command, one order, one will....
Show them no mercy....And instantly, the undead roar and growl, the frostwyrm horns bellow through the bridge as the eyes of each Death Knight glows and gleams deeply while they pull the reins of their steeds, each Deathcharger rearing upwards as they hollowly neigh furiosely. Raising the blades of death high into the air, the Death Knights release a surge of energy which permeats through the defensive line. The captain rears up his steed to the right, gazing backwards at his Ashen Knights.
"Ashen Knights of Lordaeron! Gaze upon those whom dare to tread so foolishly upon the sacred grounds of Icecrown! Do you not notice the dread? The terror which runs down their spines? The bitter, frozen chill of despair touching the very essence of their being? Do you not recall the spectre of death which envelopes their weak, frail shells and scours the very humanity within from existance?" The Captain yells echoingly as he turns his steed frontward again, pointing his runeblade forward. "Chaos rides my brothers and sisters..... SIEZE THE REINS YET AGAIN!!".
And as one, they charged.
"By the Might of the Lich King!"
"Havoc calls, and we answer! For the Scourge!"
"Ravage the Living!"
"Upon the Dark Lord's empire, humanity ceases to exist! Purge this frailty we lay our eyes upon! Peer into the souls of each mortal, and rip it out!"
The roars reverberated across the bridge to the very mortals themselves, each sound striking the very fear of death into the hearts of each enroacher. And upon this death march, for a mere moment, he closed his eyes.
For you, my King.... For your Lordaeron...He opened his eyes abruptly and instantly, his piercing gaze peering ahead as he roars with such anger and hatred. The paceful, quick loud rumbling of hoofs travelling across the sturdy saronite ground as the contingent of Death Knights galloped forth, utterly determined and devoted to deliver his judgement and will. Through only his dark command, they are bound to nothing, restrained by nothing. All manner of barriers will combust and twist before them until it is fractured and impaired. All manner of boundaries and shackles are hindered useless beneath his shadow, for no desire mattered. No conjecture, intuition nor surmise mattered, for there is only one law, one judgement, one fate;
his will. And through
his guidance, they prospered and basked in glory, every desire they could have attained as mortals would prove to be futile and pointless because as divine beings, as his disciples, the desires they sate and achieve transcends all that a mortal is limited to. Their power is unfathomable.. and it is only through
his will, that illumination, dominance and victory is achieved. Nothing will stand in their way, for death itself will not stop them... it never stopped himself.
And as one wave of mass desolation and oblivion, a force of darkness and death strides forward, swarming every ounce of hope and faith upon its path.. the light falling victim to the terrible apocalpyse washing over it; the light hindered useless. The Death Knights charge forward, with the blades of death held high, their eyes glowing deep blue as victims fall lifelessly to all manner of power; some having the hungering cold winds of the north chill their very spines and bones and shatter them from within, some being devoured of all life as the vampiric blades pierce through their flesh and deliver a locust of deadly plagues and disease, and some having their existance put to an end as the very life which fuels them turns upon them, their blood boiling and consuming their very being.
Yes, he remembers that night as it only has occured yesterday... How else, would he forget the night in which death itself subsided? In which failure became a possibilility rather than an impossiblility? The very thoughts, filled with the image of the might of the Scourgen Empire, fills him with a turmoil of fury and malice, but not for these thoughts he is lingering upon... but for the thoughts which would follow if he yet continues recalling that past. He turned his gaze away from the helmet, lowering it to his side again. His Deathcharger approached him slowly, as Althalos turned to gaze upon the loyal steed which he only recently recovered.
"Not yet... my faithful Steed..." He spoke as he took the reins, turning the Deathcharger around to lead him back into the center of the necropolis. "Your desires are mutual... We will see the towering citadels of Icecrown... we will march upon
his empire yet again; we will return to our King. But it is yet not the time... For to reach the precipice of death, we must first tread upon its threshold... we must first restore the Kingdom which we swore to uphold in
his name... We must first restore Lordaeron to it's rightful heir."
As he climbed the steed upon his quarters, he waited in silence, unwavering and resolute. He waited to lead his knights forth to repeat history... he waited to command his brethren as his Captain did to him... he waited to manifest his will upon this mortal world which he so utterly despises. Yes, he waited.. as he once did, but this time... he will
not fail.
He closed his eyes for a mere moment.
For you, my King.... For your Lordaeron.... 
Home 
