Leader of the Fallen
From EFWiki
The legacy was almost at an end. The perils of Lady Vasjh and Kaelthas had been vanquished, leaving an imprint on the fabric of outland powerful enough to secure the Flame's spirit. But all was not well. Thalos, leader of the Flame since its current incarnation began, was missing, wandering unknown lands in the north.
One evening, a letter appeared. A herald of doom, and a challenge beyond all others.
Time had passed, and the celebrations over the death of Kael’thelas had waned. A small, quiet shape slid into the courtyard. It hung low to the ground, and shuffled in a sort of lope, quite clearly not a normal humanoid but nonetheless similar. Shadows seemed to follow it, as it detached itself from wall to wall and headed towards the guild hall entrance.
Lights inside showed that some were still up. Footsteps echoed briefly within the building, and muffled voices spoke low. One set grew louder, and the shape hung back behind the door as it was flung open. A pair of flames strode out, warriors perhaps, their armour clanking, and the shape seemed to freeze as it regarded them. Hovering still, it waited until they had long passed until it moved inside.
Quickly now, afraid of the light, the dark shape shuffled toward the door of Thalos’s study, now long held frozen in an icy grip. A few chip marks showed around the edge where the bolder of Thalos’s people had tested the strength of the magic. The shape slowed, its features coming more into the light. Taller than the average human, the light now revealed gaunt, skeletal features, dark grey skin, and sullen eyes. Even the white of bone showed through in a few places. Lank grey hair fell to hunched shoulders, yet as it regarded the door the shape seemed to come more alive, and gain a proud, even regal bearing. Under the matted hair, the tips of pointed ears could be seen – whatever it was now, this creature was once a Kaldorei.
The thing knelt before the door and placed a small item from its robes against it, quickly stepping back. An eerie red light shined throughout the chamber, starting at the objects and spreading over the doar. A sound of cracking accompanied several chunks of ice falling from the door, before soon it had all melted to water and poured onto the floor. The light faded.
Picking up the object, the creature placed its hand against the door, and pushed gently, slipping inside. A moment later it emerged, cast a furtive look around, and seeing oncoming torches, slipped into the night.
Not long after, a sole figure strode the halls, pausing, eyebrows furrowed, as he regarded the door and the puddle before it. Crossing over, he lifted his hammer cautiously as he pushed the door open. Nothing. Maelor frowned further. This door had been frozen shut for weeks now, and for it suddenly to have been released suggested some strange occurrence. Perhaps it was the ice witch’s doing. Ever since her arrival, a few weeks ago, he had felt uneasy. She said she was a link to Thalos, but always it was like she was not telling the whole truth. He distrusted her sudden appearance and he distrusted this icy door appearing moments after she did. Shaking his head, he stepped inside the threshold and looked around. Everything looked like it used to. Trophies on the wall, scattered papers across the desk, armour and equipment stacked neatly in the corner. Looking at the papers on the desk, something caught his eye. A new parchment, neatly rolled and bearing a black and silver seal, lay on top, carefully positioned to catch notice.
Cautiously he approached, ready to invoke the light in his defence, and picked up the parchment. It felt smooth to the touch, unlike normal paper, more like leather, and he shivered as he felt it in his hand. Breaking the seal, he unfurled it and read carefully.
<A letter penned in a strong, flowing script, elvish, with ancient curls to the leters>
War commander,
Well done on despatching Zul’jin. I fear in our preoccupation with our legacy in Outland we became distracted from the situation at home. It is hard to pull all the threads of what is necessary together… so very hard. In fixing one thing, often one breaks another….
I write to you from the continent of what our sailors call Northrend. It is a broken spit of a land, frozen and devoid of all significant life. Yet things live here still, despite the cold. I passed them as I rode, my horse fractious from the journey. They did not seem to see me, nor I them – a strange mist was about my features and I heard Kaldorei voices where only local tribesmen were standing. You have probably felt my tenuous connection with our spirit – right now it rages within me strong, yet I cannot touch it or speak across it. There is a duality within me…. I hear voices I have not heard before. They grew louder as I rode northward.
My final destination on this frozen landscape was a terrible place. A vast plain of dragon skeletons, their bones reaching like trees into the sky. A massive structure lay at the head of the plain, and I knew as soon as my frosty eyes touched it that it was my destination. Trudging in, I emerged into a dark, strangely warm place, far from the chilling cold outside. I walked forward and the voices in my head started again. I recognised a few… chilled, I realised they were the voices of those of the Flame who had died. Not just now, nor under my command, but eternal. Calling to me through my spiritual link with the Flame, they begged me to come to them. Losing all mortal fear, I stepped forward into the cavern, into their embrace.
What followed is something which is hard to report to you, my once friend. I came into a cavern with shining undead gathered around a central figure. I looked at their faces, skeletal and drawn, yet recognised them as if they were my own comrades of only yesterday. Hundreds, there were, thousands of kaldorei, dotted with a few other races, all dead in the service of the Flame. And they looked up to a figure shrouded with a dark cloak, yet massive in aspect, a figure which, even in my entranced and dreamlike state, struck fear into my heart.
It rose, and curious, I approached further, the ranks of the warriors parting before me. Soon I stood at the base of the steps leading up to the dais. As I halted, a skeletal hand came forth and beckoned me further. I approached. The being smelled of death, and power, like the undead masters all do, but nothing I have seen in all our travels rivals this one.
“Welcome, Thalos”.
It was like a piercing dagger through my ears. I wanted to scream, but as I did so nothing came out. Marshalling all my strength, I looked into the cold blue points of eyes within his helm and croaked “Who are you”.
The voice softened, to the level of shrieking banshees on a frozen night. “I? I am the Lich King. I rule this realm, and soon, that of all the living.” It rose, and bowed its head for a moment in my direction. “You have come far for me…. far since you took up the mantle of the Flame. In quieter moments I have been watching… it is time we spoke”.
My ears buzzed. Bowed. To me. Can you imagine my pride, Kinta? You who summon your pathetic demons and have them serve you – this creature is a THOUSAND times more powerful. And he was looking on me as a near equal. All the hours of toil reaching this point vanished, and I stood proud before him, my breath misting in the air.
“I am yours to talk with… Lord”. It sounded natural. It fit. Never had I met a being I respected enough to call master, but in these few moments I realised I was still an insect compared to him. And I knew the Flame were like a small collection of insects. I had no choice but to give reverence. “May I ask why you have brought me here?”
“I? No, Thalos, not I. They.” He gestured to the warriors still looking up at me. “Your former folk… still bound to you in death as they were in life. They serve the leader of the Flame… that is you”. The voice dropped to a hiss. “They live in my Kingdom, but they have no leader. None of my servants can command them. All they do is stand, waiting.”
I turned, looking at the host. Proud, elven faces, their features skewed by translucent death, looked back at me. Still wearing armour for the most part, a few among their ranks familiar from my own lifetime. I turned back, confused.
“How is it that they serve me still, King? Surely with their death we cease connection with the spirit?|
The being shook his head, a silent blink of its eyes the only outward sign of thought or humanity. “No, Thalos. The spirit of the Flame is one which goes back beyond mortal flesh. When you accepted the spirit from that old fool in the inn – yes, I know about that… look… “ He gestured, and as I turned again I saw him, the old man from years before, standing with eyes raised, a staff in his hands, magical devises strewn around his belt. He stared at me like the others, half knowing, half just waiting.
“When you accepted that spirit, he not only tied you to the Flames you were to command, but to all those who had died in the cause. And the longer you remain tied to death, Thalos, the closer you are to dying..”
I turned back, a flicker of alarm in my chest. “Dying… I have felt cold, emptiness, weakness of late.. in here… Is this your doing?” I grew tense, defensive, and stepped back.
“Mine? Only by continuing to keep the Flame’s former servants active in death, Thalos… only through that small action. Which I did for my own purposes but it is true, yes, what I did will kill you. But you may as well blame that old fool, too, for giving you this poisoned chalice. He must have known… for he felt me, at the end, I think.”
I gasped, the air growing chill, clouds of steam from my breath billowing forth as I struggled for air, unable to speak as the figure continued.
“Ah… it draws near. So be it.” He rose, and the clanking and scraping of ancient armour broke the silence of the chamber, thousands of undead eyes watching silently as he came to me. I was rooted, unable to move.
“Though it was not my plan, I have chosen to save you from oblivion, mortal. As soon as I realised the link between my servants here and your wretched spirit, I accelerated it… sent forth darkness across its powers. You stand now in the last few minutes of your mortal life. And I offer you a gift… a great gift.”He reached behind the throne, drawing forth an eldritch blade, runes decorating its hilt and dancing with fire along the cutting edge. The air sizzled around it, the only noise in an otherwise quiet cavern.
Turning it in his hands, he offered me the hilt. “Your choice is simple, elf… serve me… lead your fallen people… or fall into oblivion.”
My heart constricted, and it became hard to see. All I could see was the hilt of the blade.
“You must do it freely. You must give me allegiance. You must serve me. Or you will cease to exist”. The words struck me hard. Many times I had thought of death, in battle, a quick and passing blade, too quick to consider. But now I had a few eternal moments… my breath painful.. to consider. The people of the current Flame flashed before me, you and Maelor, my other officers, the crazy gnomes, and my love Calia. On her lingered most my thought, in the seconds I had standing there to consider his terrible words, and as I stood there, I realised I could not give it up. I could not give up existence. I could not lose her.
I looked at the hilt, filling my view, becoming the only thing I could see or hear or sense. The pain in my chest was terrible, a biting cold, and I felt the numbness edging at my mind. Reaching out, with my last strength I grasped the hilt. Suddenly, energy flowed through me, and I ripped the blade free from his grip as it sparked and shone with magical light. My vision returned, and I slowly exhaled, my strength returning.
It was a few breaths before I noticed there was no mist in the air.
The King regarded me, and nodded, his eyes piercing. “Take your place, Thalos, among my servants. Go and serve me. Learn the powers of your blade and use them in my cause. I will aid you.”
At the time, I felt ashamed. Ashamed of betraying you, ashamed of joining evil, ashamed of being too weak. In the corner of my vision, as I walked back down the steps, I saw a flicker, and distracted, I looked over to see a shining green robed figure, standing prominent among the host. A woman, her gaze piercing and straight at mine. They did not seem to look at her or sense her. She stood quietly, looking at me with sadness, then vanished.
How do I feel now? I despise the way I felt. I am sad that I did not choose more quickly.
Since that day, a few weeks ago, my powers have grown beyond the mere mortal you knew me as. Creatures crumble in my grip, and I have no need for anything beyond the dark energy that sits in my soul. Is this what I have been kept from? Is this what this Lich King offers? I feel ashamed I even doubted the feelings I had then. I feel ashamed I dedicated my energy to following such trivial goals. What a wasted life.
But at least, it has turned me to this. I serve a force more powerful than any we ever encountered. More powerful than any other force which exists. I have respect… respect from a being who respects virtually no one. I have already gained high station in his forces, patrolling the plain that lies before his fortress. Soon, I will be given tasks which take me into the world of the flesh.
My body is darkened and inert, harder to harm, as it slips towards that of the undead. I am powerful, Kinta.. so powerful that your magics would be turned aside by the tip of my blade.
I write to say to you that I intend never to return to the mortal world. You and Maelor must lead the Flame as you see fit. As a courtesy to our former friendship, I have severed the spiritual link with the living flames. I could have used it to do harm, but I see no reason. You will all come to us eventually. And left open, it could cause interference with my loyalties to my new master. I cannot allow that.
I trust that my minion delivered this letter to you successfully. Read it well, and know I do not regret my choice. Tell Calia… tell her I will wait for her to come to me when it is her time. The Lich King welcomes all who freely serve.
For a final time, farewell. I hope that when the time comes, it is my blade which severs your connection to the living world. I would have it no other way.
Thalos.
