The Accomplice
(Hemrig's Story)
Chapter One - Springing to Fight
The winds shaved across his face like razorblades... Northrend was not relenting, and it was worse here in Icecrown Glacier.
The young dwarf hurried on as fast as he could, hood pulled snugly over his face to prevent the glacial winds from taking a stab at his eyes. A bellowing roar echoed in the distance, shaking the dwarf to the core - the sound of the Lich King's dragon, Sapphiron, was blunt against the ears, and made mortal souls quiver in dread. The roars had been getting louder as the dwarf went, but that was to be expected considering he was heading in a direct line towards the throne of the almighty lich king.
The dwarf went for hours like this, stopping only in a small cave to pour some water on his parched, chapped lips and to eat the remnants of his Elven loaf of Rye. He would not last much longer on these supplies, as the water he had was virtually undrinkable, for it was the accursed water of Icecrown - however, it helped ease the pain of dehydration by splashing it amongst his mouth. He had mere miles to go until he reached his goal, and he knew he could make it... unless something came between him and the end of his journey.
After long enough, the base of the citadel was before him. He looked up in awe; the skies of Northrend seems to be pouring out of the citadel itself, like it was the end of the land itself. His tender, stubby fingers were already blackended with the essence of Frostbite - his body, aching for being days without proper nutrition or water. But he did not care, not anymore. His journey was complete. His eyes slowly, very very slowly, closed... he flopped over, against the freezing black stone of Arthas' citadel, and watched as the bitter winds twirled around him, like they were hungry for his flesh...
***
Commander Springvale’s eyes wrenched open, and the dull purplish gleam from around the room rushed in.
He had no idea where he was... in fact, he didn’t even think we should be here, for the last thing he remembers was a ruthless Tauren crushing him with a mighty mace. Springvale cautiously glanced around him, barely opening his eyes. From what he could tell, he was in some sort of cage, but beyond that he was unable to see clearly.
So, ever so slowly, he opened his eyes, and saw the eyes of a ghoul staring right back at him, just beyond the thin, aluminum cage supports. The ghoul was comprised of little bones, seemingly one big pile of rotting flesh. The stench should have been horrendous; then Springvale realized, he wasn’t able to smell anything.
“Peculiar...” contemplated Springvale. After a few moments, the ghoul shuddered himself away, leaving a small trail of mould behind him. At this time, Springvale took the time and slowly got up, and stretched as far as he could – and then his fingers gently brushed across the top of the cage.
In a flash of mana, his hand became shockingly sore and his entire body paralyzed with darkness. His eyesight went black, then purple, and then black again, before he regained control of his body. During his seizure, he had involuntarily gone into fetal position, taking all exposed limbs away from the edge of the cage. Again, but more slowly, he sat up, and looked around him.
What he saw shocked him – all around him, in similar cages, were humans, taurens, undead, gnomes – pretty much all sentient horde or alliance beings. They, like him, were dressed in nothing except a scant loincloth, and the females had an extra layer of cloth across their breasts.
Farther in the room, up upon a small ledge, a gloomy looking knight stared down directly into Springvale’s cage. This knight seemed to have the presence of death just floating around him...
Then everything made sense for the budding Commander. He was trapped in a scourge base, in the midst of a Deathknight establishment! He looked in horror as another deathknight, to the far left of Springvale, opened one of the cages and yanked out a small dwarf. This dwarf, still laden with exhaustion from some other activity, sleepily put on the enchanted armor the deathknight chucked at him. Then, the deathknight gave the dwarf a crude sword, and beckoned him forward.
***
The dwarf had no idea what was going on. He scantily remembered himself flailing against the dark walls of Icecrown Glacier’s dark fortress, and then being killed by a ghoul that found him a few minutes later. So how then, was he here, garbed in some foul smelling armor?
After his mind cleared, the dwarf realized his journey was complete at last. Hemrig, the expelled miner from Ironforge, had received his wish and become a deathknight! Or, at least, sort of. The full, powerful deathknight loomed in front of him, and barked at him in his native tongue to come forward and fight. When Hemrig did not do so, the deathknight before him suddenly burst into rage and Hemrig, as if pulled by a pair of invisible ropes, was brought to his knees before the deathknight. The darkened deathknight raised his accursed blade, and brought it down towards Hemrig’s neck, intending on hewing it cleanly in half. But as soon as the blade made contact with Hemrig’s neck, the blade shattered in a storm of metal and ice – and the deathknight was blasted backwards with a force unlike any other.
Hemrig smirked delightfully – he was a natural borne deathknight, and no one could stop him!
A few miniscule seconds later, the opposing deathknight raised his fist and shot a bolt of dark energy directly into Hemrig’s heart. Hemrig collapsed, and his armor shattered. He was kicked back into his cage, where he banged into the rear end and started having seizures for a variety of minutes. Perhaps later, he would try his luck again... but for now, his mind stepped off into dreams.
