Author's Note: This tale takes place at the beginning of the Wrath of the Lich expansion.
The bow of the Dolphin’s Kiss rammed through the surging waves on its way to Auberdine, the salty spray mixing with the cold gray rain that was falling and drenching all on the ship’s slippery deck. The superstitious crew cursed the dark weather and made wards against evil whenever they would glance in the direction of the cloaked figure standing motionless at the prow.
A northern wind had carried the chill of Northrend to the southern continents compounding the crew’s, but the hooded stranger paid no heed to the cold. More correct to say he reveled in it, drew from it to strengthen his already unequal powers.
It had been three months since Gathos Silverleaf had heard the Lich King’s icy whispers commanding him to sow death and terror among the people of Azeroth. Although he and his brethren had freed themselves from Arthas’s tyrannical grasp not a night passes that the night elf death knight doesn’t hear the terror filled screams of the innocents he had slaughtered in the name of the Scourge.
With a carrying the weight of a thousand souls, Gathos watched as the lights of Auberdine appeared through the sleet and raining, fearing the welcome he would receive but anxious to be back in the place he once called home.
As the captain barked orders and the crew readied the fleet ship for disembarking, Gathos paid them little mind. The death knight called upon his innate abilities and froze the air into a path leading from the deck of the ship to Auberdine’s long pier. Shouldering the large pack that contained his telltale armor, Gathos strode from the deck of Dolphin’s Kiss.
Suddenly increasing in intensity, the northern wind swirled around the elf, blowing the bulky cloak out wide and revealing an ornate runeblade strapped to his broad back. The cruel wind howled momentarily as if mocking Gathos’s attempts at hiding his lichborn identity.
There was a sharp intake of breath as every man and women aboard the ship’s deck stopped what they were doing to stare at the exposed death knight. To them it was if Death incarnate was walking amongst them and by the grace of the Light narrowly avoided its eternal embrace.
With nothing more than a slight bowing of his head at the stunned crew, Gathos readjusted his heavy pack and marched steadily down the long dock to the seaside inn. Eyes the color of frost reflecting the full moon stared with determination at the Last Haven Tavern, hoping the one he was to meet was waiting there for him.
In his hollow soul Gathos knew that for the sin’s he had committed that the good people of Azeroth could never forgive and in his cold heart he knew that he did not deserve to be. The best the death knight could hope for was tolerance.
Stepping through the large opening that served as one of three entrances to the busy inn, Gathos smile at a cherished memory that crept from the frozen halls of his mind. He and his brother, Solnu, had whittled away many pints of ale and summer evenings as they pondered the magical barriers that kept the inn free of even the harshest elements. No matter the weather outside, the inn was dry in the blowing rain, cool in the heat of the summer and warm against winter’s cruel bite.
Solnu, his brother’s name caused an ache in his chest. The death knight hadn’t seen his twin in the two years since he was taken by the Scourge and born again as one of their mighty champions. Gathos’s last memory of his twin was when three of their comrades had dragged his brother kicking and screaming from the battlefield where Gathos had fallen.
“Brother!” a familiar voice interrupted Gathos’s reverie and was shortly followed by a strong hand being placed on his shoulder and another firmly gripping his own gloved hand. “By Elune, Gathos, your freezing.”
The dark fog of his memories melted to reveal a rugged face framed by lanky, thistle-green green hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, but the smile gave away the speakers identity. Gathos couldn’t count the number of times he had seen that lopsided grin right before he and his twin did something incredibly stupid or mischievous.
“It is good to see you again, Solnu,” Gathos had been afraid that his brother wouldn’t show up to meet with the undead creature he had become. “I had feared you wouldn’t be here when I arrived. The fear, ignorance, and open hostility directed to those of us freed of Arthas’s grasp has dogged me at every step of my journey.”
Solnu’s smile faltered briefly as the weight of his brother’s burden touched his heart, but it quickly sprang back and he patted Gathos warmly on the back. “It is truly good to see you again, brother. Now, Let’s get a seat and a pint or two to toast your homecoming and for us each to tell our tales.”
Guiding Gathos to a table in a darkened corner of the inn, Solnu called over his shoulder to the buxom barkeep. “Two mugs of Thunderbrew’s best, Silla. We’re celebrating my brother finally coming home!” He flashed Silla his winning smile before focusing once more on navigating the maze of chairs and tables.
Gathos wondered how far Solnu’s smile would have slipped at the grim scowl Silla shot the death knight behind his back. With a shrug the undead elf allowed his brother to lead him to a quiet corner of the inn away from the inn’s other patrons’ lingering looks.
A quiet grunt escaped his lips as Gathos slipped the heavy pack from his shoulder and dumped it unceremoniously at the foot of his chair. The indifference shown to the bundle of armor was replaced with the tenderness of a mother watching over her newborn child as Gathos slid the ornately hilted bastard sword from its hanger on his wide back. With the softness of a lover’s touch, the death knight traced the archaic runes etched on the length of the wide blade.
Solnu’s smile turned uneasy as he watched his trace the outer edges of the exotic weapon. “What’s it like, Gathos? Does it hurt?”
“No. Not really,” Gathos answered, gently leaning the sword against the wall where it would be easily accessible if needed. “I’m mostly cold.” The elf blew out a frosted breath to accent his point.
“Always cold? Can’t a fire or hot drink bring you comfort?” Solnu asked, revulsion etched plainly on his face. There was nothing worse than being cold and unable to warm up to the experienced hunter.
“The only thing capable of breaking my chill is the fresh spilt blood of others,” Gathos answered truthfully while raising his frost colored eyes to meet his brother’s golden disbelieving stare. “A perversion I have not allowed myself to partake in for many weeks.”
The two brothers locked gazes for several moments, Solnu trying to make sense of the death knight before him and Gathos at peace with whatever decision his brother decided on. The intensity of the moment was broken when a shapely lavender arm passed between the twins as Silla set the foam topped mugs on the tabletop with a disapproving clunk.
When Gathos moved his hand to the pouch at his hip so he could fish out coins to pay Silla; the barkeep shook her blueberry locks.
“On the house this one time, Gathos” she said stiffly. “For what once was, but drink quickly and leave before you chase all my customers away.” She gave the brothers a last lingering look before spinning on her heel and make her way back behind the bar.
A wolfish grin split Solnu’s beard as he watched the shapely elf woman’s swaying backside and Gathos couldn’t contain his own smile at his brother’s typical behavior around the beautiful Silla. Solnu noticed his brother smiling at him and the wolfish grin turned into a sheepish smile.
“How are things going in that area?” Gathos asked remembering his brother’s fruitless pursuit of Silla’s attentions years ago. “Did you two finally venture past the friend phase?”
“Well, every time I try to approach her with that very line of thought she always replies ‘I’d rather kiss a kobold then be seen with a rogue like you’ to which I reply…”
“That’s ok then, because I’m a hunter!” the two brothers finished together before bursting into deep peals of laughter. From behind the bar Silla momentarily stopped polishing the spotless countertop to stare at the twins which only caused them to laugh even harder. With a hopeless shake of her head she turned her attention back to the countertop.
“So you still haven’t won her over with that cheesy line after all these years?” Gathos asked, his ribs aching from the unaccustomed exertion of mirth.
“Unfortunately, no,” Solnu replied as he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “But I think she’s warming up to me though.”
“Really?” Gathos tried to hide the surprise in his voice. Solnu had been pursuing the elusive Silla for the better part of a decade to no avail.
“Truly, she only slapped my hand away last night when I pinched her arse in passing.” Solnu said with a straight face.
“That’s an improvement?” asked a doubting Gathos.
“Yep, normally she gives me a black eye and throws me out of the inn.” The twins broke into another fit of laughter which caused Silla to glare daggers at the brothers till they futilely tried to contain their mirth.
Once the laughter died away an uncomfortable silence settled between the brothers which they tried to hide in the depths of their mugs. Unable to stand the unease, Solnu cautiously broke the silence.
“I looked for you after we pushed the Scourge back. For six days I searched for your body, I even had Whisper try to pick up your scent. I guess that was when I gave up hope of finding you, dead or alive. If Whisper couldn’t find you then you just weren’t there. Damn wolf howled for a week straight for you. You would’ve thought he was your pet and not mine.” Solnu finished with a small chuckle.
A smile curled at the corners of Gathos’s eyes as he remembered the snow-furred wolf. He had fed Whisper scraps of rabbit or squirrel when Solnu wasn’t looking in an attempt to befriend the great beast. It had worked and often Whisper would stay with Gathos and his family when Solnu would take his lion or giant wasp on training hunts.
“The Scourge doesn’t waste fresh meat,” Gathos replied a bitter edge to his voice. “Arthas’s val’kyr scoured the battlefield for anyone that would be capable of serving the Lich King.”
Solnu misunderstood the bitterness in his brother’s voice and hastily began to apologize. “I’m sorry, Gathos. I really did try to find you.”
“It isn’t your fault, brother,” Gathos explained. “If you would have stayed then we both would’ve become a part of that bastard’s foul army.”
“Still…”
A thundering crash brought the two brothers to their feet. Gathos had only thought he knew what emptiness and pain were, but the sight before him made the ministrations of the Lich King’s minions seem pleasant by comparison. The hollowness and pain that threatened to consume him now raged like a blizzard as it tore at his soul.
At the bar stood Cylinna, his wife. Never had her slender curves called to his hands as they did at that moment nor did her silver-white ringlets that framed her oval face call out to him to bury his face in their lushness so he could smell the apple blossom scent of her as it did now. But Cylinna wasn’t his any longer; the world had moved on in his absence. She was just one more thing the Lich King had taken from him.
“Gathos…no,” Cylinna’s voice trembled as she brought her shaking hands to her mouth.
“Silla, would you please take my wife outside,” asked the burly warrior standing at Cylinna’s side. “I will follow momentarily.”
Gathos remembered the elf from the past. Darot Splitblade, a childhood friend of the twins who had competed with Gathos for Cylinna’s affections. Despite Gathos and Cylinna becoming lovers, he and Darot had remained close friends and there was no one he could think of to better care for his family, but that fact couldn’t squelch the fire that was beginning to burn in the pit of the death knight’s heart.
Gathos studied Darot as the elf strode purposely towards the twins, but where he expected to see triumph or gloating in his friend’s face, Gathos only saw sorrow.
“Kill him...strike him down…feast on his soul! The old voice whispered in Gathos’s mind. “Make him pay for what he has taken from you!”
Unconsciously Gathos began to reach for the hilt of his runeblade. With a grunt the death knight fought of the unholy impulse, but not before Darot noticed the slight movement.
Sorrow evaporated and was replaced by fear. Darot had never been Gathos’s equal with a blade and he knew with the death knight’s powers to aid Gathos it would be no contest. Despite that, Darot rallied his courage to stand firm before the sitting elf.
‘I’m sorry Gathos,” he began while his friend watched him with emotionless eyes. “I waited two years before approaching Cylinna after she received the news of your fall. Even then she just agreed to our marriage a month ago. Had I known…”
Gathos raised his hand to stop Darot’s rambling.” Think nothing more on the subject, Darot. I care nothing for mortal desires or for things in my past.” Gathos lied and casually leaned back in his chair. “But know that if you fail to keep her or my son safe from harm; there is no pit deep enough to hide you from my wrath.” Frosted eyes flared briefly with unholy light to drive his point home.
“Of course, Gathos. I promise.” Darot swore and turned to leave but stopped half way through. “That reminds me. You should see how much Nulan has grown. Yesterday I took him hunting…”
“Get out!” Gathos roared, slamming his fist on to the table with enough force to cause he and Solnu’s mugs to teeter precariously. Ever nimble, Solnu quickly rescued his mug before it could spill.
In his hurry to get away, Darot tripped over a chair and crashed heavily to the floor, but in his fear to flee Gathos didn’t both regaining his feet and scrabbled crab-like from the inn.
“I thought you didn’t care,” Solnu teased, his golden orbs grinning over his mug at the scowling Gathos.
“Shut up,” Gathos growled.
“Just saying…yeow!” yelped Solnu when his mug froze and shattered in his grasp, spattering him with shards of pottery and ale.
The brothers sat in silence, Gathos trying to control his mounting rage and Solnu wiping ale foam from his face and pulling chunks of clay from his beard.
“How is he?” Gathos asked after calming down.
“Who?” a distracted Solnu asked while trying to get Silla’s attention so he could order another drink.
“My son, you ogre brained buffoon,” Gathos snapped.
“Oh, oh yeah,” Solnu mimed drinking from a mug to Silla who responded with a rude gesture and a flip of her hair. “He isn’t the same care free boy that you remember. He has a darkness in him now and often goes off on his own. Nulan would have died several times if Whisper and I hadn’t followed and watched over him. Darot’s been trying to reach out to the boy but…” Solnu finished with a shrug.
Gathos tried to imagine the lively and curious son he had left behind to the withdrawn child Solnu was trying to describe. He couldn’t believe how badly things had taken a turn for the worse. “Thank you for watching over Nulan; I’ll talk to Cylinna after she calms down to see what she would have me do.”
There was a clattering of weapons and the jingle of buckles as a small force of Auberdine’s protectors entered the inn. Six heavily armed sentinels spread out around the entrances to the inn, their tri-bladed glaives held at the ready. Their leader scanned the bar intently seeking her target, her silver eyes piercing into the darkest corners of the inn.
“Gathos Silverleaf!” barked a brusque female voice. Come forward and give yourself over to the authority of the sentinels!”
Spotting the brothers, the captain stomped over to stand before their table. “Death knight, your kind aren’t welcome in Auberdine.” The captain’s eyes flashed dangerously while her fingers tapped the pommel of the fine longsword belted at her rounded hip, while she spared a wicked grin for Gathos. “Feel free to resist, abomination.”
“I think you have your undead confused, Dreadia.” Solnu quipped with cold mirth. “Whisper come.” The hunter finished with two short whistles and set his longbow warningly on the table.
A massive white wolf shouldered his way between the two sentinels guarding the south entrance, his angular head coming to the chests of the guards as he passed. Silently he padded across the floor to the brothers and after licking Gathos warmly on the hand, lay down beside his master.
Gathos placed his hand on Solnu’s quivering one clenched around his bow. “Easy brother, this is not a fight worth doing.”
With slow deliberate movements, Gathos stood, slung his pack over his shoulder, and slid his runeblade into its hanger on his back. Next to him Solnu stood and the brothers shared a quick embrace.
“Watch over Cylinna and Nulan for me,” Gathos asked and then ruffled the fur atop Whispers head. "And you watch over my brother.” The wolf gave Gathos’s hand a single lick and issued a low whine.
“Farewell, brother,” sadness laced Gathos’s words and then he turned and walked from the Last Haven Tavern. Dreadia glared balefully at Solnu then motioned for her warriors to follow the death knight.
“Farewell, brother,” said Solnu quietly.
As he walked through the village of his birth and passed the dwellings of friends and family from his youth; the presence of the escort began to chip away at his self-control. His homecoming had not gone as he had hoped. His wife and son were lost to him and no longer could he call the sleepy fishing village home. Only his brother still saw him as the man he was and not the creature he had become, and it would not have been fair to Solnu to ask him to give it all up to join him on his lonely path.
That last thought burned away the tiny bit of tolerance he had left in him. Eyes blazing with icy blue fury, the death knight spun to face the sentinels. To their credit they stood their ground against his cold gaze.
“I can find my own way out of town, captain.” Gathos stated with a sneer. “You and yours can go back to watch whatever dull event dominated your life till my arrival.”
“Brave words for a murderer outnumbered by six of Elune’s servants.” Dreadia answered haughtily.
Gathos’s hollow laughter was not the result Dreadia had expected. Nervously she half-drew her sword while checking each of her sentinels for readiness; the doubt she saw there was not comforting.
“Foolish girl.” Gathos admonished with a smile stuck at the corner of his lips. “While your god floats detached from our world my master reigns supreme here in Azeroth. Before I was freed from the Lich King’s control he saw fit to grant me unequal powers. Now feel what that means!”
It happened so fast Dreadia wasn’t sure she wasn’t dreaming, but the sight before her would be more like a nightmare. In one smooth motion Gathos drew the monstrous sword from its scabbard, spidery runes glowing a brilliant blue; his other hand shot out towards the sentinels. A powerful blast of frigid air struck the grout, felling all but the stunned captain who was staring raptly at the razor sharp edge of Gathos’s runeblade a hair’s breadth from her perspiring brow.
“You killed,” Dreadia mumbled. “With one attack you killed them all.”
“They aren’t dead, just very, very cold. Nothing an hour or two before a fire and a mug of spiced cider won’t cure.” Gathos explained. “Now do you understand the folly of pursuing me?”
Dreadia nodded her head numbly.
“Good. Not all death knights are evil undead monsters. Some of us are lost souls who just want to go home.” A sadness entered Gathos voice as he spoke to the captain. “Go ahead and get your people inside where it’s warm.”
Sheathing his blade, Gathos gave the village a last sweeping look before walking off into the wilds of Darkshore.
The End
Ascent of the Holy Blade
