((This story is about my friends character Tower and created after a request from the same.))

 

 

                                                                1

 

The sound of the horse's hooves grew stronger as they crushed the dry lichens below in the unnatural silence of the plague land woods. The early morning was so calm that the only thing that stirred the thin mist was the moving legs of his mount. It was cold and his breath created clouds of steam in front of him.

 

He knew that Naxxramas was close now. Not only did he know this road too well, he could also feel the familiar sensation of the proximity to Kel'Thuzad's base or perhaps even to Kel'Thuzad himself; a smell of death, chaos and pure evil. 

 

Tower frowned slightly and tried to shrug the feeling off, but he knew it wouldn't go away until he left this corrupted place behind, hopefully this time after completing what he came back here for over and over again.

  

The runes, engraved beautifully in his plated armour, started to glow slightly as the presence of the Light grew stronger. He raised his hand almost without thinking and ran his fingers over them. Whatever undead creature he could think about, he was sure that it could be found inside of Naxxramas. And he was ready to face them all, to fight them and to win his way towards Kel'Thuzad and at that time, hopefully holding the obeying Ashbringer in his hand, ready to serve the true purpose of its existence. 

 

                                                               2

 

Fighting his way through the halls and corridors had been a test for his mind and his battle skills, where his two handed sword served both as a weapon and a shield. None of the wretched undead enemies had put up a good fight against him and if he had singled them out they would have been easy targets. But they came not alone and as the undeads had approached him, wave after wave, there had been no spare time for planning.

 

Now he was standing somewhat unseen behind a slight bend in the wall that served him as a protective corner of the corridor. Behind him and all the way to the entrance, lay the mess of the defeated undeads with their torn body parts brutally spread over the floor.

 

Tower leaned backwards against the wall and shut his eyes. For a moment he just stood there, slowly gaining control over his breathing and the stinging feeling in his arms. His body was tired, but the biggest challenge had been the one for his head: to be fully concentrated through every second in order not to get killed.

 

As he took a deep breath, the intense smell of evil and death sickened him. How he hated this place! This is what he came to hate all through the years of training and studying, and now he was standing in the middle of it. Again, his fingers ran over the engraved runes, again he whispered a prayer to the Light.

  

He needed a moment of rest. With his eyes still shut he allowed his mind to drift and he could all of a sudden see the magical light of Moonglade, the softness of the trees and there, just by the water, sat his wife. He wore simple clothes; a brown tunic of soft material that felt so light and smooth over his shoulders. He raised his hands and moved a few branches that were hanging from one of the old trees in front of him and the sound made her turn around, stand up and when she realised it was him, she smiled beautifully.

 

People might not understand, he thought as he walked up to her and put his arm around her waist, but to him she was most beautiful woman in the world.  

 

In the middle of Naxxramas, hidden behind the corner of a wall and with a line of dead, smelly creatures behind stood the paladin that was he and smiled. He smiled at everything that was worth fighting for, everything that would help him through these battles so that he never ever had to come back again. His wife, his son and the rest of his people would be living in a safer world if he could only get all the way to Kel'Thuzad and he knew that the sword would help him. The Corrupted Ashbringer would fall for the Light’s powers because that was its true nature and the corruption would not stand stronger than justice.

  

He had to get it!

 

                                                                  3

 

“Commander Helleran?” Without looking up from his book, the commander grunted a short reply to the Argent Messenger. “What now?”

“Reports from the scouts, sir.”

“Go on.”

“Naxxramas is being disturbed.” The commander looked up and then shrugged his shoulders.

“Nothing new then.” He stood up, grabbed the book and put it back onto the shelf with the rest of the Light’s Hope Chapels book collection and instead opened his notebook where all the gathered information about Naxxramas was written down. He faced the messenger and asked the same questions as so many times before.

“When was it?”

“A few hours ago.” A quick note in the book.

“How many of them?”

“Only one, sir.”

 

The commander let out a bitter laughter and then shoke his head slightly.
“We’re talking about a dead man then.” The messenger looked at the floor without saying anything, obviously awaiting his commander’s next orders.

“Only a fool thinks he can face Kel'Thuzad alone.” A fool, or someone extraordinary.”

He sighed slightly and the messenger nodded.

“Good job. Keep your eyes open.” He waved his hand in the air.  

“Dismissed.”

 

Commander Thomas Helleran sighed heavily and sat down in his chair. He browsed his notebook that was filled page after page with numbers of people that had fallen in their attempt to slay the scourge leader. After a while he reached the end page, dipped the feather into the ink and painted yet another line.

“Light be with him…”

 

                                                                 4

 

“Alexandros Mograine!” His voice echoed in the big hall and the four of them all stopped at the same moment. Tower took a step forward and placed a hand on his sword but when they all turned their big, skeleton horses around and stared at him, he suddenly felt small and somewhat misplaced.

 

Staring at the horsemen, he doubted for the first time since he got here that he would be actually leave this place alive.

 

The four undeads looked at each other and one of them let his horse take a few steps towards the intruder. Tower saw how the death-knight eyed him; he even felt the cold look wander over him, reading the runes and the medals on his armour that was now scratched and dusty after the long fights earlier the same afternoon.

“It seems like we have a guest, my friends.” Mograine’s voice was harsh, cold and shallow, much like he had expected it to be; yet it sent a shiver of hate and disgust down his spine.

“Who are you…paladin?”

”I am Commander Tower Luminia. I believe you have something that I want, Mograine. Or shall I just simply call you Ashbringer?”

 

Tower’s brown eyes stared straight into the knight’s empty ones and the silence felt long and almost unreal. The great sword was attached to Mograine’s waist and when the death-knight realised what this paladin in front of him wanted, he slowly looked down at The Ashbringer and then up at Tower again.

 

His face was full of disbelief and amusement and he even let out a short, horrible laughter.

“How noble of you... Commander Luminia. How incredibly noble of you to come all the way here to steal my sword. What is your plan, fool? To defeat me and after that slay Kel’Thuzad?” He chuckled again. Tower didn’t answer, just glared at them, one by one.

“Kill him Mograine! What are you waiting for?” The female voice coming from the woman next to Mograine sounded so misplaced inside of this horrible hall. It was too sweet, too alive and the voice’s contrast to her dead body was even worse than the sound of Mograine’s shallow tone.

  

He hated it.

 

“Silence, Blaumeux!” Mograine still had not taken the eyes of the lonely man in front of him. And even though Tower’s brain was racing, he calmly stared back. If he even wanted to have the opportunity to face Kel’Thuzad later, he needed to be smart now. It was obvious that the four of them at the same time would be too much for him to handle. If only he could get the Ashbringer! One given second with it and he knew it would help him. All his training, his strong heart and faith... He knew it would, for his faith was real.

 

“You were once like me, Mograine. So was your friend over there.” Tower nodded towards the knight on Mograine’s left side, Sir Ziliek. “You were both once proud paladins that knew right from wrong and good from evil.”

“Oh come on, Commander Luminia! That’s a lot of bullshit. Life is meaningless. It is in death that we are truly tested.”

Tower shook his head.

“Look at you...” He spat on the ground and if he had ever felt fear, it had now turned into deep hatred. “What are you doing here? Slaving under Kel’Thuzad, following what you in your living life were fighting? Pathetic!”

 

Tower felt the heart beat in his chest and took a deep, shivering breath. Then, suddenly he grabbed his sword. Despite its big size, the adrenaline that pumped through his veins made it feel feather light.

 

He squeezed the shaft, grabbed it as hard as he could.

“Show me what you got Mograine, show me what the corrupted Ashbringer is all about!”

 “You seek death?” Mograine’s angry voice was overwhelmingly loud and all of a sudden the massive horse charged forward.

 

                                                                 5

 

He took the left glove off, dropped it on the floor without stopping or caring and ran his hand over his face, trying to wipe the flowing blood away from his eyes. Through the corridors he stumbled, holding the two swords in his left hand and almost dragged them over the floor. The world spun and the smell of death was overwhelming but there was no time to rest, no time to stop and catch his breath and he knew it.

 

Something was not right, but he did not know exactly what and why.

 

Mograine was defeated and so were his three companions; turned into dust by the Ashbringer that he now held in his hand together with his own sword. As he walked, he looked down at it and did not care about the drops that his blood painted on the floor behind him. The look of it filled him with a wild happiness and suddenly he stopped and leaned against the wall. His own mad laughs echoed inside of Naxxramas, and they sounded sad and hysterical. He laughed with tears running down his face, and then fell down to his knees. He was exhausted.

 

The laughter stopped as the sickness overwhelmed him and he coughed and coughed until his body threw up thick, red blood. Panting, he sat down and wiped more blood away from his eyes and mouth. Mograine had put up a better fight than what he had hoped for. Much better.

 

All through the fight, as the knight had used the Corrupted Ashbringer against him, he had thought that his own powers were not strong enough. Time after time had he called for the Light to aid him, gathered its powers in his hands and with hard concentration that was more based on mind will than strength, he struck Mograine. When the hooves from the horse were all around him and the sound of the swords whining through the air, he whispered to the Ashbringer to break free from its curse and turn against its master. 

 

He closed his eyes and felt how his body relaxed. Had his whispers helped? Was it his own sword that had forced Mograine to drop the Corrupted Ashbringer or had the sword actually burned the Death Knights hands?

 

The sword had landed on the floor just in front of him and the moment he picked it up, he was reborn. Strength returned to his mind and body, and his broken arm that he held the sword with sucked in the healing powers and felt strong again, almost stronger then before.

And Mograine knew. Mograine’s eyes told him that the change really happened.

 

The second after, Tower looked up at him; speared the dead eyes of the knight with a confident look of victory and Mograine fell under his own sword.

 

But the rest, he thought as his breathing calmed, the rest had been so easy. He wasn’t sure for how long he had been standing there, staring at the Ashbringer after they were all dead. He had been prepared for a mind-battle with the dark curse, side-by-side as the one he fought with the horsemen, but it had not been needed. A few hits with the new weapon and his enemies had turned into grey dust that slowly spread over the cold stone floor.

 

Too easy, he thought and did not understand why he was now aching so badly. He did not have spare power to heal himself anymore.

 

Without really thinking, he searched the floor for the sword and it instantly calmed him. A strange feeling or warmth rose from his hand, up his arm and through his shoulder until it eased the pressure over his chest and the pulsing pain in his head, and with that wonderful relief came the heavy tiredness.

 

He let his head fall to the side and the steady grip around the shaft loosened.

 

                                                                 6  

“I... was... pure... once.”

 

Tower slept calmly. He was there again; saw the lake, the trees, the purple light of the Moonglade forest, felt the magical vibrations of the nature, and she was in his arms.

 

“Fought... for... righteousness.”

 

But the picture of Moonglade became blurry. He desperately tried to hold on to it, grasped it with pure will and tried to keep the picture of her eyes clear in his head but something was disturbing him, wanted him to go and the more he tried to stay, the further away he went.

 

“I... was... once... called... Ashbringer.”

 

In an instance he stood up, pressed himself against the wall and looked around. The images were gone and he was left with only the feeling of the dream and when he realised where he actually was, the disappointment was so overwhelming that he felt like crying. Angrily, he cursed himself for loosing the focus so drastically and he tried now to shrug of the feelings of the dream away. Whatever had awakened him, he could no longer remember.

 

His head was aching and blood was still coming from the wound on his head. His arms and legs felt as heavy as stone. The now two swords lay on the ground next to him. He grabbed them, hesitated and then dropped his old one on the floor.

 

It was not needed any longer.

 

7

 

 

She leaned back and stretched her legs. From where she was sitting she could easily follow the work at the Stormwind Harbour, and this late it was the only place in the city that was still awake. It seemed to be such a rush with the building that the men worked both day and night and now when it was getting darker, the new harbour was lit up with torches and at some places with engineering machines that produced fake light. Really effective, she thought, jumped down from the wooden container and walked up closer to one of the machines.

 

It had a little glass tube in it, and from that tube a strong ray of light lit up a pretty big area in front of it. Again she watched the workers. They were a big bunch of strong men that carried around wood, tools and metal with ease.

 

“Lorya?” She quickly turned around and the light dazzled her. She took a step to the side and peered at the person in the darkness. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust.

“Don’t be so sneaky, Sheider.”

“Hey, it’s a pretty good effort to surprise such a skilled rogue as you.” She chuckled quickly but then turned serious, realising that there had been a reason for him to search for her, especially this late. And she was right.

“Come with me Lorya.”

 

He took her straight back to the barracks and offered her some coffee even though he knew that she did not like it. As she sat down at the table, two more people arrived and she recognised the two men as workers for the SI:7.

“Please, have a seat, gentlemen. Lorya, you have met these men before, right?” Sheider gestured towards the table where Lorya was already seated and with a quick greeting her way, the two men sat down.

“Aye. I ran into Uther a few times around here and me and Maladrin trained together at Ravenholdt Manor.” Sheider nodded.

“Very well. First off, I am sorry to disturb you this late.” He grabbed himself a cup of the brown, hot liquid and joined them at the table.

“Look guys, what I am about to tell you seems to be a bit… weird. Even though the reports come from such a serious organisation as the Argent Dawn, I am not sure that they are fully correct. But if they are, the threat might not even be as big as they fear. Do any of you know who Commander Thomas Helleran is?” Sheider looked up at them and Maladrin nodded and peered at his leader from underneath the mask that he had not bothered to take off.

“He is the commander for the Argent Dawn troupes that are concentrated on the Naxxramas case.”

“Aye, that’s right. He came here himself today, wanted to make sure the message was safely delivered.” Lorya looked at him.

“So what is it all about?”

“Argent scouts noticed a man going alone into Naxxramas. Of course, none of them thought he was going to make it out alive but it seems like he did.”

“Good for him.” Maladrin leaned backwards in the chair and crossed his arms. Lorya had never really liked this man even though he was a good fighter and assassin.

“Good for him yes, but perhaps not for us. After he came out he was heading south. Argent Dawn suspects that he is on his way to Stormwind.” He sipped his coffee.

“Why would this be a problem?” Sheider looked at Lorya as she spoke.

“Impatient as always, aren’t you, Lorya dear.”

She shrugged and he continued.

“Because when he came out from Naxxramas, he was carrying the Ashbringer.”

Uther’s eyes widened in surprise.

“The sword?”

“That’s what they say, yes.”

 

For a moment they were silent. They all knew what this sword could do to someone that was not strong enough to resist it. And the pieces fell into place. Lorya spoke up again.
“So we find out if he is still the same person as he was when he entered and if not… we take care of him?”

“Yes, Lorya. Exactly that.”

“And his description?”

“Human male, gray, long hair, and of course; carrying the Ashbringer. That’s all we know. If he is not himself, his purpose for coming back to Stormwind would still be unknown but if his orders are from the Lich King, then I am sure you all understand why I take this warning seriously.” He leaned forward and peered up at them.  

“After all we are here to protect our city and to make sure every threat gets eliminated, even though it might not be as bad as the Argent Dawn think. But we don’t even know if he actually is on his way to Stormwind.” Sheider shrugged slightly and continued.

“More people are informed; the city guard knows what to look for and the gate guards will keep their eyes open. We even have people at the gryphons and the harbour, but why I called you in is because I want you to track him down and question him before he even reaches the gates. He left the Plaguelands on horse and Commander Helleran was flying here to inform us so we still have time to prepare.”

 

They stood up and Sheider followed them to the door.

“Oh, and if you have to put an end to him, wrap the sword in and bring it immediately to me. And for the love of the Light, do not even think the thought of using it.”

 

 

                                                                 8

 

Nothing was blocking his way as he hurried through the corridors. No undead, no flying objects, nothing at all that threatened him and could harm him and as he started to walk even faster he wasn’t quite sure if he would have preferred to battle through this place instead of rushing through this endless silence. The feeling came over him again, that annoying feeling of something not being entirely as it should be.

 

His plated boots echoed in the silence. Mograine had injured him, but had still been easier to defeat than what he had expected. And the rest of them… they had turned into dust in front of his very eyes. Had he even hit them with his newly won sword? Even though he tried his hardest, he couldn’t remember the entire battle.

 

And then he suddenly realised why he was alone: Kel’Thuzad had ordered his forces to back off; there was no other explanation to why the road to the heart of Naxxramas would be clear of guards, open for him to just walk straight into the mention of the scourge leader, but why?

 

The confusion forced him to hurry and he now ran in a slow phase. Had Kel’Thuzad misunderstood the whole situation, thinking that the sword had corrupted the intruder, turning him into one of them?

 

Thoughts flushed through his head as he, with an increasing speed ran further and further into Naxxramas, and then he felt it again; the feeling of something not being as it should be, as if there were something more to the whole situation, something great and meaningful that he just couldn’t grip.

 

And there it was, the east wing that would take him to Kel’Thuzad. He swung around as he ran, making sure that no one was following him but saw nothing. He stopped a few seconds before he made the turn and leaned against the wall. His hand squeezed the shaft of the Ashbringer and he looked down at it, slowly running his fingers over the flat side of the blade.

“It’s up to us now,” he whispered. And it seemed that the sword answered him, seemed like it glowed towards him and that it lit up the runes on his dirty armour. Tower smiled at that, then took a deep breath and rushed towards the teleportation area. The Light would be with him, and the sword would obey.

 

                                                                 9

 

 “Who dares violate the sanctity of my domain?”  Kel’Thuzad turned around on the spot where he was standing at the far end corner of the room and stared down at Tower with his red eyes. And down he looked, for he was at least three times the size of the paladin.

“You already know who I am Kel’Thuzad, don’t you. You made it easy for me to come visit you.”

 

The creature laughed. It was hard to get a grip of his appearance; behind the purple clothes that somewhat covered the lower part of the undead, was a pulsating light that did not show any sign of a solid body, and around what looked to be his chest hang thick, heavy chains that rattled as he chuckled.

“Oh but aren’t you a clever servant of the Light. Yes, I made it easy for you because I wanted the pleasure to kill you myself and not risk you to fall by those pathetic creatures out there. But don’t you realize, Commander Luminia, that you are a fool?” He looked at Tower’s sword and once again laughed.

“So you think your holy powers and your pathetic Light broke the curse of the Ashbringer?” Tower stroke the sword without looking down.

“You will soon realize that that is the case, Kel’Thuzad.”

 

But he did not want to hear more, he had had enough of this, enough of this place and he just wanted the battle to start and then be over. He wanted to see his wife, his son…

 

Kel’Thuzad lifted his hand and raised his voice to a deafening level at the same moment as Tower suddenly rushed towards him with the Ashbringer raised and ready, and the undead’s words echoed between the walls;

“Listen carefully and you can hear the whispers! Let them come!”

 

The sword had its own strength and over and over did it hit sides of Kel’Thuzad. Time and again did the blade pass through the light that was actually thicker than it looked and almost as solid as flesh. A thick, black sludge slowly started to run from the open wounds down over the pink silk cloth.

 

Kel’Thuzad yelled in anger and backed off a few steps, surprised by the powerful attacks but as he gathered himself again, arcane magic started to surround his hands and an ice cold strike threw Tower to the side. The paladin desperately took a few quick breaths as the air left his lungs when he hit the stone-floor. He suppressed the pain, did not let himself think about it, stood up again and said a quick prayer to the Light to aid and to heal him.

 

But even though Tower hurt Kel’Thuzad again and again, he was getting desperate to defeat him because suddenly he had realized what had awakened him earlier when he had fallen asleep after the battle with Mograine. He understood now that the sword had tricked him, letting him believe that he had it under his command and then slowly forced its curse on him, whispering at him when he was injured, sleeping and dreaming; when he had had no chance to block it out. And now, as Kel’Thuzad worked his cold magic on him and Tower desperately used the Light to protect himself, he needed to also fight the curse that seemed to reach from the sword; burn his hands and climb up his arms with strong, invisible hands. And now, he did not have the strength, time or focus to block it out.

 

So far, the sword obeyed him, but it was now only a matter of time until the situation was the opposite and he knew that he had to slain Kel’Thuzad before the curse got him in his grip totally.

 

I... was... once... called... Ashbringer…

 

The light gathered around him. He stared at Kel’Thuzad and struck him with a thick ray of light.

 

Betrayed... by... my... order, destroyed... by... Kel'Thuzad.

 

The undead screamed, in rage or pain, Tower could not tell.

 

Made... to serve.

 

The fight went on, faster and faster and his full concentration was needed if he wanted to survive. He knew his strikes injured Kel‘Thuzad, he knew he could win if the time did not run out and if he didn’t make a mistake.

 

My... son... watched... me... die.

 

The sword was still his, it made him strong, it hurt Kel’Thuzad just as he had planned for it to do. Without it, he would have been lost because he was getting weak.

 

His head got hit once again and for a second the world was spinning and he thought it impossible to rise from the dirty floor. But somehow he did, and he charged back in, exhausted, hurting and fearing for his life, fearing to die and to leave those he loved without his protection.

 

Crusades... fed his rage.

 

He let the whispers come; he let the curse slowly land on him without caring of what it would do to him, it was simply too late to worry about it. He realized that he had been a fool to think that the sword would fall for him that easily, but on the other hand; without the Ashbringer to do most of the battle for him, he would have been dead long time ago.

 

Truth... is... unknown... to him.

 

He aimed for the hands of his enemy, tried to injure the parts that time after another struck him to the ground with ice cold bolts of magic and he could tell before the sword landed that it would hit.

 

Again, the screams echoed in the hall. Tower peered up at the tall, injured undead in front of him, desperately trying to see through the blood that was filling his eyes and almost making him blind. The ribs on his side were broken, he had heard them crunch as he had not had the time to block one of Kel’Thuzads many frost bolts. The plate had not broken, but instead it kept the broken ribs pushed in and the pain shot out through his body with every breath, every tiny little movement. He could also feel the warmth of his own blood underneath his amour as it poured out from what had to be a pretty deep cut on the top of his shoulder and down the top of his chest.

 

Scarlet... Crusade ... is pure... no longer.

 

He wanted to give up then. The pain was everywhere and his arms were as heavy as stone, but of course, he could not. It was getting harder for him to concentrate, the silent prayers to the Light were blurry in his head and he forgot the words he usually spoke to call upon it. Nonetheless, it was there and he gathered it, soothed his pain and looked up at Kel’Thuzad, his brown eyes meeting the raged, red ones just as the undead threw himself over Tower.

 

Balnazzar's... crusade...

 

He was forced backwards by the sudden weight and he lost his balance. For a moment, he was sure that he was going to die.

 

It all happened in slow-motion. During the second it took for him to hit the floor, he used all his willpower to what could be the last time he ever called upon the Light to protect him, and held on as hard as he could to the Ashbringer. He pointed it upwards as the same time as the curse continued to fill his head with its story. Kel’Thuzad fell with all his weight on top of him.

 

...corrupted... my son.

 

Amazingly and to his great relief, the undead remained still. The blade had penetrated his body and the sludge slowly colored Tower’s armor black and spread over his hair is he lay underneath his enemy.

 

The world spun and he closed his eyes, gasping for air. Voices filled his head, his wife’s voice, his son’s, but he could not understand what they said. The curse… he had made it before it got him. Because it was over… right?

 

His head fell to the side as the spinning room started to turn black. On top of him lay the defeated undead, with its thick blood now dripping down on the paladins face, and the curse finished its story just as Tower gave in to the darkness;

 

Kill... them... all!

 

10

 

 

“So you are also just leaving?” Uther half ran after her.

“Lorya? Were you going?” She didn’t stop to let him catch up and he was a few steps behind her.

“Where do you think? The only place we know for sure that he will pass.”

Uther followed her as she quickly walked up the stairs to the gryphons.
“Where? Menethil?” Lorya sighed slightly at his question.

“No, why would he pass Menethil coming from the Plaguelands if he is on horse back?”

She stopped when they were almost at the gryphon master and peered up at Uther. He was at least a head taller then her with light blue, cold eyes. Maladrin had left earlier on his own to secure the road from Goldshire to Stormwind and she and this man Uther, that now looked at her with a confused and a bit annoyed expression, were left behind.

“Perhaps he takes the gryphons from Menethil! Come on, Lorya. Don’t be a bitch, we don’t know where he is heading.”

“Exactly.”

 

If Lorya had not had the feeling that they needed to hurry, she would have enjoyed this moment even more. Uther muttered and stared angrily at her and she grinned back at him.
“That’s why we are going to Thandol Span. Come on now; we don’t have much time unless he is a really slow rider.”

 

11

 

The horse frowned and steam rose from its now wet body. It frowned, threw his head up and down as he commanded full speed forward.

 

Branches scratched his skin and made new marks along with the dried blood on his face. It was early morning, the fog laid thick and the world was quiet. Tower pushed his horse to the limit, grabbed the side of his damaged chest armor and tore it from its fastenings, the removal of the plate allowing his ribs to fall back in place again.

 

He coughed a few times, leaned over and spit fresh blood on the ground. If his horse could run faster he wouldn’t have to wait so long to show Him who he was and what he could do. And he was eager to enlighten them all; to wake them from their sleepwalking, from their dream and make them understand that things that they could not control were happening.

 

How naïve he had once been. How incredibly naïve. 

 

12

 

They heard the rumbling sound of a running horse even before the equipage was visible. Lorya grabbed her mask and pulled it up over her face, covering everything but her brown eyes.

 

It was a cold morning. The mist rose from the river far underneath them, climbed up the mountain walls and made the road on the other side invisible. The two rogues rode out on the bridge, ready to block off whatever side the rider in front of them would choose.

 

The sound of hooves grew louder and suddenly the noise changed; the horse now stepped on stone instead of grass and they peered into the thick fog and waited.

 

Lorya and Uther quickly looked at each other and in an instant they both knew that something was not right with the man that came rushing towards them. Even at a distance they could tell that his armour was broken and dirty, that the rider was injured; sitting slightly leaned to his left.

 

He came closer and they could both see the dried in blood, the black sludge and the deep wounds in his head. The right arm was hanging along the side and fresh blood ran from the shoulder and dripped from the fingertips down on the ground.

 

The horse almost sat down on his back legs as the rider pulled the reins hard, desperately trying to avoid a collision. The paladin almost fell over its neck. He grunted as he pushed himself up again with his left arm, and then slowly raised his head and looked at them.

“Tower?” Lorya’s voice was not more then a whisper and Uther turned his head and gave her a surprised look. Memories of her old friend came back to her. All those times they had fought side-by-side, times they had laughed together. His eyes had been kind back then, his hair clean and his face soft and handsome.

 

He was nothing like that now.

 

13

 

She took a steady grip at the back of the saddle as she landed behind him at the back of the running steed. The thick fog would soon disappear as the sun slowly became visible at the horizon. For anyone else, this ride could have been a very romantic one with the sky turning light blue and pink and the birds just starting to sing their morning symphonies. 

 

That absurd thought flashed through her mind only a second before a plated elbow hit her in the ribs. She lost her breath and gasped for air at the same moment as another blow was aimed towards her, but she was now ready for it and protected the side of her body with her arm.

She had not had the time to make sure Uther was all right after the sudden strike from the paladin, but at the moment that was not as important.

 

In a rage, he screamed at her to jump off, to leave him alone and at the same time as he tried to control the horse he half turned around and grabbed her upper arm to push her off. His grip was painful and would for sure leave dark marks on her skin. She pulled herself up while fighting hard to stay on the horse, put her arm around Tower’s neck and squeezed as hard as she could. Instantly, he let go of her and instead started to hit the arm that kept him from breathing. When she refused to let go, he threw himself forward; trying to force her grip to loosen, and the second after they both tipped to the side and landed roughly on the ground.

 

They rolled down the hill, tumbling around each other, hitting and pushing and desperately tried to get a grip or something that would slow the speed down. Over and over he fell on top of her and his plated armour painfully crushed her and forced the air out of her lungs. She landed on something that stung her back and her head banged into something that much has been a rock. Her world turned black but she forced herself back to consciousness.

 

When they reached the bottom of the slope, she had no chance to hold all his weight down, and he sat himself on top of her, forcing her arms down. She twisted underneath him and kicked her legs just to hit her knees into the hard plate of his back.

"Lorya..." He hissed, the brown eyes empty, unfamiliar, yet recognisable as the eyes of the friend he had once been.

"I told you to leave me alone, didn't I?" He threw himself forward and broke her nose with his forehead."

She thought about her flash powder, her daggers and the poisons, but her hands were stuck to the ground by his weight. The blood from her nose started to sip out from underneath the leather mask.

"Tower... you're not yourself!" she whispered, still struggling underneath him.

"Oh but sweetheart, I am! I have been enlightened by something greater and I have come to realise something."

 

For a moment he looked down at her and stayed still, a grin resting over his lips.

"I have lived in a lie. My whole life has been for nothing! And you... you pathetic people still live in that lie, still believe that you have the control over your lives."

"What are you talking about?" She twisted her arms under his grip.

"Before you stopped me, I was on my way to Stormwind to warn you. I am the messenger, don't you see?"

 

When she realised how deep he had fallen into the curse s sudden sadness came over her. She wanted to shake him out of his current state, tell him how wrong he was and that he was wrongly stuck in the grip of his new sword and its true master, but she knew that it was useless. And she also knew that she had to get loose or he would take her life.

 

                                                                 14

 

Everything happened so fast. She suddenly spotted someone behind him and saw the rock in Uther's hand just before he swung it and hit the side of Tower head. She could move again and crawled over to Tower. He did not seem to notice her.

 

Fresh blood sipped from the wound just above the temple and mixed itself with the already dried in stains. Tower tried to sit up, moaned quietly and lost his balance. He was on the edge of losing consciousness and fell back onto the ground and she knew that he was defenceless.

 

The sharp blade that she now held in her hand was ready to do its work, but she hesitated.

"Tower..."  Her voice was merely a whisper and she surprised herself when she felt her eyes fill with tears.

 

He opened his eyes and looked at her face. For a second she recognised him; his eyes saw her, and they knew who she was. Slowly he raised his injured hand and behind her, Uther took a step forward but she motioned for him to not interrupt. The top of Tower’s fingers came closer to her face and she didn’t move as he carefully caught the tear that ran down her cheek.

 

He let her place the edge of the dagger against his throat and they were both completely still for a few moment. The fog was gone now and the sunbeams felt warm against her neck. His brown eyes looked steadily into her dark ones and his hand was still touching her face as the dagger penetrated his skin.

 

She lay with her head on his chest for what felt like an eternity. His breathing was not much more than a wheezing sound and when it finally faded she let the tears run from her eyes and down over his dirty, broken armour.

 

The breeze playfully ruffled her hair and together with its smooth caresses came the birds singing and the sound of trees swaying and she was suddenly certain that she heard his voice in the softest whisper:

 

‘Thank you.’