(no subject)
Who: Arthas Menethil (lionbeforelambs), OPEN IF YOU DARE?
What: Shrine Citadel-building
When: Evening
Where: Somewhere between the castle and Riful's Manor
Rating: PG until someone comes and tries to wreck his shit, I guess
Arthas Menethil had been a sentimental man until his soul had been taken from him like so many others. Azeroth called him the Traitor Prince, monster, butcher and a myriad of other things. All of the titles were true in some form or another, but it was a side rarely seen since he took up Frostmourne that still existed in the depths of his being. The absence of the commanding presence that was Ner'zhul had caused the ashamed Matthias Lehner to show himself through the Prince of Lordaeron little by little, no matter how hard he had tried to push him away.
He had swore that he would not take place in this tradition when the invitation was delivered to him, but as he sat on his makeshift Throne, he had begun to think as he always did.
"You--we--owe the world so much, Arthas," the voice of a little boy of blond said to him. He was invisible to anyone but the Death Knight, but Arthas could see him clearly. Matthias Lehner, the embodiment of his innocence. The bastion of Light that Frostmourne had been unable to snuff. "There is much blood that stains your hands -- blood to be repaid. You can do that here too, you know..."
"I owe nobody anything," he growled back, fists tightening around the throne. These were the moments he dreaded the most during his day: when he had to face the demons that were supposed to have been silenced by that damn Lich King. "I am owed retribution for what befell Lordaeron. That's all. This castle holds no promise for me."
"You don't really believe that," Matthias commented softly with a childish frown on his brow. The admittance made the larger man snort and stand to pace the room. Matthias watched him sadly. "Please Arthas, it's one day--He's gone, there's nobody here to make decisions for you but you..."
"I don't need lecturing -- I've heard enough," Arthas snapped, causing the small boy to cringe. Instantly, the death knight had to turn away to avoid the wave of pity that hit him. "I liked it better when you weren't such a brat."
"Someone has to say these things..." Matthias mumbled, following his altar ego to the door. Arthas opened it and stepped outside, scanning the horizon with Frostmourne in hand.
"...I will do as you ask," the death knight finally said after a good ten minutes of silence. "But I do it for Lordaeron -- for no one else." Despite how disdained Arthas sounded about the entire prospect, the boy's eyes lit up with tears of happiness.
"It is a start," he answered, pale skin promptly regaining its color despite his ethereal form. Arthas didn't answer, and Matthias faded back to his subconscious. The Traitor Prince turned back to the supplies that had been left, picking up as much as he needed to begin his task.
Arthas was no mason, that was for sure. But he would build a monument, to everyone who had suffered by his hand and other's -- all the forgotten souls in Lordaeron, down to the most lowly of peasants. Many names had long since left him -- as Prince, he had charged himself with knowing every name of every subject, as his father had. No longer could he remember such things. Still, a few he could list were marked: Uther the Lightbringer, King Terenas Menethil II, Taretha Foxton, Queen Lianne Menethil, Princess Calia Menethil, Muradin Bronzebeard and finally, Invincible. Despite the small amount of names, the monument was huge and crafted of stone, candy skulls and decorated with beads and various other trinkets.
The Champion admired his work with a somber eye before Frostmourne would come in contact with the ground in front of it -- the base sealing itself in enchanted ice which slowly worked its way up to coat it in a nevermelting shield that would be damn hard to shatter. Through it, the names were still visible.
It brought him no closure. It brought him naught but a fresh wave of loss and rage that made him grit his teeth in regret. Quietly, he strode away toward the forest, chest heaving deeply with rattled breath.
"In Memory of Lordaeron, and all the Souls Departed"
[ooc: Feel free to catch him walking about after he's through~]
What: Shrine Citadel-building
When: Evening
Where: Somewhere between the castle and Riful's Manor
Rating: PG until someone comes and tries to wreck his shit, I guess
Arthas Menethil had been a sentimental man until his soul had been taken from him like so many others. Azeroth called him the Traitor Prince, monster, butcher and a myriad of other things. All of the titles were true in some form or another, but it was a side rarely seen since he took up Frostmourne that still existed in the depths of his being. The absence of the commanding presence that was Ner'zhul had caused the ashamed Matthias Lehner to show himself through the Prince of Lordaeron little by little, no matter how hard he had tried to push him away.
He had swore that he would not take place in this tradition when the invitation was delivered to him, but as he sat on his makeshift Throne, he had begun to think as he always did.
"You--we--owe the world so much, Arthas," the voice of a little boy of blond said to him. He was invisible to anyone but the Death Knight, but Arthas could see him clearly. Matthias Lehner, the embodiment of his innocence. The bastion of Light that Frostmourne had been unable to snuff. "There is much blood that stains your hands -- blood to be repaid. You can do that here too, you know..."
"I owe nobody anything," he growled back, fists tightening around the throne. These were the moments he dreaded the most during his day: when he had to face the demons that were supposed to have been silenced by that damn Lich King. "I am owed retribution for what befell Lordaeron. That's all. This castle holds no promise for me."
"You don't really believe that," Matthias commented softly with a childish frown on his brow. The admittance made the larger man snort and stand to pace the room. Matthias watched him sadly. "Please Arthas, it's one day--He's gone, there's nobody here to make decisions for you but you..."
"I don't need lecturing -- I've heard enough," Arthas snapped, causing the small boy to cringe. Instantly, the death knight had to turn away to avoid the wave of pity that hit him. "I liked it better when you weren't such a brat."
"Someone has to say these things..." Matthias mumbled, following his altar ego to the door. Arthas opened it and stepped outside, scanning the horizon with Frostmourne in hand.
"...I will do as you ask," the death knight finally said after a good ten minutes of silence. "But I do it for Lordaeron -- for no one else." Despite how disdained Arthas sounded about the entire prospect, the boy's eyes lit up with tears of happiness.
"It is a start," he answered, pale skin promptly regaining its color despite his ethereal form. Arthas didn't answer, and Matthias faded back to his subconscious. The Traitor Prince turned back to the supplies that had been left, picking up as much as he needed to begin his task.
Arthas was no mason, that was for sure. But he would build a monument, to everyone who had suffered by his hand and other's -- all the forgotten souls in Lordaeron, down to the most lowly of peasants. Many names had long since left him -- as Prince, he had charged himself with knowing every name of every subject, as his father had. No longer could he remember such things. Still, a few he could list were marked: Uther the Lightbringer, King Terenas Menethil II, Taretha Foxton, Queen Lianne Menethil, Princess Calia Menethil, Muradin Bronzebeard and finally, Invincible. Despite the small amount of names, the monument was huge and crafted of stone, candy skulls and decorated with beads and various other trinkets.
The Champion admired his work with a somber eye before Frostmourne would come in contact with the ground in front of it -- the base sealing itself in enchanted ice which slowly worked its way up to coat it in a nevermelting shield that would be damn hard to shatter. Through it, the names were still visible.
It brought him no closure. It brought him naught but a fresh wave of loss and rage that made him grit his teeth in regret. Quietly, he strode away toward the forest, chest heaving deeply with rattled breath.
"In Memory of Lordaeron, and all the Souls Departed"
[ooc: Feel free to catch him walking about after he's through~]