World of Warcraft One Shot

Uther sat across you, the roaring campfire casting shadows across his weathered and scarred face. An elegant and simple urn, cast in silver and bronze nested in the crook of his arm. The stars shone with incredible vigor as the pale blood moon glided across the sky. Uther rested a heavy, gloved hand on the urn and gazed up at the stars, his cracked lips turned up at the corners and a feint smile appeared, not something that happened too often. After a deep sigh he stood up, shaking off the dust that had settled on his bulky armour. His face was no longer warm, his eyes became dead and trailed off into the distance. Without even looking at you he commanded,

"We move now under the cover of darkness, the plague advances and we will follow suit. I will pack away King Terenas's urn, Y/S/N, you ready the horses and then take watch."

The stench of the undead infiltrated your nostrils and burnt your eyes, this wretched place was named the Plaguelands for a reason and the quicker you could leave the better. As you led the horses to the small make-shift camp, Uther began to pack away the urn. Kneeling on the floor he laid out a large linen cloth, embroided with various protective runes and enchantments, methodically and intricately he wrapped the urn in the cloth, muttering a series of incantations as he did so, causing the runes to glow and shimmer.

The urn was gently placed into a sack and the sack cast onto the side of the horse. You kicked dirt over the fire and the night fell unsettling dark and silent. The roar of the fire had gone and there seemed to be none of the regular wildlife that normally filled the forests. This wildlife was of course not exactly as cute as the hares and the elk that patrolled the mountains of Dun Morogh, or as exotic as the scorched earth of the Blasted Lands, but there was normally something. A colony of bats flying overhead, the forsaken deer that ran up and down the abandoned fields, spilling their guts as they did so. But as you looked around there was nothing and something about that made your stomach feel very uneasy.

"Come on Y/S/N..." he called out from atop his noble mount, "it is time to go, I want to leave this damned place."

Your hand reached out and touched the nose of your caramel-brown and white pinto, running your hand across it's face and down it's side, the bristly hair tickling your fingertips as you did so. Reaching the saddle you hopped on and set off into the dark night, hoping to cover some distance before the sun decided to rise.

Crossing a small, barren hill the grotesque smell of decaying flesh was swapped with that of burning flesh. The flickering flames engulfed the peasants farming village, as the residents ran from hooded figures adorned in long, black robes, sat upon skeletal, ghostly steeds that reared and bucked as the hooded figures threw torches into the huts.

Turning to Uther, his face turned pale, his eyes opened wide as they reflected the fires burning into the distance. He placed his hand on the sack that held the urn and clutched it tightly. Under his breath he let out a feint whisper, "Arthas."

~*~

Written by Aaron.