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lordrethandus · 6 years

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Renewed Shall be the Blade that was Broken

The Bladewhisper Estate felt more like an armory or a smithy than the furnished house Whitstan was expecting.

There were weapons lining the naked stone walls that came from every corner and culture Azeroth had to offer, and then some. The Death Knight could barely hear the familiar clang of hammers striking metal coming up through the floor, and the low rumbling could only belong to a roaring furnace. Whitstan only saw one or two elves walking alone in the halls despite this being such a large complex, but it wasn’t until Lord Zaetan led him further down did he witness the full might of his house.

Raw Azerite sat in carts along the walls of the basement, with a furnace shaped like the head of an angry dragonhawk spewing out cinders and black smoke. The elves down here were covered in ash and soot, yelling at each other through their thick leather and steel masks while they hammered away at weapons hot off the rack. Lord Zaetan said nothing when he led them through, and the workers paid either of them very little attention, if at all. In the back of the basement sat a gilded door painted with House Bladewhisper’s sigil. It was still too loud to hear Lord Zaetan speak, but he turned to look at Whitstan and gestured him closer before pushing the door open.

Ellyria rested on an obsidian slab in the middle of an empty room, polished and cleaned to look brand new; except the crimson crystal that once sat in the hilt was missing. “It was a real challenge reforging your blade. We couldn’t recreate your runes without the Ebon Hold’s runeforge, but...” Lord Zaetan started on their approach. “I think we did a good enough job without it. Pick her up and tell me how she handles.”

Dark energies flickered and sparked as his hand hovered over the blade. Black lightning shot against every surface that could conduct electricity while his fingers gripped the handle of the newly forged greatsword. “No… you didn’t…” Whitstan commented dryly as letters began appearing across the blade’s length in some unknown language. The words etched into the runeblade seemed to glow a golden hue for a brief second before settling into shades of black.

“Your reforging was lackluster at best. The soul of the blade is missing. Ellyria, is missing. If…” he said, while angling and gauging the curvature of the blade, “If she isn’t present, I can sense it. She is the driving force behind the weapon. Her soul is what cleaves and drains those who stand against me; the Alliance who stand against us. Without her, this is simply a clump of metal.”

Lord Zaetan rubbed at the back of his neck and gave Whitstan a light shrug. “Well we had to make some minor adjustments. Handling a vampiric soul as dangerous and powerful as your San’layn isn’t something we were equipped for. House Greyshade has Ellyria, and they agreed to help fix her crystal prison in exchange for studying her. Without them she would likely be freed and lost forever.” He turned his attention back to the blade in Whitstan’s grasp. “This ‘clump of metal’ has been improved to better suit your needs. The edge has been capped with Azerite, the hilt reinforced with folded titansteel. I also revamped the handguard to make it more suitable for elven hands… free of charge. I also made it lighter and better balanced, without sacrificing its strength.”

Whitstan sneered at his explanation as he loosened his grip on the weapon’s handle, gently lowering it to rest on the table before him. “It’s all irrelevant. The weapon is stronger… yes, I can easily warp it with my runes and enhance it as it is… however, my runeblade was defined by one single attribute that none other had: Ellyria. And you say this other house is in possession of her? Praytell, which direction is house Greyshade?” he asked as unholy energy sparked along the walls from his very being. “I didn’t want to cause a scene in the Amber Glade but it seems like you leave me little choice, Zaetan.”

A light chuckle came from his surprisingly punchable face. “Spare me your threats, Whitstan. I’ve already called them over before I smuggled you into the Glade. They should arrive in a few minutes, at the most.” He turned his back to the Death Knight and glanced up at the sigil covering the wall. “Also… it’s Lord Zaetan.”

“Oh? I didn’t think we were on such formal terms, my lord.” he responded, “Regardless,” Whitstan spoke as his fingers released the blade, “You’ve limited yourself, your highness. A few minutes is all you have left now. Tick tock.” he commented while his sapphire eyes settled onto the warrior’s gaze menacingly.

Lord Zaetan turned back around and crossed his arms, eyeing the Death Knight up and down before slyly saying, “I’d love to shake some dust off fighting you. Maybe teach you some gratitude and respect for reaching into my own pocket and unfucking your shattered pride and joy… but that blade is freshly forged, and cost me a small fortune. Either way that duel went, I’d still come out last-” He stopped at the sound of the door opening again, initially thinking one of the workers was coming in here to ogle at the blade again. “Ahh, perfect timing, Saleron. Come put that bitch back in his blade before I make another mess in this chamber.”

The young elf had the body of a fourteen year old boy, but his face looked ancient. A feeble kid to be sure, with a dusty mop of mottled grey hair and ghostly pale skin. In his grasp was a strange metal apparatus with a crimson glow and a hungering presence Whitstan was certainly familiar with.

The Death Knight swiftly gripped the hilt again, dragging the blade as it sounded a horrific metallic shriek.

Saleron gave Whitstan one weary look before he almost turned to leave. “I uh…” he muttered under his breath. “You didn’t tell me he would pick the weapon up…”

“It’s alright, boy. He’s a friend.” Zaetan shot Whitstan a glance for confirmation. “Come over here and give us the red woman before he changes his mind.” Reluctantly Saleron began shuffling forward, with his dull eyes fixed to the curved sickle blade in the Death Knight’s grasp.

Swirling blue eyes settled against Zaetan’s visage, glowing dimly yet lighting up their darkened surroundings. “So then… I’m sure looking the gift-horse in the mouth is frowned upon but I have to wonder. Knowing what she is, why would you fix my rune-blade? Or more specifically, why would your family reforge it… even at the risk of the soul attached to it breaking free?”

“I do what my Lady commands. She came to me asking for my help, because she knew how much this blade and spirit means to you. Of course I accepted.” Lord Zaetan reached out and firmly grabbed Saleron by the shoulder to prevent him from scurrying off. “Favor with her is more valuable than gold. Staying on her good side not only helps me, but my family too. You remember what that felt like, right?” He glanced over his shoulder and smirked at Whitstan. “Protecting family?” Saleron kept looking between Zaetan and Whitstan, unsure if this was friendly banter or not. The Lord reached down and gently plucked the metal cage out of the boy’s hands before patting him on the head. “Fine work, Greyshade. You can return to your father now, alright? Go on… git.”

“T-thank you sir.” He didn’t waste any time hurrying out as quickly as his feeble legs would carry him. Lord Zaetan turned to face Whitstan once more, pulling the metal cage open with his hands to reveal it was shaped like a skeletal hand; inside the palm sat the crystal.

“He’s a good lad, that Saleron. He was the one who figured out how to transfer your San’layn Princess to a safe place without risk of killing or releasing her. Oh and uh… careful not to drop it. This Ellyria woman doesn’t quite fancy my jokes, so if she escapes I’d likely be number one on her shit list.” He gestured for Whitstan to approach.

“Don’t blame me if she holds a grudge against the impression you left her.” he muttered, reaching to grasp the crystal as he pried it casually from the skeletal decor. “If she doesn’t like you, she’ll come for you in the end.” Whitstan commented before he dropped the gem onto the sword’s hilt. A bright red glow flashed blindingly for a moment before shifting hues merged into the base of the weapon. As the gem took on a fluid form and absorbed into the curved runeblade it now bore a cold blue glow. “Ellyria…?” Whitstan whispered, calling out to the blade hopefully.

The crying of countless souls now bound to his blade could be heard in a violent cacophony. The blade answered in a raspy and hateful voice, “You left me… you left me here in a shattered blade and these heathens bound me to a fucking stone. Thank you for that.” Ellyria retorted angrily.

Whitstan’s grip along the hilt triggered a bright blue glow along a series of runes on the blade, creating a flash-freeze effect on everything around him. Even the Death Knight felt the severe shift in temperature and coldness that permeated from the blade. A hint of sadness wore at his voice as he spoke, the thought of Zaetan’s verbal prod about family wearing on his mind “... Sorry… I never meant to leave you alone…” he commented while his supernatural voice echoed lightly.

Lord Zaetan cleared his throat before saying, “I held my end of the bargain, and your blade is reforged and better than ever. I’d love to stick around and trade threats with you Whitstan, but I have a wedding I need to attend to.”

Whitstan swung the sickled blade around his figure, his stern countenance remaining stoic as he locked the blade in place behind him. “You’ve fulfilled your end. I agree. For both our sakes I feel I should leave the Amber Glade now, under the guise of the night.”

“You wouldn’t make it ten paces beyond my estate before the constructs discovered your presence, especially with that magic-magnet strapped to your back. The Glade’s under martial law, remember?” Lord Zaetan pointed toward the door. “Go back up the way you came, but instead of going out the main door, take the first left. It’ll lead to my courtyard… the suppressor runes should be weak enough there for you to summon a Death Gate… assuming you’re strong enough.” He paused, as if to silently question if he should comment further. “Try not to kill anyone on your way out.”

“I’ll remember this Bladewhisper. Whether or not she was grateful for your efforts, know that I am. Among those in the Amber Glade there are few that I call friends. Syrahn is one of them. I’ll be on my way, as you suggest. Though watch your backs,” he spoke, referring to both Zaetan and Syrahn, “Seems like plenty of people are aiming for it within the Glade. Don’t fail her, I owe your ‘Glade Queen’ too and it’d inconvenience me if you ended up being insufficient as a guard.”

Lord Zaetan gave him an uncomfortable smile before extending a hand. “Captain of the Guard, actually. And, you’re welcome…?” He paused, not knowing if he was being complimented or not. “I doubt this is the last I’ve seen of you, so I wish you good fortune in the battles ahead. Maybe next time we meet you can tell me the colorful story of how such a bloodthirsty man like yourself managed to befriend one of the most powerful - and forgiving - women in Quel’Thalas.”

An awkward cold shake was held between the two men’s grasps. “Next time.” he replied dryly.

Collab Commandos: @ijirothehero @whitstanwilhelm

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