Glacierfur: The Madness Place

(Concurrently with Aunne and Ambrosine’s Journals

Music Inspiration The Funny Farm ))

Together, the four of them rode. It was like being part of a pack again, for just the moment. Demons were cleaved and destroyed, trampled and torn apart as they charged into one of the sanctums of the Felborne invaders, annihilating in their path, until the call to split occurred.

The worgen headed towards the Pit, the greatest concentration of Fel, and where many of the demons went to feed.

As he rode, he remembered his awakening as a Death Knight. The Lich King had tended towards two types of people for his elite soldiers. The first, and more common, were the good people, people that would have abhorred what they had become, and fought his control, in vain, the entire time they were His.

The second, was what Glacierfur had been. Those who found that their new dark nature was all the more appealing, than whatever they had been in life. Undeath was simply a fertile soil for the dark, bloodthirsty soul was seeded with. And there was even more for the Worgen, since as an undead, Elune��_��__s Scythe had not harnessed the natural and divine ferocity that was the blessing of Goldrinn. Instead, the mad, hungering fury within him sat chained by the Will of the Lich King, and then by Glacierfur��_��__s own strength of mind following the Light of the Dawn, but only just.

It was always a risk, to go to the madness place. He did not recognize friend from foe in the rage, and there was always the chance that the chains would not find purchase later. But this was the perfect time, as he rode further from his fellows, the chains on the snarling, rabid piece of a god within his mind began to fall.

Glacierfur��_��__s last fully conscious sight before the red haze consumed him was the look of horror of one Eredar��_��__s face. He would remember it all, but it was as if the conscious mind of the worgen was watching the fight and carnage from a far away distance. It was difficult to always process and sort everything later, but there was usually a reason. Too much blood, he thought, was a good reason.

Some time later, a gate appeared in Acherus, the Worgen staggering through shortly after, burned and cut and bruised and slashed. Fel fire had taken the lower end of his left arm off, a stump, cauterized by the flame, was all that remained. Three demonic blades had gone through his torso, and an axe was lodged in his right shoulder. He held both runeblades in his remaining hand, and the leg armor had been nearly shattered completely.

Before he collapsed, he grinned at the guards of Acherus, and huffed a small laugh. ��_��__Little too much fun.��_��__