Hours of tireless trudging through the desolate, unforgiving snowblind had led up to that moment.

He ignored the exhausted protests of his muscles. He ignored the onset of hypothermia and malnourishment. He ignored the fact that his men had been left behind hours ago. Nothing could get between him and his objective.

Euphoria overwhelmed his senses when the object he sought finally revealed itself in plain sight.

“Behold… our salvation…” Janderius’s voice practically trembled with the anticipation as he gazed upon the wondrous item before them.

 His faithful travelling companion was the first one to stagger over to the sinister artifact rising out of the snow. A wary hand dusted the coating of fresh powder off of the altar to read its inscription.

“Hold, lad… It’s a warning.” His companion swallowed hard before continuing. “It says… ‘Whomsoever takes up this blade shall definitely be able to defeat Sielic Trugran, specifically. Just as the blade has the power to fucking wreck the shit out of its foes, so shall it also thoroughly own its wielder.’ Oh, I should have known. This blade is cursed! Let’s get the hell out of here!” The dwarf began to back away from the weapon’s pedestal with a horrified look in his eye.

Jander wasn’t as easily swayed by the warning. Purposeful footsteps only brought him closer to the altar as his eyes remained focused on the prize it presented. “I will gladly bear any curse, to protect my comrades.”

“Leave it be, Janderius.” Muradin’s tone and gaze were filled with as much stern determination as they could muster as he tried to appeal to the mage’s sense of reason. “Forget this business and go have a sandwich instead.”

Jander merely shook his head and took another step closer to the legendary blade. His long blonde locks had to be swept out of his face so that he could see the object of his desire more clearly. His trusty greathammer was cast aside without a second thought, leaving a deep indent in the snow where it landed.

At the other end of the cavern, Garrosh Hellscream tried on dresses and Anduin Lothar gleefully slapped the belly of a giggling ogre. Jander didn’t take any issue with either of those sights, they didn’t seem out of place to him at all.

“Damn your sandwich!” The mage-adin declared with a dramatic, sweeping gesture. “Nothing shall prevent me from killing my old friend, other old friend. Not even you…”

The epic orchestral soundtrack swelled as his near-frostbitten fingers slowly curled around Frostmourne’s hilt.

Janderius woke with a start. Figuring out that he’d been dreaming took longer than he was proud of.

“…Fuck, man.”

Author Jander
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