Trapped

Xynrael stared up at the sky, which to him had taken on the qualities of a fishbowl contained inside a plume of smoke.  The entire view of it reminded him of a time when, as a much younger man, he had had far too much bloodthistle.  Things had been more colorful then, of course.

His mind registered a shock of pain as he attempted to roll over to his left, and he began the slow crawl through this strange haze to the place where his memories rested.  They were slow in ambling towards him, but eventually, mind and memory regained eachother.

He was in the realm of Shadow.  The Lich who had once commanded the Tundra Stalkers from afar had attempted to banish him there, and with the last of his strength (so he believed) he had taken both Lich and Stalkers with him, and collapsed the crypt holding the small army he had risen as their leader.  The effort had boiled the flesh of the arm he had used for the channeling, causing the saronite plate to fuse with his skin.

For a few moments, the death knight allowed himself to pursue the curiosity of turning his left arm over and over, flexing the muscles to see how it worked.  After some time at this, he decided the damage could be undone, but he was scarcely in proper form to carry out the endeavor.

There was a sound of a persuasion that mimicked the warped sight of this place behnd him, and Xynrael whirled.  The Lich was floating in to view, and behind the Lich, the Tundra Stalkers were slowly assembling and shaking off their various, dishevelled states.  Out of the haze, small, dark figures began to appear.

Without moving its ghostly face, the Lich spoke.

Always you are frustrating the plans the Master laid out for you.  If that is not enough, you have frustrated His plans for others.

Despite multiple uses of the word "frustrate," the Lich himself did not reveal that particular emotion in his speech.

"I have had enough of the Master, the Scourge, and the plans.  Better I should die, and you with me, than to continue playing these games."  Xynrael shot back, not even bothering to reach for the runeblades that remained strapped to his back.

Games?  No games.  It is the fate of a world you tried to stifle.  All things end in death, no matter how hard you may fight against it.  All things, except for this.  Does it sit well with you, knowing that even if they could save you, your friends, even your enemies, believe you a traitor?  You pushed them away in an attempt to protect them, and now not even those who once wished to see the Dawnbreaker return will attempt to bring you back.  You are trapped in here, with us.

The death knight nodded in response to the Lich every few words, until it was done speaking.

"Aye," he said, lifting his hands to the hilts of his runeblades.  "It was a brilliant plan.  Push them all away so you would believe I was preparing.  Keep you blind until the last possible moment.  Then, you did more than I could have hoped for: You opened the gates of this hell so wide I could drag you in with me.  You are making one critical mistake in reasoning, however."  Xynrael drew his blades, lowering them to his sides and watching as the Tundra Stalkers gathered around him, a small legion of shadows forming at their backs.

Arrogant.  Arrogant.

That single word, repeated, was all the reply the Lich could muster.

Undaunted, Xynrael continued.

"You seem to believe I am trapped in here with you.  That is not quite accurate."  The death knight set his jaw, dragging up his hood over his face.

The Tundra Stalkers shifted uncertainly; they had been severed from him, and the Lich had drained too much of his own power opening the portal to channel them all properly.

You are trapped.  Forever.  No one is coming-

"I do not expect them to.  This all I could have hoped for, but better.  I am not trapped in here with you, you soul-raping -FREAK.-"  Xynrael's voice rose in tone as his hands clenched around the hilts of his blades.  "-You- are trapped in here with -me.-"

With a lunge and a heavy upward slash, he decapitated one of the Tundra Stalkers.