Stirrings in Lordaeron

When Arthas first took up Frostmourne, the icy runeblade hidden away within a then unknown cavern in Northrend, Mal'Ganis – the very demon he had ventured there to destroy – appeared and had seemed very sure of himself in the fact that they now served the same master.

Unknown to the dreadlord, however, Frostmourne's whisperings had bade the young Prince to destroy the demon and have his revenge. Which he did. With gusto.

Perhaps the Lich King had known that such an act would reinforce his champion's trust and belief that the sword was his salvation, making it much easier for him to fathom that the dreadlord, Tichondrius, would be the one whose instruction he should follow next. His Master's will was imperative so Arthas reluctantly agreed. But he certainly didn't have to be happy about it.

His power was growing daily and the Lich King spoke to him through the sword. Thus far he had met no foe he couldn't vanquish; as the Master's chosen death knight, he knew he was destined for greater things. For now he would bide his time.

“Kel'thuzad? Didn't I kill him already?”

Amusing that he would be the one to bring 'life' back to the necromancer.

And of course, it was absolutely necessary for Arthas, the Prince, no the KING, to go out and recover the putrid remains of the mage likely still laying in the very spot within Andorhal that he had been slain by the overly-anxious youth in his fervor to stop the spread of the plague.

Arthas sniffed, as though the very idea was offensive.

But none-the-less, it was time to leave the castle with his new army, gathering up all the freshly risen and recently constructed undead for the grain distribution town, the Cult of the Damned eager and practically frothing at the mouth at the opportunity to find more materials for their experiments. Not only were the shambling minions to go, but also the 'pieces' of flesh and remains left behind at the massacre that were unsuitable for abominations were to be taken up and carried along on wagons. It seemed that hurling slabs of rotting and rancid meat into their enemies could be a mildly disconcerting strategy... and an unusually effective one!

The Prince wanted to bring his newest toy along also; it wouldn't do at all for her to be traveling amongst the rest of his subjects like common filth. No, she was HIS private filth... and he had promised them more time together before her 'return' to Dalaran.

So, he had usurped his father's carriage, thinking it perfect for the task of carting Lady Proudmoore around to his less than savory locations throughout whatever tedious journey Tichondrius had in store for him. The marvelous blues and golds of the vehicle were unsatisfactory to the Prince's new tastes so he had it adorned with skulls and spikes and other such gruesome paraphernalia that would no doubt strike terror into anyone who should have the misfortune of seeing it. The skeletal steeds pulling the coach finished off the lurid picture nicely and Arthas allowed himself a pleased grin.

Jaina had been brought to the carriage stark naked, only half-aware of her surroundings, though Arthas wasn't taking any chances and kept the sorceress' fingers tightly bound at all times. After he had let the Cultists have their fun with her for several days, Jaina had slipped into a nearly catatonic state, the necromantic energy and sexual abuse no doubt taking their toll on her mortal body. The Prince had no doubt that the woman was strong and that is would take a bit more time before she was completely submissive to him; he was quite certain that her current state would not persist believing it more to be her body putting a defense system in place.

The coach ambled along slowly, the horses moving at barely a walk to keep pace with the marching undead outside, and Arthas sat back in his seat content for now to simply stare at the woman.

Her eyes were half-closed, evidence of the wailing and screaming she had suffered during her stay still visible though she had long before run out of tears to give. The normally shiny, blond hair stuck in every sort of direction while the fair, creamy skin he used to savor so much was badly bruised and deathly pale. She lay half-draped on the bench with her arms bound awkwardly behind her causing her breasts to be thrust out as one leg was up on the seat while the other dangled lifelessly over the side.

From his position Arthas had a splendid view between her parted thighs at the pink center lined with feminine, curly hairs.

Despite his knowledge that Jaina was made of harder stuff than this and would likely take a great deal more of torment before yielding, the Prince couldn't help but get excited while looking at her. So beautiful and powerful and now so... debased. His eyes lingered on her breasts and hips for a long while as his erection grew.

Gingerly removing his gloves, Arthas crossed the carriage to her side, partially laying on and next to the semi-conscious sorceress. He embraced her closely in what could have been mistaken for tender from a larger distance.

Smoothing away fly-aways and caressing the increasingly sallow cheeks with his cool fingertips, the Prince cooed in the woman's ear.

“Jaina...”

She made no outward response.

“I wanted to tell you something. I thought you might be pleased to hear it... I do not intend on turning you into an undead.”

He continued as though she had expressed her surprise.

“Yes, I know. You believe me to be a monster now, and certainly with good reason. But Jaina! I still have a man's heart, can you not hear it beating?”

Arthas clung her face to his chest and he thought he felt her stir just so slightly.

“You see? My skin and hair may have been leeched of color but my dear Jaina, I am still human. That is why I thirst for revenge and power and other...” his hand found it's way down to her breast, “...mortal desires.”

Lightly stroking the sensitive flesh with icy hands, Jaina released a minute shiver.

“But...” he continued, kneading the entire globe now in one strong hand, thumb brushing over the nipples repeatedly. “... don't think that you are free. Oh no, your betrayal cut me entirely too deep, dear Jaina. The humiliation you caused me will never be forgotten.” Squeezing more insistently.

“You will still serve me.”

Arthas bent his head and took her other tiny, pink nipple into his mouth, sucking and laving his tongue across the nub as though he actually cared a whit about the woman's pleasure. He nibbled a bit before releasing it and lifting his head to press his pallid lips to hers.

When she parted her lips almost involuntarily for him, he forced his tongue into the wet cavern as his pants began to feel unbearably tight. He shuddered against her lips, his cock burning with need. Reaching down hurriedly with his free hand, continuing to rub her chest with the other, Arthas unlaced his pants and freed his aching flesh.

He wrapped his hand around the hardened member, pumping slowly a few times and sighing as he dipped his tongue deep into Jaina's mouth. The muscles in his belly were tense, his cock leaking precum as he continued to stroke himself slowly, wanting to savor this moment with Jaina where she was completely compliant and unquestioning of her fate.

Murmuring against the sorceress' lips, “You want me now, Jaina? You can barely stand it, I know. You want me to take you with my powerful dick? I know you've seen what I can do, and the thought of having that inside you makes you breathless, isn't that right?”

He began to increase his pace, strong hands squeezing and coaxing the hardened flesh, grunting as he tried to make her respond. He NEEDED to hear her respond.

“Yesss, Jaina... tell me you want it, that you need it. You want to be ravaged repeatedly, by me and anyone I tell you to. Say it, bitch.”

Arthas continued talking against her open lips, grasping the back of her neck he let the energy flow through him, a bit of the magic that bound the undead's will to his own. He would make her understand.

“Tell me, Jaina, tell me you want me to fuck you, that there isn't anything else you want. How good it would feel.”

There was no response at first and the Prince was growing frustrated as he caressed himself, but with a sudden intake of air and a widening of her big, blue eyes, he nearly moaned in pleasure as she breathed.

“I want you, Arthas. Oh please, take me however you like.”

Grasping himself at the base, he put the head of his cock at her hot entrance, pushing inside and not caring at all that she was nearly dry. He groaned aloud as he forced her walls apart, pussy clamping down on his member as though her body were subconsciously protecting itself against the sudden invasion.

It only increased the sensation as he pushed his cock in to the hilt, grabbing her swollen breasts almost painfully he held her there like that in his possessive arms.

Jaina's eyes dropped again and her neck fell slack as Arthas began grinding his hips against hers, sitting up so that he was kneeling on the seat and could look down on her beaten body. He pushed her thighs apart further and grabbed onto the slender appendages as he started to slide his length in and out of her juicy center, watching in fascination as the plump lips enveloped his shaft and sucked him inside.

The sorceress lay there almost lifeless and Arthas may as well have been fucking a corpse but he didn't seem at all bothered. He grunted, thrusting into her still-warm body at a controlled pace, a thin sheen of sweat covering his brow as he closed his eyes and grit his teeth together in concentration.

How many times could he take her like this? As often as he wanted, making her say – no begging! - for him to fuck her however he pleased. How many times until he could finally break her? How many others could he allow to come have their way with her also?

Arthas growled at the mere thought, much less inclined to share now that he had already let the Cultists have their days of fun. But it had been necessary, part of the humiliation, which quickly replaced the grimace on his face with a grin and an insistent tug in his groin.

His dick throbbed and pulsed as he increased his pace, grunting and sweating as his flesh slapped against her, the carriage no doubt rocking more forcibly than it would be from it's natural, easy pace. Arthas didn't care, gasping as he lost his rhythm and clung to her thighs with abandon, bucking violently as he threw his head back and blew his load deep into her pussy in thick, ropey strands.

He came for a long time, moaning and shuddering and occasionally jerking against her, his hands in a vice-like grip against her legs that would likely leave neat fingertip-shaped bruises later.

Pulling out his spent member and cleaning himself with a blanket, he hastily threw it over the sorceress' bare, limp form after retying his breeches.

“Careful dear, you'll catch your death.”

And he laughed.

-

As predicted, the necromancer's body was just where Arthas had left him, though he was certainly not recognizable and was definitely more... gooey.

The Prince turned his nose up at the remains, a strange gesture considering he was surrounded by rot and decay on a regular basis, but he still considered himself above such things.

But of course, Tichondrius had an answer for everything. 'Go retrieve Kel'thuzad's corpse, servant. Obtain this enchanted urn for me, slave. March your entire army to the Sunwell for his resurrection, it's the Master's will. You wouldn't question the Master's will, would you, dog?'

Of course he wouldn't, but Arthas much preferred to hear from the Master himself rather than that of a demon. The call of Frostmourne was soothing to his inflamed senses, and he longed for the Master to reveal his true plan.

For now though, the necromancer's body needed to survive the trip to Quel'thalas, thus why the Prince was now tromping through Andorhal in search of a magical vessel being ushered by a convoy of paladins to take some poor soul to his final resting place.

Paladins... glorious.

And even better...

Uther.

The smell and the feel of their flesh slicing apart by his blade, the song of Frostmourne humming in his ears was surreal to Arthas, exacting revenge on the very order that he had sworn to protect and uphold the tenets of. Their screams as they died by his own hand, ripped apart by his undead... was beyond ecstasy. And they were only a mild distraction and a minor delay to his final goal.

The Lightbringer was waiting with his hammer ready, looking oh so very righteous and self-assured as he stood so proudly in front of the ornate urn he was guarding, a thing he would give his life in a moment to see unmolested.

There was some banter between the two: mentor and student, paladin and death knight, man and... man. It turned out the ashes were that of Terenas, father murdered by his own son. This bit of knowledge though caused Arthas' lip to twitch in a sudden sneer, slightly miffed that somehow the remains of the former King had been recovered under his guards careful watch.

With something between rage and sadness, Uther cried indignantly, “Arthas... were you hoping to piss on your father's ashes one last time before you left his kingdom to rot?”

Not a bad idea...

Frostmourne felt cool in his hands, even through the leather of his gloves, but as always it was perfectly balanced and quick as though the blade were merely an extension of himself. It's eerie, blue glow lit up the Prince's face as he held the sword up in front of him, bearing a look that showed no remorse or sympathy to the old paladin. Only power... and evil.

It was quickly apparent to the paladin, as the Lightbringer's golden hammer connected with the unyielding metal of Frostmourne with a screeching wail, that he was terribly outmatched. Arthas spun ridiculously fast, the black of his cloak and the white of his ghostly hair swirling around him in a macabre whirlwind of gray. Their weapons connected again and again, Uther's breath coming in pants as he struggled to keep up with his younger and more virile opponent.

As though it were creeping onto his face unbidden, a tiny smirk began to rise on Arthas' lips, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by the old paladin, whose brow was furrowed in concentration as he blocked the death knight's swing.

“Getting tired, old man?” He taunted, steadily driving the Lightbringer back, moving effortlessly with an deniable grace.

The older man could only respond with an 'oof' as Arthas' foot suddenly connected with his gut, sending him stumbling backward to his knees. Bracing himself with the hammer set in the ground, the paladin watched as the Prince stalked forward slowly, his mouth still set in the infuriating grin. Uther gnashed his teeth, gathering his strength even though the death knight saw fit to draw the battle out to satisfy his own sick need for revenge or blood lust or whatever it was that had taken a hold of his soul.

Kicking up abruptly, a gust of wind came up from behind where Arthas stood, sending the pale tendrils forward to shroud his face and bringing the tainted smell of death to the paladin's nose. Uther whispered something unintelligible, his face wrung into a painful grimace, and it was just as Arthas was about to come back with a stinging remark that the Lightbringer rose with a yell on his lips and swung his hammer with a tenacious might towards Arthas' skull.

Eyes widening ever-so-slightly, the Prince was driven to jump backward in desperation to avoid the crushing force of the paladin's weapon.

“I'll never stop, Arthas. Never stop fighting for what's right, never stop believing.”

And the death knight cackled in response, recovering from the surprise quickly to counter the Lightbringer's sudden surge of strength.

“I know you won't!” He cried in delight, taking the sword up in both hands and chopping down from overhead. “That's what makes this so indescribably fun!”

Arthas' callousness was astounding, and the brief instant it took Uther to wince at the comment allowed the runeblade to slip through and slice past the paladin's armor like it was nothing to strike his right arm.

The Lightbringer roared with righteous fury, putting all of his power into one last swing.

But it was all for naught. Arthas was just too fast, and that final blow left the old man vulnerable.

Frostmourne pierced Uther's heart, the bulky weapon cascading from his fingers and his legs giving out from under him. On his knees and staring up into the cold, sparkling eyes of his former student, the paladin sputtered.

“I dearly hope that there's a special place in hell waiting for you, Arthas.”

The Prince barely heard him, breathing heavily though not from exertion. He felt something like laughter coiling in his gut, not quite emerging; he could FEEL the life draining away from Uther as Frostmourne claimed his soul, devouring it like a hungry dog.

Blood rushed through his veins, and he shuddered from the intensity of it, the rush of power that surged through him from claiming someone so powerful. Someone oh so very deserving of his traitorous fate.

He mumbled what he hoped was a cryptic response, yanking the blade back and out of the waning paladin's body, watching with parted lips as the Lightbringer fell face-first into the dirt. Reaching out with one hand, Arthas' fingers hovered over the corpse for a long moment, considering.

They shook, but only slightly, wavering until he at last reached past the paladin and grabbed for the urn. Spilling the ashes onto Uther's back, he turned and practically fled back to the rest of the army. He tossed the jeweled bauble to a Cultist as he passed, striding forward purposefully, nostrils flaring.

His heart beat wildly in his chest, adrenaline and something intangible coursed through him as he moved towards the carriage. The very air around him seemed to stir and crackle with an unseen energy, the power emanating from the Prince drawing the attention of all those that were in his path.

Oh what an exquisite day... finding Uther in Andorhal was an unforeseen event, but an oh so sweet one. Could it be that... the sword had led him here?

Stopping in his tracks, and gazing down at the blade still clutched tightly in his hand and dripping red with the paladin's blood, Arthas' face split into another manic grin. The Master must have had a hand in this, there was no other way, it was just entirely TOO perfect an encounter.

He shuddered again as he breathed, the intensity of his icy blue eyes burning with a life all of their own. Quickly cleaning the blood from his weapon and sheathing the sword he hurried back to the coach where Jaina awaited. He needed her again; his senses were alight and his blood pumped furiously through his veins with an unseen energy and power that made him ache with longing.

Pulling himself inside and slamming the door, Arthas removed his sword belt with a frenzied haste, looking down at the sorceress who was just as he'd left her. Cruelly, he ripped the thin, stained blanket away and flipped Jaina over onto her stomach, her face pressed into the bench and her hands still bound behind her back.

Not bothering to undress at all the Prince's cock sprang out of his pants as he hurriedly mounted the woman from behind like an animal, ramming it into her tight hole with bruising force and no preparation.

Grunting and panting he immediately began thrusting violently, working his shaft deeper and deeper into Jaina's hot core, slamming in repeatedly with abandon as her walls clenched around him and she emitted a soft, muffled moan of discomfort.

Without thinking, Arthas leaned forward and tangled his hands in her hair and yanked backward, causing the woman to cry out and arch her back weirdly. He rode her like that, pushing his cock further inside as she engulfed him fully, the heat of her sore pussy euphoric around the thick cords of his hardened tool.

Letting his head fall back with closed eyes and a moan escaping his lips, the Prince thought of Northrend, of finding the sword and how magnificent it was to have that power, the Lich King's power, at his very fingertips. The feel of the blade claiming a soul, the screams in his ears, the smell of their blood spilling onto the blighted ground lain by his undead.

Imagining the light draining from Uther's eyes caused Arthas to gasp loudly, looking back down at the bruised fair skin of his Lady Proudmoore, her ass jiggling delightfully as he thrusted. Groaning and sweaty he pumped more, pulling back on the woman's hair until she yelped again, starting to actually wriggle against him more which only heightened his arousal. Using the tresses as leverage he rode her for another moment more before he groaned loudly, extracting himself to cum all over her back and behind.

Grabbing a hold of his dick, Arthas jerked himself off as he finished, splattering his seed in drops all over Jaina who had begun to cry again, quiet sobs as she buried herself in the cushion as best she could. Coaxing the last of it out by running his cock between her cheeks, sliding in and out between the twin expanses of flesh he finally staggered back over to the other side of the carriage, collapsing exhausted with his member still exposed, twitching and glistening faintly.

Laying his head back and allowing his eyes to drift close, the Prince was about to slip into unconsciousness when an eerie, disembodied voice whispered in his ear.

“So, we meet again Prince Arthas.”