"Ol' Grumpy? Sure, he was here. It's been a while though. The Keep wasn't even ready back then, I think".

 

"Grumpy?" the man raised his eyebrows curiously. The man he was looking for was a lot of things but "grumpy" wouldn't be among the first on his list. The soldier was adamant though.

​

"Aye, that's wha' we used to call him. Not to his face, mind you. Chilling man, he was. Hardly ever said a word and if he did, his voice was flat, if you get me. Polite but flat. Some lads used to say he got here cause he belonged in the cold".

​

Chilling. A second unfitting name for him. But the description he gave was perfect. Besides, there was no other lead. It was either here or nowhere.

​

"So be it" sighed the man. "Any idea where he is now?".

​

"Beats me" shrugged the soldier. "It's been a while since we saw him. Helped with the landing on the beach during the early days. Fought like a lion he did. Not much grace but brute force. I swear to Light his sword even roared once! Then, when things calmed a bit at the beach, he disappeared. Just. Like. That. Chilling" said the soldier with a shiver. "The lads at the cantina said he was a snow spirit or one of the Elders coming to help kill the Lich King".

​

Calahan smiled. "That's probably not too far from the truth" he thought and thanking the soldier, he left.

​

The Tuskarr in Unu'Pe proved more helpful and eased any worries he had he was on the wrong track. The man he was seeking had stayed with them for a bit and helped them, taking only shelter and food as a reward. They said he fought like a giant and even made an armor in the giants' way. Then, one day, he left just like he came, leaving only his old armor behind.

​

Calahan didn't stay long in the village. With the torn blue cloth on his bag to prove he was on the right track, he left with renewed hope but also troubled thoughts. The Seal people replenished his provisions with seagull meat, whale oil and some strange drink which he never dared to ask what it was made of and send him on his way with the blessings of their gods to guide him. Only days later he would thank them for all that with all his heart. The cold hand of Northrend is not forgiving to the unprepared.

​

He spent days in the cold, travelling from outpost to outpost, searching for clues. He heard the same story over and over again. The man had come, helped asking for nothing in return, then he'd leave. Hermit, Frowny, Pale Skin... The names seemed to increase with every outpost, village or town he'd visit. And always people were telling him they hadn't seen him for some time and always Calahan left every stop with troubled thoughts for what he had heard made little sense.

​

Slowly, the rogue was beginning to wonder if he was going to recognize the man anymore, if he ever found him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

​

Another day unforgiving,
with little kindness to the living.
Another day so fell,
venturing deep in frozen hell.

 

He laughed at the changed lyrics of the old lullaby his brother used to sing to him when he was ill. Well, laughed is too strong a word for the faint euphoria that covered his thoughts, as he struggled to maintain them away from the cold that was slowly killing him. Two days and nights without rest and his food was running low. He was lost, if one can not be lost in a land one doesn't know and the worse part was that these parts had no wood to light a fire. Not above the snow, anyway. Still, he struggled on, trying to keep warm by moving. He wished for the first time that he hadn't thrown away his hearthstone. It was to be a burning of bridges. It was proving to be his doom.

 

Keep moving, he said to himself, keep thinking. Death is the Lord of Stillness and Emptiness and he was certain that by moving and thinking he would keep him at bay. As his knees finally failed him and his mind gave way to madness, he looked at Death and hailed him before his eyes closed behind their frozen lids. That lullaby again...

​

Another night of forgiving,
showing kindness to all living.
Another night, naught fell,
venture in dreams and wake up well.​

​

***************************

 

- Erm, it's not his time yet. Well, at least I think it's not.

- I shall see to it that it's not.

- Yes you did. You will. You...AAAH!! Forget it.

- Wait a minute. You know of him?

- Yep. Well, as long as his path crosses mine, that is. Which is surprisingly long.

- Then we take him to the Temple. Can you see what happens if we do?

- Ah, a crossroads you're standing on. Choices, my friend. They make a mess of the Line. Hardly keeping it a line.

- But you said...

- I will. I haven't.

- You're impossible.

A pause.

- So? He -is- dying you know.

- To the Temple.

- I knew you'd say that!

A sigh. Some words. Flapping of huge wings.

 

​

******************************

 

"You are seeking the Lost One, human?" the elf had to shout in order to be heard. The tower was shaking and thunderous roars echoed from outside, making Calahan squint his eyes, overwhelmed.

 

"Lost One?" he asked, almost screaming as not too far behind him a red dragon crashed, his wings torched by the breath of his blue cousins.

​

The elf nodded, looking outside, eager to rejoin the battle. "Yes. That is how we name him for he has lost his Cause. He is Lost within".

​

The rogue pulled his ponytail back, with a worried expression. This name he did not like one bit.

​

"He was here then?" he shouted once more.

​

"Yes" answered the elf, his eyes pinned to the battlefield of the air outside. "He came, rode with us, and left. I do not know where he went. Perhaps to the east, where more humans are".

​

Calahan sighed, nodded in thanks and went back to the horse he managed to buy from the temple.

​

 

"Ah, he found you! Or you found him. Or hasn't that happened yet? Not too sure which is it..." the gnome said, her face looking like she was trying hard to remember something.

​

"No" the man answered, looking the dot that was a horse ride away from the temple, heading east. The air was strong in the upper balcony of Wyrmrest temple, making his long hair hide his expression, as they wiped his face. His eyebrows were frowned as he squinted his wrinkled eyes to follow the horse fade in the distance. His horned shoulderplates sighed against the stone pillars of the balcony as he leaned against them.

​

"Not yet" he said.

​

****************************************************

The wind was bitter but the ground was even more punishing, crawling his way slowly and silently over the snow Calahan advanced on his prey. The two Kvaldir were easy enough to spot despite the darkness, the brutes didn't care for how much noise they made as they gloated over their latest catch.

 

Unslinging his shotgun, he couldn't have been ten feet away, easy targets. Clicking off the safety, he took aim and squeezed the trigger, the first giant lumbering over backwards with a howl, quickly shifting his aim to the second Cal squeezed again. A dull click sounded as a puff of smoke spewed harmlessly from the barrel, evidently the freezing cold and the gunpowder didn't mix.

​

The Kvaldir charged, one concentrated twelve foot figure of primal rage hurled itself at him sending the man sprawling backwards in a heap of snow. His arms were pinned under the great weight of the giant, struggling desperately to reach his blades tucked on his belt but the Valkyr was having none of it. A huge elbow drove down, battering the defenceless rogue's head to one side sending stars across his vision. Peering up hopelessly at his attacker as he drew his own axe, preparing for the final blow Cal couldn't help but overhear the cry of triumph followed by a growl like an angered puppy. A tiny shadow lept up onto the giant's shoulder followed by a loud clang, the brute's eyes crossed and toppled over heavily into the snow.

​

"I must thank you for your grandiose distraction good sir! But if you've come here looking for an easy mark I'm afraid you found the wrong gnome" chirped the figure, stepping forwards into sight was a small pink haired gnome girl, spinning her arclite spanner deftly and sticking it in her belt with a flourish.

​

------------------------------------------------------

​

"Tinky Whickwhistle at your service, I'm guessing you didn't come out here to ask me about my famous snowcream-excrapopolator!" The girl quipped, leading the dazed rogue back to her camp. "I've perfected twig and mud flavor!"

​

"I came out here seeking my friend, he's gone missing, I'm growing worried for him. I heard a rumor he came out this way, grey haired hermit? Probably had a dangerous looking sword with him"

​

"Him! Oh yes, he said he liked strawberry! He got me out of a bit of a fix actually!" Tinky gestured wildly over her shoulder down the mountainside, squinting over the edge Cal eyed a fallen necropolis crashed against the mountainside. "Cleaned out the scourge, cleaned out the valkyr and saved my business! Sure, I was about to say thanks when he cleared off again without another word, strange old man, north east he went!"

​

Shaking her by the hand and cleaning himself off, Cal once again moved into the wastes, wondering to himself what was driving the man further and further from home.

**********************************************

 

"We are here, human. I would lead you to the city but I do not have permission to venture any further and I admit I long to be among my brothers again".

​

The rider nodded and the dragon left a small snarl as he lowered his altitude, circling around the rock he had spotted for landing. Soon his talons were scratching on the stone, making the rider shiver from the sound. The wyrm lowered its body and soon the rider was on the ground, unhooking his bags from the saddle. All except one. The dragon flinched.

​

"You do not want this?" he said with his head turned to the side.

​

"I do" the man said. "But I want you to have it more". The dragon laughed, if indeed that growling sound was a laugh.

​

"Are you leaving it for me to remember or for you to forget?"

​

The man did not reply. He was packing his things, readying them for travelling.

​

"I do not need a trinket to remember you, human" the dragon went on. "Our flights in battle will not soon fall from my memory".

​

The man paused his packing for a moment and looked at the dragon with a hint of smile covering his face. "Neither they will from mine, my friend".

​

The beast simply nodded, his amber eyes glittering with what could be taken as sadness. "You will return to your people, now? You will speak to the one who seeks you?"

​

"I do not know" the man replied with calm voice. "No, probably not".

​

"He has endured long enough in the cold, for you. It is not fair to leave him wondering". A pause. "He may need you".

​

"No he doesn't. None of them do".

​

"You are stubborn, human, that I could tell from how you fight. But you are also selfish. I did not think this of you until now".

​

"I..No. Yes. Perhaps. Time changes a man".

​

"Not you. Not anymore".

 

The man didn't reply. He finished his packing under the blazing look of the beast without ever changing his expression. The dragon left a growling sigh.

​

"You have a way to get to the city, yes?" he said when the man rose.

​

"Aye. Skykhan should be somewhere near. I will call for him".

​

"Very well". The dragon brought his head in front of the man and nodded in a short bow. "Farewell. May the winds bring you to your destiny in safety, Lost One".

​

"And may the Light shine it's will through your flames, Nashpyroxx. Farewell".

​

With a saddened roar, the dragon lept down the mountain slope only to rise with grace again, cutting through the skies like a flaming arrow.

​

The man stood still for a moment then he turned to the north and whistled. Then he tried again. At the third time, a shriek came in reply, echoing around the mountain side. Confident that his gryphon would soon be near him, the man turned south again and tried to catch his dragon friend with his eyes once more.

​

Then, he saw it. A dot, at first. Then a figure, blurred by the glittering of the sun in the snow. And finally, a shape, a man on a tired horse, pushing it further, trying to make the steed fight its tiredness and it's cold bones.

​

The flapping of wings came from behind and new talons, smaller this time, landed on the rock where Nashpyroxx stood only seconds earlier. With a happy craw, the beast pushed the man with its beacon, playfully. A small pat on it's eagle-head was all it got.

​

Still the man was looking at the distant shape. Then he turned and raised his eyes north, where in the distance the grand sight of a floating city could be seen, among the clouds.

​

He could hide easily there. Even the Lionheart was gone, flying with a dragon to the south. He knew the city a bit by now and without any of his old clothes, his track would finally be lost for good. Then the past would be behind him, forever or at least until it didn't matter any more.

​

A moment of hesitation. Millions of thoughts, countless memories and old feelings, once familiar but now distant, oh, so distant. And somewhere, the seed that finally burst.

​

Guilt.

​

"Damn you, Cal" whispered the man between his teeth and climbed on the back of the gryphon. He pushed the beast to a leap and turned it towards the riding man, leaving the majestic city of Dalaran behind him, filled with mysteries and pleasures and knowledge, floating in the air like an unwanted memory that against all wants of the bearer, still foated around.

​

 

******************************************************

​

The meeting had left him with mixed emotions. He was happy he had seen his friend and even happier with the news he brought. But deep within, something else lurked. He could not easily give it a name for it was not anger or frustration, though it seemed so at first. Later he named it "cautiousness", a defensive feeling that rose against the thought of those things once familiar. Such feelings of comfort and longing had no place in the cold challenges of his icy solitude. They dulled his senses, blunted the edge of his perception. He's been the Hermit for too long to allow who he was once to come to the surface so easily. Yet he could not help it.

​

The smell of the fields in Hillsbrad during spring was the first of memories. Perhaps Cal's talk of it' soil were to account for that. Then came the sounds of well preserved armor as it moved, not worn by one, but many, all carrying the colors of blue and white on their chest. Faces paraded in his thoughts, blurred from a memory that had been denied to surface for too long, yet familiar and loved. Soon voices were heard. Calling his name, laughing, singing, screaming..And finally a warcry, a warcry the man hadn't uttered for a long time, a warcry that had led his life and those of many others.

​

Something stirred within. For a moment he felt uncomfortable inside his savage-looking armor. The weight of his titansteel weapon grew heavy, as if it felt unwanted and the colors on his chest seemed out of place.

​

For a moment the Hermit was gone.

​

It didn't last long. Calahan's voice uttering the word "King" came to mind and suddenly his senses were sharpened again, his expression firmed. This was His land. This was His Kingdom. And in His Kingdom, vigilance was the only thing that could keep you alive. That old man, the Guardian, had no place in the cold.

​

Or did he? His eyes turned and looked at the thorny walls and the talloned towers that rose in the south. A chill came to his heart, the icy touch of His great evil calling defiantly and luring.

​

"There is a place for you, both here and at home" Calahan had said. The man kept looking at Icecrown, thoughtfully. Then the warcry came to his mind again, struggling to take the place in his lips that it once so frequently possessed.

​

After all, why not? The Hermit could meet the Guardian. For this, if not for anything else. A crooked smile cracked his lips as finally the warcry was let out, if only whispered, like a secret that would make Him scream with anger in his tower.

​

"For Lordaeron"...

​

​

***************************************************

​

​

The ship entered the harbor just as the sun was fading in the horizon, pulling his bright light with him. The colors were slowly disappearing, giving way to the silver illumination of a bright moon and it would seem as if the city was doomed to a night of grey and shadows, were it not for the guards that gave life to the torches and lanterns. Still, it was a gloomy night and colors seemed rare or faded.

​

The old man preferred it this way. His eyes needed rest, he realised this now. The snow seems to have a way with light, multiplying it and making it brighter, hurting one's eyes during both day and night. And where he came from, snow was always present, like a white blanket covering everything, from rock to beast.

​

He was standing at portside, covered in his horned plate and hooded, with a giant mace hanging from his back. In Northrend, he would pass unnoticed, as this was a common appearance among itss people. Here, he realized soon, he looked like a beacon screaming for attention, a foreigner and a brute among the civilized locals. Few of the ship's mates ever talked to him, unlike other mercenaries who seemed to be eager to share a meal and some grog with them and most of all stories. The old man preferred it this way. In the months he had spent in solitude, he had learned how to value silence.

​

This silence was now certain to be disturbed. The distant echoes of the talk and shouts of the city came to his ears and soon orders being yelled as the ship was coming to dock were heard throughout the port. The man squinted as his senses came to an alarm. Loud noises meant trouble in Northrend. And trouble usually meant death, for one side or the other.

​

He hurried off the ship, as soon as he was allowed. The soldiers in the dock threw cautious looks at his direction. He didn't pay any notice. He had one destination in mind and he didn't plan to deviate from his course for any reason.

​

He reached the Cathedral a few minutes later. As he entered, a weird sensation grew in him. He felt welcomed, as he always did in places where Light was worshipped, yet at the same time he felt alienated, as if his long absence from these walls had changed him in a way. He realised that this feeling came from him, not the ever-present Power that found a home in the Cathedral.

​

He stood in a corner and prayed. Unlike his previous prayers in this place, this time it was blunt, sharp, almost brutish. It didn't matter, he knew, for Light only cared for one's heart, not words, and his devotion remained unquestioned and complete. He doubt the priests would agree but when it came to the bottom of it, what did they know? Most of them worshipped Light for profit or a career and only a handful of them ever actively did something to promote the Cause, beyond cleaning the temple and reciting prayers from a book. Their charity and worship did not extend beyond the charity work decided for them by others, perhaps more honest and more dutiful. No, he was more sure now than ever, Light's Cause could not be served in high temples. It was served out there, in the world, being an active part of it and trying to change it for the better.

​

He got up, almost annoyed with himself. This almost primitive approach of Faith was the result of recent experiences, he knew. Yet it seemed more honest and somehow more true.

​

As he exited the Cathedral, he realised how much he had changed. He hopped for the better yet, as usual, this was for Time to tell, not him. He would simply be who he had become.