Chapter Eleven: Zen and the Art of Ghoul Maintenance
The Lich King, Prince Arthas and the shade of Ner’zhul combined, brooded over the war torn domain from gaping maw of an icy balcony—great clouds of billowing white foamed in the chill air and whipped past his ragged cloak, stoking the azure flames that fumed from his ghastly armor. His sword, Frostmourne, balanced point-down on the icy rock floor awaiting his grasp as he fiddled with his gloves.
“When do I get to meet the big guy?” Hellvetica asked, gesturing with an onyx gauntleted hand towards the looming figure.
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