Order Of Illumination - Ice and Grief

The Tower was bitterly cold. Frost rimed the walls and tendrils of freezing fog crept through its abandoned corridors and rooms. The bodies of the Towers previous occupants lay where they had fallen, twisted in the throes of death and forever held in place by the ice. He had claimed the Tower in a single night of bloodshed and it now echoed the chill of the grave that followed Him. Melyssa found him in the Towers highest room, once a stately bedroom for the Towers Lord and now stripped bare. Great sheets of ice covered the walls, a thousand mirrors and windows for the Right Hand Of Grief.

Cold dead eyes flickered to her as she entered, then returned to the blade held across His lap. He had not moved in close to a score of days and the door to His chamber had been frozen closed to all, including her. Melyssa stepped into the chamber, feeling the grave-chill seep into her body. There was no need to speak, He would address her in His own time. For a while there was silence. Then, in little more than a whisper, He spoke.

'It is time. They stand leaderless, divided. Broken. The loss of their dear Edge has achieved all that we intended. Now, the final moves must be made. The Order is finished and they will die broken and screaming upon my blade.'

And Hiraeth Arkitaine, The Right Hand Of Grief, Thrice-Sworn to the Lich King, raised his head and smiled.