Through Broken Glass

The deathly calm of the graveyard in the city was shortly interrupted by the bustle of the square. As the middle of Stormwind, it was often occupied with people travelling through the Dwarven District towards the harbor or the park; that’s why she liked going there. You could see all types of people come and go, day by day, from merchants to battle scarred veterans. It was also this day she sought a man clad in plain metal armor; she wasn’t entirely sure what it was made of, but that didn’t matter much. After all, he was a quite interesting fellow: a death knight, with the usual hollow and warped voice. Fairly amusing, she thought, how he would have then called her a beacon, because of her work as a gravedigger.
There was a yell from a distance. The Master called for me again, so I stumbled to my feet escaping from the dozy trance and thoughts I was having, and began to make my way towards the voice in this almost pitch-black dull cave. The entirety of the structure was well formed and unlikely to fall, but the constant humidity from the nearby ocean made my dress heavier. Trust me, it was heavy enough with the metal shoulder pads and gauntlets upon my hands that I was forced to constantly wear. Not to mention, I was rarely allowed to leave: he brings the inhabitants food and water, but only sustainable enough to live. Those in the pit weren’t fed, but luckily it was empty. It would be until the other man returned. I think his name is Mister Barrow. I scurry off at the second annoyed call for me, almost running in the robe I had been given long ago, back when they still stayed in Duskwood. They kept moving to Westfall now, further and further in as time goes. I remember when…
The tower didn’t have much light, and the shadows around terrified her. Nothing here felt good bare the fact she wasn’t being targeted. There were other people in here, others to be taught, so she wasn’t being paid attention to, hence why she noticed the shadows in her idleness. The cold of the room barely felt cold anymore, not after every time his squire had frozen and shattered her shirt. She didn’t know why, but she felt unprotected, unsafe; it didn’t really matter much, his icy hands would’ve been as cold anyway. It’s inhuman, but neither is it like a ghoul I’ve known for so long, back in Raven Hill with the grave keeper. What was he? I didn’t know, and I didn’t think I’d find out. All I knew is that he asked questions, and if I didn’t know and didn’t learn, I’d feel that inhuman cold. Again and again he’d hurt me, in a repetitive circle, until I knew and could satisfy his demand. She watched as the new lady walked over to Titanious unhindered and untroubled, her step and voice filled with charm and hope – something she barely possessed any more – to take her place in his lap. His demand for knowledge; the many questions he asked at her terrified state. Perhaps all he did was a plot to scare her, to inspire her to reply to his endless stream of questions? So many things had been asked, been demanded of me to answer. What, truly, does pain feel like? What exactly am I afraid of? Why was I telling him this? I noticed my lack of attention when the Squire tried to gather my attention. I froze on the spot. Not again. The three days I spent with him after that felt like a lifetime.
I arrive before a disgruntled man, clad in dark armor. The edges are sharpened as to hurt those around even more, and his entire bulk seems gigantic in comparison with my own. I realize how small I am just before he speaks:
“I would hope that you are quicker with your blade than you are arriving here, Null, for I will not forgive such an error when I test your prowess here.” His statement made me shiver: it’s not that I didn’t enjoy sparring with him, but neither did I enjoy the fact that I’ll probably get hurt. I am far behind on the experience and knowledge he has about battle, tactics and fighting. Myself, I only fight to survive and as much as that is a proper motivation, it isn’t enough against a skillful swordsman. He gestures for me to come with him and without further due I do so, knowing the warning beneath his earlier statement. Our steps take us towards the exit, his armor resounding loudly against the humid cave, causing an incredibly annoying ringing sound that almost cut like a knife through my ears; just another reason to dislike this lair of his. Then again, I wouldn’t dare to voice my opinion. In a life such as mine, that would bring nothing but worse conditions. The fresh air slams me away from my thoughts: I didn’t go outside the cave often, after all. Refreshing, but it is not enough to remove the throbbing pain in her body and soul. I immediately fold my fingers around the blade and draw it.
Redridge was still warm regardless of it being fairly early in the morning. With my claymore in hand and having been fighting Mister Barrow for quite some time already, it was even hotter. He didn’t have the issue that I did, though; a simple thin jacket and a shirt, he looked like any citizen. The only difference was that he carried two daggers and a knuckleduster – one dagger he had lost to throwing, not realizing I carried armor beneath the robe. The second blade was painfully present within the confines of his palm, though my eyes set upon the real danger: his knuckleduster. His strikes with such an armament was precise and quick from many training subjects within the City, a place I was not allowed to go. To do the work he was requested to do by the Master, he was forced to be hasty and subtle about all his efforts. Without letting my mind drift further, I rushed towards Barrow’s figure, drawing my blade up high in order to bring it down upon him. Foolishly I didn’t realize my mistake until I felt his fist hit my jaw-line. I staggered back, bewildered by the daring move, letting the edge of the claymore drop to the ground. In doing so I was only rewarded with another harsh blow square to my temple of my skull and with the momentum I fell onto my back with a rattle of my chainmail.
I open my eyes after being knocked back, noticing the retreating fist of the Master. I finally comprehend that I had been distracted by my own thoughts. I look up to his visor, meeting naught but a disappointed glare sent my way; my eyes begin to blur with semi-consciousness. My thoughts blend into dreams as I feel myself dragged against the harsh ground.

Added this from the Writing Contest!