This time it was Arthas’ turn to laugh. It was strange, considering just moments ago he’d been freaking out, but this one’s arrogance seemed to rival his own. She was obviously unaware of the stories behind his blade, Frostmourne was practically all-powerful. Even he had not unlocked all its secrets yet, and he was its wielder. He had heard rumors it could raise men from the dead into all sorts of twisted forms. It ate souls, used them to fuel its dark deeds.
“Whatever you are, you are still beneath me in rank. I am Prince Arthas Menethil, and I will address you however it pleases me to do so. If Caroline is the name you have chosen to…humanize yourself, then so be it, but your title means nothing to me. I have turned demons to ash with the power of the Light, and this…” he gazed down at Frostmourne almost lovingly, “well, do you even have a soul to steal, Caroline?”
He thought on her words for a moment, and then shook his head. “Kansas is not among the kingdoms of Azeroth. The name means naught to me, of all the places I have been through portals of mages and the like, none have been such as this place.” He looked around the dark alleyway, wrinkling his nose at the conditions he’d found himself in. “Is there an inn or other such place of hospitality nearby? I must shed this heavy armor and find a place to bed for the night.”