Please note that I don't own Warcraft, blizzard does...blah blah blah...
Now, since my last story got NO reviews, i decided to start on a new chain, this is the prologue (duh) to a story I plan to finish, please review, even if it is to tell me how terrible i am at writing, but I am a new writer, and I truly want constuctive critisism.
Anywho, here it goes, Azeroth's Darkest Hour, take one! click
Prologue
"Captain, how goes the invasion?" Arthas asked, he was sitting in a command tent. Frostmourne, his sword, propped up against his chair, its vicious blade eliminating a deathly blue aura.
"Good, all fronts have reported a successful strike," he paused, "except for one, sir." The undead captain, Roland answered.
"And what one is that?"
"Silvermoon, sir, it seems that a blood elf had warned them of the Forsaken's betrayal and destroyed the orb or translocation before we could send enough soldiers through, and it seems that the Forsaken in Tranquillen have resisted your spell due to barriers set in place on their forests." The captain responded.
"Damn it, who leads the attack on the city?" Arthas inquired.
"General Telum, sir."
"Then see to it that he receives all the reinforcements that he requires, how soon before the Forsaken reinforcements arrive?"
"About two weeks, Stratholme has already sent as many as they could, apparently the Naaru inside Silvermoon has rallied another Naaru from Outland, our soldiers are being decimated by holy energy every time we make a push."
"Then we have to figure out how to destroy those Naaru, Captain, I want your best men on this, and I want an update in a week."
"I will get right on it," he said, and with what was as close to a bow as a rotting carcass could pull off without falling apart, he was off.
Arthas sighed, running his hand through his long blonde hair. "Twenty years. Twenty years it's been since I killed him. And now it finally pays off," he thought
Frostmourne's hilt began to shine a bright blue, "Yes", came a high pitched serpent-like voice, "and together, along with what is left of Kil'Jaeden, we shall rule."
"This is nothing I haven't heard before, however, how is it that we are supposed to destroy two of those Naaru? They are actually holding off our fleet along with the armies at the same time..."
"Perhaps it is time we restore a dying legion," came the sword, "you still hold the power to bring them back."
"You can't possibly mean-" he paused.
"You know as well as I do that an entire legion of Death Knights would be able to do the job. Much better than the mindless bastards we have running the show now."
"Alas, you are right," Arthas responded, he looked at an undead general. The undead was comprised completely of bones and donned a purple cloak that covered from shoulder to floor, with a hood that could be throw over his skull, which burned with a blue flame in the eye sockets and mouth, "General Aereth," he announced.
The undead was busy reading a tactical readout of Eversong Woods when Arthas called to him, he looked up at the king, "Yes, milord?" he answered in a voice that echoed in a very unnatural way.
"Aereth, I have a special task for you, round up every one of your finest soldiers, be it caster, or warrior, I want to see them."
"It will be done, sir, how many are you looking for?" Aereth asked.
"Hmm," Arthas paused; he hadn't thought of that, "I want twenty, regardless of rank. When they are chosen; they all stand equal in my presence."
"As you wish," the general said, as he bowed and walked out the same exit as Roland had.