The Legion of Death
Disclaimer: I don't own Warcraft III or any of it's characters, try and sue me if you want, bub, cuz I DENIED ownership!
Chapter I: The Calm before the Storm
Varimatharas trotted down the Forsaken's Dark Citadel halls, his claws tingling with a everlasting burning power, and his eyes brimming with strength and terror. At the end of the dank, rotten hall was a heavy door, one which he forced opened quite easily with a single hand, and there sat the Dark Lady Sylvanas, picking at her bow string, while the Nathrezim knelt before her, his claw over his chest.
"What is it, Varimatharas?" Sylvannas's voice, although soft, echoed eerily through halls of her citadel. That voice sent chills down Varimatharas's spine. Sylvannas had become a figure that Varimatharas had come to both admire and dreadfully fear at the same time.
"Lady Sylvannas," the dread lord spoke with a strong tone, hiding the fear deep inside of him. "I come bearing some ill news. Arthas and his armies have reached the Lich King's Throne, and are regrouping their forces." The Dreadlord took a deep breath of fear as the Dark Lady cringed a little at the mere mention of Arthas's name, "Simply put, m'lady, Northrend has become a deadman's land."
"I see... Thank you for informing for this matter." The dark ranger rose to her feet and began her way down the hall that Varimatharas had come, the dreadlord following close behind. "Ready our forces, and prepare our ships for sail. I intend to face Arthas, head on."
"But Lady Sylvannas, Arthas's strength has grown tremendously since he's reached the Lich King's lair. To simply assault him now would be fooli-ahh!" The dreadlord stumbled back as Sylvannas readied an arrow and aimed it at the Dreadlord's face.
"I am well aware of that, Dreadlord, but I've sworn that I would have revenge for my people's deaths! I will have revenge for becoming this monster that I am!" She lowered her bow, "And nothing, no one shall stop me from having vengeance! Not you, not the Lich King, nor even my own living kin!" Sylvannas put away her arrow and continued down the hall, "Now, I gave you an order and I expect it done!"
Varimatharas's body was petrified with terror as the Dark Lady walked off. He replied, his voice shaking, "Y-yes, Lady Sylvannas."
It was a peaceful day on Theramore Isle, the Lordaeron survivors lived, blissfully unaware of the troubles of the rest of the world. A month had passed since the Admiral Proudmoore incident, and the survivor's leader, the young beautiful sorceress, Jaina Proudmoore had come out of her grief and strolled through her city's streets, exchanging smiles and small talk with her people. For this small area of Azeroth, life was good. The day's would go by slowly, swordsmen would train fiercely, so should some unexpected thread arrive, they would be ready. The Dwarven peoples that came with Jaina would use the resources from Kalimdor to prepare new and advanced weapons, while the remaining High elves happily taught the young sorceress to extend her magical abilities, and experiment with magic and alchemy. Sure, there were occasionally mishaps and minor explosions in the Arcane Sanctuaries, but nothing catastrophic. Jaina would just laugh when these mistakes happened to her and begin again.
Yep, life was quiet and peaceful on this side of the world, the orcs and trolls had already settled down on the mainlands of Kalimdor and were somewhat fond of the danger that the mainland carried. The centaurs roamed around, trying to pick off solitary warriors that weren't their own, but it did nothing against the main orc armies. They had also made better weaponry for their warriors with the materials of Kalimdor, not only that but the land's harsh environment had harden their hearts and made them stronger than ever before. Good thing that they and the humans were in a alliance now, or the humans would've been screwed, the Horde had proven this during the Proudmoore Incident.
In the northern reaches of Kalimdor, in the deep, green forests of Ashenvale, the Night Elves had also come to a point of rest, with the Legion gone for good, they had found peace, with the exception of the warden, Maiev and her watchers, whose whereabouts were still unknown to the Night Elven peoples, and the mind of the Arch Druid Malfurion was uneasy. He had been this way for a few weeks, worried and restless about something in the world.
It was one day, that Tyrande, concerned for her love, brought up the question, "What troubles you, my dear?" The Priestess took the druid's hand and held it worriedly.
The arch druid looked up at his beloved's face, "It's my brother, Tyrande, I can sense his aura no longer. I fear that the worse may have happened to him, and if that is so, then I can only wonder what it is that could've slain him."
Worry for the demon hunter filled Tyrande's mind now, "What? Impossible. Although, he has forsaken his people and allied himself with Naga, Illidan is still an Night Elf, and only the powers of a demon could stand against that."
"Alas," Malfurion sighed, "We must accept this loss. But we should begin to ready our forces, incase this demon comes after our people." Tyrande nodded and hurried off to assemble her sentinels.
Meanwhile, on the deadly cold roof of the world, the Lich King had already massed his undead minions. Anub'arak had taken the liberty to extinquish all life on the freezing continent. Now the land was truly dead in every aspect; the ground, trees, and even it's citizen were all dead. The Lich King smiled at all this and fortified the coasts of his land, ensuring that no one would try to take it from him ever again.
Anub'arak took his place next to the Lich King, "King Arthas, everything is as you would have it. Your enemies are undone, and Two kingdoms, you now rule."
"...No..." Arthas's voice boomed so loudly that even his Crypt Lord companion was taken aback by it's might. "It is not enough...there are still my enemies in the world. Be they as small as they may seem, they shall all be crushed by the might of the scourge." The undead Nerubian king nodded and crawled back to Lich King's Black city.