The High Bells tolled and their brazen music rang out across Capital City. Arthas and his two guards strode regally towards the gates, passing beneath the immense bell tower as they marched. Then the giant drawbridge crashed down and the soldiers thundered across, their boots drowned out by the deafening cheering from the thousands of people positioned high on either side of the roadway.
Arthas, son of King Terenas, stood in the courtyard, amid the sounds of horns, cries of joy and showers of fluttering rose petals, as they drifted down around him. He caught one in his gloved hand, feeling its smooth, velvety texture, rubbing it gently between his fingers. Then, with a deft motion, he cast it away and stared up at the shouting people.
Inside the council chamber, King Terenas leaned forward as shadows began to block out the light streaming through the great, double doors. With a mighty crunch, the doors slammed back against the marble walls and Arthas, Prince of Lordaeron entered, the footfalls of his heavy, steel-shod boots echoing around the room's vastness.
'Ah, my son…' Terenas began to speak but his voice was dim and distant to Arthas' ears as he knelt in the centre of the circle inscribed into the stone floor. Instead, the voice he heard was deep, enigmatic and daemonic, speaking to the Prince through Frostmourne, the arcane runesword resting point first on the floor, Arthas' hands gripped about the horned hilt.
'You no longer need to sacrifice for your people,' the demonblade whispered, its icy, blue eyes beneath the curved horns glowing intensely. 'You no longer need to bear the weight, of your crown. I have taken care…of everything.'
At this, Arthas rose, seizing up Frostmourne with one hand, ignoring his father's monotonous speech. With the other, he pulled the hood back from his head, and advanced upon the throne. His guards spread out, to flank their master, ensuring that none intervened. In a few swift steps, Arthas had reached the old man and raised Frostmourne menacingly.
'What is this…what are you doing, my son?'
'Succeeding you, father.'
Frostmourne bit deep into the king's frail body, puncturing his heart as Terenas gave one last gasp. The spiked, golden crown fell from his head, and bounced down the steps, losing two of its horns and coming to rest on the cold, stone with a dull ring.
The bells tolled, and their brazen music rang out across Capital City, as a dire message reverberated off the marble walls of the council chamber.
'This Kingdom shall fall, and from the ashes shall arise a New Order, that will shake the very foundations…of the world.'