"Sire, the ambassadors have arrived."

The old mage hesitantly raised his head toward his assistant, scratched his wiry beard, and turned back to his work, emanating an aura of impartiality toward the issue.

"Very well." He replied drily. "Let them in."

The large chamber was bathed in light from the overhead windows, rays of light illuminating the long table sitting in the middle of the room. The air was warm, and the old mage felt somewhat stuffy in his long violet robes. He raised his head once more as the door to the chamber opened and the ambassadors entered, one by one, into the room. As soon as the door closed, the air seemed to freeze and the temperature suddenly dropped.

The ambassadors were a blood elf female, a large tauren male, and a male blood elf bringing up the rear. Their eyes glowed the telltale cold blue of the scourge within their black hoods.

"Ah, I see you have arrived. Very well. Let us get started. What news do you bring from the Highlord?" the old mage said in a cool, uncaring tone. The voice that answered was unlike any he had heard before, a frozen slither laced with anger and hatred.

"We have come to see if you had reconsidered our request for more reinforcements in Icecrown." replied the blood elf female, apparently the leader of the small troop. Through her tone of voice, it was easy to tell that she had no desire to be standing there, discussing anything at all with the mage, least of all the issue of reinforcements. She removed her hood to reveal a face of beauty and contempt, a scowl on her face and a frown on her lips.

The old mage, sensing his guests' hostility, answered in kind.

"No, we have not. The Kirin'Tor have no intention of sending any more mages to further Mograine's cause. We have sent what little we could spare."

The old mage, feeling the need to add personal closure to the issue once and for all, added "And if it were up to me, I would not have sent a single gold coin. You think you're all so high and mighty, having broken away from the Lich King. Mograine and all his little lapdogs. To me, you're all the same. If Mograine feels that the issue is important enough, he will come discuss it personally. One day, you'll come crying back to the Lich King and all will be gone. If you feel the need to badger the issue some more I suggest you take it up with higher authorities, not me. I suggest his little death squads find a more appropriate line of work than ambassadorial duties. And one more thing-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. The leader of the ambassadors cut in, rage rampant in her voice, ice in her veins, and her hand on the handle of her runeblade.

"You will learn your place, human! You have no idea what you are dealing with! You may think the Highlord is a coward, so be it. I invite you to meet him yourself. Believe me, he is much more terrifying in person."

The old mage, suddenly pale, stared into the seemingly empty eyes of the death knight, speechless. He suddenly regretted his outburst and seemed to recede deeper into his robes. She was right, he didn't know what he was dealing with.

"Very well, mage," she hissed, "I see there is no purpose in badgering this issue any further. The Highlord sends his regards."

With that, she pulled a dagger from its sheath on her belt and stuck it into the polished hardwood of the desk. It was a faint gray with barely discernible runes etched along the bony, fang like blade.

"A token of our progress through the Lich King's fortress."

She turned and walked out the door, her comrades following her, the frost of their presence lingering in the air.