Special thanks to:
Travis - whose scepticism pricked me into taking up writing in the first place;
And Scott - whose constant support spurred me on to pushing forwards when my brain refused to work =)
Timeline: During Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos
Chapter 1: Manadawn Estate
"Rokir! Blast, Rokir, where have you gotten to now?"
Lucethious looked about his chambers, lips pursed and frowning. Having just awoken, he was expecting his steward, Rokir, to be prompt with any morning deliveries. He did not expect breakfast - as an accomplished magister from Dalaran, Lucethious was more than capable of preparing his own meals. Besides, he frowned upon such manual labor; while he was a noble, Lucethious saw that as little more than a title. He allowed himself trivial luxuries, such as having Rokir bring him the mail in the morning, or having some handmaidens attend to the cleaning, but as one well-versed in the Arcane arts, Lucethious had little need for much in the way of assistance with the estate.
Lucethious Manadawn was a high elf of Quel'Thalas, though his family ruled the small township of Northdale. Given the close proximity to both Quel'Thalas and northern Lordaeron, it was both a human and high elven settlement. Lucethious was the noble of the community, and ruled from his family's manor, Manadawn Estate. Lucethious carried himself differently than other nobles would - he had hair which spiked up at the front and was smoothly combed towards the back, but which also flowed down the sides, onto and over his shoulders. It was an unusual two-toned fiery red hue, something that contrasted with his profession, as Lucethious specialized in Frost magic. He had deep blue eyes which shimmered ever so slightly, a testament to his power as an experienced mage.
Lucethious was raised at the Estate, but when it was realized he possessed magical talent, he was sent to Dalaran to be educated in the ways of magic. Lucethious' parents were both aristrocrats, and as such having a magister in the family was something to be proud of. But Lucethious was more than just a noble - when he returned from Dalaran as a fully-fledged user of the Arcane and ready to take up the mantle from his parents, he issued many changes to Northdale. Before his rule, Northdale had been an exclusively high elven settlement in human lands, but Lucethious abolished this to encourage human-elf relations. Lucethious himself preferred to take an active part in the town he ruled, and chose not to closet himself in the Estate as his parents before him did, but instead engage with the inhabitants to ensure that everyone's lives ran as smoothly as possible.
In the Second War, Lucethious had assisted the Alliance by joining the ranks of other Dalaran magi and helped repel the orcish invasion. He enjoyed employing his abilities in Frost magic, and in particular his Blizzard spell. More than once orcs had seen him as a genuine threat and attempted to corner him in the heat of battle, but Lucethious was more than capable at fighting single-targets as well. Most of his allies in the war had been quite surprised to find out he was a noble - nobles were usually too busy preening themselves and counting their treasuries to be concerned with even the wellbeing of their subordinates, let alone engage in open warfare; a stigma Lucethious wished to avoid.
In his absences, his steward Rokir governed the estate. Rokir was a human, and performed his tasks admirably, but it was no secret that he desired Lucethious' position. He carried out his orders without complaint, though Lucethious was always careful to note the disdain in his steward's voice whenever he acknowledged Lucethious' requests. Lucethious was unconcerned about this, however - he would outlive the human by several centuries by virtue of his elven heritage.
Perhaps that is why he is always so bitter, Lucethious thought to himself wryly as he waited for the steward to show himself. When it became apparent that the human was absent, Lucethious sighed and strode over to his closet to retrieve his garments. In this regard, the elf was not particularly creative - he was almost always seen wearing a flowing midnight blue robe with matching boots, along with white fingerless gloves. He made to leave the chambers, but just as he was reaching for the doorknob, the door opened. Standing in it was a rather pale, almost sickly looking man with a pointed face which didn't quite hide the cunning in his eyes, which did not seem to stop darting about. They flitted from the desk, to the wardrobe, to the bed, back to the desk, and finally rested on Lucethious, upon whom they narrowed slightly. He was wearing a tightly-fitted tuxedo that seemed stifling.
"Ah, Rokir, I was wondering where you were," Lucethious said, smiling warmly.
"My apologies, Master Manadawn," the human replied in a gravelly voice, bowing slightly, "I was... distracted."
"It is of no concern," Lucethious said, waving his hand airily, "and please, I have requested before that you do not refer to me as 'Master'. I am no more a resident of Northdale than you or any other inhabitant in our fine town."
"Of course, Lord Manadawn," said Rokir, bowing again. Lucethious sighed, knowing that the human would merely continue changing titles simply to annoy him, and gave up instead.
"Mail?" he requested, holding out his hand. The steward reached into his tight tuxedo and withdrew some letters.
"Mostly letters updating the status of the Alliance and the war," Rokir said in a bored, droll voice. "You might find yourself surprised..."
Lucethious flitted through the telegrams, pausing with each one; a couple of letters from inhabitants of Northdale; some papers regarding trade with Stratholme and Darrowshire; a letter from Dalaran; and lastly, a missive stamped with a seal bearing the House of Menthil crest. Lucethious frowned at the last - letters from the crown itself were extremely rare, and usually only sent out in times of emergency or some other import.
"Leave me, please," Lucethious said, waving his gloved hand without looking up from the envelope. Rokir bowed again and departed. Lucethious flicked his hand a second time and the door shut with a snap. Alone, he settled himself on a cushioned armchair, still clutching the letter. He carefully drew his forefinger in the air above the edge of the envelope, which suddenly split open as a fine cut appeared along it. Flicking that same finger, the letter within fluttered out and unfolded itself in mid-air. Lucethious drew back and relaxed in the armchair - waving his hand at the windows, the curtains suddenly drew themselves, flooding the room with much more light and allowing him to more easily read the letter.
To Lord Manadawn of Northdale and Manadawn Estate,
From the Crown of Lordaeron, we send you this missive to inform you of a state of emergency. The internment camps have been broken and the orcs that were defeated at the end of the Second War have been freed. Approximately three days ago as of writing, the orcs launched a full-scale raid against the port town of Hasic, killing a majority of the town guard and causing minor structural damage. Reports indicate the orcs stole several Alliance transport ships and have fled across the sea - it is possible that they intend to regroup elsewhere before planning further raids.
The nation of Kul Tiras has been alerted and Admiral Proudmoore has already issued several fleets to scour the oceans. As soon as anything is discovered you shall be informed immediately. The Alliance may yet hear the call to arms once more.
By blood and honour we serve,
King Terenas Menethil II
Lucethious re-read the letter a second time, stroking his chin. The orcs had escaped? How had this news evaded him up until now? Surely they had not all burst from the internment camps simultaneously? Was the Alliance attempting to cover-up? Questions buzzed around his mind. The situation at hand was indeed suspicious. The orcs must have been planning this for weeks; months, even. Moreover, even the fastest messengers took up to a week to reach Northdale from Lordaeron - if the letter was taken to be true, the orcs could have launched yet another full-scale invasion by now.
And yet... something was amiss. Reports indicate the orcs stole several Alliance transport ships and have fled across the sea... Why would they do that? Surely if they were to regroup they would have fled elsewhere, in a different direction - perhaps south, to the ravaged kingdom of Azeroth?
Abruptly, Lucethious snapped his fingers. The letter folded itself up once more and slipped back inside the envelope before floating over to his desk and settling itself down neatly. At the same time the closet burst open and a long, blue travelling cloak to match his robe hovered over. Lucethious strode out of the room, fastening it as he did so.
"Rokir, I'm going for a stroll in the township," he said airily, "please manage the estate in my absence."
As he left the estate, Lucethious conjured himself a sweetroll to enjoy on the way to the town below. Manadawn Estate was settled upon a hill just outside the town so that the current noble would be able to observe his or her town with an all-knowing eye. Lucethious, however, was never one for observing - he preferred to be hands-on, and as such he was not an uncommon sight within Northdale itself. He flicked his hair out of his face as he walked - it was a bright, sunny day and he wished to enjoy it. Nearing the end of the drive, Lucethious waved his hand and the gates, flanked on either side by statues of a unicorn and a dragon, opened silently. Striding out to the main road, he cheerfully waved at the passers-by, who smiled in return - Lord Lucethious Manadawn tended to frequent the town.
Human and high elf alike lived harmoniously in Northdale, a sight which pleased Lucethious. In the wake of the Second War, tensions had arisen between the humans and high elves over the subject of incompetent military management. Many high elves considered the slaughter in Quel'Thalas unnecessary, an event which could have been avoided had the humans sent more troops to protect the nation. Lordaeron, in turn, countered that had it not been for them, Quel'Thalas would likely not be standing. From there, fissures formed in human-elf relations. And yet here, humans and elves lived with no quarrel.
Most likely from having lived together for so long, Lucethious mused to himself. The noble strode into the town square and sat down to finish his sweetroll. A fountain in the center of the square trickled merrily, depicting two elves dancing gracefully in the middle of the water. Lucethious had never truly appreciated the statue - it had been commisioned by none other than his father, and loyalty to his parents had stopped him from having it removed, but at the same time he found it rather distasteful and didn't like the message it seemed to imply. While many elves were content with deceiving themselves that they were a superior race, Lucethious knew that the elves and humans needed one another for mutual survival - not just simply for trade, but when times called for it, should they not stand united, they would fall one by one. Not just the humans and elves, but their dwarven and gnomish cousins, as well.
"It's a shame we can't get some dwarves and gnomes here too," Lucethious muttered to himself absent-mindedly; sadly, neither race was known for venturing far from Khaz Modan. Granted, many had moved during the Second War, but that was mostly because they had been forcibly displaced by the orcish onslaught; Lucethious knew wryly that they were flocking back to their homes to rebuild their former lives.
His musing was brought to an abrupt end when a human child, playfully running about the square, tripped and toppled to a skidding halt in front of him, kicking up dirt all over his robes. The child quickly stood up, looking not a little bit frightened.
"Sorry, mister Manadawn, sir!" he said anxiously. Lucethious straightened up, dusting himself. Before he could say anything, however, a woman strode up to them both.
"Now, Sam, what have I told you about running instead of walking!" she said sternly, "Now look, you've gone and spoiled our noble's robes! I'm terribly sorry, sir," she added quickly, addressing Lucethious. "He's a boy, still learning what to do and what not to do..."
"Not to worry, not to worry," Lucethious said airily, clapping his gloved hands together - the dust vanished. "We were all children once."
The boy relaxed somewhat, though he still looked anxious. Lucethious smiled at him.
"You be careful now, young one," he said warmly. "Don't want to give yourself an injury before you're even an adult! You've got spark, though. Don't let it go out."
The boy smiled in return, though somewhat confusedly, before running off once more. Lucethious turned to the mother.
"An energetic young man you have there," he said. "No doubt he'll serve the Alliance well."
The woman sighed. "He's not actually mine," she said sadly, "he's an orphan. His parents were slain in the Second War..."
"Ah," said Lucethious quietly, "one of many."
"Please, sir, don't let me keep you," the woman said, bowing and going after her son. Lucethious frowned after the pair - it pained him to see the hardships wrought by war, but such was the price of peace. Again, however, his musings were once more brought to an abrupt halt, this time by a horse and his rider cantering through the town square.
"I come seeking to deliver a message to Lord Manadawn," the rider cried to the people around. "You there!" he said, pointing to the village blacksmith, "Can you direct me to Manadawn Estate?"
"That won't be necessary, messenger," Lucethious said before the blacksmith could answer. He strode forward. "You may deliver it to me... personally," he said, bowing.
"Very well, milord," the man said promptly, "I come bearing a message for a call to arms. Please act promptly and accordingly. Good day to you."
With that he turned and rode off. Lucethious blinked in surprise - already, a call to arms? Had the orcs indeed invaded? People around him were muttering, some looking concerned, others frightened.
"Excuse me," Lucethious said, striding back to the Estate.
Inside his chambers once more, Lucethious at last had a look at the envelope, and did a double-take. It was not bearing the crest of Menethil, but rather that of Proudmoore. Wondering what on Azeroth it could be about, he withdrew the letter. He blinked in slight surprise - the curly writing was written by none other than Jaina Proudmoore, brother to Tandred Proudmoore and daughter to Daelin Proudmoore! Even more bemused, he read the letter - it was far shorter than the one sent by King Terenas.
To whom it may concern,
I send these letters out as a personal call to arms. A storm is approaching, a great battle, but it is not here in Lordaeron; we must sail from our fair lands, for they are lost. I implore you, do this for our world - an enemy far greater than the Horde comes for us, and we must make our stand not here, but across the sea! Please join my expedition to lands unknown, to fight an enemy the likes of which we have never seen, but to have a chance of saving our world!
Lady Jaina Proudmoore
Lucethious did not know what to think. These words sounded like spewed babble. And yet this was written by Jaina Proudmoore, daughter to the ruler of Kul Tiras, and apprentice to Antonidas himself! Female wizards were uncommon at best, and to become an apprentice to Antonidas was quite an achievement. Furthermore, Proudmoore was known in Dalaran to be sharper than most, intuitive and, when the situation arose, very good at reading others and planning accordingly. Proudmoore's words may sound blustering at worst, but somehow, Lucethious had an inkling that she knew more than Terenas. Terenas had issued a warning where there was no need for one - Proudmoore, however, may be on to something. Indeed, had Terenas' missive suggested that the orcs, too, were fleeing across the sea? Lucethious sat, pondering, before at last making his decision.
"Rokir!" he called out. Moments later the steward poked his head in, eyes narrowed as usual.
"Yes, milord?"
"I'm leaving," the elf replied simply. "Please manage the estate in my absence."