Alonsus Faol left the cathedral's great hall feeling old and broken. He was the head of the church of the Light, how could he speak to his flock this way? These people looked to him for hope, and he gave them nothing by despair. But it would be worse to lie to them. The tides of darkness were coming. He needed to prepare the populace. He had seen firsthand the destruction of Northshire and of Stormwind. Now the human kingdoms of Lordaeron, Stromgrade, and Altrec had combined their armies into a grand alliance. Lord Lothar was securing a treaty with Admiral Proudmoore that would bring the mighty navy of Kul Tiras to their side. But it was not enough. Not nearly enough.
An armed guard stood watch outside Faol's quarters. "Let no one disturb me." Alonsus told the man as he stepped through the doorway and closed it behind him. After King Wrynn's assassination Lothar had insisted the archbishop be assigned a bodyguard. But a knife in the back was the least of his worries. Just yesterday word had reached him that the orcs had uncovered a powerful artifact called the Demon Soul. With it, the evil creatures had the power to take control of dragons. Dragons! Just one of those creatures could level a city. The archbishop sat at his writing desk and let his head sink into his hands. He looked within himself for hope, but found none. He had buried it, along with his king and most of his friends in a lost country far to the south.
There was a commotion outside the door. An exchange of words, growing in temper as well as volume. Faol raised his head as the handle on the door turned and the guard's face appeared.
"My apologies your eminence…"
"Who is it?"
"A man calling himself Uther."
"I know no one named Uther. Send him away."
"He claims to have information sire. About some place named Draenor."
Faol's eyes widened in shock. Draenor was the name of the orcs' alien home world. A name revealed only by torture of orcish prisoners, and known to almost no one outside Lothar's inner circle. The archbishop leapt to his feet and pulled the door open wide. It revealed the guard, and standing slightly behind him, Uther.
Uther was a young man, with broad shoulders and thick arms. He wore a chain mail shirt, but did not carry a sword. Instead he casually held a large hammer in his right hand. His hair was brown, his eyes crisp, and his face marked with a broad, thick moustache. He bowed deeply to the archbishop.
"Your eminence." He said. "If you accompany me to the stable, I believe I have found your miracle."