CHAPTER 2: THE DARKEST HOUR

Keledan's feet touched the tainted soil of the Dead Scar, filling him with cold hatred. His lieutenant, Commander Amnios Morningstar, followed closely behind him, leading the Blood Knight contingent of this expedition. They were nearing Deatholme, the soil itself of that tainted place corrupted beyond redemption, the poisoned sky screaming in agony as it wept futile tears of blood.

Before him was an army of Scourge, lead by a mysterious figure, his face hidden underneath armour of black iron.

He said five words, in a high and dark voice.

'I am the Dark Marshal.'

Amnios looked like he was yearning to fight, but Keledan stopped him, holding him back. He had to wait, wait for the Scourge to attack. An offensive was out of the question, the Scourge would simply swallow their small numbers, but a defence had a chance of succeeding, a miniscule one but a chance all the same,

Keledan glared at the Dark Marshal, who simply raised his hand, throwing Amnios into the air and holding him there, trapped by a field of unholy energy. Keledan rushed to save him, but chains of ice burst from the ground, holding him down and freezing him in a block of ice as everything went black...

/|\

Amnios Morningstar watched in horror, helpless as Keledan froze. He couldn't move, held in the air and trapped. The Dark Marshal was walking closer to him, raising his runebladed sword, then making a complex gesture with his hand - and there he was in the halls of a Necropolis, crumpled on the floor. The Dark Marshal was next to him, with a group of Scourge surrounding him, including a Necromancer.

Then, he saw that Keledan was frozen in a block of ice, close to the wall, trapped in a position of running, his eyes still open and moving - he was somehow still alive.

He wanted to scream, but there was nothing he could do as the freezing ice covered his body...

/|\

'What's happening?' Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind, said as the various delegates from the Alliance members came. Tyrande Whisperwind, Gelbin Mekkatorque, Magni Bronzebeard, Vindicator Itoxos of the Draenei, and Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore.

''The Scourge is invading,' Proudmoore replied.

'Where?' Varian asked.

'In Lordaeron, and in the Barrens. There's apparently heavy fighting in the Crossroads and at Brill. They're also pushing through the Alterac Moluntains into Hillsbrad, and have just been driven back in Quel'thalas and at Dalaran.'

'Is the Valiance ready?' Varian asked to Gelbin Mekkatorque, King of the Gnomes.

'Almost, almost – we're still installing the reactor, but it should be over soon. Soon, we'll be able to rain down death on the Scourge!'

'Good...' Varian said, still musing. He needed to reclaim Lordaeron – the unholy, accursed Forsaken held it still. He would collapse their wretched 'undercity' and disband their abominable kingdom of murderers and traitors, when he got the chance. When the Scourge was over with, of course. Damn the Forsaken, damn them all!

'Men!' he said. 'Soon, the expedition to reclaim Northrend and crush the Traitor-Prince Arthas will begin. This is the moment you have all been waiting for! The Great Crusade to annihilate the Scourge and cast them down forevermore! To destroy them utterly, so that the walls of Icecrown itself will fall crashing down to the very ground! This is the hour, when we strike, as the Alliance united!'

'And so,' he continued. 'Shall be the fate of all who oppose the infinite power and glory of the Alliance! Long live the Alliance! Long live Stormwind's king!'

'LONG LIVE STORMWIND'S KING!' the assembled soldiers yelled. Soon, it became a cry of 'LONG LIVE KING VARIAN! LONG LIVE THE KING!'

/|\

Thrall looked at the reports. The Scourge had been driven back at Quel'thalas and at Brill, and the tide in the Barrens had turned. The issue now was when to strike. Thrall stared at the troops assembled before him, warlocks from Undercity, Magisters from Silvermoon, Kor'kron Elites and Tauren braves.

'Warriors of the Horde!' Thrall declared. 'Today is the day that we destroy the Undead Scourge. For long years, they have been lead by the Human Arthas, the Traitor Prince. Soon, we will prove the weakness of the Scourge, as our axes destroy them and our heart's blood yet flows in our veins! Lok'tar Ogar! VICTORY OR DEATH! FOR THE HORDE!'

The expedition leader, Garrosh Hellscream, spoke again. 'Today, we crush all in our path. Today, the weak pinkskin humans learn to fear the might of the Horde! Today...FOR VICTORY! LOK'TAR OGAR!'

/|\

The Dark Marshal looked through the crystal orb, showing the armoured visage of the Lich King himself. It faded away into mist, displaying nothing. Then, his two servants, Vallenhal and Perenolde, approached him, kneeling before him.

'Vallenhal,' he dictated into the air. 'Perenolde, you are my hands in the world. Your orders are to guard this Necropolis of death and drive it to Northrend. I will fly to Icecrown upon Sindragosa. If they follow, do not hesitate to destroy them all!'

'Understood,' they uttered unhesitatingly.

/|\

Twilight Priest Veleran Deathblade smiled as his ship approached the craggy, rocky coast of the dread continent of Northrend. The trek to the Master's prison had only begun, and many would fall along the way, but the voices would guide him to it, where His power and influence was strongest. Soon, they would all be rendered immortal in new bodies, by the grace of Yogg-Saron, and then the world would be torn down and die screaming.

/|\

The Valiance rose over Stormwind Harbour, the great hangar built into the mountain opening up as the colossal bulk of the gigantic machine rose steadily into the air, flying high despite its immense weight. For that one could thank its engines and propellers, the Gnomish engineers who built it had never been enamoured with Zeppelins, particularly the self-destructive kind favoured by the Goblins.

A solid gold statue of King Varian Wrynn stood at its prow, sword facing forward, the returned king lunging toward the enemy. The great, fantastic machine was powered by an atomic reactor assisted by mana-taps, providing massive amounts of power to the ship, channelling furious amounts of power into its many weapons, a full broadside from them capable of taking down a Necropolis. In many respects, it was good, with the capability to launch Gnomish fighter-planes as well as being capable of transporting several dwarven steam-tanks.

In the bomb-bay, it had a single missile, larger than a drake. Whispered words between engineers and soldiers held it to be some manner of 'ultimate weapon' but what exactly it was would not be revealed until it was actually used – which was a long time away.

Soon, it was flying to Northrend, to be the harbinger of doom for the Scourge.