The Storm Peaks had a frigid beauty that the living Sylvanas would have once enjoyed. Its sharp, snow-drenched mountains and dazzling glaciers would have drawn out the poet in any sin'dorei soul. In undeath, it was nothing more then a collection of shadowy gray cliffs strewn with dirty, pock-marked blight. She stepped away from the shimmering portal, her rangers fanning out to either side. A small contingent of Deathguards moved to take up positions around her. Lastly, Sunsorrow himself stepped through; closing the portal with a snap of his fingers.
Sylvanas raised her head high, sniffing the air out of long-engrained habit. Deadening chill flowed from the valley below, along with the scent of char and destruction. The Banshee Queen narrowed her eyes, throwing the small village below into sharp focus. Several of the narrow vrykul buildings were on fire, and faint tinny clangs echoed up from the valley floor. She could make out the figures of armored men battling the spectral shapes of the Val'kyr throughout the camp.
"It appears the Val'kyr's nest was discovered by others," she drawled, smoothly raising her bow and notching back a single black arrow. She aimed for the center of the village, towards the undulating mass of attackers. A sharp twang split the air, and the arrow buried itself in the village square. Sylvanas raised her bow high.
"For the Forsaken!"
Her rangers vanished into the shadows, streaking down the snow to the melee below. Her Deathguards followed suit; their hollow cries drowning out the battle's din. Sylvanas walked more slowly, nonchalantly fitting arrow to string, and firing as the mood struck her. She had already noticed the tabards worn by the attackers: golden fists on silver and white. The forces of the Argent Crusade. They would have to be slain to a man to ensure no reports of her actions reached Fordring and the Alliance.
As her boots touched the bloody snows at the edge of Valkyrion, it was clear the battle was over. Between her guards and rangers, the small Crusade force had been wiped out. The surviving Val'kyr hovered just above the grounds, surrounded by the vrykul servants. Sylvanas raised her face to the wind, stretching out with her mind. There, just at the edge of town, were two terrified minds. She raised her bow, twin arrows tucked in her fingertips. Her bow sang, and double thumps announced her success.
Charging through the snows, several vrykul women launched themselves forward with a shout, their spears at the ready. Sylvanas raised an eyebrow as her rangers grouped protectively around her. She raised her eyes to the Val'kyr.
The ethereal women scattered, ringing Sylvanas and her forces. The sound of their flapping wings was deafening. Each Val'kyr tossed her head; their metallic helms sending painful gleams bouncing across the snows.
"Sylvanas."
"Dark Lady."
"Banshee Queen."
Their echoing voices rolled across the snow. The vrykul women drew back, lowering their spears. A large Val'kyr detached herself from the mob, lowering until she floated just in front of Sylvanas. Long, ghostly black wings brushed against the Banshee Queen's shoulders. Her pale skin burned beneath her dark ceremonial armor.
"I am Agatha. We know why you have come, Banshee Queen."
"You allowed Marrah to follow one of your number for a reason."
Agatha turned, spitting into the snow. "Do you hear the whispers of the one who calls himself our master?"
"Sleep, sleep," the other val'kyr echoed. "Lay down your weapons. Let death claim you."
"I hear nothing," Sylvanas growled. "Arthas is dead."
"Another sits, another calls, but we do not answer," the Val'kyr cried, their wings beating furiously. As one body they crashed their spears against their breastplates, howling in fury. Agatha raised her spear, and the Val'kyr fell silent.
"He is weak, and we are no longer slaves to his will," Agatha trumpeted. "We exist to bring glory to the master of death, and yet the crown is worn by one who does not want it." She tossed back her head triumphantly. "So we seek you, Dark Lady; the one creature whispered of by the Scourged as they fall. We feel your lust, your desire, and your hatred. The living must be judged! The scourging cannot be stopped!"
"But can you give me what I desire?" Sylvanas asked, gesturing with her bow towards the fallen Argent soldiers. Agatha snorted.
"Their judgment has come. Sisters!"
The Val'kyr swarmed the sky, taking up positions over the dead. Sylvanas watched intently as brilliant beams of necrotic power surged from the ethereal women, drilling into the still bodies. Surging flickers of purple and blue flowed along the corpses, raising them slowly into the air. Before her eyes, the flesh began to decay; peeling away from noses, revealing gleaming bone and rotting flesh. A final blast of power and the bodies twisted, dropping onto once-more steady feet. The undead warriors could have been fresh recruits from Brill. Their eyes focused on her, and as a man they saluted; bowing their rotting heads low.
"We return to serve you, our glorious Dark Lady!"
"Remarkable!" Sunsorrow gasped from behind.
"They will serve as we direct. They serve the one we call our master," Agatha breathed, her wings beating slowly. "We wish only to continue the judgment."
"In my service you will judge many, and add them to our ranks," Sylvanas smiled. "The Forsaken will be unstoppable."
"Dark Lady, we offer you others. There are other places still within the frozen north, hidden from our enemies…hidden from the one who pretends to the throne. Many escaped from the Citadel when his hold weakened. Raise your banner and they will come to you, the one we would call our Queen."
"Lady Sylvanas, if you accept their offer…how will you be different from the Lich King?" Sunsorrow whispered. Sylvanas frowned and backhanded the elf, sending him crashing to the snow. He struggled upright, a look of terror stamped on his normally composed features.
"Sunsorrow!" Sylvanas snapped, her eyes focused on Agatha's helmeted face. "Return to the Undercity and marshal my mages. I need them here immediately to begin the transport of our new allies."