Thorn's Justice

The peak of Light's Hope Chapel peeked cautiously behind the large, crumbling walls - much like it's battered and sullied defenders who desperately clung to their lives atop the fortifications. Defeat was written on every man's face as the sight of impending doom streamed endlessly down the valley from the northern mountains. A terrifying sight that's become much too familiar during the past few days.

The monstrous abomination's destruction was but a fleeting event in these men's desperate struggle for survival. Eyes glazed, dirty hands shaking with effort for each arrow notched to the bowstring, they fought on, but alas, in this war disease and infections was the victor. The nauseating ooze that's filled the air spread through mind and body, food and water and the piles of corpses grew in the streets and in the infirmaries, more so than the soldiers on the walls. Time was slipping from their grasp. Whatever hopes they once held dwindled to nothing as every Alliance stronghold reported that reinforcements were still many dark nights away, hindered by the roaming scourge that's swarmed the roads throughout the land.

In the end, they did not have a choice.

With reluctance and regret they'd sent the letter - to call for the Banshee Queen's aid - in turn accepting a heavy price, but one they must pay if they are to live and protect what's most sacred. But even by doing so, they had never really expected her to come; with all her malevolence and unrestrained bloodthirst for all things.

l~~~l

Another watcher stood on the sidelines, following the elapsing effects of flying projectiles as they pierced the army of the dead in countless purple eruptions, casting fountains of blood into the polluted air. The undead queen's shadow dashed across the battlefield, throwing a carnage of terrifying proportions onto those who dared trespass at the brink of her borders.

So this is what it means to fight fire with fire.

The church would be very upset to learn that evil turned the tides against evil this day. It was a version of the battle for Light's Hope chapel that would never reach the public's ears.

Tirion Fordring clenched his mighty hammer. His chest swelled as he filled his lungs air, preparing himself for what was to come. At the dusk of his long life he was blessed to be given such an opportunity. It would be his last achievement, the one he'd be remembered for.

The hour has come!

"Knights of the Silver hand!" he roared and all around him heavily armored warriors rose to the call. The deafening chorus of steel against steel and bellowing voices rang in Tirion's ears as he with pride met the eager eyes of three hundred men. The light broke through the dark clouds and spread its wings to shed light on the Eastern Plaguelands where the forces of evil wrought destruction upon their allies.

"It is good to see you all, so full of life." He breathed in the smell of the forest. "Today is a big day. At long last the shadows dissipate and the moment of penance come! Blessed by the light, we shall rise from the ashes of Arthas sins and hurl Uther Lightbringer's legacy from the darkness! But this is not his day, nor is it mine. We old men are fading. Seize this moment, you the new generation of heroes: for this is the first day of the fall of the Lich King! Knights of the Silver Hand!

"To victory!"

l~~~l

From the south, the knights broke through the trees, spread in a wide arc, on towards the unsuspecting forces of undead. To a military commander this might seem a terribly disorganized approach against such overwhelming odds but these were not the common foot-soldiers. Formations would only serve to inhibit this force of a holy calling. With every step of the way, this holy place came to life, infusing each paladin with the strength do his duty.

The clash came and Tirion and his men payed no heed to the tide of ghouls, their distorted, vile frames and mind-chilling shrieks of madness. The long line of mighty hammers rose in unison towards the heavens and arced through the air, smashing into the first line of undead, casting vast expunges of light in their wake. And so, the knights of the silver hand cut through the army of the damned like a scythe's sharp blade closing in on a bundle of wheat.

Hours seemed to pass and littered across the ground, mauled corpses moaned and thrashed, reaching for the feet and legs of the paladins who bested them.

Another corpse flailed its twig-like arms at Tirion in an attempt to drag down him to the filth below. A single scratch would mean a slow death without proper treatment in this realm of disease, Tirion knew as he cracked its rib-cage like an eggshell with one stomp. Screams of madness pierced his ears as ravenous, pupil-less eyes bore into his and Tirion gazed beyond the endless sea of undead that sought to swallow them. Casualties were mounting and the situation seemed more dire than ever.

We can't continue on like this!

"We must cleanse the way!" He roared amidst the turbulent fighting. Brute force was not going to win this battle.

His closest men threw him understandable looks of confusion. But upon witnessing their commander kneeling in prayer: left hand over his thigh and the right holding the hammer steady in the air. His men understood instinctively what must be done. The word spread to each Paladin along the ranks and each heeded their commander's command without doubt. Tirion thanked the light as they in unity formed the shape of a crescent sun, brought alight by their blessed hammers.

Tirion spoke the words in a calm manner, echoed by his brothers as he with a serene look on his face met the wall of rotten flesh and gnarling teeth that surged forward, coming to take his life.

Faith determined what happened next.

Shards of light begun to glimmer increasingly bright in front his face for each word spoken and just when the claws came close enough to gouge his eyes out... the light unfolded. Divine shields wrapped around each paladin and each bubble molded with its neighbor, united to form one long wall of shimmering light.

The scourge reached the kneeling line of brothers in arms, but their skin and flesh sizzled away and burned at the very touch of the protective barrier. The spineless ghoul in front of Tirion roared in outrage and recoiled, shielding it's eyes with one arm from the blinding light, and then like countless other of its kind seemed gripped by a moment of madness and threw itself completely against the barrier.

Tirion stared wide-eyed as the pure light mercilessly disintegrating each undead, erasing without a trace of ash nor smell all that was impure. A thousand souls sang in joy, released from their fleshy prison, and then, as if motivated by this euphoria of freedom, the glimmering bubble of gold expanded, purging more and more bodies into nothing and restored the grass below. The green circle at the center expanded, a dot in the pitch-black sea of the forces of evil, like a star at night.

The scourge learned it best to keep their distance, encircling the knights while a number of figures in black steel emerged seemingly from out of nowhere. Hundreds upon hundreds of these heavily armored ghosts appeared, growling what must be orders in their wicked tongue for quite immediately all other scourge redirected their attention to Sylvanas and the chapel which Tirion and his men sought to protect!

Tirion knew they couldn't stay here, completely immobile. Furthermore, his faith in this seemingly impenetrable conjuration began to wither as the Lich King's most powerful underlings edged closer and that did not bode well. As with all matters holy, faith was what determined the end-result and if he wavered, the shield would be significantly weakened.

"Paladins, we rise!" he shouted at the top of his lungs and they rose as one. It was unlike anything any of them had ever experienced, watching the protective beams of light shoot towards the heavens like fireworks.

Tirion only hoped they wouldn't grow overconfident - holy ground always brought the most unexpected phenomenons but should never be taken for granted. Priests would preach about what they've done here for centuries to come, but only if they survived it! He kept his gaze fixed on the enemy whom he now had a clear visual on, standing firm while the lesser of their kind streamed towards the chapel. His eyes was soon drawn towards the most fierce of the lot, holding a very particular sword.

The thick blade, formed in jagged lines of a scalene shape was a mastercraft by the dwarven king Magni Bronzebeard. He knew it very well, but the once shining sphere on its back no longer adorned a proud silvery blade. Instead Tirion laid witness to a black and cruel looking thing, resembling nothing of its former virtuosity. It saddened him to see the pride of Alexandros having fallen so, but even more did it hurt him to see the man holding it. Even under the heavy, diabolic helmet Tirion knew who this one once were. Few did not know of the young defender of Light's Hope chapel, the hero who drew his last breath defending this place and became its most famous martyr. Alexandros son, Darion stood before him, corrupted into an unrecognizable evil known as a death knight.

"Darion!" he gasped silently.

"Tirion, it's the Ash-!" Robin, his closest vassal shouted and came up next to him. He seemed nervous and Tirion couldn't blame him. These were dire sightings.

"Trust me, I see it." Tirion grunted.

"What are we to do?!"

Tirion put a calming hand on the young man's shoulder. "Don't you worry about that, lad. Tell the men to leave Darion and the Ashbringer to me." He declared and swept the line of paladins. They looked good, confident still despite the odds.

"Darion?!" Robin exclaimed, with wide eyes.

Tirion sighed, he should've spared the details. "Calm and focused on the task, I've told you this many times Robin. Now is not the time!"

"Aigh, sir!" Robin replied hastily.

"And be careful!" Tirion cut in. "Stay together, for even on holy ground death knights are not ever to be taken lightly."

With a salute he was away and spread the word. A good lad, one who felt the pressure and wasn't afraid to show it, expressing the distress shared by other too proud to expose themselves. In the end, a silent squadron would always crumble.

Both sides spread out, clear of the two commanders at the very center of the green circle. But Darion was the one to show genuine surprise, looking around himself in a dramatic fashion.

He laughed heartily "I didn't expect such a cowardly man to dare face me alone! This will be easier than I thought!" He mocked. The alien voice behind the helmet sounded hollow to Tirion's ears.

Tirion's looked grave as he spoke. "That is your father's sword you're holding."

"Beautiful, is it not?" Darion yelled and swung the blade proudly in the air. "We were destined to be together." He said, and Tirion found himself remembering the words Alexandros had spoken on the day Darion was promised the sword.

He nodded. "That you were, but such an honor was to be earned, not inherited." He said, walking forward, unafraid of the careless swinging of his enemy.

They now stood just short of sword's reach. Darion was covered completely in steel with the exception of the two glaring white globes for eyes. "My father is dead!" His distorted voice screamed. "And your words hardly seem to have much sway in the matter. I'm holding it, am I not?"

Tirion snorted. "Any man can hold a sword. Wielding it? Now that is another matter."

Judged by the slits for eyes behind that helmet, and the rigid posture, the truth of that statement had hit home.

"I want to hear you say that again when you find yourself impaled on it!" He roared.

Tirion was surprised. Darion had always been a spirited lad, but being juvenile was a new trait. In a parent's patient voice, he called. "I bear you no ill will, Darion. The sacrifices you've made in my absence still weigh heavy on my mind. You shall be rewarded for your former courage, for on this holy ground I shall release you from the Lich King's shackles." He declared.

A statement that did not seem to bring Darion much joy, and Tirion never expected it to. The ones enslaved by the Lich King sees him as their master and liberator, no matter former allegiances. Breaking his hold require another kind of influence... or to be replaced by the likes of Sylvanas.

"Release me?!" Darion screamed, bearing down on Tirion. "You don't know the first thing about me!" Darion's gloves clenched on the sword hilt and brought the blade sideways towards Tirion's shoulder. Hardly a very promising attack. Tirion stepped away from the enraged cleave casually, and meted a blow which Darion quickly scrambled away from. They circled each other, and Tirion couldn't help himself from throwing concerned looks to his fellow paladins standing up to the other death knights. There were struggles on both sides, but the Silver Hand seemed to hold strong. He on the other hand almost lost track of his own fight, as Darion's next slash came much too close to his belly.

"Eyes on me, old man!" He shouted. "We wouldn't want that head of yours to fall off too soon now would we?!"

He berated himself, losing focus on the fight was a rookie mistake. Get a grip!

The battle raged on, and the two duelists continued their skirmish at the very center of the green circle, testing each other's skill after a long time apart. Tirion concluded his opponent had developed more brute methods in accordance to his emotional change. A development that wouldn't serve him well. Tirion did not intend to kill him, however, only to incapacitate. And to accomplish that, all he had to do was block this swing, and then..

His hammer shattered.

Helplessly Tirion watched as a million shards and pieces filled the air. The once solid metal shaft in his hands replaced by sharp fragments that pierced his skin. With no to time to block the stab coming to take his life, he simply froze there as the sword penetrated his armor.. and then stopped.

He blinked. Darion was thrusting with all his might, but the blade wasn't moving an inch! Tirion couldn't tell who was more astonished.

"What did you do?!" Darion's maddened scream struck his ears.

That was not my doing, Tirion thought. The sword chose to not hurt me!

Darion let out another angry scream, dropping the sword and looked at Tirion venomously. His mouth hanged open, so upset he was at a loss for words.

Tirion heard the sound of a sharp whistle from his left, a sound that amplified alarmingly. He only caught a glimpse of something purple spearing towards them and his heart skipped a beat.

"Take cover!" He shouted and threw himself to the ground.

But he only managed to cover his face with one arm when the explosion hit, light flashing under his closed eyelids as he was sent tumbling away like a ragdoll.

l~~~l

His chest rose and fell, rapidly and painfully. Everything hurt, and his ears were filled by a thousand banshee screams. His teeth clenched and he managed to sit as best he could. As long as his body was functioning, he would not allow himself to stay down and beaten. He opened his stinging eyes once more and saw that his armor had taken the brunt of the damage. Observing his surroundings, he saw that most were still fighting for their lives, but some had stopped to look over their shoulder, at the center. A center where a small crater had formed, and at its opposite edge, Darion was on his knees next to a broken helmet. His back was turned to Tirion, but beyond the smoke he saw the evident damage he'd suffered.

The arrow had hit his right scapula, tearing his shoulder off cleanly; to the extent that Tirion could see straight through the chest area where his lung should be. Some ways off, the Ashbringer lay abandoned on the ground. Unharmed, as opposed to the bits and pieces, arms, bones and fingers that lay scattered the entire way there.

He made to rise and started a slow wander towards the still kneeling Darion, casting sideway glances in Sylvanas direction the whole time. But no more surprises came from her. In fact, the arrow must've been released the moment Darion had struck him. She is a former elf after all. He suppose she has the eyesight for it, but to have such perception! And the aim goes without saying... He felt a certain sense of respect for the Forsaken Queen just then.

To his surprise, Darion was making to his feet at his approach. He was trying to strike a threatening pose, but just keeping his torso upright seemed a wobbly undertaking. It was a terrible sight as Tirion now saw that he'd taken damage all the way up to his neck and face, showing skeleton and a blotted eye.

Tirion spared him the pleasantries "You've lost, Darion!" He called, willing Darion to stay down. "This battle was over the second your feet touched this holy place. Order your troops to stand down. Let me help you!"

But Darion would have none of it. His words were incomprehensible in his current state, but it was clear he intended to defy Tirion until the very end. Tirion only made out three words: He is coming!

Tirion gave a flustered sigh, but he felt sadness at hearing such words from a familiar voice, finding hope where there is none. "Can you not see what you've become, Darion?" he bellowed "You have become all that your father fought against! Like that coward Arthas, you've allowed yourself to be consumed by the darkness, the hate. Feeding upon the misery of ones you've tortured and killed!" He kneeled before him.

"You speak of your master as if he's worthy of trust." He said, and gestured towards the chapel. "But he knows what lies beneath this chapel! He knows what holy ground brings! That is why he dares not show his face. He sent you and your death knights to die, Darion!"

Darion looked struck, his pale face frozen and hard. With slow, controlled words, he managed to say.

"Being smug does not suit you, Tirion. You'd be dead before my feet, had it not been for-" they both turned to the sword in question, as a strange power began to simmer from the blade. Tirion thought he heard voices, but never caught on to what was being said. Judged by the intent expression on Darion's face, it wasn't addressed to him. Tirion remained content however, for as the voices continued to speak, he saw the effect they had on Darion, turning more and more into the young man he once knew.

Then all hell broke loose.

"You've left yourself exposed, Paladin!" A thousand dark voices thundered in his ears and he screamed. Tirion fell to the ground, writhing in pain as the voices continued to rumble and echo each other. "Oh, how simple it was to draw the great Tirion Fordring out of hiding! Now your death is imminent. It was almost too easy..."

Dark shadows surrounded him, consuming him, he found himself unable to breathe as the life was sucked out of him. His vision clouded, fading. If he could pass out, he would. The magic kept him between life and death as he was tortured and to be defiled. He couldn't see what was happening around him. Was anyone coming to help? Was there anyone who could? After what seemed like an eternity, he heard a voice call his name out of the darkness, but he couldn't place from where or whom the voice belonged to. All he saw was a glimmer, like a star at night and instinctively he reached for it with his hands. That's when he caught onto something solid, and desperately he held onto it with all the energy he had left to spare.

The darkness shattered.

He was back to the world again, and the world was gold. All except for a couple of black dots, and... He turned around and saw him. A long, dark shadow raising an enormous sword.

Without thinking, he moved his hands up without even registering that there was a sword in them. But he felt that everything went as they had countless times before. The familiar impact of two swords reverberated through his arm, and he blinked again. Now he saw everything clearly.

In his hands he held the Ashbringer, resurrected into the holy blade it once was, shining in front of his eyes like the sun at dawn... And the blade he had stopped was the sword to break all swords: Frostmourne.

"What is this?!" The Lich King roared to terrify and Tirion almost recoiled, even being the seasoned warrior that he is.

What struck him was how large Arthas had become, granted he'd been no small man in his prime, but this.. thing was of the size larger than even a tauren. He realised he wasn't fighting Arthas. He was fighting a monster.

A monster that was struggling. The Lich King recoiled as light clutched at its massive frame, seeking to find the flesh below the dark armor. Even as he moved, the light ensnared his feet and legs, trying to bring him down. Tirion could not pass this opportunity.

His eyes momentarily found Darion's, who was looking at him expectantly. Tirion nodded to him in gratitude, for it was he who had spoken, he who had presented the sword for him. Tirion took courage, gripped the Ashbringer and lunged at the Lich King.

The Ashbringer and Frostmourne clashed once more, and he came face to face with the Lich King, whose horrible breath washed over him as the distinct voice of Arthas penetrated through the chorus. "This is not over," he said, and in a cloud of smoke the king of the dead disappeared into nothing.

"No!" He screamed, slashing through the dark cloud as it blended and disappeared into the open air.

"Arthas!" But there was nothing more he could do. The Lich King had escaped from his grasp.

He clenched his eyes and shook his head in disappointment. He anguished over things he could've done, been quicker, anything that could've ended all of this, right here, right now. But he wasn't allowed to wallow in guilt for long.

Cheers resounded all around him, and surprised, Tirion watched the joyful faces of his knights celebrate victory. The death knights had put down their arms, abandoned by their master. Other undead had turned almost docile. The screams that once raged had softened to mere moaning, their movements slow, but with a sense of direction. The paladin's round sanctuary was like a rock in a stream as they made their way to a new master.

He could see Sylvanas in the distance, standing defiant. Her features resembled some of his own frustration at seeing the Lich King flee. She was so drenched in guts and blood that she looked much the same as the corpses fawning at her. As another undead clinged to her leg helplessly, like a child, she picked it up and cradled it in her arms like a mother would, a mere torso with one arm and a head, looking into her cold eyes longingly. She brought her hand to caress its left cheek, smiling much too sweetly. It's mouth opened, but no sound escaped as its eyes widened more and more. Dry skin fell like leaves, scattered to the wind, and before long, dried pieces of flesh followed. Tirion watched as the withering continued until there was nothing but dust falling between her fingers and the Banshee Queen stood alone again. Even from such a distance, Tirion could feel her challenging gaze.

l~~~l

"How can we pass up on such an opportunity?! She'll be gone for some time, Undercity is exposed, ready to seize!"

Varimathras shook his large head. "It is too early still, and the situation too treacherous. I will not risk years of planning for a sudden opportunity stumbling upon our doorstep."

"But we have the influence! How can we allow ourselves to not take advantage?" Putrus insisted.

"What we need is influence from the other side of the realm. You might have enough for a coup, but it will never work without me doing my part. The time will come, but it will not be determined by your impulsiveness.

Putrus looked none the happier, and Varimathras gave him with a daring gaze.

He winced "I'm capable of containing myself! It isn't me you need to worry about." Putrus said. "It is the patience of other enthusiasts that we need allay. The Royal Apothecary society received no reports on this disturbance by the eastern border. Being kept in the dark on a threat of such magnitude is downright insulting!"

"It was Sylvanas decision to keep things silent." Varimathras replied.

"And you are our informant when such is the case!" Putrus said in an upset voice.

Varimathras, as composed as always, never raised his voice and said. "Whether the council knew or not, would be of little consequence. If you were informed, it would only bring the risk for suspicion."

"You could've told me at the very least! That way-" Putrus was interrupted by the hard beat of a wing.

Varimathras let Putrus squirm under his gaze for a few dangerous moments.

"We will make our move, and soon." He said "When the time is right nothing will stand in our way." he continued, and left the chamber, deep beneath the catacombs of Undercity.

l~~~l

Hours passed and the sun was about to set beyond the horizon.

The battle was long since over and impatiently, Sylvanas drummed her fingernails against the skeletal horse. After a battle of such magnitude the area was buzzing with activity. Hordes of scourge were on the run, fleeing the Forsaken warlocks who busied themselves with mission subdue and capture. To the undead the aftermath of a battle was not a field of misery, but a large feast and in the absence of the king, the queen's numbers rose.

This has become quite the productive day... but will it prove favorable in the end?

Her eyes kept wandering to the spot where the Lich King had emerged. Bested... and in such a fashion! Sacred grounds or no, the full power of the high elves had been unable to stop Arthas during his assault on Silvermoon. And now, this single puny human had managed to stop him dead in his tracks with a shiny sword?! If that was all it took for him to defeat the Lich King, what does that say about the prospects for her own future?

Sylvanas cursed. She'd always seen the Argent Dawn as another weak faction: useful in their own right, but ultimately a pest to exterminate when the time was right. And that time seemed to have just passed. Her impulsive decision to aid them might have been her greatest mistake yet.

In the distance the humans were hooting and shouting in accordance to their new hero's flute. He was conducting one of those speeches the humans were so fond of and he entertained quite the audience.

"I hereby unite the Knights of the Silver Hand and the Argent Dawn under one banner! The Argent Crusade will march on Northrend, and together we will tear down the walls of icecrown! Our campaign has begun!" she heard Tirion's final words sound and the grand choir echoed his name.

Thinking of snatching Arthas head are you? Don't get ahead of yourself, Tirion Fordring. The race for the king's head has only just begun. After this day there's not a one able to deny his return.

She was about to make her leave when a voice called her name. She turned the horse around and drew a breath to fill her empty lungs.

"If you wish to speak, you may come to me, paladin." she called in a raspy voice.

Tirion made no spectacle out of it, walking confidently across the field towards the undead queen, gathered beyond the borders of holy ground. His men quickly caught up to his heels, surrounding him like a protective mob. Sylvanas did not show him the courtesy of dismounting.

The grey haired man with the sundered armor stood tall as she looked down on him.

"I must thank you for your invaluable aid this day." he said formally, but with surprising warmth. His smile was smudged by the ecstasy of victory, even as he was forced to crane his neck in order to see her atop her horse.

Sylvanas smirked, who did he think he was fooling?

He continued filling the silence nonetheless. "Had you not cut the army in half, me and my paladins would have been too overwhelmed to cut the head of the beast."

She gave him an affirmative nod, as he was not incorrect. She'd slaughtered the lot of them, but it was he who had ultimately repelled the king. The only feat of any real significance.

"We've never seen eye to eye before," he said, doing just so. "But the crusade gathers all in the war against evil. In Northrend we must stand united." He declared.

Does people not consider her evil? she wondered, but never voiced the question. "Do not fret." she said. "You can be assured that Arthas will come to know my Forsaken in Northrend." An answer that confirmed nothing, but Tirion did not try to press her.

Not a diplomat, this one.

"I am glad to hear it." He said. "I shall rally the alliance to our cause. it was my hope that we may also feel the full might of the horde at our side as well."

Ah, so he was interested in using her as a some sort of medium with the horde.

Sylvanas bared her teeth at him menacingly. "Don't overstep your bounds, human! You've made a powerful display this day, but don't let it go to your head. The Horde, like myself, serves itself, and not your new crusade," she growled.

"I'd never dream of the like." He said quickly. "This is but an invitation. I know Thrall will hear my words, all I ask is for you to permit my sending a letter through your network."

Sylvanas looked at him curiously. Friend of the warchief? Just when did Thrall find another human friend? Then she remembered. "Oh, I think I have heard about you. You were the one who saved one of Thrall's fellow slaves, what was his name?"

"Eitrigg, Eitrigg was his name." He said, and Sylvanas could see him grow more anxious. She knew who he was of course, but her intent was to make him uncomfortable. He never did make introductions, a most haughty assumption.

"Yes, yes. So it was, Tirion Fordring. You may go through with your invitation.. and I do wish you luck. I myself have made the attempt to convince the warchief of taking the battle to Northrend, but he's proved reluctant to commit." She said, almost spitting out the last word. Among the horde, she was hardly alone with the opinion that Thrall had grown too soft.

Tirion nodded in acknowledgement. "Thrall is wise and patient, but after today's confrontation, I don't believe any faction will stay idle. The Lich King has arisen, of that many has witnessed today." Tirion said confidently, but she could see tire simmer in his eyes.

"Is it past your bedtime, old man?" she scoffed.

He made a slight frown, but unwilling to give in completely and show himself as insulted.

"I can't deny the effect time has on my bones. It has been quite a battle." he replied, then continued more broodingly. "With too many casualties."

She smirked. "If you feel at a loss I can easily replenish your numbers." she said in a mischievous manner.

"Absolutely not!" he said harshly with wide, angry eyes.

That woke him up, she thought and spoke. "If you intend to make war on the Lich King you cannot allow yourself to go soft, old man."

His stance now took a very aggressive manner, and her goal was finally met as in a resentful voice he said. "I want to make this perfectly clear, what you do with the scourge, that's outside my control, but touch my men I shall take it as a personal offense!"

Sylvanas face darkened "Do not try to order me around, commander. This is your second warning, and there won't be a third." She shot a look to the west. "As of this moment, my armies march on this place. Initially meant to engage the Lich King's forces, but.. do you believe you could withstand a second assault, commander?"

"You wouldn't!" He exclaimed.

She smirked "Maybe I won't." she said. "Maybe i'll just continue to retrieve and discard the Lich King's sundered forces from your soiled grounds as I see fit. But then I want something in return."

Tirion grunted "Haven't we made you a favor already, ending the battle here, leaving you only to pick up the spoils of war? There are many renegade scourge for you to capture instead of backstabbing like some hyena!"

Now he's getting feisty! It was almost too easy..

"But well, of course i'm grateful for your little gesture! And i've already struck a deal with the Argent Dawn, so you needn't worry about that," she said with a wink. "But don't forget, Tirion, that all of this is ultimately your fault, and therefore I want something from you."

"My fault?!" He said indignantly, but she could see he knew what she was hinting at and gave him a stern look. Playing oblivious was the quickest route to lose her respect. "The Lich King's reason for all of this was to obtain you. I heard his words, you put this on my doorstep. Don't play that game with me."

But before Tirion had the chance to retort, Sylvanas held up a hand to silence him. "All i'm asking is a visit." She said.

Tirion composed himself slightly. "A visit?" He asked.

"I want you.." She said, pointing deliberately at him. "To come to Undercity."

He didn't outright object, instead gave her a bewildered look. "But, why?"

Sylvanas tilted her head slightly to the side, as if indicating that the answer to that question was given. "You've united the Argent Dawn and the Silver Hand, even formed a pact with the Ebon Blade death knights. As the representative of this Argent Crusade of yours, it is only courtesy for you to visit me. As a new organization, you might otherwise run into unexpected complications."

Tirion paused, seemingly deep in thought. She hadn't expected a quick answer.

"If you are frightened of my home, you will never breach the Lich King's" She said.

Tirion looked at her suspiciously.

She chuckled "Come now, commander. You shouldn't decline a lady's invitation."

Tirion sighed. He knew the smart thing to do would be to postpone, figure out what she was after. But he didn't want to back down, he wanted to appear strong, and visiting the Banshee Queen's lair would show his determination and bravery. And foolishness, but such things goes hand in hand. If her intent really was to murder him, or worse.. Then it really was his first trial on the road to the Lich King's throne.

"Very well, I accept." He declared loudly, to his men's surprise and Sylvanas content. "A message will be brought to you, when first i'm able." Protests could be heard, but he silenced them.

"That's what I like to hear," she said with almost childish content, turning into one of curiousity as Tirion busied himself with rummaging through the small pouch at his side.

"One moment." He said and then withdrew a necklace of the purest sapphire and held it out to Sylvanas.

"I believe this belongs to you," he said, causing her to raise a brow in wonder. There was something familiar about that bright blue color, but she could not place its origin in her mind.

Reluctantly she dismounted, her curiosity getting the better of her. She walked up to Tirion, who seemed pleased with finally being face to face, and at the same altitude. It became more of a nervous stand-off, as he was almost tranced by the depth of her red eyes.

She studied him. an elderly man with hard wrinkles and a few patches of grey. Despite his age, he was able to retain that undeniable strength you see in the most hardened of men, coupled with the confidence of a commander.

His men, gathered in a crescent around him looked almost as confident as their commander, perhaps the true testament of his influence, especially in the face of someone like herself. They looked slightly nervous, but she expected nothing else. She took the necklace from his grasp, making sure he felt the coldness of her skin. He did not flinch.

Turning the necklace, she found the inscription she hadn't known her mind had instinctively been looking for:

'To Sylvanas. With love, always, Alleria.' it read, and a flicker of emotion washed over Sylvanas features as she took in her elder sisters writing.

Tirion devoured this break of character with hungry eyes. "Especially in dark times, we must not forget who we are." he said broodingly.

Sylvanas shook her head. "Forget?" she said. "Don't throw some sense of pity in my face, Paladin." She spat.

He did not back down. "To say there is hope, is not to belittle."

She gave a frustrated sigh. "Then let me return you the favor, Tirion Fordring," she said in a stern voice.

Sylvanas put Alleria's necklace around her neck and exchanged it with her one treasure next to her bow.

She held it out to Tirion, who looked appalled "Will you then also accept this relic of man, in exchange?" she said in a tone carrying a sense of mockery.

Tirion stared at the atrocity: a ripped off raven's leg on a dark cord, bending and twitching in the air. Within its claws, it clenched onto a black stone, slowly pulsing a strange red color from its core.

"What is this?" he asked, looking at Sylvanas with wide eyes. He saw her pale face had turned from somber to a sneer, the tables have turned again.

"Oh, please. Humour me with a guess," she said.

Tirion could think of few things that would hit true to its mark, so he said the one thing he knew to be true. "It is evil."

She made a slow nod. "That is true. The more accurate assessment however, would be that this is the last remnant of the prophet Medivh."

He looked at the leg again in surprise and recognition. Medivh was known in many tales to take the form of a raven when he so desired, but could this really be the guardian? His story and fate was different to his memory.. but then again there are many legends and myths regarding his life, and even lives as some say. Knowing what to be true regarding the figures of myth is a mystery in itself.

"And just how have you come to this conclusion?" he wondered.

Her red eyes bore into him, she did not appreciate having her word questioned. Tirion wondered how something so colorful could feel so cold.

"The dead talk," she said. "I believe I am a clear evidence of that fact, but to spare you the drawn out details: simply see for yourself. One with your abilities should have an easy enough time deciphering the truth of something like this."

"What aspect of my abilities are you referring to exactly?" He wondered

"You said it was evil. Indulge me."

Tirion understood then. He reached out to touch the undead skin, and it too seemed as reluctant as he was to it, coiling and writhing away from his touch. It was magical, even the pulsing gem in its claws seemed powerful enough to rival Medivh. He was surprised Sylvanas would offer him such a thing..

He bit down on his revulsion and snatched the raven's leg to him as Sylvanas dangled it in front of his face. Finally in his grasp he willed it to be still, as it did not seem pleased at having been abandoned by its master. He forced himself to focus harder, despite the distracting movements. Then he felt it.

The very slightest, smallest shard, but it's origin was undisputable. A whisper of the legion, of Sargeras himself. Too small and old to be a direct threat, but..

"This.. This is to be handled with great care, not as a trinket, Sylvanas." he spurted out.

Sylvanas sneered at him. "Would you protect me then? Wear it to the rest of your days, to honor what once was?" she said, repeating his own words in a sarcastic fashion.

Tirion actually considered it for a moment, but in the end he knew he could not. It would corrupt him in a way he could not risk, not now. Even to test his strength of faith.

The Dark Lady's triumphant gaze beamed out of the corner of his eye, she'd known his answer from the very start. "I honor my past, but I know what is." she said, putting the necklace around her neck. "And I do not stray."

He watched her as she wandered off to her horse, mounting it with an agile leap.

"We shall meet again, Tirion." she said holding up a hand in farewell.

Watching the Banshee Queen lead her people away, Tirion couldn't help but suspect that a new tyrant of the undead was on the rise to replace the one they meant to defeat. But he knew such thinking would spell doom as sure as anything.

No, now he understood more than he ever did before, and truly why Sylvanas chose to name her people the Forsaken. Because forsaken to the world they truly were, lost souls meeting only revulsion and hate, and then pity. A pity she despise, because pity only breeds empty hope.

Her games and simple minded hostility had fooled him. The dare she proposed was not only about the past, but a symbolic truce for the future. If his intentions are true, to restore balance and fight evil, then balance must be made.

He was not ready for such a commitment, not yet. But perhaps when the Helm of Domination lay covered in snow, he'll consider aiding her one day, in guiding the Forsaken onto a better path. With everything that entails.

l~~~~l

Sylvanas entered her chambers. She'd seen a glint in Tirion's eyes, one that could bode well for the future. This day had developed into the promise for a very profitable future. She walked up to the extravagant marble altar supplemented with a number of her personal items, and leaned on it to further inspect the newly acquired necklace.

It's been a long time since anyone courted me with jewellry.. I even have a date, she thought to herself sarcastically.

The pretty thing looked out of place in this gloomy environment, but she was happy it had found its way home. Something her sisters never did, scattered to the wind at their family's darkest hour.

Arthas destroyed their home and took her life, but it is the loss of her two sisters and brother that hurt the most. Her sisters are still alive, and yet she hasn't heard a word from any of them, nothing at all. Not a sign or indication that they have even recognized she still exist.

But that is hardly an unusual stance for the living to take. She might not be dead, but the Sylvanas in life is dead to the rest of the world.. even if she herself is not of the same opinion. They say she has changed, that she's become sinister and twisted, resembling nothing of what she once was. But that is only the natural course of things after everything she's been through..

She had expected more from them. She felt betrayed. While she'd suffered at the hand of a tyrant, raped and broken into a revulsing form, they willingly went away, abandoning her to whatever fate awaited.

Five years has passed, and she's devoted her mind and ability to expand the Forsaken and its interests. For it is her only sense of security, in a world that's become very alien to her. Everyone sees her as the enemy, someone to shut out. Never will she let her domain crumble, no matter the cost.

Her long ears twitched at the sharp clattering of bones hitting stone.

Putrus caught only a glimpse of her face tormented by bitter thoughts, before he quickly bowed low. He did not want her to catch him ogling. In terms of formalities, there are times when he takes his chances, but that day was not today.

"My Queen.. You called for me?" he said wonderingly, before rising to his former, slightly crooked form. He's learned that in the Queen's court it is better to be oblivious than guilty. She smell blood from miles away.

Not that he was rewarded by any generosity from his Queen, rather he felt the temperature of the room plummet with every word she spoke.

"But, yes, of course Putrus. Would you please tell me of your business with the Worgen?" she said in a neutral voice, but her stern features spoke otherwise as she turned a necklace over in her hands. He didn't know what to make of it, his queen has never taken a fancy to trivial accessories. Perhaps it was magical.

His throat made a loud gurgling sound, he had no time to think of such things. "They are fine specimen, my Queen. Strong, magical, many of them elven. They make for interesting and yielding research," he stopped at her fierce expression.

"At my expense?! It would seem you've forgotten many important concepts. One being discretion." She snapped.

"Discreet is my middle name, my Queen!" He got out. "But the Worgen are wretched animals, working in packs!" he said, spitting out the last word. "It is hard even to find a stray to capture, and when opportunity do arise, they find tracks, and catch scents several days old!"

Sylvanas made a discontented sigh and turned her head, finally bothering to face his way. "Your place as head of the royal apothecary is founded on the grounds that you are able to find solutions where there are none. If you deem yourself incapable of doing so, then I shall find someone who can." She said.

"That will not be necessary, my Queen!" He insisted "I have already set new plans to avoid further hassle."

She shook her head. "No. Send them to Varimathras, he will gather whatever resources the Apothecaries are in need of. You are relieved of any duties regarding the Worgen, and there will be a higher level of supervision regarding future projects."

She put the necklace away and walked to a table of scripture. Putrus stood as if beaten over the head. "Was there anything else?" he said after many long and silent moments had passed. He knew she was playing him into relaxing his guard. She smirked, and he wondered if she had counted the seconds until his patience broke.

"There was. I suspect you've heard what has occurred in the Western Plaguelands?" she said, unwinding a paper roll.

"That I have, the Council was.. Surprised. But the Lich King showed himself inferior." He said.

Sylvanas took no heed to his hint. "His performance hardly measured up to any high standards, no. And we are on the march." she flinged a parchment his way. It toppled on the hard floor. She watched him bend over to pick it up from off the floor and begun reading

When his face flushed with delight, she continued. "Bring this to the council: ready our fleets, Northrend shall hear the banshee's howl."

"Revenge shall be ours, my Queen! I promise you Arthas head on a spike!" But his manic delight cooled off as he saw the look on her face.

Her evil smirk taunted him. "I've thrown you a bone, Putrus. Now kneel." She said, and he did so, even knowing what was coming next.

She walked up to him and put a hand on his head, covered by a black hood. Pushing his head backwards, she forced him to meet her gaze, as the smell of burning filled the air. It was hard inflicting pain on the undead, and he didn't make a sound. But behind those wide eyes she saw the face of agony.