Year: 622

Baron Rivendare, overlord of Stratholme, sat at his desk in the back of his miniature fortress in his ruined city. He had a rough map of the plaguelands spread out before him, with marks indicating Argent Dawn strongholds and Scourge bases. Around each one he'd scribbled numbers, notes, anything he felt was important. Lines – dashed, solid, dotted – crisscrossed the entire sheet of parchment, all cryptic, nonsensical, meaningless to everyone but the Baron.

His blue eyes darted around the map, analyzing the marks he'd made. His hair was now even paler than it had been in life – whereas it had once been nearly white, it now actually was. Rivendare's face, though still vaguely handsome, was pale, slightly gaunt, and deathly cold.

A banshee floated in. Catching a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye, Titus acknowledged her presence. "Anastari."

"Your Lordship," she said. Though she technically held the same rank as he did – she was a Baroness – he was higher in the Scourge hierarchy, so she addressed him as a superior. Rivendare put the quill down and turned to look at the banshee. "I bring news from the Great Lich…" She offered a sealed envelope to Titus, who took it and wordlessly opened it. Anastari had never seen Rivendare look surprised or excited, but he certainly was now; she could tell just by looking at his eyes, wide with disbelief, despite the rest of his face being obscured by the thick blue scarf.

"Naxxramas? Coming here?" Titus struggled not to let his enthusiasm show. He didn't want to seem too excited. "Kel'Thuzad's personal necropolis? I am not mixing this up with another necropolis, am I?"

"You are not, my Lord," the banshee assured him.

Titus sank back into his chair, blinking in shock. He gestured at Anastari to leave. "Thank you. Dismissed…"

Naxxramas, coming right to his doorstep. After five tormenting years, Naxxramas was finally coming. Five long years since he'd last seen Blaumeux, since he'd last heard her voice. It had crushed him to be stationed in Stratholme while Melanie left for Northrend – before he'd even once gotten to see her – but he hadn't let it show. He'd thrown himself into his work. Into the killing, the plotting, the ruling. Now, Kel'Thuzad and his necropolis were finally going to join him in Lordaeron. Lady Blaumeux was finally going to join him in Lordaeron.

September of 623

Blaumeux returned to the Horsemen's Lair, her cloak damp and slightly stained. It was clean enough for her tastes. "Why," she asked, "is children's blood so much harder to wash out than adult's blood?" It really wasn't, she just said things like that to irritate Zeliek.

Sir Zeliek gave her a death-glare. He'd grown to hate her. He hated everything about her – her voice, her actions, the things she said, even the glint in her bright blue eyes; he hated it all. "Consider yourself lucky Kel'Thuzad would stop me from attacking you, or I'd kill you right here, right now."

The female death knight took off her helmet, walked over to Zeliek, and put a hand on his face and stroked his chin gently, stopping when she had just a single finger remaining on his face and lifting his chin so he would look her directly in the eye. He was powerless to resist her seductive motion, but for an entirely different reason than most men – he was completely immune to her evil charms, but Kel'Thuzad had him on an incredibly tight leash, restricting his movements to the point where he could control almost nothing of his own behavior. The death knight in white armor gritted his teeth so hard he felt they might break in half.

"Oh Zeliek," she said softly, "You know you'd never harm your dear friend Melanie…" Her eyes glinted as she spoke.

If he could smack her hand away from his face, he would have. Instead he just glared at her. "You're not Melanie anymore. You're just the monster the Scourge have put in Melanie's body."

"Did you hear that, Korth'azz?" Blaumeux asked, pretending to be hurt by his words.

"Hear what? Zeliek? I try to ignore 'im," the dwarf replied.

" He says I'm a monster!" Melanie whined. She laughed coldly, dropping the false pain, and turned back to the fallen paladin. "Bold words, Zel." She patted him dismissively on the head, like a child or a dog, and walked away. Oh, how he hated her.

Alexandros rode into the room atop his undead steed. "Kel'Thuzad says we're moving back to Northrend in four months. Plenty of time to prepare…"

Three Months Later

Rivendare stood outside the Slaughterhouse, hands behind his back, just looking skyward. It wasn't like him to spend so long away from his work. The other Scourge lurking in Stratholme noticed the odd behavior but none of them dared to confront their Baron about it.

Finally, Anastari floated silently over. "My Lord…?"

"…Yes?"

"You've been here for hours," she said, both gently and fearfully. Baron Rivendare did not reply, nor did he look at her. The banshee turned to see what he was staring at, frowning slightly. She saw nothing unusual in the sky. Just smoke, clouds, and the distant silhouette of a necropolis – just as it had been for almost two years. "What are you looking at?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Naxxramas," the Baron replied. His tone was not as sharp as usual; in fact it seemed almost like a resigned sigh. He didn't look depressed, worried, or in any way troubled, but neither did he look stern, almost angry, as he usually did. He simply looked calm.

There was a long silence. Anastari also looked up at Naxxramas, deep in thought. For several minutes, the death knight and banshee simply stood there in Stratholme, looking up at the floating citadel. The Baroness finally broke the silence. "It will be leaving soon."

"I know…" Rivendare didn't let his sorrow show. For so long, he'd been so tantalizingly close, yet, Naxxramas – and its denizens – remained just out of reach, just barely within sight. Soon, it would be gone again, having finished taunting him. Yet again, his hopes and dreams would be crushed.

The banshee opened her mouth to speak again, but was cut off by a loud crash! Rivendare was tense, alert, and the stern expression returned to his face. "The living are here!" a voice called out.

"Get to your ziggurat," Rivendare ordered. He turned without another word and briskly walked back to his building. Throughout Stratholme, Argent Dawn forces were splitting up, spreading, falling here and there. A small group of them made its way toward Slaughter Square. The abominations Rivendare had guarding his miniature fortress fell, one by one, but not without a considerable fight.

Still, Aurius pressed on. He and three other paladins had managed to reach the Slaughterhouse through sheer brute force. One of the two women fell to the skeletal bodyguards, but the remaining woman and the two men managed to reach Rivendare himself.

The death knight did not conceal the mild surprise he felt. "Aurius?" His adopted son. Melanie's brother. Aurius Rivendare. Aurius Blaumeux. Rage boiled up in Titus' heart. Why had he lived, when his sister had died? He should have fallen, not her! If he'd been out hunting the undead instead of his elder sister…. It was all his fault!

Baron Rivendare gritted his teeth and let out a furious battle shout. He snapped the reins and his skeletal steed thundered toward the Argents, backed by the full force of a broken heart and a mind losing the last vestiges of sanity. The paladins didn't stand a chance.