AN (to guest): Well, yes, he screwed up due to being more than a little nervous.

Fear of the unknown was a feeling he had nearly forgotten, but now he learned to hate it again. He looked around in the throne room, at his collegues, and knew without asking that they all felt the same way. It was already uncommon for those gathered here to fear anything, but these were strange times. Their new master would arrive soon, and so everyone here braced for the possibility of disaster.

Anub'arak seemed to wonder if he should burrow himself into the ground. As a monstrous nerubian, he was worried that the new Lich King would consider him a beast and kill him immidiately. He still did his best stay calm, his arms crossed and his wings covered. Being comrades for a long time, it was hard not to feel sorry for him.

Lady Deathwisper and Gothik the Harvester were more relaxed, they were cult fanatics and would gladly die serving their master, no matter who that person happened to be. Now was maybe the first time someone envied them for their worldview. They both wore their standard robes and quietly talked to each other as if this day was perfectly normal.

Blood Queen Lana'thel made no effort to hide her weariness and nervousity, she was here for the shortest time and had not forgotten her former personality. If the new Lich King was vulnerable to female charms, she would have good chances to make it or even profit, but it was doubtful that she would even try that. Her council of blood was no more, only Keleseth had survived. The last blood prince stood at the side of his queen, one hand placed on her shoulder, but the fear in his eyes was obvious. He was known to be loyal to the extreme, so he would worry more for his queen's fate than his own, but he surely thought about his own future too.

The val'kyr twins had the benefit of an unreadable expression, but the way they spoke in their own tongue and fluttered around showed that they were still unable to fully grasp the latest events. They had thought of Arthas as a god, and feeling their god died by the hands of mortals had certainly sent them into a crisis of faith. And who could blame them?

That left him, Baron Titus Rivendare, commander of the death knights as the last person in the room, for he was also a member of the high command. And more importantly, Gothik, Deathwisper and he were the only voluntary undead in this room. All the others had been forced to join the Scourge, and if the new Lich King was not careful, they might become able to break the control over their minds. And their vengeance would be terrible if they ever got a chance to enact it.

The door was pushed open, and four skelettons in full plate armor with halberds entered in perfect order. Behind them came the new Lich King, flanked on one side by Sindragosa in human form and on the other by a woman unknown to Rivendare. Another four armored skelettons made up the end of the procession, and Titus shifted his attention back to the new Lich King.

Despite his torn and bloody armor, he made no bad impression. Tall, but not overly so, with black hair and a handsome, pale face and red eyes, he could have been mistaken for a death knight. His posture made was that of a king, marching in as if this was his castle. Which it technically was now. The Lich King shifted his gaze from person to person, till his burning eyes had met those of everybody present. Then he began to speak, his voice soft but clearly audible.

"Just to state the obvious, I, Vlad von Carstein, am the new Lich King, and I intent to keep this position, which makes you my subjects. But I know that some of you are not here by your own will, and I have little need for slaves. You have no reason to trust me, and while I can swear to be a better ruler than my predecessor, the same thing would be true for a dead rat. As such, I offer you a choice: Those of you who wish to leave may to so. You have nothing to fear as long as you don't raise weapons against me. I promise you to bring the Scourge back as true power in this world, not as the tool of an delusional idiot. Power and wealth will be yours if you desire such things. This is what I intent, the rest is left to you."

Silence followed the speech, everyone in the room considering their limited options. Sindragosa was the first to answer, a suprise for her former comrades.

"I'm in." That was all she said, but it was clear that these words had taken all her resolve to be ushered. But her collegues were not blind, clearly she had been quick and struck a bargain before coming back here.

Deathwisper and Gothik were next, the two trading a look before the lich raised her voice. "We follow the Lich King, to the bitter end." Lucky fanatics. No need to worry if you worship death in all its forms.

Rivendare decided to go next. Screw it, this is the only way out. Who would actually believe that all who want to leave would do so alive? "As long as you keep your word, the death knights and I will follow you."

Anub'arak shifted from one set of legs to another, then he spoke. "My people are dead, I have nothing left to return to. The Scourge gives me a purpose, even if it responsible for the end of my people. I might aswell stay here." This was all the proof Rivendare needed about the state of the binding spells on the Nerubians, the old Anub'arak would have chosen exile or death over servitute every day of the week.

Lana'thel looked a lot more conflicted than the crypt lord, but this could be a result of an easily readable expression. After all, one could see all her eyes at the same time without surounding her with mirrors.

"What choice this is: Be cast out in a world that rightfully considers you a monster or follow the next self-proclaimed tyrant in his plans for conquest. I still have people I care about, even among the living."

"It might be suprise for you, but I have no problem with the living just because their hearts are beating. If an armistice or a peace treaty was in the realm of possibility, I would accept it if the terms are agreeable. Should you want to, you can of course be part of any potential negotiation." The new Lich King made this sound like the most normal thought in the world.

"Are you serious?" Lana'thel was the one to utter these words in disbelieve, but the other had clearly thought the same.

"Why would I not be? I know that loyalty is to be earned, and I can't do everything myself, even with all the puppets I could ever wish for. All of you made it into high command, which suggests a certain level of competence. I ask again: Will you join me?"

"As I said, there is not much of a real choice here. Count me in."

This left the twin Val'kyr as the last people in the throne room without a new allegiance. All eyes turned on them, causing obvious discomfort.

"This is a decision we cannot make immidiately. We need time to consider the situation."

The new Lich King nodded. "Take the time you need, you can stay till you reached a decision."

He returned to center in the room to adress all those present.

"We have much to do and little time to do so. Our foes are strong and numerous, so we have to discourage them. I want the skies above Icecrown to be filled with our flyers, the walls manned all around and the artillery presighed on the valley of Wrathgate. Also, stop all scheduled executions, torture, interrogations and the like until they can be reevaluated. Lana'thel, prepare anything needed to host foreign emissaries. Deathwisper, I will need a full report on our intelligence situation this evening. Rivendare, I also need to know the exact strength of our forces. When historians record the resurgence of the Scourge, they will tell that this was the beginning. It is time for our victory, ladies and gentlemen."

As everyone went to work, Rivendare saw the opportunity to speak to his new ruler in private.

"I need to warn you sir, the spells binding the will of your minions weaken with time, and if you don't renew them, some of the... less voluntary elements might try to break away, and many of those harbour thoughts of vengeance against the Scourge."

He got a strange look in return. "I suppose you are here on your own will?

Rivendare nodded, and approval flashed in von Carstein's eyes. "Thank you for your help, but I only use mind control if there is no other choice. If it is possible, I will win their loyalty in the old fashioned way of winning hearts and minds by being a good ruler. Excuse me, I have to talk to my advisor."

The Lich King headed over to his advisor, the living woman Rivendare didn't know, and left the death knight standing baffled in the room.

Naggarond

The city of frost was an unmistakable sight, placed on the cold plains like a sleeping beast of gargantuan size, four sets of walls thirty meters high with even higher towers and four massive iron gates. Some early snow had already fallen, but the city still kept its colour of black and grey.

The guards at the western gate had a boring day, as were most of the days here on duty. The lords and ladies inside took great care to keep their feuds private, for any problems with the public would soon attract more enemies or even the anger of Malekith. For obvious reasons, there were no attackers from the outside, and bandits always made sure to stay out of sight, fearing that overzealous or bored watchmen would turn the bolt throwers at them.

Few people travelled here, aside from obvious merchants, and those who did brought large troops of soldiers around them, both to show their status and for reasons of actual security. Bothering merchants was not worth the time, and bothering nobility was dangerous. But lone travellers were both an entertainment and a source for extra coin for the guards. Some were emissaries of the king, and these could have avoid any trouble by flicking the royal seal. However, those without such protection were fair game.

Upon seeing a single rider without any sort of banner approaching, eyes in the gatehouse began to sparkle with greed and cruelty. Just the right chance for some funny side business.

The gate itself was open during the day, so business would take place on the small square behind. The highest officer present would initiate it, accompanied by half a squad, just in case. The other half of the first squad would watch the scene together with a second full squad, crossbows ready if anything odd happened. Overkill, but Naggaroth was a dangerous land and there was nothing else to do

Captain Tivir waited for the rider to pass the gate before stepping into view. As always, we wore the heavy armor of the city guard, and had closed the visor of his helmet. It was always good to hide your face in such moments, for some people held grudges for a long time and some of those who did could rise through the ranks before remember to settle old scores.

"Is there any way in which the guard can assist you," he asked as he moved in the rider's way, enjoying the false friendlyness just as much as the rest of the things to come. The rider, a man looking as young as all elves did, with white hair and simple blue clothes stopped his horse.

"Perhaps, by getting out of my way."

The eyes of all those in hearing distance filled with hatred. No wonder, since the rider spoke with an accent every Druchii knew and loathed more than any other, and he did so with all the arrogance to make sure it was no mistake. It was the accent of the caledorian nobility, and all the bored guards were suddenly most eager to perform their duties.

Blades were drawn and crossbow were aimed, yet the rider stayed calm, looking at those willing to spill his blood as if they were more of an insult than a threat. His eyes then focused on captain Tivir.

"I have a message for your king, a message I will only reveal to him. If you are a loyal subject, I would appreciate if you escorted me to the royal castle." The rider paused for a moment. "Should any of you attack me, well, many families won't miss their fools that much."

Several guards broke into laughter, but Tivir managed to stay calm, despite feeling more than a little nervous. This situation was a little to weird for his taste. He prepared to order the man to be shot, but hesitated.

As if his thoughts were an open book, the rider spoke again. "Difficult to decide here, isn't it? I sit here without fear in spite of the weapons and intents aimed at me, and you wonder how I stay so calm. Right now you are considering the possibilities: I could be a naive fool who knows nothing about this land, but I do speak your tongue as if it was normal. With that out of the way, you have only two options left: Either I am a madman rambling nonsense in the face of certain death or most likely sweet death after a long time of suffering, or I tell the truth, and the reason I'm not afraid is because I don't have to fear a few swords and crossbows. Your choice captain, Which one is it?"

Before Tivir could answer, the rider noticed something else. Behind them, one of the guards still in the gatehouse began to ready a bolt thrower. "Give that guy a medal for the right idea! He tries at least to be"

The bolt thrower fired, sending a single heavy bolt towards the rider. Yet the projectile, meant to take down giants and similar monsters, never reached its target. Instead, the rider grapped it with his left hand, without even looking.

All the guards suddenly remembered that they where supposed to be somewhere else, that they were late and could under no circumstances afford to be delayed further.

The rider waited to watch the guards scrambling away before continuing his way towards the castle in the city center.

It had been one of the best shots she had ever taken, and yet her target was still standing. Velonara could only watch with terror in her eyes as the other arrows hammered into their target, yet the old man seemed unbothered. Her own shot had left a scratch on his forehead, but an adamantine tipped arrow fired from an enchanted should have pierced his entire skull.

The second volley did even less than the first, since their target was now aware of his attackers and brought his magic to bear. Tentacles of red light swatted the arrows out of the air, then the counter attack began with a wave of fire. The Dark Ranger Corps accepted no fools, and so they were already running, knowing that staying behind would mean certain death. They split up, making it impossible for their lone enemy to catch them all. The one followed would have to keep him busy as long as possible, buying time for the others to escape. The demon they had seem was a Nathrezim, which meant that the whole of Azeroth might be in danger.

Velonara cursed her bad luck as she saw her target's eyes fixed on her. She had actually drawn blood, and the demon summoner would surely be vengeful. So she ran through the rocky terrain, diving into cover behind boulders to avoid streams of fire, looking for a way out of this mess. But there was none, as walls of blue flame rose around her, leaving only the path between her and the old man open.

If this was her last day, she would make it count. Seeing her target approaching, she loosened another arrow, which struck the old man in the chest. Yet his clothes seemed to be the only thing her shot affected. She tried it again and a third time, both arrows hitting their mark yet doing nothing. Her fourth shot was aimed for the old man's left leg, but he marched on, caring not for the knee she hit.

Velonara found her quiver empty as she reached for it, her other ammunition lost during her flight. With the determination of those who knew their fate, she drew her sword and dagger, willing to try if blades could do what bows could not. She charged, ready to slash and stab with both weapons, but before she came into reach, an invisible force grapped her and smashed her against the rocky ground.

Stunned, she could only watch as the old man came closer and... sat down next to her?

"Tell me", he said casually while wiping some blood from his face, "what is your name, young lady?"

With the world still turning in front of her eyes, she didn't think before answering. "Dark Ranger Velonara."

"You see, Velonara, there are very few people who can harm me, but you are one of them, and you have not caused enough damage to make you a threat. I hate wasting solid talent, so I won't kill you. Just please, don't try to shoot me again. It makes us both look like idiots."

With these words spoken, he rose up and walked away, while the walls of flame died as he left.

An idea crossed her mind as she waited for her vision to clear, an idea so preposterous that it had to be attempted. She got back on her feet, still in workable, if somewhat shaky condition, and began to follow the old man. To her suprise, catching up to him was easy, as he seemed to watch the landscape of the Netherstorm.

"Since my comrades are scattered and on the run, would you mind my tagging along while we head in the same direction?"

She got a strange look, and internally prepared to enter her afterlife. Then, the old man nodded.

"I don't mind your company for the moment, and you will know once I do. My name is Azarneth, by the way."

Without further comment, she continued his way. Velonara blinked several times before following him again. Never underestimate the power of sheer audacity, she thought as they move continued their way across the barren landscape.

For several weeks now, all she had known was pain. She had experienced it in a variety of forms: Feeling her blood being replaced with acid, being covered in burning oil or having hundreds of daggers slowly twisted in her guts. All these sensations were of course illusions, she would have embraced death long ago if they had been real. The chains binding her contained the spells which caused her suffering, and if were not for her ability to isolate her mind from the physical world to dampen everything her body felt to a mere echo, it would have driven her insane.

The surge of raw magic a few hours ago had reached her throught the pain, but it had soon been driven aside by the constant agony. She was in no way prepared when the pain stopped. Just like that, from one moment to the next, it vanished. Had the spells malfunctioned? Or was this a ruse, to inflict even more after creating a false sense of peace?

A door to her left opened, and against her own instincts she opened her eyes to look around. The circular room was the same, the same mindless undead guards, the same gate on the right side leading to the quarters of the Frost Brood, the next gate behind the first one open to the stormy skies of Icecrown.

But the person entering was someone she didn't know. She knew the armor, the blade at his side, even the aura of the crown he wore. But the wearer was unknown to her.

"Valithria Dreamwalker, right? Can you hear me?" A soft voice, untypical for the Scourge and quite pleasent in these circumstances.

"Your captor has died, and as his sucessor, I am not your enemy. I have no reason to imprison you, and therefore, you are free."

Valithria could only watch in disbelieve as the guards began to remove the chains holding her in place. She didn't believe the claim of this man further than she could throw the citadel, but at least, this was chance to die on her own terms.

The man said something else, but she didn't care. Instead, she made her way to the gate in the tower wall. Ignoring everything else, she spread her wings and jumped into the snowstorm outside.

"Sir, she will never make it through the storm in her condition", one of the frostwyrms told Vlad as the massive green dragon fled.

"Follow her," he ordered, "make sure she doesn't die."

Two frostwyrms, the one who had told Vlad and one other immidiately took to the air. This was their first order under the Lich King, and as of now, their king was most pleased by their enthusiasm.

As nearly always, the hardest part was to wait, knowing how the world would move on and oneself was unable to do anything. Sartharion knew this feeling all too well and could handle it, but neither Theralion nor Valiona had this advantage. They were completely on edge, constantly pacing up and down in the sanctum, restless and powerless. Nalice had finally been ready to go back to meetings in the temple, and they all wondered how she would fare. She was frightened and rightfully so, without the arrogance brought by insanity, she would be fully aware of all those who wanted to get rid of her, and of her chances should said those enemies make their move.

They all felt a massive weight lifted of their shoulders when Nalice returned, visibly shaken but unharmed.

"Are you okay?"

Nalice look at if had stared down into the depts of the abyss, but she shook it of for now.

"According to reports from the front, the Lich King has fallen, only to be replaced by an undead wizard who joined the Alliance shortly before the offensive."

Sartharion said nothing, instead, he took a step forward and placed a wing over Nalice. "Calm down, you are safe now. Was it as scary as you thought?"

"Pretty much. The stares I get by the guards make me watch every shadow in the temple, and down make me start on the eyes of the lifebinder. I know this is necessary, but I doubt my ability to do this more than two or three times. How are you?"

"As fine as the circumstances allow it. You and the others concern me. You look like you just came back from a trip through hell, and the two young ones will pace up and down until they fall asleep. Not that I can blame any of you, but still, all three of you worry me."

Nalice said nothing more, she lied down close to one the lava pools and curled up. With her fear slowly fading away, she fell asleep soon.

The two twilight dragons also calmed, since their missing companion had returned now. They were talking to each other quietly, but Sartharion left them in their limited privacy. Soon enough, they too curled up together, hoping to escape their nightmares by staying as close as they could.

He would watch over them, just as had watched over the sanctum in the last few millenia. Once again, he vowed to do anything he could ensure that they would all survive, even if this should cost his own life. He could wait here alone, as he had done so long enough to pay little mind to another few days, weeks or months.

The fall feels great, but as soon as spread my wings, their is again only pain. I have not flown in weeks, and I am weak, I feel with every beat of my wings. The winds hurls me around, unnaturally strong and laced with the dark magic of the Lich King. In a good state, even in a halfway decent one, this would be no problem. But the torture has taken its toll, bracing the storms is now beyond my strength. Freedom. What a cruel joke this is, I already see the shapes of two frostwyrms chasing me. No chance to fight them, no chance to outrun them. I flee towards one of the old nerubian ziggurats close to the citadel, flapping my wings with the pitiful remains of my strength. I reach it, the frostwyrms still coming closer, but the entrances are too small for me, far too small. I shift into mortal form and drop into the structure, now feeling the cold much clearer. Exhaused, I create a small fire to keep my week mortal body from freezing to death. The shine of the flame is the last thing I see before the world goes dark.

Where am I?

This was the question raised as soon as her survival became clear. She opened her eyes and blinked into the world, weak and exhausted but still breathing. She was lying in a bed, wearing only her underwear and covered with two blankets. A fire was burning in a chimney build into the saronite wall, its smell mixing with a faint smell of blood. It took the barely concious Valithria several seconds to connect to the dots to an obvious picture. Struggeling to keep the emerging panic under control, she slowly forced her head to turn. The other walls were made from the same black metal, the only other furniture were a simple chair and a nightstand. The clothes her elven form had come with were placed on this chair. Aside from the quiet crackle of the fire, the room was completely silent. A heavy door in the wall to her left was closed, however, the whole room seemed way to nice for a cell.

Valithria tried to get up and failed miserably. Her body felt as if it was made of straw, unable to move properly. With no other options, she sunk back, determined to reap the benefits of the warmth and the bed as long as she could.

Some time later, fifteen or maybe twenty minutes, the door slowly opened. Valithria tried to mobilize what remained of her magical abilities. She would not be able to stand up to any kind of solid attack, but by the titans, the first Scourge goon coming through that door would get to feel why dragons were feared around the world.

Yet no undead monsters stormed into the room, no toxic gas flooded in, no evil magic leapt into action. The creature entering was something far worse. Valithria saw through the mortal face the moment she laid eyes upon it. The woman entering was a member of the black flight, no doubts but it. The pitiful joke of a spell she had prepared vanished. It would not even put a dent in the magical defense of another dragon.

The other dragon, currently looking like a pale woman with black hair, was carrying something... a tray... with a teapot and a cup?

Valithria was so perplexed that she was unable to move as the other dragon came closer and put the tray on the nightstand.

"From what I can tell, none of the harm inflicted upon will have lasting consequences, physically at least. I hope you don't try to kill yourself again."

Valithria blinked a few times. For some reason, the black dragon seemed to be actually concerned about her. Or so it when she filled the cup and handed it over

"What is this supposed to mean?" Valithria was still perplexed, taking the cup with no intention to drink from it.

"Well, you might not believe it, but you are no prisoner here. The Lich King was not lying when he told you that you are free. After you left, he sent two frostwyrms after you to escort you to Dragonblight or bring you back here should you be in danger, The latter was the case, and so you are back here."

"And why would you care about that? Forgive me, but your kind is not exactly know for hospitality."

This got Valithria a rather sad look. "Not all of us are the same. As for my attention towards you, I guess you could call it maternal instincts. However, I have to go. The Lich King wishes to talk to you as soon as you are back on your feet. Recover well." With these words, the black dragon left, leaving Valithria alone again.

The smell of the hot tea became more and more tempting, especially since it hid the faint note of blood. Relying on the immunity of her kind towards all sorts of poison, she carefully took a sip. It was not a very good tea, mediocre at best to be honest, but it was warm and she appreciated the gesture, even if it was most weird.

An hour later, someone knocked at door. "Come in!", she called after some hesitation. She could still not quite believe that she was a "guest" here, and allowing a jailor to enter a cell seemed odd to her.

The person entering was none other then the new Lich King himself.

"Lady Dreamwalker, I hope you are recovering well, although you are free to take the time you need."

"I wonder why you care that much. Really. Your predecessor tortured with delight, yet you don't seem to be sadist at glance. Which raises the question as to why took this crown in the first place."

The Lich King showed his perfect teeth in a faint smile. "Thanks for the kind words. As for my motives, I have no hatred for your kind, and would prefer not to wage war against them or you. And I assume that keeping you locked up would be something both the green flight and you personally would consider worthy of holding a grudge over. I have no reason to keep you imprisoned, and what would I gain if die in Icecrown? The responsibility for your death at worst and nothing at best. Maybe you are my enemy, but as long as I can't be sure, you will not be treated as such."

"Guess I can thank you for that. Is there something else you want?

The Lich King looked a little embarrassed. "If you could try to keep your kind out of the wars to come, I would be very grateful. If you will, please tell them that they have nothing to fear unless they attack the Scourge first.

Valithria took her time to answer. "I owe you for not killing me or worse. I will relay your message, but that will be it."

"Thank you, Lady Dreamwalker. Rest as long as you wish to."

The Lich King left, and Valithria sank back onto the pillow, her head buzzing from the whole situation.

The reports about the current state of the Scourge took nearly four hours, but they were a necessity. In the end, Vlad and Sintharia knew that the Scourge personnel in Icecrown consisted of about fifteen thousand Darkfallen, twenty thousand cultists, eight thousand Death Knights, about a hundred frostwyrms of various sizes and about twelve thousand other sentient undead. Two or three thousand Vrykul were currently in Icecrown, but their allegiance was still unclear. The mindless puppets and constructs made up about a hundred thousand additional bodies, but they were mostly cannon fodder.

Lana'thel and Keleseth were already busy working on a diplomatic proposal, hoping to make the horde agree to a ceasefire. In the general opinion, their plan was hopelessly naive but might be worth a try.

Rivendare and Gothik planned the details of the defense of Icecrown against a possible siege, no matter how unlikely such an attempt might be, while Deathwisper had left to command her spies once again.

Now, Sintharia, Sindragosa and Vlad were the only people in the throne room.

"What is it?" Vlad could see that Sindragosa had something on her mind, but didn't say it on her own.

"I have to request leave. I know the timing is bad, but I still have living relatives. I have to see them again, tell them that I am free now."

Vlad sighed. "You're wrong, your timing is not that terrible. We should have some time before our enemies can react. Go, and return safely."

"You really struggle to deny request made by someone with a pretty face, don't you?" Sintharia said and chuckled.

"Guilty as charged, I guess. But that is a flaw I can live with."

Soon after, they could both see how the massive frostwyrm took of and began her journey. The view from the balconies of the central tower was marvelous, and Vlad enjoyed every moment of it.

"We have gotten quite far, and now we have to hold onto it. But I think we can call this day a great first victory."

Sintharia walked over to him and put her arm around his shoulders. "True. And this means it is time to relax or to celebrate. Or both." She kissed him.

Vlad grinned and showed his fangs before kissing her back. "As you say, mylady.

The house in the Blade's Edge Mountains didn't fit into its suroundings at all. This was the first thing to be noticed about it, it looked like an ordinary house from some human village. Completely put of place in this region mostly inhabited by savage ogres and gronn. Azarneth knew that the owner, a certain Baron Sablemane, was a son of the recently recruited Sintharia, but the Dark Ranger in his company didn't know that. Her audacity was as impressive as her skill with a bow, but he had no intention to reveal the details of his mission to her.

"I need to talk with Sablemane alone," he told her as they approached the building. "Wait here please."

Velonara through him a glare but nodded. After their previous encounter, she had no illusions about her chances in a fight.

Azarneth simply walked to front door and knocked. No reason to be overly dramatic, even if it would be very amusing. The door was opened from the inside, revealing a man with darker skin and large black mustache.

"Baron Sablemane, I presume?" Azarneth smiled as he saw the suprise in the man's eyes.

"Yes, who are you to arrive at my doorstep without me knowing you?"

"Azarneth is my name, and I am an ally of your mother. I..."

"Nonsense! My mother has been dead for years! What do you want here? Answer me or you will learn the true meaning of pain!"

Azarneth didn't flinch at the threat. "Your mother lives, partially thanks to me, and she is not insane anymore. You seem to be sane too. Your mother is in Northrend, at the side of the new Lich King, and I want to bring you and any other black dragons here back to their family. If they are sane, that is. I won't force you to follow me, but don't threaten me. It is your choice, but make it quickly!"

Sablemane, or Sabellian to use his true name, looked at Azarneth with obvious distrust. "And I should believe you because...?"

"Because you don't have a lot of other options, not a lot to lose and a whole lot to win. If I wished you any harm, I would currently be in the process of inflicting said harm upon you, while searching your mind for the location of your allies. The mere fact that I talk to you should tell you all you need to know." Azarneth hid his triumph as he saw the change of Sabellian's expression.

"And what about this undead out there. Does she belong to you?"

"Not quite. But she is no danger to us, as long as keep your true identity hidden. Please, call your people here. The sooner we leave here, the sooner you can have a family reunion."

Sabellian needed some time to make his decision before calling the other dragons here. They arrived shortly after in human form, not exactly a likely sight in these lands but better than a group of five dragons. Velonara through a few glares at Azarneth, but he didn't react, simply introducing her to Sablemane and announcing the intention of returning to the Dark Portal.

Velonara could only stare at the newcomers joining Azarneth. Who were these guys to instantly join a demon summoner they had apparently never met before? They mostly ignored her, whispering among themselves. They were clearly very familiar with each other, moving like a well trained and experienced unit. Cultists, mercenariey or worse? No way to tell just now. Sablemane was clearly a wizard, but the others were not so easy to classify.

About two hours later, Velonara got the feeling that they were being followed, an instinct the other seemed to share. They all had enough experience to trust such feelings, so weapons were drawn and spells readied. No enemy jumped over the rocks, but this only meant that their foes were no berserkers. Or still searching for the best position to get a good shot into someone's back. Then, a golden light seemed to come closer.

"Run," Azarneth ordered as he saw this light. "Run like the wind and don't look back!" His formerly casual tone was now cold and professional as he rose a magical barrier between him and the light.

Velonara had seen many uses of arrows in her life, but the one fired from the light was different from all those she had ever seen. It seemed to be made from a solid form of the same golden light. With a sound like that of ringing bell the arrow was deflected by the barrier before hitting the rocky spikes of the mountains, but the destruction caused looked like a hit from a siege cannon, sending fragments and dust flying in all directions.

Sablemane and his entcourage reacted by following Azarneth's orders and ran, but Velonara could only watch in awe as more golden arrows hammered into the barrier, causing cracks to spread over it before it finally shattered.

"At least take cover you idiot! Anything breaking my defenses will kill you without effort!"

She took the advice, diving behind a rock close by, aiming her bow towards the strange light. The golden arrows and the destroyed barrier had spread clouds of dust, blocking her sight on the transformation Azarneth went through. But no amount of dust could hide the roaring dragon now standing in his place. It was a dragon unlike every one she had heard of, looking like a splinter of a moonless midnight sky change into a living creature. More arrows rained down, and Velonara got a first look at the attackers. Half a dozen of them hovered over the ground, every one a shining humanoid figure with six feathered wings, their entire form radiating golden light. Angels? She had never seen one, but they seemed close enough to the depictions in old books.

Azarneth wasted no time to charge towards them, unleashing a tidal wave of indigo blue fire. The angels spread out, flying in different directions while taking more shots at the dragon, and in a drastic change from her own attempts, these arrows had visible effects, some of them shattering scales or ripping them of. The dragon growled in pain and fired his breath weapon again, a focused stream this time, better aimed than the first time. One of the angels did not escape and paid the price as the strange creature was consumed by the unnatural flame.

So they can die if hit. Good to know. Velonara was pretty certain that angels had little tolerance for the undead, so she took careful aim and shot one of them. Her arrow caused no visible harm, barely scratching the radiant plate armor. A stream of cúrses followed the shot. Velonara was used to the presence powerful beings, but being surounded by creatures immune to her best shots was something she loathed. As she jumped back into cover, she could see Sablemane at the edge of her eyesight. He opened a portal for his cronies before using it himself, and Velonara send a stream of insults after him as the portal closed.

Two angels began a dive, switching their bows for massive swords. Both struck the dragon, their weapons once again able to pierce the scales of their opponent. Azarneth was now covert in various injuries, but he would not give up easily. He exploded into motion, and his tail hit one of the sword wielding attackers, sending the angel flying in a precalculated arc, an arc that ended in a massive fanged maw. Teeth the size of spears pierced the fancy armor while the jaws pulverized bones and metal with a sickening crunch.

But his comrades did not simply watch. Instead they took their chance to rain spells and arrows down at their target, inflicting more wounds, each of them small and insignificant alone, but there were now dozens of them, and any living being would die if it suffer to many of them. Azarneth knew it too, and was apparently unwilling to meet that fate. Or so Velonara thought as he teleported himself away.

Saurfang growled in pain as he continued to carry the unconcious Bolvar through the snow towards the base the second division had established while he, Bolvar and Jaina had lead the first division. However, he found no orderly camp ready to care about the wounded and sent further troops to the front. Instead, he found a chaos of flame and snow, with lots of screaming and yelling thrown into the mix. About a third of the camp was burning, and Horde and Alliance pointed weapons at each other. But not only that, the Horde itself seemed ready to attack some of their own, leveling their blades at a bunch of panicked Forsaken.

"What is going on here?" Saurfang yelled as loud as he could. "Have all of you gone insane?"

Several Alliance soldiers approached him, lead by General Hubert Borgwen, shivering in anger.

"Tell that to those bastards who tried to gas us all!" Borgwen gestured towards the Forsaken. "If they had not betrayed us, these accursed dragons would not have burned our camp down!"

The soldiers in his company were more practically minded, carrying Bolvar to the healers while the commanders kept yelling at each other.

"Stop it! This isn't helping," Jaina yelled as she arrived. Her presence finally managed to calm them down.

"What happened at the front?", Borgwen asked, staring in disbelieve at the broken remains of the first division. "The mages told us that someone up high in the Scourge has fallen."

"We were betrayed," Saurfang growled, and Jaina continued. "Carstein and his companion were traitors, and a powerful ones to be sure. We... did kill Arthas, but Carstein picked up the Helm of Domination in his place. He is now the new Lich King, and as taken over the Scourge. He is now barricaded inside Icecrown, and we can only guess what his plans are. But the defenses of Icecrown are far stronger than we expected, and we can forget the assault with our current forces. We have to get back to Dalaran before Carstein decides to sent something after us."

Saurfang managed to get some order into the mess, but since the Forsaken had apparently tried to gas their comrades, all of them were arrested, even though some of them seemed to be just as shocked as their living counterparts. This would require a thorough and probably lenghty investigation.

He could only sigh as he shifted his gaze once again over the mess.

How am going to explain this to the Warchief?

"Work-work, idiot-morons!" The voice of the caller was deep and metalic, sounding as if it came from a metal pipe. Which in this case, it actually did.

The slaves did as they were ordered, trying and failing to conceal their raging hatred for their master, but the chains made it impossible to move in any way except to work. And of course the Stormvermin and weapon teams around them would slaughter them all long before they would achieve anything. Hundreds of Skaven were gathered in the cavern, slaves to do the dirty work and elite forces of Clan Skyre to secure their discovery.

Masterwarlock Ikit Claw would not allow any less for his personal projects. And delivering anything less was a most unfortuante action, especially for the physical health of everyone involved.

The scouts had only very recently found the strange portal in the old tunnels near this nameless outpost under the World's Edge Mountains and swore that it had not been there before. Naturally, Ikit had the lying idiots burned on the spot by a flamer team. Who where these moronic imbeciles to think that he would believe such nonsense? This portal was imbued with old and most powerful magic, of course they would not admit their selfish desire to sell their nonexistent knowledge to any vagrant. He, Ikit Claw, the chosen of the Great Horned Rat, the one to lead the Under-Empire to total victory, was the only one worthy of this knowledge!

Of course this would not stay a secret for long, but if all haste was made, Ikit would find out where the portal lead before any other clans or the Grey Seers showed up. Clan Skyre would need a bridgehead on the other side, and Ikit would establish one. If these treacherously incompetent morons would only WORK! He would have to investigate the matter further. The one who sold him these fools would pay of this treachery and sabotage. The only question remaining was the exact process of this worm's execution. But where would one get such useless Skaven anyway? These wretched idiots should not even have survived their first winter. Were they bred specifically to interfere with his plans? His foes had to be truly insidious...

Ikit drew his pistol and shot the next slave through the head. The motivation seemed to work. Good for them. The warpstone generators they would use to activate and stabilize the portal were already in place, and Ikit would accept no further delays. This was not only a chance to reach new heights of power, but it was also the perfect opportunity for a field test of various new prototypes. Ikit began to laugh maniacally as he imagined the frontline use of the new armed ratogres. The Stormfiends were one of his best creations, and he truly wished to see them in action. Well, these slow and idiotic slaves have to be replaced anyway...