Act 2
Chapter 9: Destiny Divergent
The story until now: The waves broke upon one another, vast armies clashing upon the rolling plains of Lordaeron. Already it had begun to chill, the summer's warmth coming to an end, heralding the beginning of another winter. Revelation and war had come across the land. It had begun in the north, where a plague had spread throughout the populace, initially set up by a secret organization known as the Cult of the Damned, whom within their ranks resided several mages trained in the arts of Necromancy, a banned black magic that dealt with the dead and spirits of those whom had passed away.
Intending to purify the world of those whom would oppose them, the necromancers had trained their Cult to distribute the plague amongst the populace by implanting it into the precious grain supply of the country, and soon the virulent disease had spread far and wide across Lordaeron. As later discovered, the act was introduced and brought about by the wide ended plans of a demon known as Mal'ganis. As this came to knowledge, the Kirin Tor, the pantheon of magocrats whom ruled over the magical nation of Dalaran, sent several agents to investigate both the origin of the Plague and the connections of Mal'ganis to the vast demonic army that resided in the Twisting Nether, known only as the Burning Legion by the denizens of Azeroth; for it was this same Legion that had in times past attempted to destroy the defenses and will of the mortal peoples of the world subtly, or through force. However, most of this information was unknown by the people of the Alliance, as it was kept under strict tabs by the leading officials to avoid further chaos and panic that had already gripped the countryside.
As the Kirin Tor, in combined efforts with a small envoy of High Elves hailing from the mystic land of Quel'thalas investigated the matters and strengthened silently planned for the worst, the dead infected by the Plague of Undeath rose, and under the command of Mal'ganis and his elite necromancers raised vast armies, which were met in the field by the forces of Alliance of Lordaeron. Great battles erupted in the eastern and northern provinces, where the greatest effect of the Plague had taken place, wiping out entire towns and cities. As the people of the Alliance knew war was upon them once again, they girded for the losses, as the unstoppable juggernaut of the Scourge smashed through the Alliance's unready regiments. Fear and instability struck as word of the massive armies of the undead arose nearby, or the Plague struck a nearby town or city. People turned on people, accusing each other of being spies for the Scourge, selling their souls for the price of everlasting life. Others took advantage of the chaos and rioted, stealing from cobblers shops, bakeries, and blacksmiths. As darkness began to cover the land, the defenders of the Alliance looked on in growing despair, and an age old plan comes to fruition as its schemers look on, ravenously eager to destroy the mortals whom have defied their unholy might for so long…
Somewhere in the Twisting Nether
Darkness and light were one, and in the strange twilight setting the mists of pure and dreadful magic swirled in the infinite space between dimensions. Seconds became years, and years millennia within the incomprehensible realm, all the while only being but a day. To enter into the Twisting Nether was to mean there was no ground, no sky, a realm of pure chaotic darkness inhabited only by the creatures strong enough to harness these elements to their advantage.
And it was here, that these dark forces met.
"Kil'jaeden, will your creation succeed this time?" a voice emanated from the swirling twilight. It was filled with malice, and unnatural intelligence: something that had seen the destruction of a thousand worlds, and the ultimate fate of millions.
"The world of Azeroth will stand not long before the Scourge, for events I have labored over have come to fruition. Where the Horde failed, the Lich King shall not" another conversed, this one less assertive, more analytical, and far more subtle: each word calculated and rehearsed, as if to give secret meaning.
"I do believe it is quite time for these mortals to feel the wrath of the Legion: too long have we they surpassed their expiration, for it was ten thousand years ago that this world should have burned in our hands" another spoke in the demonic eredunic tongue.
Massive bodies shifted in the distance, floating, yet standing, nowhere, yet everywhere. "The Legion's flame shall spread across all world's tainted by the Titans, where we shall erase the existence of order. It is only a matter of time, for no mere mortals can withstand our might" the voice known as Kil'jaeden returned.
"So be it. I shall lead the Legion upon Azeroth, as I did in our last endeavor into that accursed land, and this time, I shall personally make sure the very spirit of the land beneath every footstep we make is utterly…vanquished" the first voice sentenced.
"Patience, Archimond. We have waited for ten thousand years, what is this little time left to us? Our hour draws nigh" Kil'jaeden finished, and the three disappeared into the glittering black.
Ruins of Stratholme, 1 Day later
"So much death…I can't believe Arthas could've done this…" Jaina's voice seemed lost in the cries of the few whom had survived the brutal massacre. The low lying clouds reflected the red flame that still broiled through the city. Many streets were effused with dried blood, the black, sticky substance covering the cobbles. Here and there stunned survivors piled the carcasses and bodies in open mass graves, or even just in sections of the streets.
The white-gold banners of Lordaeron flapped silently, as if in reverence of the horrible crime. Another banner lay in the street, this one bloodied and trampled, pinned to the ground by pieces of wood and stone. A man carrying the blackened and blistered remnants of what seemed to be a child stumbled past her, tossing the body in yet another one of the many pyres across the city.
"Jaina!" The sorceress turned her head to the sound of her name, spotting the hulking form of Uther the Lightbringer, Grand Master of the former Knights of the Silver Hand and High General of the Alliance "Jaina Proudmoore!" he called again.
"Lord Uther?" she replied in a sad tone.
"Ah, I thought I might find you here…where has he gone, girl? Where has Arthas taken the fleet?" Uther commanded, standing fully erect, fire in his eyes.
"He came to me before he left. I pleaded with h - him not to go, I - I told him it sounded like a trap!" she tried desperately to explain, knowing full well she should have told the proper authority about it earlier, as well as knowing the one she cared about was in mortal danger.
"WHERE?" Uther cried out, taking Jaina aback.
"Northrend…he's gone to Northrend to hunt Mal'ganis" she finally admitted, exhausted.
"Damn that boy. I have to inform King Terenas" he sighed, turning away from her "Don't be too hard on yourself, girl. You had nothing to do with this – slaughter" he uttered before running off again, disappearing into the swirling smoke.
For hours Jaina wandered the ruins of Stratholme, extinguishing what pain and fire she could with her great powers, yet everywhere she went, the suffering continued. It was as if everything had fallen into ruin and chaos.
Very suddenly however, she felt an aura of calm, and cool collected intellect descend upon her: a feeling of purity and primordial safety. Before her path down one empty street a single crow landed, pecking at the ground, as if looking for grubs.
"You'll find naught in this place but ash and sorrow" Jaina whispered, tears welling up.
Yet before her very eyes, the crow seemed to double its size, now quadruple it, as its black body began to morph, its head bending back, the beak melting away, and its stalk-like legs fleshing out, all while a white-green light burst from its center. Within seconds, the crow was no longer an avian form, but that of a man, standing before her robed in red cloth, with pauldrons of ebon feather.
The man approached her slowly, and finally, standing before her. Even though he was clearly hunching, he was at least a whole head and a half taller than the pale sorceress.
"The dead might lie still for now, but don't be fooled. Your Prince shall find only death in the cold north…" he said, his low brass voice echoed in both her ears and mind.
"You!" Jaina gasped, immediately recognizing the man as the Prophet whom had come before Archmage Antodias, Arthas, and as she had heard, King Terenas. The stranger, prophet, whatever he was…there was a feel about him, an aura unlike anything Jaina had ever encountered. It was as if where he walked, the currents of magic shifted and acclaimed to him, something she could see in the high level mages of the Kirin Tor, especially Antodias, but never like this. The power was so much that the atmosphere around this…this man, seemed to haze like the air on a hot summer's day.
"Just what are you?" she stammered, "What is it that you have seen in these dark hours, and just how much of it is true!"
"Peace, child. I come bearing the warnings of a future inevitable, one which will see all this land burn in the unholy fires. No matter how hard I strive to stop, or at least avert, this coming doom, none will heed the call. Not even your Prince" the man replied.
"Arthas is only doing what he believes is right!" Jaina protested, her heart racing, at the thoughts of Arthas's peril, his crime here, and what this old man was announcing.
"Commendable as that may be," the Prophet continued, "his passions will be his undoing. So it falls to you, young Princess of Kul Tiras, and sorceress of the Violet Citadel. You must lead your people west, to the forgotten lands of Kalimdor, and there, save this world from the flame"
"Why would you even think of telling me such things?" Jaina asked, searching for some kind of concrete answer around all the Prophet's cryptic words.
"You have more power in you than you could ever imagine young one, and a mind and heart that yearns to help others. And you also seem to forget many times that you are a Princess, one whom is of the lineage of the bold and noble Proudmoore line of the sea faring nation of Kul Tiras. Your words hold sway with people far beyond your own country, and there are many whom would heed you, even those whom hide behind false hatreds. They will see the truth you tell soon enough. The portents are already visible, and the fate of this place draws near" the Prophet uttered, now looking straight into the eyes of Jaina.
She suddenly felt a great pressure, forcing her to her knees, as she gazed into the eyes of the old man. It was nothing but his presence, his great power, that forced her, an apprentice of Antodias, to the ground. Gasping for air, she felt that the doubt that had previously gnawed at her vanish. Indeed, this man was powerful beyond compare; something more than any mere mortal could ever become. His tone was sweet and truthful, his eyes soft and sincere, yet holding a tone of desperation; some kind of mad need to rescue these people.
"You tell the truth…" she whispered, looking back up to see his dark figure standing like a statue.
"I am bound by my guilt and previous sins, to save this world. Now that one has flocked to my calling, I am able to leave. Seek me out in Kalimdor…" he suddenly broke off, the emerald light enveloping him before he flew off in his crow form again.
Jaina looked down at the bloodied cobblestones, and then up at the orange clouds. In her core, she knew he told the truth. The burning shadow that desired above all else to rid this world of its life, was somehow connected with the Scourge, and neared with every day. The inescapable future neared.
Jaina immediately set off, determined to save what she could.
Canton's Ford, Eastern Lordaeron, end of summer, 614
One month after the destruction of Stratholme
"Lord General Volsung, pull your forces past back from the Redsap Forest, and bring forth the fresh corps to plug the holes in your lines. After that make sure that Jorad Mace's contingent of paladins supports the 10th Army's retreat to Corin's Crossing" Uther commanded, rubbing his forehead, exhausted. In this past month alone his much of his hair had turned from its former rustic red to an old man's gray.
"High General, what if the Scourge moves into the south and begin to terrorize the villages along the Borderlands?" an officer called out.
"Colonel Redpath is commanding the militia in Darrowshire, and will take over the scouting duties of our overstretched forces while Lord General Nathaniel Blackspire will instate martial order in Tyr's Hand where mass riots have broken out. It is our luck, that across the Thandol Span, King Magni Bronzebeard has promised us several divisions of dwarven warriors to help in the war effort" one of the General's in the conference said.
"Dwarves?" a sudden cry of disgust bellowed in the dank tent. "Those filthy tunnel dwellers may stay in their holes as long as they wish, for I and many others have no use for such an…incompetent and secretive society to join us in our own glorious fights. I hear even rumors of their own cults, worshipping false gods they call Titans, allowing all the teachings of the Holy Light that we humans labored so hard to uncover. Can we trust heretics?" A slight murmur went around. Still to this day the interracial prejudices continued; the different peoples of Azeroth had never truly come into complete trust with one another, not even between the increasingly close friendship between Men and the earthen Dwarves.
"Commander Garithos, I behest you to watch your tongue around our allies" a superior officer whispered quite audibly. Uther smiled, knowing the thick headed Garithos always to be the first to protest about the integration of separate countries armies, but also that of separate species.
"Captain Commander Garithos, Long have those two races, Men and Dwarves that is, fought and died together, looking out for each others interests. We are a mutual force in a world beset by conflict and beleaguered by evils" Uther replied curtly, dismissing the man's obvious aura of hatred toward anything non-human. If Garithos had been Terenas, the orcs would long have since been nigh destroyed instead of placed in the internment camps, of which late many clans had escaped under the leadership of their new supposed Warchief whom had disappeared across the ocean, after subjugating much of Stromgarde's Royal Navy. Out of respect to Uther, Garithos quieted, still fuming at the prospect of having to serve with dwarves yet again.
Taking a bite of the hard, dry bread that had been placed on a crude plate and washing it down with Gilnean cider, Uther studied the logistics reports and the grand map that stretched one meter in each direction over a table, taking into mind each of the blue squares that represented elements of the Alliance forces scattered about eastern Lordaeron.
"High Summoner Nagal has brought a division of Dalaran footmen as well as several Kirin Tor mages to the southern fronts, so they should hold while we reorganize our battle lines" Uther replied, swallowing the brick-like bread. Above, the sky reeled painfully blue, the terrible last throes of summer storms finally over.
The geography of east Lordaeron lay as such: In the central south the Alterac Mountains cut off any passage into southern Lordaeron and isolated the city state of Dalaran, its peaks tall and daunting. Only a single, brief pass through the mountains lead into Stromgarde, the nation of warriors, which was at the moment neutral and uncommitted to the Alliance. Further after the break in the mountains, the Tyrrin Peaks rose out of the ground, bisecting the continent further until the edge of the land, bordering on the Dark Seas. Above the Tyrrin Peaks many of Lordaeron's oldest towns and great centers of population lived amongst the dark forests and wilderness.
The undead had coalesced into certain pinpricks across the continent, their numbers increasing exponentially, taking entire towns and moving on. Already several armies had been taken by surprise and shattered, and the retaliatory strikes by more organized forces did little to halt the undead advances, at best clearing out several towns that were already far gone.
"Our basic overall strategy remains the same: the destruction of the Scourge bases and elimination of necromantic centers, as well as the further quarantine of any territories past the Alemheim Bridge.
"What we know of the undead is that they are controlled by the necromancers and dark wizards of the Cult of the Damned, as well as a coven of secretive demons that have infiltrated this world. These demons are led by Mal'ganis, a vampiric dreadlord. Their goal is nothing short of the utter elimination of our culture and all life. These things are an evil which we have not glimpsed since the rampaging orcs ripped through the lands of man fifteen years ago. It is our duty to once again take up the sword and defend this land, and all lands, from the Scourge that would seek to set them alight in a confligeration of death and blood. Seeing as the supply lines are stable for now, I entrust you all to fulfill your duties of leaders of the Alliance. You are dismissed, Lords" Uther finalized. His thoughts quickly drifted to the battle of words he and Arthas had uttered during their hunt for Mal'ganis near Stratholme.
As various the lords filed out of the room Uther could just barely ascertain Garithos muttering under his breath, "At least its not elves". All the generals had exited the room except for Darrus Volsung, the respectful Lord General of the 6th Army.
"Is there something on your mind Darrus?" the elder asked.
"Sire…permission to speak freely?" Volsung inquired.
"Granted"
"With all due respect, you ought to get more sleep" Uther stared at Volsung for a moment, chuckling, then noticing he was speaking with all seriousness.
"Indeed you have been acting out the act of High General flawlessly sire, but I know it is a stressful job, juggling the politics and military aspects of the situation, as well as adhering to the commandments of the Light and suffering the loss of the beloved Prince Arthas" Volsung stated.
"He's not dead" Uther said flatly. "He's out there somewhere, probably in Northrend, pursuing whatever mad crusade Mal'ganis has tricked him into"
"Sire, if indeed Northrend is where the Plague and the Scourge originated from, there is very little chance of survival for too long in that frozen hell"
"I've taught him all I could about the Light, and he has learned the arts of war beyond many a good man that was just in that conference; it is said that he could perhaps even best the elvish Duke of Blades in a duel, if they could ever meet" Uther trailed off, losing track of the conversation "However, he has abused the right and privileges he has been given. If not for this damn war, I would be out there chasing him down myself. I would punish him, myself" he scowled.
"Lord Lightbringer, he left on his own will. No doubt the men have great confidence in him, but if he has truly begun descent into madness, then even if he does return from Northrend, there is no knowing what he will do next. I am just warning you sir, be wary of him. Even if you tracked him down, he would not obey you. I was talking earlier with one of the elvish priests from Quel'thalas that had followed him, Cyrus Faim'las was his name I believe, and he was telling me of the strange aura that had surrounded Arthas during their encounters with the undead"
"It matters not. I, with the blessing of King Terenas himself, have sent many envoys and hired mercenaries to pursue Arthas to the bounds of our maps and inform him to return immediately. I do not think he is so far gone as to disobey an order from his father" Uther's fist clenched, anger at the betrayal like a crushing pain on his heart.
"Very well sire, I bid you farewell" Volsung sighed.
"And you good sir. Do remember to inform me of your position, for the undead multiply daily and we have already lost many good soldiers. I cannot spare any more of my elite in foolish assaults and retaliations" Uther bid.
"I am honored to be counted amongst those few" Volsung said before he lifted the muddy flaps of the tent and stepping out.
Indeed, Arthas had gone along with his deteriorating conscious, burning Stratholme to the ground. Of the twenty five thousand whom had previously lived in the Northern Haven, as it had been called during the Second War, less than three thousand lived.
After informing King Terenas and the High Council and Committee of the Alliance of Arthas's mad expedition and thieving of the fleet under falsified orders, as well as his abuse of his hereditary powers, Uther had been granted the authority to warrant an arrest for Arthas. However, the ability came far too late; Arthas had long ago left the shores of Lordaeron with as many men as those whom had lived in Stratholme, taking with him the entire 1st Army, as well as crucial elements of the 2nd.
The undead would not stay contained for long, their forces already beginning to pour out of the northern lands. The Plague, another ominous sign of the undead advance, had also struck deep into the east, causing mass deaths, panic, and anarchy. Every man was needed at the front, and already the High Council had begun to instate the draft amongst the people, many of whom would not be able to respond; for those not dead yet past the battle lines in central Lordaeron, were most likely fleeing with massive refugee columns stretching for miles, or arming themselves in local militias.
Suddenly, someone lifted the tent flaps. A runner, fresh from the front, laid piece of parchment on Uther's desk. Upon its top, was labeled, The Newest Report of Undead Activity in the Eastern Provinces, and below the heading was in small print, As accurate as possible: By the time received, the positions of battle shall most likely have changed. After all, it did take many long weeks to travel the width and breadth of the country.
Daggercap Bay, Northrend
"The ships can go no further sire. The ice is too thick, and our hulls not strong enough to brave these treacherous bays" a voice called to Arthas.
"Very well, Commandant Benedict" Arthas replied, finding a high spot to overlook the landing area. A soul piercing wind kicked up, blowing dust and snow in their faces. The Commandant had come ashore to personally inform Arthas, whom appreciated the honorific gesture. As the Commandant of the 7th Fleet whom had agreed to ferry Arthas's troops to the shores of Northrend moved away, returning to the boats, a captain came up to Arthas.
"This truly is a Light forsaken place, isn't it milord? You can barely even see the sun! This howling wind cuts to the bone, and you're not even shaking. Milord, are you alright?"
"Captain, are all my forces accounted for?"
"Ahem. Nearly, there are only a few ships –"
"Good, lets move inland and set up a base of operations. I want scouts on the bluffs ahead," he said pointing to the looming cliffs in the distance.
Arthas walked before the disembarking army as they assembled under the gray skies, their faces flushed with cold, the armor caked in mud and difficult to flex in the frigid atmosphere.
When the sentries had reached the top of the bluffs they planted signal flags, both green, the sign to move on. Sending regimens in one by one, the army slowly advanced through at first a labyrinth of canyons riddled with dark tunnels, and then a petrified forest, long since frozen in the forgotten wasteland of Northrend.
Arthas remembered his geography lessons, taught by a royal teacher whose face had long since faded from memory, his lesson reverberating in the Prince's mind: "In this land, many sought to find a haven from the petty wars of man and elf upon Lordaeron. Coming to this frozen place, they called it Northrend, its icy shores destroying many of their ships. In the cold, they found however an untamed, forgotten land, ancient beyond belief, full of sorrow…and death. Northrend is a place where no man should dare to tread for long, as the land itself shall swallow him whole. Not long did those colonists survive, and even as the years passed and people followed in their path, no matter what time and place they were from, they all shared the same destiny: a bleak, forgotten death in this cold, dark continent".
Indeed Arthas could feel the mood of the army. The men were afraid: afraid of this vast, uninhabitable land, hostile even to the eye. In the distance, beyond the edges of the petrified forest, lay a vast field of icy spires, like massive stalagmites piercing the sky.
"Stand steady, and bring the legions through, one by one. If Mal'ganis spoke truth, and the undead come from this land, then we shall eliminate them here, once and for all" Arthas spoke to the commanders at his side as they rode on shivering mares beside a company of men-at-arms.
As the day slipped into night, the temperatures plummeted even further. The sun's rays slipped beyond the horizon as the White Lady (Azeroth's first and greater moon) reached it's zenith and the azure-green Blue Child began its own rise in the inky sky, the clouds now clear. The soldiers clad themselves in furs, donning the warm gear Arthas had ordered brought on the ships.
Tents dotted the landscape as the army camped for a night in an empty plain, the only signs of difference in the vast white land the great fissures that suddenly dropped into nothingness. In the darkness of the night however, something stirred.
Arthas was awake, at what kind of ungodly hour this was, marking positions on an crumpled piece of parchment, a small candle in a lantern hanging from the roof of the tent the only thing lighting his work. Thus far into Northrend there had been no enemy attacks, only scattered bands of ice trolls found on the edges of the army's formation, and those which got in the way were dealt with swiftly.
"We have no clue what we are walking into…the only knowledge we have of this land are old, inaccurate records from the times of the first exploration of the Daggercap Bay area" Arthas whispered to himself, trying to find a clear route, comparing the maps that his scouts had etched to the far greater one that supposedly illustrated the great bay of Daggercap, where his fleet had hoisted itself and the army disembarked.
Somewhere in this vast, snowy wasteland was Mal'ganis, and with him, the Scourge. His thoughts fluttered back to home: how was the war going there? How far had the Plague infected? In the end it mattered not, so long as justice was extracted for the horror done to Lordaeron. Justice, and vengeance.
As Arthas sat in silent reflection, outside the tents of the vast army, a dark force began to surround them.
Arthas glanced at the lantern hanging by a piece of leather to the wooden supports of the tent. Where a few minutes ago it had been still, now it was beginning to sway ever so slightly. Adrenaline poured into Arthas's body as he felt the ground begin to tremble. Outside, a distant scream was heard from a sentry. Arthas immediately rushed out of his tent, clad in naught but the furs he wore under his armor and his Arathi highland boots, a gift from the lords of Stromgarde from his earlier years.
Sticking his head out into the cold air, his breath formed a blue mist under the light of the moons that seemed ethereal, floating off into the distance. He could see that other men had begun to wake, lights erupting from the tents.
Suddenly, the sound of a galloping horse was heard through the night: one of the sentries.
"The undead! The undead are attacking!" he screamed over and over, riding through the camp at random.
Completely aroused, Arthas reached for his hammer and threw on his chest plate and gauntlets. "To arms! To arms, the undead are attacking!" the cry echoed through the camp.
All around, in the darkness, Arthas saw the black wave of undead moving toward their camp. A battle: finally, the enemy had ceased their hiding. Yet before Arthas could even form the soldiers, the undead rushed into the camp. The screams of men filled the night sky as battle took place.
Wretched skeletons, cannibalistic ghouls, and the alien nerubian spiders, as well as the massive flesh golems called abominations poured into the camp in a surprise attack. Swinging his mighty hammer, Arthas cut down a ghoul as it reared its head from the carnage it had inflicted upon a man who still lay in his cot. All the vast varieties of undead could be seen, as well as strange, massive stone obelisks that were towed into battle by horsemen pale as the moon itself, their horse's eyes aflame with demonic fire.
"Ashela neva dar!" Arthas called out, unleashed one of the Seals of power, reaching for his Tome of the Light which hung by a chain around his neck. A crimson energy surrounded him as he threw himself at the enemy.
In the darkness his light was as a beacon to both the living and dead, and as soldiers, hastily dressed gathered around him, so too did the forces of the damned. An elven mage however, gathered the strength in this magic deprived desert somehow, and let loose a torrent of fiery sorcery, melting the flesh and charring the bones of the great beasts that beset them.
As the battle continued however, it was clear that there were no forces to back the undead that had ridden into their camp, and almost as soon as the battle had begun, it ended.
"The undead assail us as if we were children! There is no way we shall loose to such weak creatures!" a man cried out, his jubilant voice gathering cheers from those around him. In rage, Arthas rushed over to the man, grabbing him by his shirt collar and shoving his face close to his.
Hot breath flowing over the man, Arthas hissed "Weak creatures?! Is that what you call these things that nigh destroyed our homeland in a matter of months? Do not underestimate our enemy, for he is as cunning as any human foe!"
Arthas let the man go; now shouting to a crowd that had gathered around the two. "This was but a raiding party, a mere trifling force, to prod us and see how our defense was! The armies I have seen, and many of you as well, have been far vaster, and FAR greater than what assailed us tonight, yet look around you! Hear the screams of your wounded and dying comrades! We were taken by utter surprise, and many hundreds have died here alone, and you call it victory.
With every man dead here, the undead shall take him and make him their own. When we do encounter the main force of the enemy, let it be known…let it be known that no quarter will be shown to traitors in this place! We stand or die together in this hell! As you took the vow to serve me, so shall you fight in this place, as long as I will it, be that the next week, the next month, or all eternity…" The men stood aghast at their Prince as he fumed. Before the night was over, all alive in the camp were tending to the wounded or preparing for battle.
As the sun rose, it cast a glorious shock orange across the wispy clouds that had sprung up overnight, signaling a new beginning. The army packed its gear, and prepared to move again, a long supply line back to the makeshift harbor in the Bay guarded by heavy cavalry which constantly patrolled the snowy paths that they had created.
"All be damned…" Arthas spat as he witnessed another carriage break down in the muddy slush. To the sides loomed the walls of a great canyon, and in these two days by noon on the second, the army had traversed nearly 22 leagues across the treacherous landscape, suffering vicious surprise attacks upon not only their flanks but indeed the fore.
The harsh march was one that the soldiers would remember for the rest of their lives: the cold hell, the icy water in their boots freezing their digits, the howling wind giving the kiss of frostbite on the cheeks and noses of many in such a short amount of time. The arctic weather was persistent, as if the land itself wished to drive the foreign invaders out, yet Arthas pushed on.
"This is a good spot to set up a preliminary base of operations" Arthas said to his force commanders, concluding the talks of strategy that he engaged in. In a small ravine between two large mountains was a canyon where there was much raw material needed to make and repair armor in the harsh wintry land, as well as construct more adequate defenses against both the undead and the wind.
As Arthas walked with the lead column through an small copse of hardy tree-ish plants, a sudden feeling of watching came upon him.
"Sire…I believe we're not alone" the Captain whom had traveled with him so far told him. Arthas made a point not to learn the man's name, having lost far too many of his favorites in the last few months of the war.
"Indeed, Captain. Ready the men-"before he could finish, a sudden thunder filled the air. The captain jumped on Arthas, throwing him to the ground before he could realize what was going on.
Behind him he saw that the men in the column too had taken cover in a small ditch, and that the snow was peppered with holes. Suddenly, he heard distinctive dwarven voices.
"Khayzt vaz taken! Khayzt kor tui!" a cry arose. Arthas immediately recognized it, the Bronzebeard dialect of dwarvish.
"What in the name of the Light…?" he muttered to himself.
"Who be there! State ya're names and purpose in this here land! Answer humans, we saw you ne're the snow on our beards be gone!" the voice called again.
"Calm down!" the Captain yelled out "Tis the Army of the Alliance! Hold your fire!"
"Bloody hell!" the voice called back "You're not undead! You're all alive!"
Arthas slowly got up, noticing in the darkness of the bushes the shining barrels of dwarven blunderbuss rifles. From the darkness of the underbrush came a single dwarf, who whistled for his soldiers to appear.
Peering at the slight incline that the dwarves came from, Arthas recognized in the glare of the light a single figure: donned in armor adorned with rubies, emeralds, and sapphires, his helm scratched and chipped, a stout dwarf earthen with a flowing bronze beard.
Lordegarde, Castle Menethil
It would soon begin. The first meeting of the High Council of the Alliance of Lordaeron since early summer would convene, and along with it, Terenas Menethil had invited the Kings of Gilneas and Stromgarde, both whom had no ambassadors or legislators upon the Committee of Common Defense (better known as the Supreme Command of the Alliance).
Archmage Antodias looked down from his elevated conference chamber, which was about ten feet above the ground in the domed throne room of Lordaeron, gruff as always. Below on his throne, he spied the aging figure of Terenas, whom sat cross armed, eye furrowed, as if lost in infinite thought. In the other chambers, he spotted the King of Kul Tiras, Daelin Proudmoore, the Regent Lord of Alterac, Hroth Gaias, an envoy from distant Stormwind, the esteemed Highlord Bolvar Fordragon, as well as an ambassador from Stromgarde, Senator Steelhill of the Ironforge Chamber of Lords, and surprisingly enough, the King of Gilneas, Genn Graymane, whom sat in his chamber, seemingly utterly disgusted with his surroundings. The High Elves spot in the throne room however were empty, their people opting to remain in their isolation rather than partake in the dabbling of politics.
Irritated, Antodias finally called out "Shall we begin this meeting or not?"
"You always seem crotchety at the most important of times, no, Archmage?" Proudmoore called out sarcastically, obviously not meaning his words.
"No matter how much people are attracted to your charisma, Proudmoore, I shall never understand why…" Greymane uttered, breaking his silence from the encircling darkness of his chamber.
"My fellow Kings, grand ambassadors," Terenas said, at last standing from his throne. Antodias studied the man. He had been thinned greatly by the events of the past few months, his face growing older and heavier, knowing the blood of many thousands was on his hands, as well as his own son's disappearance into the icy mists of Northrend.
"The time has come again upon us, and the tides of darkness echo upon the world" Terenas continued, bringing order to the room as rays of sunlight poured in through the open dome. "From the north, a dreaded Plague has spread across the lands of noble Lordaeron and loyal Alterac, killing many as it passed. However the true horror of this Plague was only uncovered after it struck, as great armies of necromantically risen undead appeared behind it"
"To the point, Terenas…" Greymane spat impatiently, as if wanting to say something himself.
Ever the tactful and patient, Terenas continued as if nothing had happened, yet cutting off the fat from his speech "War is upon my lands. Good Lords of distant lands, the armies of the current Alliance can hold back this flood only for so long, as every man that falls joins the ranks of our enemy, the Scourge. These past months have been dire, and indeed we underestimated the strength of our enemy for far too long. The great wizards the Kirin Tor have long labored to understand the Plague and undead, and good Archmage Antodias of the Violet Citadel has prepared a report to you all on the information we have thus far collected"
The audience had finally settled down, the fidgeting of the great leaders of Azeroth had faded as their eyes floated to Antodias expectantly. Feeling his age, much like that of Terenas himself, Antodias smiled to himself: when was the last time such a meeting was called? Surely…it would be one of the last he would live to see. He had hoped that by the time of his passing, his apprentice Jaina Proudmoore, daughter of the King standing parallel from him, would be strong enough to take his place, a revolutionary thought for a woman to become such a leader in a world where men ruled.
"Kings, Lords, and ambassadors" he began, voice croaking with age "As you all know, since late summer of the standard Arathi calendar, there have been increasing sightings and reports of the Plague sweeping though the north. Leaving in its wake a path of destruction, this strange, malignant disease passed through the northern lands and into the more densely populated east.
From the many researchers, alchemists, wizards and more that have safely studied the Plague, it can only be said that this disease is artificial: a tool crafted to destroy the world as we know it, by whom or what we know not"
A gasp arose from the audience. A sudden gust of wind picked up, burning out several torches on the walls.
"From the remains of the Plague arose a vast undead army, created necromantically by death cults which have spread over the years throughout our lands, gaining support from disheartened and disenfranchised peasants and citizens. This went nearly unopposed until it began to threaten entire provinces, by which time to Plague began to focus most of our attention. The Kirin Tor advised that the northern towns infected be placed under quarantine," he continued, looking straight at Terenas's face, whose eyes held infinite sadness, gazing back at the other wizened man as if in eternal apology. Indeed, it had been he and the others in this chamber that had rejected that idea, that best hope of salvation against the spread of the disease.
"The Plague was created magically, and altered artificially, as I have said before. It was carried through the lands via caravans of grain and through several gigantic cauldron-like dispensers scattered in the outlying forests and badlands. As our forces rallied, the undead arose from the dead, and now combat us across the plains of eastern Lordaeron. The Kirin Tor works ceaselessly to find a cure to the Plague, as well as the Silver Hand, however our studies have not yielded as of yet any efficient results.
"A war is already upon us, yet inevitably it shall swallow all of us. The blood of Lordaeron is spilled each day as we defend ourselves as well as all of your countries, making sure the undead advance no further south. I plead to you, as is, the armies of our Alliance, great as they are, shall not stand forever. The undead roam our countryside, our crops are crushed, our people in flight. I have signed orders of forced conscription, refusal under penalty of death, yet the manpower of Lordaeron is not enough. Lordaeron, the Alliance, nay, all of Azeroth require your lands and people to fight with us, to bleed with us, to defend that which we hold holy and reverent" Terenas suddenly said, cutting through Antodias' briefing.
Antodias stared at Terenas. Not since the siege of Lordegarde had he ever seen the King so agitated, so…unraveled. It was not only his lands, but his son as well. Time and war were taking a heavy toll on Terenas Menethil II.
"By count of support, I shall now receive your votes of confidence or no confidence for full support of resources, whether it be gold or soldiers, to this war effort" the exasperated King finished.
"Well then, to combat the undead we must throw our forces behind the Alliance wholly! King Terenas, the resources of my nation are behind you, as always" Proudmoore boomed, chest thrust outward, the graying chestnut hair under his tricorn admiral's hat bouncing in its locks, grinning viciously.
"Sovereign King of Lordaeron, Alterac, as is customary, shall continue its full support of the Alliance. Indeed we too shall begin our own conscription, as is advised by your Royal adjuncts" the Regent Lord Hroth Gaias said in a more than subdued tone, as if he had any choice. Long had his lands been occupied by the armed forces of Lordaeron and Stromgarde, bereft of free will after its traitorous turn in the Second War.
"The Kirin Tor, as in the past years, shall continue to support the Alliance of Lordaeron" Antodias said quickly, not one for long winded comments.
"I am sorry my Lords, but from what I have heard, and what my King instructed, I have no power to give this council a vote of confidence at this moment. However, I shall return to my lord Thoras Trollbane with the information provided here about the situation in the northlands. I am sure that he can make a more complete decision than I" the ambassador from Stromgarde said, his tone neutral. Terenas nodded silently, though wincing as if he had just been punched in the gut.
"The Nation of Azeroth has had a long history, yet in all our years no times were ever darker than the wars that raged across our continents dislodging the entire people of my land. However it was in our distant neighbors that we found stalwart allies, whom helped us retake our ancestral homes. The Kingdom of Stormwind shall, and forever shall, support the Alliance!" Highlord Bolvar Fordragon exclaimed, holding his fist in the air.
"Ironforge approves of whatever necessary measures must be taken to contain the Plague and combat the Scourge" Senator Steelhill announced as the turn of speaker passed to him.
Moments passed as leaders awaited the tiny chance that the High Elves might show up in their chamber, yet as time passed, nothing was to be seen or heard of. The turn passed to Gilneas.
"And so it comes to this again…yet this time, I see no profit for Gilneas, I see no new lands, no rewards, nothing Terenas! Only death…what did we receive when the orcs were pushed from your lands!? Taxes! Taxes to keep the ones we had fought ALIVE IN CAMPS!" Greymane exploded, face red as he leaned over the stone railing of his chamber.
"These undead pose no threat to my people at this given moment, and there is no reason to believe they shall in a year, or a decade. However…to assure the safety of my nation, I shall most hastily construct a wall blocking us off from any possible infection of your supposed Plague"
"Come now, good Genn Greymane, have we not solved our quarrels over tables of diplomacy and bartering before?" Proudmoore said, trying to select Greymane's support. However, Greymane proved more stubborn than ever before.
"Silence! I will not hear a word from you Proudmoore! Long has your own country been the bane of mine, stealing our islands, raping our lands in wars long ago. I shall not take it! I shall not stand for it!" he turned his head which had been circulating around the room, spittle dropping as he raved.
"Damn the orcs, damn the Alliance, and damn you! The last thing Gilneas needs is sponges from other nations drawing from our resources, Dalaran wizards meddling with our affairs, and someone else's enemies killing our soldiers! Gilneas is its own nation and it always will be. This is the last time I'll ever talk to you, Terenas, so I hope you were listening!"
"Guards!" Terenas called, now red faced of his own, the man's seemingly eternal patience running thin "Please eject this man from the courts immediately!"
"Indeed, insulting the honor of all other peoples! You are all fools! Lead by the nose like dogs! Farewell Alliance, farewell corruptors and thieves!" Greymane echoed as several armed guards escorted him out of his chambers.
The utter gall of that man… Antodias thought violently.
"My apologies, Lords. You've all known of the apparent…discrepencies between King Greymane and myself for these many years and I ask you to forgive me for the outburst. Greymane, I forsee, shall not be returning to our precense" Terenas said, collapsing into his throne.
As the meeting continued, the ambassador of Stromgarde left near dusk to inform his King of the happenings, and the remaining high lords of the Alliance began to draft their plans of battle. As the Alliance began to strengthen its military might, so too did the battles spread across the land.
Arthas' Northrend Expedition
In early fall, Arthas led the combined elements of the 1st and 2nd armies into Northrend via the Northern Alliance Fleet which he commandeered under the powers of his future crown.
The army's breakdown follows as is,
19,383 Infantry broken down into Corps of approx. 5,000, and below that Divisions, each positioned within the marching column from more experienced along the fore and flanks to the least experienced within the middle, and rearguard.
3,328 Light cavalry scattered around the flanks and positioned mainly around the supply lines, the light cavalry's job is reconaissance and protection of vulnerable areas around the army.
1,794 Heavy Cavalry and Knights in the vanguard and far flanks, positioned for lightning, heavy thrusts, as well as protection of the flanks.
3,677 Infantry Reserve, mostly positioned along the supply lines. Also divided equally through the Divisions serving as reserve used to plug in holes in the lines.
(Author's Note: Another chapter delayed, tisk tisk, my bad, sorry guys. Micro-economics is not a fun class and I do not recommend it, but enough of my ranting. My thanks go out to all my reviewers, and especially to Andy the High Elf and High Elf Swordsman, whom have pointed out several things that I shall work on and include in the story. If all goes as promisingly as I hope, then the next chapter which is already being worked on should not take too long to publish. Once again thank you, and see you next time!)