Deathholme was the center of Scourge interests in the conquest of Quel'Thalas, It was a fortress of death, endlessly churning out an army of the damned bent on the singular purpose of taking the High Elven lands for themselves.
For months the Scourge had left the forces within Deathholme with the considerable support of the plaguelands, expecting a short campaign and a quick aquisistion of territory.
An easy conquest, a reward for the elf who made it all possible. The lich king had granted the soon to be conquered territory to one lord Dar'Khan Drathir, for him to rule as a king with only one master.
It had all started so beautifully.
Then, almost as if a phoenix rising from the ashes, the elves rose up under a new name, using demonic magic in place of their corrupted Sunwell to rebuild their shattered homeland.
It was true, the slaughter the Lich kings invasion inflicted upon Silvermoon had been an unprecedented in its loss of life to such a long lived people.
But what remained where almost all of the best and brightest minds a race known far and wide for its magical prowess, within a month they were pouring out magical constructs to fight off the scourge, within two the rangerss supported them.
Within a year they had empowered the shattered wards to something close to their old power, and retook the land for themselves, pushing the undead back into the Ghostlands.
Soon after they somehow gained the effort and support of the orcish horde following their abandonment by the humans, even if relations were only recently established.
One of the greatest embarassments was the Trolls. He had been merciful, allowing the savages to live in return for an alliance against the living Elves, yet they spat on his kindness, attacking his fortresses and causing weeks of damage to his forces.
This, and the successful sabotage of some wretched infiltrator saw to it a figure of nearly untouchable political favor was brought low to the eyes of all servants of the Scourge, so much so was his disgrace that an old rival, one who never would have chanced challenging him in the past, now paraded inside his fortress as if he had the right to control it.
Dar'Khan Drathir was not pleased. The San'Layn were never pleasant to deal with, and Lonnas Dawnstride was the worst of them.
He had to gall to think them rivals, the little wretch had followed him about, declaring his eternal hatred after a woman had chosen a real magister over some pretentious brat.
The brat had changed into a dangerous opponent, but he could still see flashes of the child he once was, still see behind the Darkfallen Elves eyes the boy crying to him about how he had stolen his "truest love."
When Lonnas arrived from Northrend, escorted by several new necromancers and several thousand reinforcing undead he knew things would be taking a turn for the worse around here.
That annoying self satisfied little shit smile of his told him everything he needed to know. Lonnas had pushed for command of his post, and it seems his favor had fallen enough for the Lich King to allow it.
Oh how much better things would have been if that boy prince had just died when he was supposed to, he could be commanding the whole of the Scourge.
He shivered at the thought. Glorious
Still, Lonnas' presence was not totally without its benefits.
The Magisters had been working in Tandem, doubling down on the wards and producing enough golems to march directly against his forces.
They had even begun to take to the field after one of them disappeared, and the blame fell upon his forces.
As much as he would have liked for he or one of his dark casters to take credit for Antheol's death, no one came forward to claim the credit.
The Magisters that had taken to leading the golems were monstrous on the battlefield, tearing legions of his minions apart with spellfire.
Thrice he had been forced to confront them personally, but the power his studies into undeath and his brief consumption of a portion of the Sunwells power was not enough.
The first battle had been easy enough, and he handled the magister who commanded golems to march on the deadscar easily, but then they started traveling in threes.
Three experienced magisters working in tandem was a difficult foe to face even for him, and even when he did gain the upper hand they managed to cover each others escape.
With Lonnas around he had another force to allay against the magisters, and more importantly the most dangerous creatures of scourge design aiding in the conquest.
It would almost be ideal if his rightful place as Silvermoons ruler hadn't been stolen away.
So he devised a plan. The magisters and the golems they commanded represented the majority of the military power his people could pull together.
If they could manage to destroy them in a single consolidated push, the horde would lose faith in the ally who failed to prove themselves, draw back their forces, and give him free reign over Quel'Thalas.
Once the Sin'Dorei fell he could turn his attentions to his "Rival".
If all went well he would tragically fall in battle, just barely overpowered by the magisters.
Of course he tried to save his dear comrade, but alas Lonnas simply wasn't all he was cut out to be.
And who would take command in his absence? Humble Dar'Khan, ever trustworthy servant to the Lich King.
At his advice Lonnas gathered their forces for days, pulling back the steady stream of recently created undead to allow them to gather as many bodies as possible.
It was on the fifth day that he believed they had readied the forces they needed, and he waited within Deathholme as the armies of the Scourge marched once again.
It was a vision of the first invasion, a tide of death coming for his homeland, it even smelled of the same opportunity.
He watched from atop the walls as the army marched out, standing side by side with Lonnas as they readied to observe the battle from afar.
They had carefully readied teleportation circles in several critical junctions in the wards, and when the battle was fully underway they would appear on each side of the ward wall with hundreds more of the evil dead.
The battle plan was near flawless, the initial assault would be too great for the magisters to match with anything but their full force, and when two beings of magical might equal to the Scourges best arrived they would be too focused on the battle to maintain the wards.
Once they fell it would be easy to surround and pick off what was left of his people.
The only true weakness was the brief moment he and Lonnas would be split off from the main horde, they would be vulnerable to direct assault.
He had scoffed at the idea when Lonnas had brought up the possibility. Who would challenge them? The last of the Elven resistance in the Ghostlands had been cleared out months ago.
The Trolls had been hiding in their little city ever since he directed some of his forces to purge them from the territory.
Even if one of those forces did attack they would be sacrificing their best for the barest possibility of victory at the assumption of an attack.
Which was why it truly was a surprise when the attack did come. It began as a whistle in the distance.
His ears twitched at the sound of something tearing through the night sky with ease. When he looked up his eyes widened, and he barely managed to bring up a shield in time to block a blast of felfire at a magnitude he had never seen.
Lonnas failed to do the same.
An albino dragon landed with a thunderous boom on the parapets, its size determining it to be a young adult. Sorcerous energy crackled around the creature as it looked down upon him.
His brow rose as it called out "Dar'Khan! What a pleasant surprise! I was just in the neighborhood, and I couldn't help but think of you."
His brow rose. He was certain he would remember encountering such a creature. It would be a risk to fight it alo- he stopped.
The howl of rage that sounded to his side brought a smirk to his face as Lonnas rose up, his burns quickly mending.
At least he had someone to distract the creature if it proved too much a challenge.
He bowed. "A pleasant surprise indeed, mighty creature. What brings you to my fortress?"
