Chapter 1: Preparations

The Lich King

Froustmourne hovered over its altar, pale blue light shining through the ceiling and reflecting on the blade. A ghostly, ethereal energy whirled around the blade, freezing the very air around it. The Halls of Reflection were the private chambers Arthas seldom used to rest. They had been built to resemble Lordaeron's Imperial Chamber, but still feeling as cold and lifeless as the rest of the Citadel.

Arthas admired the blade as it floated upon its pedestal, his mind remembering the first time he had seen it, so many years ago. Froustmoune had marked the beginning of his ascendance into the Lich King; now, it would herald the fall of Azeroth. He could feel the blade trying to reach him, eager to reunite with its master. He would soon feed Frostmourne the souls it so savagely craved.

As he began to step closer towards his sword, weak noises started resonating on his ears. With each step, the sounds became louder and clearer; eventually, he could actually make words out of them. "Arthas, you monster!", "Traitor!", "You've dishonored your family!"… Just some of the many things the souls trapped within Frostmourne called to him.

For as much as he amused on the suffering of the spirits inside his blade, he had no time for that right now. He gripped Froustmourne with his right hand, and all voices went silent. He could feel the dark, twisted magic run through the blade. He sheathed the sword on his belt, and focusing energy on his left hand, the same gate that he had used on the Frozen Throne appeared in front of him. Without looking back, he crossed the portal.

Tirion Fordring

"Okay then… so the tamers have already controlled both of the ice worms. Have you received any news about the warlock's response?" Tirion looked over all of the papers scattered above the wooden table: invitations for the factions' leaders, bestiaries containing the different species of Northrend…

A tall, red-haired human answered his question. "Mister Wilfred Fizzlebang, if that's his real name, has already confirmed his assistance for the realizations of the Trial, and I quote, "will show the attendants the might of a master summoner." Hmph, big mouth for such a small gnome."

"Do not underestimate the power of your enemies for their height, Mariel. Even if I don't personally agree with the magic he employs, every help is to be thanked and appreciated."

"My apologies, Highlord." Justicar Mariel Truehart bowed in forgiveness for her joke. She was in front of the legendary Tirion Fordring, Highlord of the Argent Crusade; she had to behave as such.

"It's alright, Mariel." He gave the paladin a gentle smile. "I'll go have some air if you don't mind. I'm pretty sure you can take it from here." Justicar Truehart quickly responded, "Of course, Highlord. I'll check everything left for today." Tirion waved her goodbye, and after reaching for his coat, stepped out of the tent.

It took him a couple seconds to adjust to the darkness outside, but the cold struck him as soon as he stepped out of the organizers' tent. He quickly started walking towards his chambers, eager to reach in his warm, cozy bed. He had spent at least a couple hours checking all the papers and reports that came from the Argent Crusade, but excluding one or two letters about skirmishes with the Scourge, all papers were about the preparations for the Tournament's grand event.

As Tirion walked through the stables, he thought of the Grand Trials that would take place in a couple weeks, and then of all the reports he would have to go through tomorrow. Even though he had always hated paperwork, he knew it had to be done for the Tournament to run smooth. This was no light task after all: they were looking for the warriors who would accompany them on their last attack on the Citadel; everything needed to work as swiftly as possible.

As he reached his personal tent, he looked one last time at the dark skies. He wondered what sinister plans Arthas had in his mind right now. Maybe he was planning an attack on the Tournament? Or even worse, an invasion towards the factions' cities? He shook those thoughts out of his mind. No matter what that damned monster was preparing, he had confidence in the Light and in his comrades. With one last, weak smile, he entered the warmth of his tent.

The Lich King

He appeared back on the top of the Citadel, right in front of his throne. He took his seat, ready to think about everything he'd need for his plan. If he was going to visit the monster resting beneath Ulduar, he would have to be prepared. This was no visit to his lieutenants or skirmish against the Argent Crusade; he was about to infiltrate a Titan complex and locate its prisoner, one of the ancient deities who used to control Azeroth.

He pondered about that for a minute. Even if he had the forces of the undead at his command and was able to resurrect creatures from the grave, he was about to confront the physical embodiment of death itself. The obvious comparing between "king" and "god" crossed through his mind… No. HE was the one who would bring the end to the living; Yogg-Saron was nothing more than a rotting corpse inside a prison.

Yet, he knew what the Old Gods were capable of. Even though their powers were mostly a mystery, it was widely known that their corrupting capabilities were beyond anything else known to Azeroth; he wondered if the Burning Legion's highest lieutenants, or even himself for that matter, came even remotely close. If they were that powerful while imprisoned, who could imagine how devastating they would be if fully released?

He pushed those thought aside and focused on the matter at hand. If he was to reach the God of Death, he would need at least two things: a description of Yogg-Saron's capabilities (or any information about the Old Gods in general), and a map to guide himself through Ulduar. Even if he had never been there himself, common sense told him it would be no easy task to find his target. He wondered about those two things for a while; where could he find them?

Besides, not only would he need a map, but also enough troops to actually reach the Old God's body. After all, if stories were to be believed, the Titanic Watchers inside Ulduar were once again active. Mechanical guardians should be patrolling the whole complex; for as mighty as the Scourge was, Arthas was not foolish enough to enter a full blown war against the Titan constructs, not with the Argent Crusade still out there.

After some thinking, he realized he didn't need a map to Ulduar per se; he just needed the memories of someone who had already been there. He would easily find at least one of them, given how renowned they had becoming after slaying the God of Death. He had enough spies around the living to locate them; hell, some of them were probably participating in the Argent Tournament. As for the enemies waiting inside…

With one of the requirements out of the way, he moved to the second one. He started thinking about all the places he knew that could contain such ancient and forbidden knowledge. Of all the libraries he could think of, probably none of them would hold useful information.

He needed an easily accessible place, where he knew he could find such uncommon knowledge without finding any undesirable obstacles. Suddenly, his mind drifted to one of his oldest, most hidden memories: the stories his Mother told him when he was no more than a child. If he had still had a heart, he would've probably shed a tear after the thought of his caring mother, but such weakness had long been removed from him, thrown from the top of his Citadel into oblivion.

He rested on that thought for a minute. That place… He knew he would find at least some information regarding such mysterious themes, given the legendary mage that once took residence in it. And what where the possibilities of finding someone roaming around, given the place's peculiar fame of being cursed to its very foundations?

He quickly stood from his Throne and descended the frozen stairs. Just as he did some hours ago, he gathered dark energy in his left hand, and with a subtle gesture, a dark portal opened in front of him. Even though the place was far enough that he couldn't directly sense it, there were some undead members of the Scourge close enough to do the trick. Silently, he stepped through the portal and disappeared.