Part 5: The Dark Lady

The bright Summer's sun gleamed down towards the grand city of Lordaeron, and as the great bell of the city tolled majestically above the rooftops, Prince Arthas Menethil made his way through the castle, where his father waited for his arrival.

Dressed in thick robes which concealed his entire form, he walked through the hallowed halls, where his ancestors, the former Kings and Queens of the land had walked before him.

The drawbridge collapsed over the river, and he continued his march towards the throne room. He reached the courtyard before the mighty doors. And stopped.

Pink petals were falling from the sky. They were in mourning for the act he was about to perform. Arthas looked upward and reached out with his leather-gloved hand. He caught one petal lightly, and gazed at it. Then he threw it away, discarding it with disdain as it fell to the ground with all the others.

And then the doors of the Throne Room burst open with a deadly thunder, bashing against each side of the chamber wall as the Prince stormed forward. He walked to the middle of the room where the decorative crest lay, and fell to his knees.

He drew his sword and knelt down before his father, his hands wrapped around the hilt, his head bowed.

"Ah, my son.." said Terenas warmly, arising from his throne to greet the Prince.

"You no longer need to sacrifice for your people," interrupted the cloaked figure. His words were slow, precise, and cold. He knew perfectly well what he was doing. "You no longer need to bear the weight of your crown." he continued, emphasising every word with venom. "I've taken care... of everything."

Suddenly he stood up, drawing back his hood to reveal his flowing locks of long white hair. He strided forward up the velveted steps to the throne and grabbed hold of Terenas, raising his arm and his sword towards him.

"What is this?" he demanded in puzzlement. "What are you doing, my son?"

Arthas curled his mouth into a wide smile.

"Succeeding you... father."

And in one swift movement he plunged Froustmourne deep within the man's heart. The King gasped for breath for several seconds, his mouth wide open in sheer horror, but then Arthas rended the sword out again, and he slumped to the ground. His crown fell from atop his head, rebounding down the steps like some discarded toy, landing un-neatly upon the cold marble floor. The amethyst in the centre was stained in blood.

"This kingdom shall fall," proclaimed King Arthas. "And from the ashes shall arise a new order, which will shake the very foundations of the world!"


At that moment, a young woman gasped and opened her eyes, sitting immediately upright upon her bed.

"Arthas!"

She took a second to look around her and take in the familiar surroundings of her bed chamber, as her mind started to leave the world it had occupied within her dream. She groaned and rubbed her hand through her blonde hair in frustration.

"Not again, Jaina..." she moaned to herself.

Jaina often had nightmares about that terrible day, especially in the weeks following the savage murder of King Terenas by his son. But now she had started to have them again, for reasons unbeknown to her. She sighed.

Arthas Menethil: the Prince of Lordaeron turned Death Knight of the Undead Scourge. Jaina had been close friends with the Prince. The pair were even romantically involved for a time. She had known the Prince well. Likely better than anyone else did. And yet, when he had betrayed the people which he had sworn to protect in his holy oath as a Paladin, and devestated Azeroth as his horrifying antics engulfed the world, she was the most horrified. It was unbeknown to her how such evil could ever fester inside him. Lordaeron was now in ruins, a desolate wasteland devoid of all life. An eerie ghost of what the grand kingdom had once been. Quel'thalas also lay defeated, the High Elven capital of Silvermoon destroyed by Arthas and his undead army when they raided it to resurrect the Lich Kelthuzad from within the magical waters of it's sunwell.

It had been five years since then. Five years since Arthas had fallen to the dark and empty promises of the Undead, and defected to the Scourge. Now the betrayer Prince sat within the frozen realm of Northrend, atop the Frozen Throne. He was now one with the Lich King.

Soon after the Battle of Hyjal, the Alliance began amassing it's defences in preparation for a large-scale Scourge attack. And yet... there was nothing. No news from the North. No reports of Scourge activity anywhere within Human lands. Ideas surrounding an offensive attack against Northrend had been discussed by Jaina and several other high ranking officials during a series of meetings in Stormwind, but they had never come to light. Everyone knew the scale of the undead Scourge army, not to mention the strength of the reborn Lich King. Though they would never admit it, it was true. The Humans were terrified. And so the years passed with still no single sign of threat. But everyone knew, something was happening. And something would soon happen. And when it did, it would be the end of them.

"Just come and finish us off then, Arthas..." she whispered to herself.

She sat up, touched the warm velvet carpet with her bare feet. Jaina walked towards her wardrobe and picked out some clothes for her to wear. She didn't know what the future would hold, but, as she kept telling herself, life goes on.

"Life goes on..." she said.


For Sylvanas Windrunner, life also went on. Slain in cold blood by Arthas as she had defended her beloved Silvermoon against the Death Knight and his Scourge, he had bestowed upon her a fate worse than death. She had been denied one. Arthas brought Sylvanas back as a Banshee, and forced her to serve within his ranks, a mindfull, yet helpless slave to his every word. Eventually however, she managed to break away from his manipulation, gathering together other escapees of the Scourge to form an alliance of the free Undead. Sylvanas proclaimed herself the Queen of these forgotten souls. The Dark Lady of the Forsaken. The Forsaken had founded a home for themselves underneath the ruins of Lordaeron, a testament to the suffering their people had endured. And there, Sylvanas and her new bretheren worked furiously, in anticipation of a strike against the Scourge. Sylvanas formed a group called the Royal Apothecary Society, which tried to develop a new Plague, to strike a devestating blow to the Scourge's ranks when the final battle for salvation came...

Within this moment Sylvanas sat within her darkened halls, deep in contemplation of these events, as she gazed over some old parchments, one of which included an old map of Azeroth. She looked to the area that marked the land of Quel'Thalas, and rubbed her cold dead finger gently over Silvermoon. She sighed in despair as her memories of life came flooding back to her. She had spent her entire life defending the walls of the High-Elven capital. But those walls were now gone forever, together with but a handful of her bretheren.

She thought of her two sisters, and longed to see their faces again. But Alleria was gone, vanished forever beyond the Dark Portal forty years ago. And as for Veressa... she was not in Silvermoon during the attack, so most most likely still alive, but she could never face the shame of her sister seeing her like this. An abonimation that defiled the very rules of life and death...

Her life was over. All she had to live for, was the thought that one day she could unleash her cold revenge upon the one who had taken away everything she had ever loved. All she had to live for, she thought, ripping up the map in blind rage like a savage, was the murder of Arthas Menethil.

She heard heavy footsteps, and knew that Varimathras was present. Varimathras... the Dreadlord of the Nathrezim whom she forced into allying with the Forsaken in exchange for his life. Varimathras was a coward, willing to kill his own brothers to save his own skin. Sylvanas knew this all too well, but a Dreadlord was a valuable asset to a cause indeed, and he had served her well.

"Dark Lady?" said her Dreadlord bodyguard cautiously, as he approached Sylvanas from the door of the chamber.

"Speak, Varimathras," she said simply, without bothering to turn around.

"My Lady," he began, "our scouts have reported Scourge sightings within the Eastern Tirisfaril Glades."

She faced him, surprised.

"The Scourge?"

Like the Humans, the Forsaken had received no contact with Arthas's army either.

"Yes, Dark Lady."

She took a moment to take in this information, and then spoke again.

"How many?" she asked.

"They counted thirty ghouls, twenty crypt fiends and a dozen meat wagons."

"Ha. Is that all?" laughed the Forsaken Queen. "I do not know why you felt the need to tell me, Varimathras. What are you waiting for? Send our warriors to eliminate them immediately. They will pose no threat."

"Pardon me, my Lady, but there was something rather troubling that was reported."

She groaned, annoyed he had not simply said this before.

"Go on."

"There was a Lich with them."

Sylvanas raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"A Lich?"

"Yes. Our intelligence believes that it is the Lich Kel'Thuzad."

"Kel'Thuzad? Kel'Thuzad was with them?"

The Dreadlord nodded.

Kelthuzad... One of the principle agents of the Lich King, and the right hand man of Arthas. He had come all the way from Northrend to Lordaeron? What business could he possibly have, thought Sylvanas, with such a small army? It was puzzling.

"If Kelthuzad felt the need to escort the party personally, there must be a reason of import for their visit," said Sylvanas after a moments silence.

"Your orders, Dark Lady?" he asked.

"Listen carefully, Varimathras."

She turned around and walked to the back of the room.

"Arrange for a small party including yourself and several other scouts to follow them. Do not let them see us. They must think their plans will still be carried out undetected. Whatever it is the Scourge is doing in Tirisfal, it is important. Find out what they are up to, and then eliminate them."

She knelt to the ground and opened a long black box which sat in the corner.

"Very good, Dark Lady. I will send out the orders post haste."

The Dreadlord began walking out of the chamber.

"Oh, and Vartimathras?"

Sylvanas got to her feet and turned around. Her longbow was strung, her quiver filled with newly fletched arrows.

"I will be coming."


(Waves at anyone still reading this.)

Wow, it's been quite a while since the last update (24th May). Sorry it took so long. The main culprit was a mix of being busy doing other things, and just plain-old losing interest. I can't promise updates will now be lightning fast now, but hopefully I'll get them done fairly regularly from now on, at least until August when the Summer Holidays end here in Scotland. Until then I'll try and get as much done as possible.

Anyway, thanks so very much for all the reviews so far. Very much appreciated! I was pretty chuffed at how positive the feedback was.

Stay tuned for Part 6!