Prologue:
Grand Marshal Anduin Praeton surveyed the lands lying below the valley quickly.
"Send them in" he quietly ordered to a shadowy figure standing behind him in the brush.
To the rear of him, a slight rustle came from the forest in which an army awaited. Suddenly, a thin, long line of cavalry bound knights, plate armor gleaming in the dim sun, charged forward. They quickly thundered down the hillside, leaving a storm of dust in their wake. At the angle that Anduin was ordering the advancement of the army, the charge looked like a line of silver-grey streaking onwards against a brown dirt ground to an all too familiar sight. The blight lay before them. The rotting, decayed soil was the mark of the Undead Scourge which was found at their settlements, or conquered lands.
This was the land of Lordaeron, just south of the Altrec Mountain Range. Lordaeron had once been one of the greatest bastions of human might in the world of Azeroth. Now...it was a plague infested realm of sorrow, ruled by the Undead which had come out of the icy lands of Northrend. Lordaeron had been able to stand on it's on for a while, at the time of the First Plague. But then, Arthas, Crown Prince of Lordaeron had murdered his own father, delivering the lands of light to the hands of death.
"I'll be damned if I see these people consumed by the Scourge" Anduin said in a whisper to himself. Spying the column of knights, so valiantly riding into the face of the enemy, he suddenly noticed that in front of the Necropolis (the Undead's spirit center) a company of ghouls, and abominations forming. It was not long before the first of the vile creatures were pierced by the long lances of the knights, whom would spear head an escape route for the survivors he had picked up on his march south.
"Send forth the 1st and 4th Battalions. Send for my horse as well" Anduin then ordered.
As he mounted his white steed, another line of warriors, this time simple footmen appeared over the ridge.
"Chaaarge!" he screamed, swinging his elven blade forward. A massive battle cry arose as the footmen ran blindly to help the now overwhelmed knights.
Riding with them, he pushed his horse to its limits running wildly down the slope before confronting what resistance the Scourge was putting up. Swinging his rune-blade he quickly sliced through a zombie-like ghoul, ending its "afterlife". Around him was chaos. The battle raged yet, he could see the Men of the North had the momentum.
As soon as the battle had erupted, it came to a close. Hundreds of corpses lay around Anduin as he dismounted to meet his first lieutenant, Lord Banor.
"A sound victory milord. This will secure our passage to Dalaran, where we can at least find a day or twos reprieve." He spoke up, while taking off his bloodied helm.
"Yes, a victory" he said dryly. "Tell me, how long before we actually reach the ruins of the Violet Citadel?"
"Not another two night's milord" the Banor replied with hope in his voice.
"Get the men moving then. There shall be no stops for us except for sleep until we get to the Alliance forces to the south. Let us thank the Light that Stormwind was able to get soldiers and supplies as far north as Dalaran. If it were not for King Wrynn, I honestly believe the Alliance would have fallen apart by now. He though, again to thank the Light, was able to take up the cup of Lord Terenas' position"
"Yes lord. The men shall not stop until we have reached Base Camp. A shame isn't it?" Lieutenant Banor then said suddenly with such sadness in his voice.
"What?" Anduin said looking up.
"That we came so close to retaking the capital under the glorious banner of our nation. Until that damned witch Sylvanis betrayed out pact and killed so many more humans than needed to die including Garithos. I never liked the man; always prejudiced against the other members of the Alliance, yet a brilliant tactician."
"Yes, yet we must press on. Sylvanis is a cunning foe. She showed that in her defense of Silvermoon before that basterd Arthas broke through. Several times it almost looked as if she would beat him. Alas, it is no more and we should not dwell on it"
And so the ragged last remnants of the Royal Army of Lordaeron made their way quietly to the devastated city of Dalaran. Though a shadow of its former self, the sight of Dalaran was a shock of hope in the men. Almost immediately he saw a change in the men's moral. The retaken city had become the base of operations for Alliance forces and a focal point for trade between the remaining northern kingdoms of Stromgarde, Gilneas, and Kul-Tiras.
As Anduin Praeton arrived in a tent designated to the High Commander of Alliance forces (the title was new on him) he took off his plate armor. Slowly setting his helm on the oak desk in front of him, he finally realized he was not alone in the tent. A lone figure sat dark in a corner of the room.
"Greetings Lord Praeton. Andu falas!" the figure spoke. The man flicked up his hand and spoke a word softly. A spark of green flame appeared above his hand. The green flame created just enough light to reveal a pointy eared elf that bore glistening blood red armor. The armor, which had many runes inscribed in it also held a sheathed elvish sword. The long blond hair of the elf ran down to his shoulders and his eyes ,emerald green, held a strange look about them. His eyebrows, as always elf's were, were long and pointed.
"Who are you and what is your business in Dalaran?" Anduin spoke quickly.
"I, am Faltron'Quel, leader of the Blood Elves in the Altrec Range, and related to the Sunstrider Dynasty. As you know, Prince Kael'thas commands another group of my brethren. Where he has ran to with so many warriors, I do not know. His last sighting was in Northrend several months ago" the Elf replied in a straight tone.
"What has this to do with your coming to me?"
"You see, I am one of the few Elf's who escaped Quel'thalas alive after the Scourge destroyed out beloved kingdom. The war is slowly yet surely being lost. Look to your borders. You have lost all of the gains made after the Legion's banishment. The Undead have endlessly trailed you and now this band of 10,000 men is all that is left. Azeroth cannot support you forever. They themselves are assailed by Orcs, Trolls and other vile creatures. Yes, the colony of Theramoore is at peace, yet for how long? The gnomes have lost their homeland, thus losing their power and the Dwarf's are dangerously weak at the moment and have retreated back to thier tunnels again. The remaining nations you look to are also being worn down by the attrition of the Dead and Quel'thalas has been obliterated" the Elf continued, a now sad look in his eyes and tone. "And now rumors of Arthas commanding all Scorge forces is even more disturbing"
"What exactly are you stating, sir?"
"I have devised a plan, to turn the tides of war, and forever end the Scourge. I intend to tilt the balance of the scale to our side, and it can only be done my way. All I need now, is a simple...pact" slowly, Anduin turned to him and nodded.