Chapter 1: Legacy of the Blood Elves
"Set sail immediately" Alaric'Quel demanded. His Blood Elf forces had made their way across the ruined landscape of Lordaeron and arrived at Kul'Tiras, Kingdom of the Sea, without much resistance from the Undead or still lingering Burning Legion demons. The Elves had receded from the Alliance of Lordaeron almost straight after the Second War with the Orc Horde. Quel'thalas was the High-Elves eternal capital, a standing monument of their achievements. Alaric still remembered the lush, green forests and the wondrous city of Silvermoon, intergrown with the woods themselves. Alas, it was no more. Arthas, now the Lich King had marched into Quel'thalas and turned it into a barren wasteland and he did the neighboring human kingdom. In doing so, he had killed every Elf inside the Kingdom before leaving it to rot leaving only a few scattered High-Elves outside to survive. In honor of their fallen people, the remaining members of High-Elven society had renamed themselves Blood Elves and pledged to fight wherever the Scourge might be.
"Yes Lord Alaric!" an Elf replied. He quickly set about handing out the orders that Alaric had issued. The Blood Elves had rejoined the Alliance after the fall of Silvermoon and still fought the failing war. In reaching Kul'Tiras, Alaric'Quel received several of the finest ships, courtesy of Anduin Praeton, to carry out his plans.
"Milord, how goes the setting of the fleet?" Alaric's First Lieutenant, Eolas queried.
"Ah, fine my good friend" he replied. The two had known each other for years, perhaps centuries as Elves are almost completely immortal in age. "Yet, if only I knew where Prince Kael'thas is right now. Kael has too many of our people in his hands. Even now, he commands the majority of them, and yet we have no clue where he is. Anyway, how goes the condition with the men?" the tall, long elf then asked.
"Well sir, no one is out of line yet. We all hunger for magic once again, yet without the Sunwell, there is no way to feed our addiction" Eolas said solemnly. Alaric could see on Eolas's face that he too shared the pain of the radical magic addiction. After the Sunwell was destroyed, the Elf's had no source of magic to feed upon, losing much mana. Perhaps Kael'thas had left in order to find more mana. Bah, he would probably never know.
"Don't worry Eolas, my friend. Soon, you and our brethren will have all the mana you ever dreamed of, and the Scourge will be no more"
"Sir, the entire fleet has set sail and is awaiting your orders!" a younger looking Elf exclaimed, running up to Alaric.
"Good, now set the bearings to the first marker I set on the map" he pointed to a map of Azeroth which included the continents of Lordearon, Azeroth, Kalimdor, and Northrend.
Quietly, Eolas scuttled closer to Alaric.
"What is your plan sire? You have shared it with none, and now that we are underway, I believe you could at least tell you Lieutenants" he stated.
"Yes, I suppose you are correct. Well, let's just say that my plan involves various magical powers, that when capped with a prime focal magic, will cleanse the Scourge, and give us an unlimited supply of mana forever. I will say this; We set sail for Kalimdor, and for Ashenvale Forest" Alaric replied in a low whisper.
"This is news indeed! How have you come across these items? What are they?"
"Some are artifacts. Others...lets just say that the one I want most, belongs to the Night Elves, and their pet dragons, or at least what's left of it" again he whispered. He then looked over at the humans pulling that had come along in his expedition tugging on sail ropes. Eolas got the hint and stealthily left the deck of the ship.
Alaric looked across the ever stretching blue sea. It would be a long journey, but in the end it would be worth it. Behind his ship, a white trail of foam followed, along with that of dozens of ships. Suddenly, a pang of wanting for magic exploded in his skull. He kept quiet, and retired below decks.
From below he quietly pulled out a piece of parchment. On it was a map of the world. To the west lay Kalimdor, and to the east, Lordaeron and Azeroth. In front of him and his flotilla, lay the maelstrom. A huge, eternal storm that never ceased its spiral.
And so the fleet went west. It strayed across the edges of the maelstrom, losing a ship which greatly angered Alaric. These ships were full of the last of his dying kind. Finnaly, the rain stopped and the ships made it through the storm. A long, and rigorous month passed as the weather got hotter, dryer, and finally, the cry echoed among the fleet.
"Land ahead! We have spotted land!"
The fleet slowly approached the distant land. They had finnaly arrived at Kalimdor. As they closed in, Alaric could vaugely make out a settlement. It seemed human enough. In the distance, he viewed the island citadel of Theramore.