Chapter 16: Edge of the Hallowed Saber

Edge of the Western Plaugelands, Lordaeron, March 19th

The wind ripped at his face through the armor plating as he pushed the steed beneath him to gallop faster. The horses hoof beats and his own racing heart the only thing driving him onward. Duke Tal Winfield was just returning from the last supply wagons that sat dumbly in the Arathi Highlands, the foolish quartermaster of the Alliance haven lost track of this particular army.

He rode quickly past skeletal remains of buildings and the people once of a great nation. He had ridden an incredible distance in a short amount of time to reach Stromguard just after the victory at Tarren Mill to receive the new recruits for the Army of the Durnhold. Now, under the command of a militia officer, the recruits were making their way north best they could while he rode ahead with news from the southern nations. In the distance, not far beyond the eastern base of the Aletrac Mountains which lay two miles to his right, small pillars of smoke rose.

"Yes, there they are" Tal thought to himself. "There is the camp, making due without me" he then said to his horse with a chuckle. The horse did not seem to notice, only continued to froth at the mouth and gallop towards the camp.

As the steed continued its run, the Duke pulled three scrolls of parchment from the horse's saddle bag, and placed them under his arm.

Riding into camp was harder than he had thought as well. It seemed that the Army had created a small string of forts from the nearby woods, and was slightly broken up in each of these four forts. The Lord Marshal, of course, had insisted on being in the front fort, closest to any enemies he might get his hands on. Before ever reaching the forts, several archer patrols took potshots at him, one arrow nearly scathing his new and unblemished armor, courtesy of King Trollbane's sons. He silently shook a fist at them in anger as he passed on by through a small valley.

Finally riding into the first fort he was stopped by the rear guards, questioned, and finally released only to make the same stop in the next two wooden forts. After nearly a day of hard riding, his horse stopped suddenly, nearly throwing him off of his saddle. Refusing to go any further, Tal dismounted and continued on foot towards the last fort, whose battlements lay but a hundred yards off.

Finally entering the fort, he was again confronted by the damned picket guards.

"Oi! You there boyo! Stop in the name of the Alliance!" the leading picket screamed out as he barged through the uncompleted gate. The picket, an obvious militia man was covered in dust and grime from the hard march that the army had just undergone.

Tal sighed as he prepared to explain himself once more. And the inevitable interrogation began. "Who are you, and by what rights do you have to trespass on the requisitioned land of the Alliance military forces?"

Sighing once more, he replied "I am Duke Winfield of Stranthon County of the nation of Azeroth and loyal servant of the Alliance of Azeroth"

"Sorry sir! Jus' been reports of the Undead spies lurkin' amongst our own ranks! The whole army's in paranoia, everybody thinkin' the other one is be'in an Undead bastard prepared to sell us out at any second!"

This was disturbing news that Tal had not heard of before. "Of course, the Scourge operates many agents that are living men, yet have damned themselves to the Litch King's will. Never mind me gentlemen, carry on!" he respectfully, if not wearily replied, the hard day's ride catching up to him.

"Find a cot and get some rest!" his body screamed at him. But no, he could not until he delivered his message and resumed command over his brigades. And as he winded his way through the tents, he finally found the Lord Marshal's. Walking in through the patches of cloth that were supposed to be the doors, he spotted Alaric sitting in his same old rickety wooden chair peering over a map with a swirl of command staff around him. They all turned to his direction as he limped into the tent.

"Duke Winfield! Good to see you again, and as you can see, the Army has made good progress northward. Seemed a bit hard for you to catch up eh?" the Lord Marshal said, trying to inject some good humor into what was obviously a room that was filled with a simmering discontent.

Tal nodded numbly, and then handed Alaric the papers. "Sir, a full account of the supplies in Stromguard. The foolish quartermaster 'forgot' where the army was. If you ask me sir, it is treachery within our own ranks back on the home front" he reported as if a stunned stag.

"Treachery?" Alaric replied, incredulous to the news. "What has happened now…" he said searching through the three pieces of stained parchment.

"After King Wrynn had left to secure new trade rights with Kul-Tiras, Baron Difel of Goldshire declared his throne illegitimate, and apparently ahs started a peasant uprising on the outskirts of the city. Nothing that the Royal Guard can't handle, but it will take away many of the precious resources we need for this campaign" the Duke said, still reeling from the two day ride.

Alaric said nothing, just stared at the papers. A mage, Alenphor human from the Dalaran resistance burst out "That is a complete bypass of the power of the King and his heir! This…Baron…should be hung!"

But the Lord Marshal nodded his head, and said "Bah, its just politics. Leave this idiot Baron to be. All that we now can expect is that this damned vendetta will deny us some supplies we probably never would have received in the first place anyway. Besides, its all going to blow over before King Wrynn ever gets back. His Queen is quite the diplomatist"

"Yes sire" the Duke said, confused at the Elf's strange calm in light of such dire events. He then added "Sire, I have also come across reports of several encounters with some form of resistance forming along the east coast in a relatively narrow span of land. Stromguard has lost many outposts in the past few weeks due to these mysterious attacks. King Trollbane has asked permission to 'borrow' some of your units of militia and the regulars still in the city to investigate. I believe it to be uncoordinated attacks from the Scourge, but Trollbane thinks its something else"

The Lord-Marshal pulled out a pipe, apparently given to him by some dwarf along the course of the campaign northward and puffed thoughtfully for a while before responding. "It's ok. Militia never hold the line anyway, they are next to worthless. Though I believed that their raw numbers would help us gather resources, it doesn't matter now though"

He then stood up, a slight luminescence emanating from his face (as do all Elves) and looked as if was about to give a speech.

"Commanders and generals. Lords, Barons, and Dukes, we have all traveled this perilous road together for the past month and a half. In that time, we have made three major engagements with the Scourge, and lost less than four thousand men; a feat of great accomplishment given all previous fights with large numbers of the beasts. We have past through the ruins and ashes of countless cities, towns, and hamlets. And in this time, we have brought a light back to a land that once was held as the crowing jewel of civilization. We still stand! In a land deprived of its birthrights we have returned as its prodigal sons to return the Light to this place"

Speeches will do much to boost the moral of the men, but what will the do against the enemy? And these councils of war…they do nothing but incite arguments. Tal Winfield thought to himself.

But Alaric continued "And now, as our goal finally reaches close, I have been informed that at least two other Alliance armies are converging on our position to bolster our ranks and lay siege to the Undercity. Once this symbolic place is taken, we will drive out the evil spirits and reclaim the land of Lordaeron as a nation in whole. From there, we shall travel to the Tirisfal Glades where the Scourge is likely to be in wait and completely and finally mobilized to take on our full force. Once we defeat whatever they muster there, the road to Northrend is laid bare" and as he ended his speech, looking tired from the days of strategizing, he nodded distinctly at Tal, and slowly exited the tent to his own where he would rest along with the men, for the hardest part of the campaign would now begin.

……………………………………

It was cold outside - very cold. As he stepped out of the tent, a gust of wind and swirl of snow nearly swept him off his feet. "Of course, it's a mountain you fool" he scolded himself.

In the two months that this campaign, the armies of the Alliance had made little progress. Other than his force, none had truly made it past the Altrec Mountain Range, the war bogging down into a stalemate especially on the outskirts of the Arathi Highlands and Dalaran City ruins. Earlier on, when he had made his speech he had lied. There would be no reinforcements, and perhaps from now on, no more supplies from the raw power of this new Alliance. In the beginning of the war, the Scourge was unprepared and caught of guard. Many advances had been made, but now…now, things were different.

But now that the Scourge had mobilized to meet the new threats from the south, Alaric noticed something; for the past week not a single Undead minion had been sighted, another thing of great dilemma. And just three days ago, a man had been caught in camp using dark magiks and contacting Light knows what daemons and Undead monsters. That had caught everybody off guard. A spy in their army? That was something the Undead had never done before.

"Perhaps they are pulling back and waiting to engage us in one climactic conflict…end the threat once and for all…" he said to himself as he donned his High-Elven armor, its once silver, green, and gold, now tainted in small dots around the shoulders by the acid rains that had fallen the other night.

And another thing that certainly disturbed him; the increasing reports of vicious attacks from purple skinned creatures and other beasts that traveled with them. Many in this land did not know of the Night Elves, or were at least led to believe in fantastic mystical tales about them. Did the Night Elves follow him over the sea after they had secured the Waters? If not, then what were those things that were so seemingly trailing this particular army?

Finally robed in warm clothing underneath his thick armor, he walked outside. The army had made its stop here yesterday, and today they would move out. Their destination; the Undercity, and finally the Tirisfal Glades to where Kel'thuzad clutched the Book of Medivh that held the so needed knowledge of how to control the Waters of Eternity. When that job was complete, the navies of Kul-Tiras would meet up with them on the shores of Tirisfal Glades, and they would travel to the beating heart of their enemy; the very reason and history behind all their pain and suffering – the Litch King – Arthas of Lordaeron and Northrend.

…………………………..

Altrec City Ruins, Lordaeron, March 22nd

An infinite sadness swirled with the ethereal wind in this place as if a ghost of the weeping people who used to live here. This was a desolate frozen desert, a place once of music, and drinking, and laughter. Now, it was a place of death, and hollow remembrance of a nation of man, become an empty vessel of its former self.

This was the once pleasant city of Alterac. It was no longer a city of course; it was a shattered ruin. During the darkest hours of the Second War, when the endless dark masses of the green skinned Orcs washed upon Lordaeron as water upon a beachhead, the King of Alterac forged in secret a union between the people of his nation and the Horde. From that moment, he sealed the fate of his people as the remaining Alliance nations responded by sending their most battle tested armies against the traitorous King Perenold. And so in a few short weeks, the nation of Aletrac had fallen into ruin.

With its riches plundered, royalty imprisoned, and all forms of self government gone, the people of Alterac never recovered. Of the once seven hundred thousand people of this nation, barely thirty thousand remained today. After the Second War ended, Lordaeron under the benevolent King Terenas Menethil's arm occupied Alterac. And so it had been for thirteen years until the time of the Scourge. In that time, Lordaeron fell along with Quel'thalas along countless souls of not only the people of those nations but their neighbors as well.

And with no one to guard their once 'occupied' territories and with no hope of ever battling back the Scourge, the bulk of the remaining people of Altarec left their nation forever to the more forgiving lands in the south. The only people that now remained in these desolate ever winter lands were rangers and bandits. People who barbarously and inhumanely made their own living.

That was the fate of the northern counties of Alterac. For those in the south, the last thirty thousand or so of its people were protected by the shield of Stromguardian, remaining Dalaran and Elven, and sometimes Gilneas forces.

Finally, after nearly three years of complete isolation from the outside world, living people had once again stepped foot in the crumbling half frozen ruins of the city.

He was the first one to enter the remains of the city; the once beautiful arches that led to the gates were now little more than rubble. He and his honor guard passed the rotted wooden gates and more than several skeletons still bearing armor from that climactic final battle that forever shattered this nation, in the streets of their city as the all too powerful Alliance forces converged on them from all sides.

As Alaric Faltron'Quel passed into the city, he barely even noticed the howling, freezing winds unlike those of the army who shivered not only in thought of the cold, but of the unbreakable silence that had for years descended on this city. Instead he focused on the solemness and sadness of their surroundings. The empty taverns and houses, farms and markets; the skeletons of once everyday people half buried in the snow; all in the name of a traitorous King! They did not even know what it was they fought for…no, it was not their fault. Their King brainwashed them into acts of betrayal, desperation, and animalism.

That riled Alaric. "I was in the Second War! I was leader of armies and navies; I fought in countless battles and melees. I saw the heart of the Orcs for what they were; mindless beasts driven by the urge to kill, maim, and conquer. And still this man, Perenold, still betrayed our holy Alliance that was created to fight for all good, just, and right. At that moment he proved that he was no better, perhaps even lower, than those animals" he said to himself.

But it did not matter now. Perenold had escaped his confinement in his house arrest during the First Purge that swept Lordaeron. Once again showing his colors, he pledged his soul (if he had one) to the Litch King, and became a Death Knight…a beast lower than any Orc that had ever lived. His betrayals to humanity were only rivaled by that of Arthas, the architect of his own nations downfall.

As he passed through the main street of the city, the army followed. "We will have to get through this as quickly as possible sire! Many are suffering from frostbite and others are falling sick rapidly! This land is cursed, and we shall be as well if we do not depart quickly" his adjutant said riding up beside him, their horses sweat now freezing into dark mats of frost upon their backs.

"Yes, yes. I guess we should leave this land as quickly as possible. Now listen to me, keep all the columns moving in short order. No stragglers, and do not pitch camp in the city or in its outskirts. The ghosts of this place will haunt us this night if we stray to far into their domain" he replied, tone as serious as he could make it. Already had many a man been possessed of hysteria and ran madly away from the camp. None of them were seen again.

The adjutant, a human boy by the name of Tilghman, nodded in obvious fear of such fairy tale ghosts that were all so real and rode off to the other commanders who would keep up the pace. Soon, they would be out of this most deathly of places and once again descend from the Altrec Mountain Range and into the lowlands of the Western Plaugelands. Within three weeks they would be in sight of the Undercity.

He stopped the obviously exhausted horse and received a remount. This fresh horse was something new. He could see its ribs showing from the thinly stretched skin over its frame. But he already knew, there was barely enough food for the men, let alone the horses who tried to feed on the dead tree bark remains of the army.

With more sadness filling him, he gently guided the horse along with his guard. They found Dethal, angry as always, tending to a broken wagon that was chocking up the all so wide main road through the city. He ordered Dethal to ride with him, and scout out a path for the army once they had escaped the confines of this ghost city.

Finally with hours of time passed, they escaped the damned city far ahead of the army, pulled a map out, and would begin sketches of the land ahead. But nay! As soon as they had left the city behind them, echoes and noises from the surrounding mountains broke the silence.

Trying to ignore the noises, or at least be on the alert, they continued up a snow covered path that once belonged to the peasants of this past nation who would use it to return meat, wood, vegetables, sugar, and other items to the market. But now, Alaric and Dethal used it as a scouting route, for their maps of this place had long been lost in the confusion of supplies that had occurred back in Stromguard.

Surrounding the city of Altrec were the mountains of the Altrec Range. The city sat smack dab right in the middle of the mountain range in a nice little basin that sometimes gave off radiating warmth. The easiest exit to the north was through the break in the mountains that they were passing through now past the Crushring Hold, an old castle that once stood superior to these lands.

Now within the very bottleneck of the break in the mountain, Alaric felt as if he was trapped, with high cliffs on either side of them. "No room if we are ambushed" someone said quietly in the background.

The grey skies contrasted perfectly with the grey rock in the cliff faces, and the grey gravel underneath the white snow.

Suddenly! Up ahead, a dull orange light escaped from a huge cave on the right cliff wall. From within the cave were the noises that they had heard before. It sounded like a workshop, with high pitched voices emanating from within. Alaric held up his hand in a gesture for the others to stop. And for a moment there was complete silence from them, only observing the noises from within the massive cave. Alaric demounted, and tied his horse to a jagged rock that stuck from the side of the cliff with his special 'unbreakable' elven rope.

Slowly making his way across the small space between him and his riders, he winced as the snow crunched under his feet making a noise that sounded all too loud. He then put his body against the cliff wall, and scuttled closer to the cave until he reached the end of the wall and the beginning of the cave. He slowly turned his head around the corner to behold – a door inscribed with strange runes he had never seen before. Sensing no danger, he stood back up and walked towards the cave door. Approaching the door, he looked closer at the runes, and finally recognized them. They were basic human language, telling of something like a 'great buy'.

He then uttered one word "Goblins"

Goblins were extremely reclusive species of small green skinned kind. They scuttled around in caves, mountains, forests, plains, and just about every other type of terrain Alaric could think of. Quite simply put, goblins were everywhere! The only thing they would ever do to be seen by outsiders was to receive gold. It was the only thing goblins ever cared about, ever would care about.

Once allied with the Orcs, the goblins betrayed their former allies sensing their defeat at the end of the Second War. It was the goblin designs that had carried the Horde over the Great Sea into Lordaeron after the destruction of Stormwind in the First War. But after the stunning defeats the Orcs had suffered in part of internal civil wars, they had left the Horde and gone back to their old way of life. Since then they had revived their old ways of creating amazing technology and machines all to sell them for their all too expensive prices. The goblins were in essence just like gnomes in their lust for technology, and unrivaled in their lust for riches, money, investments, and capital.

Unsheathing his sword, Alaric slammed its hilt on the door, demanding entrance. After trying for minutes, he then proceeded to trying open the door with magic. After uttering many phrases of magic, the door stood still and resolute. He called back to Dethal and the riders "Magic sealed. Just like my cape. Hmph! I know exactly what to do to get these things out" he motioned to Dethal, who nodded bringing three golden coins in the palm of his gauntlet. He handed them to Alaric, who in turn placed them in front of the door. After about half a minute, the door itself seemed to dissolve into thousands of tiny metallic tendrils and tentacles which disappeared into the walls of the cave. In the door's wake stood a small green creature about three feet high.

"Weeeeeeelcom stranger!" it said in the usual goblin tone and pitch, continued "to our humble tinker palace here in Donavor, but you may know it as Alterac!"

Alaric stood stunned for a moment as the words flowed from the goblin's mouth, its mouth never ceasing to show either some dialogue or a sharp smile of greedy, sharp teeth. Feeling more comfortable the riders along with Dethal filed in closely behind Alaric to witness a creature none of them expected to see here in these Plaugelands.

Finally, as the creature's most annoying talk died down, Dethal came up from behind Alaric and whispered into his long ear "Sir Alaric, we may be able to purchase a quicker mode of transportation from these creatures"

"A sound idea Dethal, and I am sure that they will buy from a reasonable price seeing as how they have probably had no business for the past few years" he whispered back.

Turning back to the talkative goblin, he began his own greeting "Greetings from the Alliance good goblin. My men and I are seeking to find the fastest means of transportation you have available"

"That would be our goblin zeppelins good sir! Right this way!" the goblin once again said smiling, his ravenous half disguised looking gestures for money barely making any effect on Alaric. And so the creature led them inside the cave where an amazing workshop was setup. The goblins had huge catwalks and laboratories in the different caves that split off from the main hallway. Eventually, after passing countless cave offshoots that led to the dormitories, factories, and probably connected to other goblin outposts in the area they arrived in a huge cavernous chamber deep underground.

Near the roof of the enormous chamber Alaric spotted rows upon rows of goblin zeppelins, the same craft used to transport nearly half of the Horde across the Great Sea. The bulbous aircraft were naught more than old cloth (patched and re-patched in many places), with dusty and old ropes connected to what looked to be the hulk of a human man-o-war without the dwarven cannon, and masts.

Looking back down, Alaric noticed that the damned goblin was talking again "…and that one right there is our finest. Will cost you the plump price of 300 gold pieces! My homies here would call that expensive, but you must understand that there had been no business for a while" the goblin's smile grew even wider.

"If we can purchase all of these, then we might be able to transport the entire army over Lordamere Lake and take the fight to the Undead quicker than I thought. Though, I am beginning to believe due to these scouting reports that the Undercity is without worth, and Kel'thuzad is a greater prize…no matter, these matters shall solve themselves once we pass over the Lake. That is if I can acquire these damned balloons without trouble!" Alaric mused to himself.

"Well good goblin sir, I believe it is time we talked business" he then added.

……………….

At the northern shore of Lordamere Lake, Lordaeron, March 25th

Duran Talonfist was a Blood Elf. Four years ago he had been exiled from Quel'thalas before the Scourge attack (for reasons not truly known, but it was said to have been a crime worthy of death, not exile). He was once Ranger-General of Quel'thallasen forces, and he profusely believed he not the new Ranger-General Sylvanis could have held the Scourge at bay when it attacked his beloved, exiled home. But nay, he had wandered that year into Dalaran, and there became quite an esteemed wizard in but several months.

And then that week came…that horrible bloody week. It was known as the Siege of Dalaran. He had served in the Dalaran magocracy's forces, having great magic abilities so common in the mystic nation. He fought on the walls, in the streets, in the homes, workshops, and even the forbidden temples. He slaughtered hundreds of Undead in the memory of his exiled homeland which had fallen not but a month before.

After Dalaran fell to the abominable Arthas, he had no home left, and once again wandered the wilderness. After he had been rounded up with Prince Kael's resistance fighters, he served with the Sunstrider until the final battle around the Frozen Throne where he and his fighters were split off from the main force in the frantic retreat that ensued.

When he returned to this broken land, he gathered the few survivors he could and swore eternal vengeance for all those that had been killed. The oath finally converted him from the final High Elf, to the last Blood Elf convert. And now, with his underground resistance he had fought a headless enemy for three years.

Since Kael's disappearance after the Frozen Throne affair, he had no superiors and answered only to himself. Life went as it always did, their nomadic band of freedom fighters moving from one abandoned, ruins town to the next always hitting the Undead where it hurt them the most: their necropolises, and then fleeing before they were caught.

Other than food and clean water which constantly plagued his men, the greatest need that they had gone without for nearly two years was news. For all they knew, they were the last of the mortal living on the surface of Azeroth. Last they heard was that Grand Marshal Anduin Praeton had retreated from the Lordaeron northlands to the more defensible south.

This week though, would bring the much wanted news, by great irony they were about to cross paths with other freedom fighters and Blood Elves that swore that same oath that all the others had taken. Soon, they would meet Alaric'Quel's fighters.

"This damned town is giving me the creeps milord!" a voice cut through the chilly air. The town they were in was a little fishing hamlet, or at least used to be one. Now, it was a place of mourning, the many bodies of its own dead thrown into Lordamere Lake that stretched out behind them, its once pristine blue waters were filthied, polluted, and now a dark sickly green.

"This town looks the same as ever one that we stop in Gathmag" he said, deep voice hiding his regrettable past, and not hiding the unquenchable thirst for magic.

"All sticks and ashes" another voice said in the background. Duran looked back over to his men who were setting up camp in what used to be the main street of the hamlet. Mostly Blood Elves with a few humans in the mix, his men had been through what most had never imagined. Each one was a brother forged in the heat of the eternal war of vengeance that they waged.

Suddenly the men stood, looking to the water's edge. They began to shout out, pointing at the sky, eyes wide with amazement. Duran turned to see what the commotion was about. But there was nothing in the water! What were they shouting about? Suddenly, he caught the reflection that shimmered in the water. Slowly, he lifted his head to beheld a black cloud far in the distance over Lordamere Lake.

But as time passed and the cloud neared, he could start to make out different shapes and sizes from the cloud. As they neared closer, he now understood; Goblin Zeppelins.

"What in the name of the Light are goblins doing here?" he mumbled.

He ordered his men to take defencive positions, reminded them that it was the Orcs who first wielded the mighty machines of air travel, and so, as the blimps passed over them, they watched - waited.

………………..

At the Northern Shore of Lordamere Lake, May 25th

Alaric had ordered his lead zeppelin to lower first. As they neared the ruins of the old town, he could make out movement, some strange event happening in the ruins of the hamlet. And again as they passed closer to the town, his men began to shout out; there were people, some kind of people stumbling through the ruins of the hamlet. It seemed amazing enough that there were people here so close to the Undercity itself, but even more so that most of them were Blood Elves.

Their leader had identified himself as Duran Talonfist, and he had commanded his freedom fighters now for three years. He himself was a Blood Elf, and immediately pledged himself and his men to Alaric as soon as he had beheld the wonderful emanating overflow magics of the Waters of Eternity. Talonfist had given his local knowledge of the area, which helped greatly, many of the old landmarks swept away in the undead Purges.

Talonfist then explained how the Forsaken were a splinter cell of the Scourge. They bowed not the Litch King, but to their overlord and mistress; Sylvanis Windrunner, the same elf woman that had commanded the defenses of Quel'thalas almost three years to this day.

According to Talonfist, the Forsaken were far different than the Scourge. Each one of their ranks retained their own individuality to a degree, and was far more capable of thinking than the average reanimated zombie. And that was why they had to clear them out for good. They were perhaps a greater threat in the long run than even the Scourge, for it was rumored that Sylvanis and her Forsaken lackeys were dabbling in the arts of the same Plague that nearly brought Lordaeron to its knees before it ever fought the main Scourge.

Now equipped with the knowledge required, the will, the strength of arms, and its other abilities, the Army of the Durnhold, nearly 80,000 strong inevitable march to its greatest battle yet. Its vast ranks held men, dwarf, gnome, and elf. It possessed the cultures of every nation and county in the land. It was armed with magic, the sword, lance, of people from across the civilized world. It was a force like none other ever mustered for such an action of war.

Within the day, (the day after the army had organized itself back on the ground and taken the zeppelins apart for travel) of the march, the old Capitol was in sight, and it was rather a tragic sight indeed. Much more so than the pitiful city of Alterac.

Above in the bird empty skies lay a vast overcast of dark clouds, easily not natural. The carpet of darkness was broken in several places by the strength of the sun, yet not enough to completely light the city. Ah the city! Below, lay the apex of what had been the civilizations of old.

There it was. Once the jewel of the world, now the second most hated place. It was hard to imagine that such a beautiful and imposing place could fall so much into such a dank, death infested, festering pit such as what lay before Alaric.

As they passed over the hill, the entire city came into vision. The once great towers of polished stone and metal that soared into the air as if invincible now were crestfallen, their remains poking into the sky like jagged spears. The Citadel and Royal Palace, once the home of the Menethil dynasty was completely razed; its tattered ruins splayed like such a dead animal across the square that once was its foundation. Below the raised hill that once allowed the Palace to preside over the city lay the various battlements and layers of wall that separated the aristocratic chambers from the everyday people that now stood with hollowness, a seemingly desolate blackness now casting their once bright features into the abyss. And around those areas were the everyday people's districts that stretched for kilometers on in. Those that were not destroyed in the fires that engulfed the city now all had some kind of structural damage and were far beyond any hopes of repair furthering the depressing sight of the city of the dead.

The Capitol had once been one of the greatest cities in the world, challenging those of Dalaran, Silvermoon, and especially Stormwind. But now it was nothing. A place of emptiness to the remaining living mortals of the world. It was void of anything, was a hole; a representation of the absolute dark, that contrasted that of the Light.

"There is nothing for us here" Alaric said slowly, gazing over the ruins of the city.

"But milord, we still must take this place. It would be a symbolic victory, and bring the thousands of Lordaeronians in hiding to our army" Duke Winfield said sure of himself riding up beside Alaric as columns of footmen passed by.

"Perhaps you are right. But right now, all I wish to do is punish those that did this to this once beautiful city. I lived here once, did you know?"

"No Lord, I did not" the Duke replied uncomfortably.

"Yes, I lived here for a great many years. Somewhere along the lines of fifty I believe. But it was so long ago, and I have not thought of it since. But now is not the time for soft words. Now is the time for action!" he pulled his rune blade from its sheath and quickly rode onward to the head of the footman column.

Dethal, trailing behind Alaric before silently moved up beside the Duke who asked "Whats his problem?"

All Dethal replied was "His blood is up good Duke. His blood is up"

……………………….

Day 8, Battle of the Undercity, Lordaeron

"Move those demolitions teams forward!" someone screamed. Behind him, four dwarfs that held an intricate looking device ran forward, placing the bomb and setting the fuse. All the footmen and dwarfs then dove for cover at the last second before the bomb went off blowing bits of rubble across their armored bodies and cover.

Genn Blackswift raised his newly forged sword and ran into the hole in the wall caused by the demo team's explosion. The other footmen in the room followed him, most tripping at one point over the ruins and rubble that lay across the floor.

They were in the late North Tower of the Guard Ramps, an outer fortification for the city when it was in the hands of men. The Tower was one of those that used to stretch into the sky, and held some of Lordaeron's most elite guard. Genn ordered his men to hold position while he scouted out the bombed out area from the top of the still intact (it was rare to find an intact tower in such devastation so they acted as focal points for lookouts) Tower. He ran up the short flights of stairs, to the top of the Tower, and beheld the sight of a great battle.

As far as Genn knew, the Army had invaded the city at four different points, all encountering heavy resistance from the creatures known as the Forsaken. At first, they didn't look at that different than the normal horrors they experienced from the Scourge, but seemingly enough these things thought for themselves and did not rely on sheer numbers to achieve their ends. Then, things got truly frightening.

As the battle passed from day to day, Genn's battalion of nearly a thousand men had been whittled down to no more than two hundred in due of the feints, counterattacks, mass deceptions, and other tricks the Forsaken were pulling out of their sleeve.

The Army had split into four wings, each designated to capture one of the tunnels that led to the actual Undercity, which was a sprawling maze of tunnels underneath the Capitol. So far, none had been captured, and thousands had died.

He had led his men through the ruins of the Capitol and fought without more than twenty hours of sleep in the past eight days. Genn could see on the faces of the men that this urban fighting was taking its toll. The men were losing their resolve, becoming weaker with each passing moment. Almost no rations had come through the past several days, and clean water was scarce in this damnable place.

But now Genn's mind warped back into reality. From the blown open rubble that he and his men charged through, four Forsaken awaited them. A vicious melee ensued, the Forsaken being much better swordsman than any Scourge underling.

But in the end the Forsaken were dispatched, and here they were! Just fifty yards down this alleyway was their objective, the massive tunnel that led into the Undercity!

Outside of the Capitol the Alliance artillery was firing; mortar shells whining downwards and destroying more in the already devastated city, more dwarven technology, their Siege Tanks, rumbling down the streets and unleashing devastating barrages on any occupied buildings. Behind the mortar teams vast regiments were forming up in neat squares preparing to rush into the city.

In the streets, columns of men moved back and forth being directed by sergeants. Elven and human mages cast great waves of ice and fire upon the enemies entrenched positions, but to no avail as for every one Forsaken banished, another five would replace it. And something that struck utter paralyzing terror into his heart; the Forsaken had summoned feral beasts and Infernals upon the city.

Infernals were demons, once part of the Burning Legion, now rouge after the Legions downfall. The immense fiery beings were juggernaughts, slaughtering everything in their way.

But below him, he spotted a ruined church that used to belong to the common folk out here. The Tunnel to the Undercity would be somewhere around there if the reports from the Blood Elf named Talonfist were correct. Sliding down the railings he met back up with his shattered battalion.

Again Genn raised his sword in a gesture for his men to follow him, and they charged. A sudden wave of arrows cut many down, and Genn ordered the men to take cover.

From behind the broken stained glass from a former church of the Light, Forsaken archers and ranged attackers continued their volleys on his pinned down men. Just then, someone called out his name. He looked back to see Gramath, his personal courier that he had sent to Command to receive orders on what to do next, and ask for relief for his overrun position.

"Lord! Command orders a full pullback out of the city!" Gramath exclaimed, face pumped full of blood from running the two mile distance there and back.

"What? After all the work we have accomplished getting to this point? How dare them?" he screamed out over the noise of the wounded men.

"I don't know sir!" Gramath replied, also yelling over the noises of battle that surrounded them "But the word was that the losses have been too heavy to sustain! We have lost entire companies and can't keep up this kind of attack!"

Genn's eyes filled with tears. They had endured suffering beyond belief in the past 8 days. And for nothing! Not one man had set foot in the Undercity! Nobody had even been able to glance at the heart of the infestation that plagued their land. And now, they would retreat. But the Lord-Marshal was a shrewd person. Perhaps he would revise his strategy and counterattack. Perhaps they could still take the city…

…………………….

Alliance Forces High Command, Outside the Capitol

The could not take the city. There would be no more attacks, only a orderly fall back. The utter carnage and slaughter had drained men like no other offensive battle he had ever coordinated. It was Alaric'Quel's greatest failure…his bane.

As he moved from one end of the command tent to the other, the commanders around him would fall silent, seeing that the Elf was truly defeated in all possible ways.

The strategy was sound. Move in quickly, efficiently, and above all in strength. They hadn't expected; one the sheer number of Forsaken within the city (a mistake never again to be made) and two the key factor: the Forsaken summoned rouge demons to do their dirty work.

But it did not matter now. The Army had been bloodied; nearly fifteen thousand men out of the ranks, but it had by no means been destroyed or hampered beyond use. They would simply have to go around the city to get to the Tirisfal Glades where Kel'thuzad lay in wait. It would take more time, but they would eventually reach their goal.

Right now, the only thing they could do was to calm the men, reinstate moral, and prepare for a long, hard march. But across the broken plains where the spirits of damned men lay in the once pristine Tirisfal Glades, Kel'thuzad was warned by his master of this so called 'Lord-Marshal', this Alaric. He had finally caught the eye of the Litch King, and now, Kel'thuzad and all the Scourge in his command were now commanded to seek out, and destroy the heart of the Alliance's war effort; Alaric'Quel, the mysterious and powerful Blood Mage that had appeared from no where with seemingly enough power finish what Illidan could not; undo the Scourge.

Bonus Profile: The Book of Medivh

For long had this fabled book been sought by mages, wizards, madmen, and creatures of darkness. In the later years of his life, the powerful Magus and Guardian of Tirisfal, Medivh, spent much time casting his knowledge in the Book of the Guardians (later renamed the Book of Medivh) which held all the written knowledge of the Guardians. Although he never completed it before his complete possession by the demon Sargaeres, it held a great many powerful spells, the literal history of magic, and even secrets that only the Tirrassalen or Guardians knew of the world.

The Guardians of Tirisfal were an ancient organization set up to protect the world from a renewed invasion by the Burning Legion. After each Guardian had died, a new one would be chosen and endowed with incredible powers. Medivh was the last of the Guardian's, and the most split faced to most people. During his life, Medivh worked for the good of all, fulfilling his secret war against the Burning Legion. But as he grew older, the specter of Sargaeras (which will be discussed later) that lay dormant in his body, awoke, and took utter control of the old man's consciousness and body.

It used Medivh's awesome powers and the knowledge in the Book to open the Dark Portal to Draenor, the Orcish world, and the First War ensued. After Medivh's death, the Book was taken to Dalaran where it was believed to be safe. And for nearly twenty years it sat protected in a magical case in the city.

Until the time of the Siege of Dalaran when the city was breached and the former mage Kel'thuzad took the Book as his own and used it to open up another portal to the Twisting Nether and begin the Second Invasion of Azeroth. In since time, Kel'thuzad has been granted control of the Scourge's forces in northern Lordaeron and has spent much time reading the words of the Book, and learning its knowledge. And until now, no one but the supposed prophet of the Light, Kelen, have discovered that in between the words lie a certain history of the Well of Eternity and a way to control them…

(So, what did you guys think of that chapter? Things are heating up, and soon a climactic confrontation between Kelthuzad and Alaric will occur, and old rivals will return to throw some twists into the story. Well, hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I am expecting reviews since there have been none for quite a while now. Anyway, the next chapter shouldn't be so long. In truth, this chapter was actually a MEGA-CHAPTER, but I decided to shorten it, if you can call it that , and split it up. So there, it shouldn't take long to get the next chappa out. Until next time guys, OmegaTrooper OUT!)