Shathdra Cale'Seth, daughter of the mage Dranis Cale'Seth, stared down upon her home and the home of her people for seven thousand years, the great high elven city of Silvermoon. She had always felt a sense of pride, of purpose, whenever she had done so in the past…but today she only felt a great dread about what would happen in the next few days. The undead Scourge was sweeping across all of Lordaeron, destroying everything they touched, corrupting flora and fauna with their mere presence…and now they were on a direct course for Silvermoon city, nestled deep in the heart of the Eversong forest. She knew that this would be their last stand as a people, but she would fight regardless, as was her duty as a paladin. Today she wore a simple blue dress that swished around her ankles as she walked, with delicate white slippers adorning her feet. Tomorrow, however, she would be dressed for battle, in shining plate armor, hammer in hand to crush the undead that would dare threaten her home. Her white-blonde hair hung loose about her shoulders, piercing blue eyes sad with the knowledge that her home would soon become a battlefield. With a weary sigh she turned from the balcony, heading back inside her house to prepare a modest meal for herself. Soon she would retire in an attempt to sleep, images of the threat that now faced her people plaguing her dreams.
That morning…
"Wake up, Shathdra, the Scourge are nearly at our gates!" Came the urgent whisper of one of her fellow paladins, a younger man named Vallos, rousing her from her fitful slumber. Satisfied that she was now awake, he left the room so she could prepare. Shathdra began to get dressed, placing the under padding for her armor over her clothes.
"This is the day my people die," she whispered sadly, having seen it. She had always been cursed with a degree of foresight, though she couldn't will it to work on command. The paladin had seen this day coming after the news of the Scourge reached Silvermoon, had seen them cut a devastated swath across Lordaeron, then destroy the precious Sunwell, the high elves' source of arcane power. Despair griped her heart before she ruthlessly squashed it down, her squire helping her into her shining silver armor, the plates fitting her like a glove, the smiths having tailor made it just for her at her father's request. The last piece in place, Shathdra pulled on her helmet, and then took up her mighty war hammer, runes of power and strength engraved upon its head. This would be her last stand, for today she would die along with her people.
Hours had passed, the main gates breached by the necromancers among the undead army, the Scourge too strong and numerous for even the high elven magic to stem their seething tide. Shathdra stood beside her father now, one of the most prominent mages of Silvermoon, his flowing hair and wisp of a beard pure white, the only real sign of his advanced age, with perhaps a bare hint of wrinkles around his eyes. Like her, Dranis had piercing blue eyes, the weight of centuries in their depths. The power that leapt from his fingertips was awesome to behold, fire and fury cutting down swaths of the undead legion gathered here, the last bastion before they would take the isle of Quel'Danas, the resting place of the mystical Sunwell. Shathdra stood before her father, guarding him with her life, hammer crushing any that dared draw near, her powers over the holy Light devastating the unholy creatures almost as much as the arcane wrath her sire was unleashing upon them. Around them the battle still raged, elves and undead locked in mortal combat, the dead rising again to fight the living…and the elves were losing badly. It would not be long before they were crushed utterly and driven to the winds. Her father was growing tired, as was she, the two of them having fought valiantly, but the grim reality was soon upon them. They would not survive this fight. This fact was hammered into devastating focus when the swarming undead parted before a figure in skull embossed, dark armor, his hair stringy and white, eyes a cold, dead blue, a rune engraved sword in his gauntleted right hand.
"Arthas," Dranis whispered, recognizing the prince despite his drastically changed appearance. Shathdra shivered, cold dread creeping into her bones, the aura surrounding this human black and utterly evil. "My daughter, we shall not live past this day." He laid a gentle hand on her left shoulder, attempting to comfort her. "We shall meet again, the Light willing."
"I know, father," she murmured, taking his hand briefly before taking her stand, hammer poised in preparation to strike. The former prince of Lordaeron smirked at her defiance, striding boldly towards her. With a sharp cry she attacked, holy energy swirling like a tempest around her as she gathered the last of her strength in an attempt to strike down this abomination. Her war hammer descended swiftly, Arthas raising his rune blade to block it. Energy sparked violently, a cold fire enveloping the rune engraved sword, the sentient weapon known as Frostmourne easily overpowering the enchantments on her own weapon, shattering it and knocking her backwards into a damaged building, her helmet the only thing that saved her skull from being crushed. A shout of rage sprang from her father's lips, the mage bringing the full weight of his powers down upon the death knight. Fire and ice exploded around him, the undead gathered nearby obliterated by the blast. Dranis doubled over with exhaustion, gasping for breath, having expended all of his strength in the attack. The smoke cleared, revealing that Arthas had survived unscathed, the same confident smirk upon his face. That smirk turned into a feral grin as he impaled the old elf upon his sword, draining his soul viciously. Shathdra, having just removed her ruined helmet, screamed a denial at the sight, staggering to her feet before rushing to attack despite the fact she lacked a weapon. Calling desperately to the Light, she fired a blast of concentrated holy power at the death knight's back, a grunt of surprise her only reward, the back plate of his armor heavily scorched.
"Bitch!" He snarled, delivering a brutal backhand to her unprotected jaw, easily shattering it with his unnatural strength. She crumpled to the ground in a defeated heap, unconsciousness soon claiming her, the paladin soon knowing no more.
Arthas scowled as he gazed down upon the elven woman that had attacked him while his back was turned, grasping her by the breastplate to wrench her upright. She was unconscious, no real surprise there with the amount of force that had been behind his swing. That last attack of hers had actually hurt him, no small feat considering his amazing new powers. A silent command had one of the nearby surviving ghouls scrabbling to his side, prostrating before him. He bade it take the girl back to the supply wagons, to place her among the others he had been collecting during the campaign across Lordaeron. A wicked, evil grin came to his lips, a chilling laugh escaping him as he went to rejoin the slaughter. He would usurp the Lich King's rule, take his throne for his own and sweep across the globe, slaughtering all in his path, and the best part was, the so called heroes of the races of Asteroth would be the ones leading the charge.