The Capital of Lordaeron, far to the north.
Terenas Menethil, King of Lordaeron, was exhausted.
"We've received reports that the orcs are regrouping. Would any of you care to provide further illumination as to this troubling development?" The Stormwind ambassador spoke from his designated alcove, one of several circling the upper floor of the throne room. Clearly the man was in fact well-informed. Ass.
"Certainly the recent destruction of the internment camps is evidence enough." It was only fitting that Genn Greymane, isolationist king of Gilneas would appoint a suitably snide representative.
"So, it would seem that a new Warchief has arisen and a reborn Horde is on the move, once again." stated the first.
"This is absurd. Terenas, you blatantly disregarded our wishes in sparing the orcs and forming those camps. Now our collective security is at risk as a result. My nation will not standby and watch as a new Horde masses on our very doorstep. If you will not clean up your mess immediately, we will."
In truth, the King appreciated how forthright the Stromgarde ambassador was, at times. Not enough to forgive such a slight. "Know your place, ambassador. The Church of Light entreated us to show a measure of mercy, as you are all aware. Perhaps if others had helped shoulder the burden, this audience would be unnecessary. The new 'Horde' is a far cry from its predecessors. Soon it will be defeated, as they were."
"The orcs are not our primary concern here, how many times must I repeat myself?. King Terenas, you must heed my warning! This plague that has gripped the northlands could have dire ramifications." Evidently the emissary from the Dalaran mageocracy could no longer contain himself.
Stromgard's chosen scoffed. "'Plague?' You wizards are just being paranoid!"
"Let us keep all this in perspective. Even if this plague does pose a threat to us, what are you proposing that we do?" asked the Gilnean dignitary.
"It is simple. As I have said, the Kirin Tor are already prepared to place the villages under strict quarantine."
"I will not institute a quarantine of such scale without further proof of your claims, ambassador. The people of Lordaeron have suffered enough in recent times without becoming prisoners in their own lands." It was hard to believe that decades had passed since the end of the last war. The horror and scale of those conflicts had seemingly banded the Alliance together to an unprecedented degree, giving Terenas hope that at least something good might emerge from those terrible trials.
To the King's regret, it had taken little time for internecine bickering to reassert itself, perhaps even worse than before. His eyes turned to the platforms reserved for the dwarves of Ironforge and high elves of Silvermoon. Though there were reasonable explanations for the inadvertent vacancy at the moment, and they would have made this frenetic exchange worse by default, he could not help some sadness at the sight.
The melancholic reflection of Terenas was disrupted by the sound of flapping wings. Curiously, a large raven flew through the hall to land some distance from his throne, near the center of the chamber. He raised a hand for silence, as two of his visibly confused King's Guard approached the bird. They were near immediately stopped short - along with all others present - as the oddly bold creature blurred, glowed green, and resolved into the shape of a man bearing a staff and swathed in a feathered, hooded cape.
"Yet prisoners they are, good king." An enigmatic voice emanated from the bearded lower face.
The King was not amused at this intrusion. His guards instantly, albeit cautiously, closed ranks around the invader, spears leveled. "You presume a great deal to enter my throne-room uninvited, mage." A mage that seemed to have effortlessly breached the concealed wards intended to prevent unwelcome magic use, no less.
The sorcerer - if he was such - gave a small, conciliatory bow. "I mean no disrespect, majesty. And no harm. Time runs short, I could not afford to wait."
"What is the meaning of this, then? Who are you?"
"One who would save your people. Humanity and all of the Alliance is in dire peril. The tides of darkness have come again, and I offer council that may yet turn them." The man had raised his voice somewhat, turning towards each alcove before focusing on the King once more.
Terenas narrowed his eyes. "What 'darkness,' pray tell?"
"An existential threat that attempted to devour this world in the distant past, defeated at great cost. The return of the Burning Legion is imminent."
"The Burning Legion? Nothing but a myth!" derided the Dalaran.
"Very real, wizard. And Impending. Perhaps you should consult your historical texts?" Doubtless the intruder was fully aware that mages of Dalaran tended to view 'wizard' as a colloquial pejorative.
"Enough of this! Guards, remove this insolent cur!"
"Hear me, all! The only hope for your people is to travel west, to the forgotten lands of Kalimdor." The rogue raised his hands in a placating gesture. Somewhat negated by his words, unfortunately.
"Travel West? In pursuit of yet another fable?"
"Hold, ambassador." Terenas interjected firmly. He then returned his attention to the unwanted visitor. "I don't know who you are. Nevertheless, you have the audacity to invade this audience and demand that we all abandon our lands in some mass-exodus into the unknown western seas in search of this 'Kalimdor' at your call. A location that evidently none outside of Dalaran have heard the barest reference of. What evidence do you have to support these outlandish claims?"
"The plague beginning to overtake your realm is no natural epidemic, it is the artifice of the Legion. As was the arrival of the orcs to Azeroth, now decades past. Both intended to facilitate their return. They will slaughter every man, woman, and child. Grind Lordaeron and every other kingdom into dust as if they had never been. But you - all of you - can yet save yourselves. Make your stand on Kalimdor and cast the demons back into the twisting nether!"
The King's face hardened. "If that is all you have to offer, I see little reason to indulge you further. My line has ruled this nation, protected and served its people for a thousand years. We will not abandon our lands at the whim of a rambling soothsayer. Lordaeron may be beset by troubles, but it shall be we who decide how best to defend ourselves, not you! Now, leave. I have heard enough."
A heavy sigh. "I failed the world once before. I will not do so again. At least consider the possibility that I speak the truth. Your elven allies to the north should be able to verify my 'claims.' If you refuse to shoulder this burden, I shall find another who will. The warning has been given. Your fates are now your own." With that, the man turned and strode out of the chamber, guards parting at a gesture from Terenas.
Some time later, King Terenas brooded on his throne. He had called a recess and now occupied the room alone, but for his guard.
He could not help but feel the weight of his years. He was now fifty-eight years old. Near forty of them had he held his seat. His tenure had included the first and second wars with the Horde, possibly the most tumultuous period in the history of the realm. While he was loathe to admit it, he was not quite the warrior and ruler he had been. Capable still, he hoped, but undeniably lesser. Furthermore, he knew that he would never fully recover from the loss of his Queen, Lianne some years past.
A smile crossed his weathered face at the thought of their children. The eldest, Calia had trained as a priestess of the light, though was not an active member of the clergy. Arthas, the younger, had recently completed training as a paladin amongst the Knights of the Silver Hand - the militant arm of the Church of Light. That religious institution had always played a valued role in Lordaeron society, even more so than most human realms. Both parents had been very proud of their childrens' calling.
Prior to recent events, he had been considering early abdication. Though he had yet to make any announcement regarding succession, the subsequent choice might be readily apparent to many. Calia, bless her, was a gentle soul, ill-suited to the demands of a monarchy. Moreover, she had privately expressed reticence towards the notion on multiple occasions.
Arthas, by contrast, could in time prove a more than suitable candidate. Though certainly inexperienced, occasionally rash, perhaps overeager and arrogant at times, he exhibited nobility, devotion and resolve above all. Traits that had already earned the love of the people. With additional seasoning, his son may have the makings of a fine King. He had hoped to further groom Arthas for that station, all the while gradually ceding authority and fading towards a retirement.
The resurgence of the Horde and that damnable outbreak to the north had summarily quashed those intentions. He could not begin such a transition in this uncertain period. Still, perhaps he could set his heir on the path in a more indirect way. Arthas was not prepared to take the field against this new Warchief and his Horde. Even outside of war leadership was never without risk, let alone for a King or Queen. He could never fully spare a possible Crown Prince from this, nor should he try. A smaller, yet nonetheless important task, then. Blood him on the battlefield from a position of relative security, at the side of the best Lordaeron had to offer.
"Captain Falric," Terenas called.
"Your majesty." The captain of the King's Guard and leader of the current shift left his station and strode towards his monarch, clapping his right fist to his chest and bowing.
"Where is my son?"
"According to Lieutenant Marwyn, Prince Arthas had heard about the quarantine ward in Brill and was troubled. He wished to see it for himself." Falric replied.
Unfortunate, but hardly surprising. The compassion of his son was commendable as ever. Regrettably, this was another scenario that Arthas was not yet ready for. Frankly, Terenas was not entirely certain how best to address the prospect of a burgeoning epidemic himself. "Send for him, and the royal scribe. It is time we dealt with the Horde." He had several missives to send. The lesser of which might be a query to the high elves of Quel'thalas - surely It would do no harm to quietly conduct a cursory investigation into the stranger's ravings.
"At once, my King." Falric marched swiftly to the entryway and disappeared.
Orders issued, Terenas allowed himself to slump slightly, with a weary sigh. After a few minutes, purpose reasserted itself and he rose, setting out for his nearby office.
It never ends.
The town of Brill rested some half an hour by horse from the capital city, and far less if a gryphon could be found. Within sight of the walls, all but on the doorstep. Brill had benefited greatly from this proximity, and was one of the largest settlements in the Tirisfal heartlands. Arthas Menethil had visited as frequently as might be expected, holding many fond memories of the place. Occasions with family, friends, and later Jaina. While it was well defended, as wealth, location, and present times dictate; it had never lacked for laughter, music, camaraderie and general cheer. No longer.
Fewer lights seemed to shine from windows, some of which were even boarded up. This lent the houses he had once scaled to his mother's chagrin a foreboding air. Less people walked the streets and those that did were furtive, keeping others at distance. Thankfully, they showed suitable deference regardless. Talk was near-muted, and laughter did not exist.
Arthas had recently celebrated his Twenty-third birthday. Like his father, he was of respectable height and well-built from training as a paladin. They and his sister also shared the light hair and blue eyes common to the Menethil line. He had opted to leave behind the trademark reinforced plate-armor he possessed as a Prince and Knight of the Silver Hand today, wearing instead a royal blue, white and gold Lordaeron tabard over mail coat and skirt.
He reached his destination. The largest inn was formerly the beating heart of Brill, as with most towns, villages and cities. As a result, the silence felt all the more palpable. The cordon of soldiers holding a perimeter around the structure and a portion of the street did not assuage this impression. Their captain stood just inside of that barrier, speaking in hushed tones with two other men, wearing robes of the Kirin Tor and priesthood respectively. The captain appeared to recognize him first and saluted, approaching through his men, spell-casters in tow.
"Your highness, we are honored. I regret that we could not receive you under better circumstances." The captain stopped a short distance away.
Arthas gave a nod. "What 'circumstances,' Captain? What is the meaning of this?"
The mage responded, "some weeks ago a villager in one of the towns to the north developed a severe, rapid illness. He was treated by the local physician and seemed to recover almost immediately, with none thinking any further of it. Two days later, his symptoms returned, exacerbated. He was dead within the day.
"Over the course of the next few days, ten more villagers - including that physician - also displayed that same, second-stage. All passed within several nights. The following week, cases began cropping up in several other locations, all with sizable populations. Very recently six emerged here, they are being treated in isolation inside." He indicated the inn.
The Prince's eyes widened and he rounded on the priest. "What?! How is that possible? There is a church and priests in every settlement in Lordaeron, paladins in many! Surely some of you succeeded…?"
The priest lowered his gaze. "They - we - are trying. So far we have been able to ease pain and slow the condition, not cure it. Fortunately those of us empowered by the light appear to have some resilience towards this disease. Caution is still being taken, of course." He indicated his mask. "We will not rest until we are successful."
Now the mage took up the thread again. "The ability of light-users to adversely effect the disease - along with their resistance to it - implies that it may be eliminated by a more powerful application. Efforts are ongoing, needless to say. However, due to that inherent difficulty the leadership of the Kirin Tor are concerned that it may have no natural origin."
That chilled Arthas. "What do they suspect?"
"Some unknown form of magic, of course. This may yet prove a premature conclusion, in any case. I have been told that some of my superiors intend to petition the King to initiate a full quarantine of relevant locations. That seems excessive to many of us, as small-scale containment appears to have slowed the spread at this time." The mage inclined his head, "we will solve this, Prince Arthas. Most of us agree that the new Horde massing to the south is the greater threat, by a large margin."
I can't argue with that. "Agreed. Regardless, 'trying' isn't good enough. I need to see this for myself,"
He started for the door. Though none attempted to bar his passage, the Captain coughed and shifted nervously. "My prince, we were strictly ordered not to allow anyone in and out beyond healers. For the safety of all-."
"Did you receive those orders directly from the King?"
"No, highness. But..." stammered the man.
"I thought not. In that case, they do not apply." Arthas softened his tone slightly and gave a confident smile, resuming his stride. The priest wordlessly followed, several steps behind as was proper. "Besides, I am a healer." He heard the mage let out an amused, but not unfriendly snort behind. "The light will protect me."
The first thing he perceived upon entry was the stench. Sweat, blood, bile, even excrement. This was followed by something else. Not a smell, more intangible. Something vile that hovered beyond just beyond his senses. Upon turning the short corner into the common room, he could not help a gasp. Furniture had been hauled to the left side, leaving free a space upon which six evenly spread cots sat, a still figure on each. A second priest stood between two, each of her hands emitting the golden-glow of the holy light, a visual mirrored on the forms she was treating.
Each man and woman was unclad, presumably for easier treatment. The sight was less compromising than it otherwise might have been, as the skin of the victims was sallow and various blends of red, green, purple and black. They were covered in pustules of various sizes and shades. He had never seen anything like it. More disturbing still, however, was the faint, shifting green glow covering each. Arthas knew without a doubt that this was the source of the otherness he had felt.
"We have kept them comatose and prevented what pain we could. Unfortunately all our efforts have only slowed the process, they will not last much longer." The first priest spoke softly, filled with regret.
Still shaken, Arthas managed to regain his composure. "And that green glow?"
"'Glow?' What glow, your highness?" The man was confused.
"They are all surrounded by a foul aura. You can't sense it?"
"Neither of us have detected any such magic, Prince Arthas." The priestess had paused, clearly perplexed at his observation.
Arthas frowned. The haze upon the last two she had last channeled at had briefly retreated, but had slowly began to reassert itself in her absence. He muttered,"a more powerful application..." The paladin turned to regard both, "you have done what you could. Now it's my turn." He brushed past his subjects, privately unable to prevent some small judgement for their failure to protect his people.
"Your highness, it may still be unsafe..." she cautioned.
She was ignored by the paladin, who took up as central a position as he could. Squaring his stance, Arthas took a deep breath, focused his will, and reached for that wellspring deep within. A source of power intrinsically bound to his very being, yet also something else from beyond this realm. Unseen, yet clearly benevolent. Greater than any, even himself. On some level he had always been aware of the presence of that energy, though only came to fully understand its scope and implications upon beginning his paladin training.
It took only moments for that same golden luminescence to emerge from his own hands. But brighter, more intense and grand. It near immediately suffused his form, bringing with it the feeling of rapture and goodness Arthas had come to know so well. A divine aura that he extended to his people, and all six were illuminated in turn. Their bodies responded as he knew they would: pustules painlessly burned away, sores mended, mottled and pallid flesh restored to vibrant health, breath returning to normal. All to the visible bewilderment of the priests. Both rushed to the victims.
"Incredible," breathed the first, turning towards him, face lit. "We've been tending them for days, yet somehow you managed to accomplish more in mere moments." The man bowed deeply, "bless you, your highness." Arthas nodded his head at the just praise, proud.
His companion hurried to mirror the bow. "The light shines upon you, my Prince. I have only seen such a display of mastery once before, when I served as a healer under Lord Uther's command. Truly you are his student."
This made said Prince's smile falter. He held considerable respect for his mentor. Regardless, he could not help the twinge of bitterness at a moment of triumph being in any way subsumed into his instructor. Nonetheless, his lapse ended and the benevolent look returned.
"We will keep them sedated and under observation for now, but I think we can all agree that your actions speak for themselves. Thank you, Prince Arthas. We won't forget this, and neither will they."
Both bowed once more, and the Prince nodded. "There is nothing I will not do for my people. For all of you." He heard his title called from outside the inn by a familiar voice, then turned for the door. "Duty calls. Give them my best wishes."
"Couldn't last a day without me, Lieutenant?" Arthas approached the second of the King's Guard beyond the soldiers, unable to keep the teasing-grin from his face, in spite of recent events. Upon confirming no others were particularly close or attentive, he clasped his friend's wrist. "Good to see you, Marwyn."
"Likewise, highness, as always." The guard gave his countenance a once-over. "Are you alright?"
Arthas directed a thumb over his shoulder. "What I found in there was... troubling, to say the least. Several people were infected, with this 'plague,' or whatever it is. I was able cure them, fortunately." He further filled the other in, unable to suppress a shudder. "You served under Falric, Uther and my father in the last war. Did you ever see anything similar then? Or perhaps in your travels?"
Marwyn frowned. "I can't say that I - or they, I suspect - have." He looked at the inn turned clinic. "From what you have described, I am not entirely sure I wouldn't take more orcs, instead." The older man gave a smile. "Make no mistake though, I think many will be proud of your actions. The King most of all. Not that any will be surprised. And speaking of orcs, your father has summoned you."
Basking in the praise and interest more than piqued, the Prince queried. "Urgent?"
A nod. "Enough to send me with two gryphons, at least."
Now the excitement grew. A single gryphon was capable of carrying two human men, though at the cost of some speed. Clearly time was of the essence. "Then what are we waiting for?"
It took only minutes before they were away, and less still for the legendary flyers to traverse the short distance back to the capital roost. Here they borrowed horses for the much shorter - albeit comparatively longer - trip.
Arthas pressed the guard further, "what can you tell me?"
Marwyn took a moment in answering. "Little. I wasn't on duty at the time, but those that were said that the ambassadors' audience did not go well. All nations but one are deeply concerned about the Horde massing to the south, but there is no consensus on how to deal with the problem. And the Kirin Tor would have us ignore the matter in favor of addressing whatever possible plague it is that you saw. Ultimately no progress, it would appear. Evidently the most memorable part of the council was a mage that barged in near the end."
"A mage?" His thoughts were inevitably drawn to Jaina.
"Supposedly he was not hostile. Merely spouted some end-times babble and left peacefully when told."
Arthas pondered, then dismissed the subject. "Bizarre. Anything else?"
"Yes. Apparently the King has lost his patience and fully intends to eliminate the Horde, once and for all."
The prince almost stopped his horse at the admission. Could it be? He recovered, "and that's why I was summoned? He wants me to be a part of this campaign?"
"Well, I can't speak for your father. But I would be surprised if that isn't the case." Marwyn smiled, having some awareness of what this meant to him.
At last! He had waited long enough for his own command. To take the field against those vile fiends infesting Lordaeron and other Alliance lands. Arthas couldn't help a fierce grin of anticipation, spurring his mount to greater speed.
Before long, the horses had been stabled and he was striding through the palace gate, Marwyn at his heels. The guard bowed deeply to the throne upon entry, immediately rejoining his brethren. Arthas swept past them and towards his sire, taking a respectful, if unhappy, knee a short distance from his seat. "You summoned me, your majesty."
Terenas smiled at him. "Welcome, my son. I am pleased to see you return so swiftly."
"I came as soon as I heard, father. What is your will?" asked Arthas.
"In due-course. Rise. Now, tell me what you discovered in Brill?"
Arthas stood. "I am not entirely sure. A few citizens were quarantined with a condition unlike anything I have seen. Whether or not it qualifies as a 'plague' I can't tell. I successfully healed them."
To his surprise, his father reacted with a disappointed sigh, rather than praise. "That quarantine was in place for a reason. Why did you see fit to disregard your own safety so brazenly?"
Frustrated, Arthas held his tone in check with difficulty. "Was the safety of our people not worth such a risk?"
The face of Terenas softened slightly at that. "Your devotion does you credit. However, I trust that you will exercise greater caution in the future, Prince Arthas.
Reluctantly chastened, Arthas lowered his gaze. "As you say, my King."
"The condition has emerged in several locations and Investigation is underway. Unfortunately, we face more-pressing issues and have digressed long enough. I presume Lieutenant Marwyn briefed you on the latest developments?"
Ah, we come to it. "He did. I have to say, I am impressed you have endured those ambassadors in your court so long."
This brought a chuckle from his father. "There are days, to be sure. But I will now unequivocally state that I, Lordaeron, and the Alliance have suffered the Horde for too long. It is past time to end them, once and for all." No one in the chamber was unable to nod at that statement. "The task has fallen to us, again. Prince Arthas, you once encountered their new 'Warchief' before, did you not?"
"Only indirectly. I witnessed one of his bouts as a gladiator during my visit to Durnholde, more than a year ago."
"Witnesses have claimed that he wields magic of an unknown sort."
Arthas shrugged, "I can't say. He certainly displayed no such at the time. Merely an orc, like any other. Capable in combat, but otherwise unremarkable."
Terenas mused for a moment. "I suppose it is ultimately irrelevant. The greater danger remains his status as an icon. He and his minions have dismantled all of the internment camps, with ranks further swelled by numerous rogues that were still at large, it would appear. According to recent reports, some of the renegades are massing near Strahnbrad."
This made the Prince's eyes widen. "How many?"
"We do not know. Clearly enough to represent a significant threat to the area. It is uncertain if they are acting at the behest of this Warchief, or even aligned with him for that matter. They must be dealt with regardless. I am dispatching a force to counter this incursion immediately and would like you to join them."
Arthas had been unable to prevent his face from lighting up as the pronouncement continued. "It will be an honor to lead our warriors in defense of Lordaeron, father. I will not let you or our people down."
Terenas gave a fond smile, but raised his hand to forestall. "All in time, my son. I have sent a missive to Highlord Uther, with orders to take a battalion and begin securing the region. You will report to him."
Arthas froze, unable to fully comprehend what had just happened. He opened his mouth, but speech eluded him. And a second time. Finally, "what?"
"You will hold command for the journey, and cede to him upon arrival."
Anger began to assert itself, swiftly supplanting shock. He struggled to contain it, "but father... I am a trained paladin. A Prince! I am ready to face the foes of Lordaeron in the field!"
His father shook his head. "You are not, not yet. But you will be, my son. Very soon, I am certain. Watch and listen to Uther. Learn from him, as you did not so long ago. Your day will come." He descended the throne and pulled Arthas into an embrace. "I am already proud of you, and I have little doubt that you may become amongst our greatest, in time."
Arthas did not bother attempting to return the hug. His father didn't press him, pulling back. "The way should be clear and the journey short. I trust you to handle any issues that should arise."
Do you? "As you wish, your majesty." he muttered.
"I have already ordered the muster. You depart at dawn. I am sending Captain Falric and Lieutenant Marwyn with you." Terenas finished.
Bodyguards and babysitters. The prince flushed with embarrassment and indignation. Arthas wordlessly nodded, stiffly lowering his head in the closest attempt at a bow he could manage at present. He turned on his heel, leaving with as much haste as decorum permitted. Betrayed, publicly humiliated and seething.
There are things to be said.
The most egregious crimes of the 'writers' responsible for this mess can perhaps be boiled down to a single source: Arthas. I would likely cite him as the quintessential example of a writer attempting to convey a specific vision for a character at all costs, irrespective of its implications for the narrative.
In this case, shattering the arc of said character, the underlying theme, and both the plot and present/subsequent world-building at large. Readers may well deduce one or more events/aspects I am referencing. There are numerous of varying severity, and this will be discussed further down the road.
As a preliminary summation I will go out on a limb and label Arthas as perhaps the most badly written protagonist I have encountered. A fall from grace that is an utter calamity, both protected and perpetuated by the worst plot-armor I have ever seen.
And those predictable, consummate fools had the gall to make Arthas the protagonist of no less than three of the seven primary campaigns...
Well, that is more or less what I am forced to work with, for now. I would prefer any other character in the warcraft mythos, quite literally. For this and numerous other reasons, expect more of an ensemble story. Regardless, I will try to whip Arthas into shape: turn Blizzard's Clown King into the Lich King. The intent for this prologue of sorts is to establish fault-lines well before they became imperative, something the writers did not address to any degree.