Strahnbrad, southeast Lordaeron. One week later.
To an ill-informed observer, Strahnbrad might appear unremarkable. A fortified foothill town of reasonable size, occupying a moderately defensible location. Further context would shift that assessment somewhat. The settlement occupied the northeastern fringe of the Alterac mountains, eponymous to the late kingdom of that name.
When the defection of the ruling Prestor dynasty to the Horde during the second war was exposed, the nation was subsequently defeated, divided and annexed by Lordaeron and Stromgarde. Those efforts were swiftly stymied, however, with the emergence of a ruthless criminal syndicate almost overnight, driving the corpse of that realm into lawlessness.
Even years later little progress had been made. As a result, Strahnbrad was the only newly claimed settlement firmly under Lordaeron control. Furthermore, it stood on a primary overland route between northeast Lordaeron, along with the further still high elven nation of Quel'Thalas, and more southerly nations. A route now near fully under Lordaeron control. King Terenas would not suffer its loss, and should a remnant of the Horde be responsible it would only add insult to injury.
Uther, called 'the Lightbringer' by some, stood upon the north gatehouse of Strahnbrad, vigilantly surveying the forested hills beyond the town. A tall and powerfully-built man in his fifties, he would be the first to admit that his prime had passed. But it would be difficult to find any that did not see Uther as every inch a warrior. He was outfitted as a Silverhand, Lordaeron, and Alliance commander: ornate ivory full-plate bordered and enameled in gold, pauldrons wrought into matching eagles, and a partial-mantle and skirt of fine blue cloth with golden trim. Not subtle regalia, but he was here in an official capacity and expecting combat.
The paladin was hardly alone on the wall, and so allowed his eyes to close for a brief moment, taking in the post-dawn light. He attributed the small, simple pleasure he took at this moment to the habits of an old soldier accustomed to shared watches with those under his command; as opposed to the mystical bond with the light and life-giving orb in the sky that he knew some believed to exist. Still, he had certainly been wrong before. It could prove an interesting question to pose to his fellow knights.
He smiled at the thought of his brethren. Paladins had attained such an established and respected status amongst Azerothian societies that one might have easily assumed they were a long-honored tradition. In reality, the 'Knights of The Silver Hand,' of whom Uther was a foundational member, were created little more than two decades past. A marriage of martial tradition with the power of the holy light, intended to counter darker powers channelled by the Horde on the front lines. They had protected and served with distinction time and again. The ability of the order to do so would only grow as its numbers swelled. This line of thought summoned a recent memory.
Two months earlier, prior to outbreak. Light's Hope Chapel: northeastern Lordaeron coast.
Light's Hope was not the largest church in Lordaeron. Far from it, in fact. And yet, there was something special about this one. Uther had rarely encountered locations that appeared to resonate with the light so strongly, a sensation affirmed by numerous others attuned to the light. The presence of that pure, benevolent cosmic font in this location was almost staggering.
His steps already lighter than they had been, he passed into the chapel. After a query to a nearby priest, Uther made his way to one of the smaller rooms nearby. The two occupants turned at the sound of his entry.
"Tyrion, Bolvar!" Uther couldn't help a smile, mirrored on the others. He clasped arms with the former, before the latter pulled him into an embrace, armor and all. It had been years since he had seen Bolvar, and more still since the three of them had last gathered. In his late twenties, Bolvar Fordragon held a steadily climbing rank in the Stormwind military and was of the second Paladin generation. Now also the youngest of the Highlords: the small governing body of the Silver Hand. Skilled, powerful and above all levelheaded and noble, there could be few more worthy of a place on the council.
Tyrion Fordring was little younger than Uther himself, sharing rank as a General of Lordaeron. If any could be said to most exemplify the now iconoclastic Paladin, surely it would be Tyrion, unmatched in ability and a paragon of virtue.
Bolvar released him and drew back, addressing both senior men. "Its been too long, sir." This brought forth matching chuckles.
"Your courtesy and humility are commendable as ever, Bolvar. But you are no longer a student, you are our peer. You share our rank and responsibilities, Highlord." Tyrion responded with a smile.
This statement shifted Bolvar's face into an expression of guileless gratitude, and he gave a small bow. "That may be so, and I appreciate the kind words. However, it will be difficult to view you both as anything other than mentors."
"You may reconsider that respect when your duties become more curse than blessing." replied Uther. None of the three could help a laugh at that. Sadly, that could not last, and so the eldest continued. "While I would rather we meet solely for the purpose of brevity and camaraderie, such is not our reality. What news from the south, Bolvar?"
"Little good, I am afraid." sighed that paladin. "The restoration of Stormwind was recently completed, as you may have heard. It is certainly a sight to behold. This has come at a heavy price, however. I speak quite literally: between significant debt and a general deficiency of many resources, both the Crown and House of Nobles cannot afford to pay the Stonemasons Guild the initially agreed-upon sum. Rather than respond to attempts at opening a dialogue, the guild has retaliated with strikes and even incited riots. Our troubles far from end there, unfortunately.
"Reestablishing the Kingdom itself remains far from complete. We are the dominant power in southern Azeroth once again, but hardly what we were before the first war. There are threats on every side: brigands of all sorts, gnolls, ogres, even a substantial number of those infernal murlocs. Yes, fate is that desperate to find us adversaries.
"Worse still, more than a few of the Blackrock orcs remain at large in the Redridge mountains and volcanic steppe beyond. It has been difficult to track down and eliminate these. In isolation, many of these might be negligible obstacles. Together, they have been vexing to say the least. And then, there are the dark iron."
"Have they moved against you or Dun Morogh?" asked Tyrion.
Bolvar shook his head. "Not directly. Doubtless only because they fear incurring the collective wrath of the Alliance, I am sure we all agree. They remained in isolation during the Horde invasions and reaped the rewards once we defeated them, as you both know. They still lay that misbegotten claim to large swathes of Khaz Modan, keeping the region in a state of cold war. By now they have established and fortified their position thoroughly, belligerently targeting any perceived trespassers. Naturally, this has made overland and even air travel through the mountains exceedingly hazardous."
"So it has proven the powder keg many expected." stated Uther.
"Just so. Ironically enough, King Magni is diplomatic for a dwarven monarch, while Varian is less of a politician for a counterpart amongst our kind; you are no doubt aware of this. However, both have always been amicable and are united in their outrage at this threat and affront. More traditionally, much of Stormwind's leadership - particularly amongst the nobility - counsel avoiding the conflict, while Ironforge clamors to take the field in true dwarven fashion. I am told that Muradin became so frustrated with what he perceived as his brother's inaction that he opted to temporarily remove himself. He pulled a Brann, leaving to helm one of their artifact expeditions. Northrend, as I recall. Certainly one way to cool-off."
In spite of the gravity of subject, that forced a brief chuckle from Tyrion. "That does sound like him." He sobered, "what is to be done about this situation?"
"That remains uncertain. It may be that our nations could defeat them, albeit with immense casualties. Prior to the upsurge of local crisis, along with this resurrected Horde here in the north, I suspect Varian and Magni hoped to petition the Alliance to join them in overcoming the threat. Clearly, that would be off the table at the moment.
"For now, it seems there is little to do but to keep our borders vigilant. Although there is a promising development - gnomish and dwarven engineers are constructing another of their technological marvels, seemingly unprecedented in scope. A rapid, mechanical underground transportation system. It is intended to directly link Ironforge and Stormwind, completely undetected by our enemies." finished the younger man, with a smile.
Uther shook his head. "Remarkable, they never cease to amaze."
Bolvar nodded. "Indeed. It is expected to take several years and consume vast resources. The latter is already being validated, naturally. Still, most of the relative few aware of the project are convinced of its value. But in a different vein, this dwarven dialogue provides a relevant segue..."
"Quite, and there is little cause to delay. We all know the most significant reason that we are here." agreed Tyrion. He looked at the others in turn. "Magni wishes us to open the Silver Hand to his people and begin training dwarven paladins." A brief, downcast pause followed. "Since the loss of Turalyon beyond the dark portal, we few Highlords have led our order. Needless to say Alexandros could not join us here, but I received his affirmative answer and imagine most of our brothers and sisters are likewise in favor. How do we respond?"
"The dwarves have been steadfast allies for generations. I would have us welcome them into the fold," Bolvar readily replied. "And yourself, Tyrion?"
"The hand was never closed. I suppose the conversation simply wasn't opened prior, for no particular reason. Any virtuous individual touched by the light may have the makings of a fine paladin. I would recommend that we make an overture to Quel'thalas as well, for that matter. Uther?"
That Highlord was silent, for a moment. "I concur with you all, of course. I have only one consideration." Uther addressed the youngest of them. "Bolvar, you know the King better than either of us. I trust that he does not merely wish another weapon against his estranged kin."
"I would doubt that even were Muradin King. While Magni is no doubt aware of the possible value paladins present, I believe his priority is to foster further bonds with Alliance society at large. That is hardly a nefarious intention. One that I suspect we all share, in fact."
"We are unanimous, then." agreed Uther.
Tyrion smiled. "I expected little else. The next question is of course how to enact this undertaking, unprecedented in our short history. Given that we intend to introduce a nation - a race - to our calling, at least one of should be present, both for practical purposes and as a statement. A number of the more capable of our ranks will also be needed."
"I volunteer. Ironforge is far closer to Stormwind and my duties than the north. I will seek a leave of absence, for a time." Bolvar offered. Both others nodded.
"I can think of none more suited to this task, Highlord." Tyrion spoke with pride, and Bolvar inclined his head, touched.
"Indeed," said Uther. He looked to Tyrion, "I think that perhaps you should go as well, old friend."
A greying brow lifted. "What makes you say that?"
"Mograine would certainly carry this duty if there were no other candidates. But you and I know that would be his literal stance. Also I feel that you are better qualified to be mentor en-masse than myself. Furthermore, it seems likely that King Terenas will step up efforts to eliminate the orcs. I have the strongest ties to the capital, as well of those endeavors in particular. I think it may be best that I am present for coming events."
Tyrion's eyes narrowed briefly. "I think you give yourself too little credit, but very well." He turned to Bolvar, "needless to say there are arrangements to be made. How long will you be staying?"
"Only until early morning, I think. While it would be pleasant to remain longer, there is important work to be done and a long journey. I will visit your capital and confer with our ambassador first. From there, start south, stop at Ironforge to convey our resolution and carry on for Stormwind. I will return to the dwarves with some of our order most suitable to serve as mentors in this endeavor. We will likely arrive before you and have a regimen underway."
"Excellent. And we couldn't allow you to leave without sharing supper and ale." Uther added with a companionable grin.
"I could hardly pass on that." replied Bolvar, cheered at the prospect.
"Likewise, my brothers. But first, would you indulge this old soldier by allowing him a moment to reminisce with one older still, Bolvar?" Tyrion's words and face were self-deprecating.
Uther immediately noticed the subterfuge, though let out a laugh regardless. "You wound me."
Bolvar clearly wasn't fooled, but was gracious enough to play along nonetheless. "I suspect you both have some life in you yet. Fair warning, your ale reserves may be sorely depleted if you take long." All could not help sharing some mirth at that. He gave another slight bow to his elders before turning to leave.
Tyrion and Uther watched the latest of their number depart. "If any might prove worthy to fill Turalyons boots..." Tyrion trailed off.
"Agreed. Though you make a fair account of it yourself."
"Once again you devalue your own contributions, Uther. You have carried us this far as much as any, if not more than most."
"I appreciate that sentiment. But in any case, what did you wish to discuss?" asked Uther.
Tyrion took a moment to formulate his thoughts. "Your own motivations, as it were. The arguments you made for remaining in Lordaeron while I attend to this duty were valid, although I am not certain that I am any more able in this capacity than yourself. I agree that the presence of two of us is ideal, for the aforementioned reasons. While Bolvar was always the default choice for the first, there is not necessarily any reason you must become the second, rather than myself. But I suspect you have a rather specific intention."
"And what might that be?" Uther asked.
"To officiate those recruits intended to join the ranks proper. Namely one, in particular."
Uther sighed. "We have too much history to mince words, Tyrion."
"Of course. Why do you consider Arthas prepared for such elevation?"
The older man cocked his head in surprise. "Why would you not?"
"In a moment. My question stands." invited Tyrion.
"I have instructed him for years and known him longer. He is not the most skilled or powerful that I have trained, but he possesses admirable resolve, perseverance and diligence. Perhaps more than so than any of my others. Are these not laudable traits for any member of our order?" asked Uther.
"With time and refinement, certainly. Perhaps indicative of a great one, some day. At the moment, however, I consider him far from ready." Tyrion asserted, frankly.
"I know you would not issue such a statement idly. So make your case."
"To begin, there is a conflict of interest. This is hardly his fault. The Church of Light is intended to transcend any divisions of culture, nation and race. Now, for the first time in history, the predominant religion of the continent has a small military force of its own. Every member of which is likewise a citizen of some nation or other, ostensibly owing allegiance to them as well as the church.
"This common, shared-structure has strengthened the bonds between all parties, thus far. By the same token, it should also increase the risk of fracture and schism should that neutrality be threatened." cautioned Tyrion.
"We hold significant positions ourselves," reminded Uther.
"Indeed. And we and our counterparts in the church proper are ultimately responsible for this potential issue by failing to adequately address the subject during this period of relative peace following the defeat of the Horde. Yet even a general's divisive potential is not equal to that of a member of a royal family. Arthas is a Prince, perhaps even King some day. King of one of the more powerful nations on Azeroth, no less. Many likely look askance at how strongly tied we seem to be with Lordaeron in particular already. An impression that would by no means improve, to say the least."
"Not entirely untrue, but I do not think public perception should bar a promising applicant that could prove a true credit to the order." countered Uther.
"Perhaps not, but there are other considerations. One such, he is very young." Tyrion replied.
An eyebrow rose. "He is twenty-three. Older than Bolvar was, you may recall."
"And less mature and experienced in most ways by a notable margin. Including military matters."
"Is that to be our sole measure for evaluation?" asked Uther.
"That was not my implication, as you are aware. Not that it can be ignored, considering that our fundamental purpose is to actively protect the people. Most of our recruits do have some degree of combat experience, you know this. More important still, Bolvar displayed selflessness and humility. By contrast, I have seen both arrogance and greed in Arthas." Tyrion stated.
Uther could not help feeling somewhat indignant on behalf of his pupil. "And how much time have you spent in his company, to validate such words?"
"Less than yourself, to be sure. But enough for concern, nonetheless. I witnessed several bouts between himself and Varian when the second was the ward of Terenas, all of which Arthas lost. Varian appeared to view these merely as sparring matches with a friend, as one should, thinking little more of them. Arthas, on the other hand, displayed thinly-veiled resentment. Since he adopted our calling, his pride at wins against other initiates is rivaled only by his visible bitterness at losses."
"Have you, myself or any other never exhibited the same at any point in youth?" returned Uther.
"Certainly most, perhaps even all. But less so to this degree and his age, in tandem with his somewhat unique circumstances. And it is worth noting, for the record, that I am not the only member of our order troubled by what we have seen. My caution is further compounded by his ambition and the implications thereof. Calia Menethil has little desire for the throne, by all accounts. That reason in and of itself might make her a more suitable candidate. It seems apparent that Arthas, on the other hand, craves it."
Uther shook his head. "You do him a disservice, Tyrion. Would you have him remain an initiate in perpetuity?"
"We both know that is a conflation. While I understand it may not seem so, I do have the boy's best interest in mind. At present, Arthas is subordinate to ourselves and numerous others of the Lordaeron military. The moment he takes the vows, he will additionally be outranked by many paladins across nations, as well as the clergy. Do you truly believe Arthas would not chafe under such authority from all angles? Would that even be fair to him?" pressed Tyrion.
The admission mollified Uther to an extent. "What would you have me do, then?"
"Merely delay. More time in training, ensure he gains experience in the field and fully grasps all facets of this calling. Reconciles himself with such and his place in the kingdom and world at large, to a degree he does not appreciate at this time."
"Do you really think so little of my instruction, Tyrion?" Uther could not deny some small hurt at the thought.
"Not at all, old friend. I merely feel that you may be too invested to judge dispassionately." said Tyrion, not unkindly.
After a moment of reflection, Uther responded. "I certainly would never consider myself above scrutiny. Your points are well intentioned, and do not think that I dismiss them out of hand. Regardless, I don't agree with your conclusion. I will not deny that Arthas still has a good deal to learn, and that the burden of expectation will be substantial. But he is determined to prove himself, and you know as well as I that great trials often reveal one's true caliber. I suspect that he may yet surprise you. And myself, for that matter.
"He may have less hands-on experience than some, but I consider his abilities sufficient for a position amongst our ranks. Terenas will likely seek to deploy him in some capacity shortly. I will recommend a suitable option myself if I am not approached. We will set him on the path. In time, it is my hope that this promotion proves to be the best opportunity he could have been offered. That it helps him grow as a man, leader and perhaps even King, some day."
Tyrion briefly lowered his gaze, audibly exhaling before his focus returned. "I am not certain if you cannot see it, or will not. Regardless, he is your protege, and you do not answer to me in any case. Understand this, though: if I could order you to delay his elevation, I would. Now, I have said my piece and will let the matter rest. I hope that your faith is vindicated, and my concerns are not. Enough of this, then. Come, we have kept others waiting long enough."
Present
Uther was drawn from his rumination by the sound of approaching horses. Moments later a scouting party came into sight, heading south on the road. They halted a short distance before the open gate. The leader saluted, "Highlord! Reinforcements arrive from the northwest."
The paladin nodded, "well done, Sergeant. Report to the stables." On schedule, then.
The officer saluted once more, leading her fellows through, all no doubt enthused at the prospect of rest after a long shift. Lighter female frames were often ideal for reconnaissance work, generally placing less strain on the horses required for such swift operations. Uther descended the wall to directly oversee the soldiers under his command while awaiting the newcomers.
By now, every man and woman not on relief from late-night duties was active. Every vacated post had been immediately filled, with the other soldiers rotating from a swift morning meal to joining assorted drills. All under the firm, albeit not harsh watch of commanding officers. The discipline of the Lordaeron military was immaculate.
A horn sounded a short distance away, subsequently answered by a matching resonance from the wall. In minutes, shouts of greeting were exchanged and all the sounds of an imminent mounted company heralded the arrivals. Uther turned towards the entryway just as Arthas swept through the gate, followed in flank by Lieutenant Marwyn and Captain Falric, the remainder of their column close behind. The veteran paladin could not help the smile that crossed his features at the sight of his former student and company.
He had seen all three relatively recently, when inducting the Prince into the order. This was a no less pivotal moment, however. As distasteful as Uther found bloodshed, as all paladins should, he was as aware as any of reality and necessity. He took all duties as seriously as any man or woman should, this instance was both no exception and exceptional. Presiding over the initiation of Arthas into combat and command, both as soldier and paladin.
"Prince Arthas, you are most welcome. Captain Falric, Lieutenant Marwyn." greeted Uther. Both veterans saluted, the prince did not. All eyes had briefly shifted to observe the notable arrival and exchange. Arthas bore the armaments he had recently been presented with upon becoming a paladin proper: a mighty two-headed maul, along with imbricated steel full-plate edged with gold and emblazoned with the emblems of Lordaeron and the Alliance. All of his followers were only slightly less ornately attired, with matching armor, lances, swords and shields. Each rode a sizable, heavily armored charger.
Said royal gave a strained smile that did not reach the eyes. "Can the formalities, Uther." Arthas paused, "It's good to see you." he added, almost grudgingly.
Both of his subordinates visibly started, while Uther's brows rose. Referring to a mentor and friend merely by name in private might be acceptable. In public, when said individual was furthermore ones' superior officer, authority must be adhered to. Arthas had flouted the chain of command within moments of arrival, in the field no less!
Uther would have been well within his rights to dress the Prince down in front of his own band and the garrison. But few seemed close enough to catch the flagrant slight - intended or not - and such public humiliation would not benefit any involved, particularly Arthas. Uther resolved to let this slide, for the moment, instead replying with an equitable "you too, lad." If the prince noticed the forbearance, he gave no sign. The senior paladin proceeded, "I'm pleased that King Terenas sent you to help me."
Clearly this did not have the desired effect. Arthas frowned, then attempted to cover it with a rueful look. "Father still hopes your "patience and experience" might rub off on me"
Hoping to reestablish historical camaraderie, Uther tried banter. "It is a father's right to dream, isn't it?" Unfortunately, this had the opposite effect. While Falric and Marwyn responded with the desired, friendly laugh, the face of Arthas twisted into a scowl. His pupil had never been particularly adept at concealing his emotions - not that he was a master of such himself - and his resentment would doubtless be readily apparent to any observer. Resentment that appeared directed at both King Terenas and himself. What happened?" For a moment the words of Tyrion rose unbidden, but Uther quickly buried them.
Falric intervened, clearly attempting to salvage the exchange. "It is an honor, Highlord. We are proud to follow you against the Horde." He gave another salute.
"Thank you, Captain." Uther nodded to the captain. then turned his focus to the warriors behind the three. A regiment of Lordaeron knights were formidable indeed, but like any other military unit they would never have been sent in isolation. This was all the more pertinent considering that any cavalry was at its most effective when used as a flanking force. Uther would have known what to expect even were he not informed prior. He spoke directly to Arthas once more, "where are the rest of your company?"
Marwyn and Falric shifted, uncomfortable. The Prince had regained only a little of his composure. "Close behind, they should arrive within half an hour. Two units of infantry, another of archers."
What?! In his impatience to reach Strahnbrad, Arthas had left his troops bereft of their commander and his foremost officers, along with a not-inconsiderable portion of the strength of the force. There would be other capable captains present, but needlessly splitting an army and its leadership like so for any amount of time was a grave error in almost all circumstances. He turned a withering glare on the other two who should not have enabled this. They would have words later.
For now, to business. "Our scouts have confirmed that there is an orc encampment over the next ridge, but we are uncertain of the movements of orcs that are likely roaming the area. I need to move against the base as soon as possible, and I cannot leave Strahnbrad undefended. Can you handle that defense, Arthas?
The prince perked up a little at that. "Of course, Uther. Don't worry about it."
"Good. I will send word of any developments. Be careful."
Two hours later, Arthas stood in much the same location, having stabled his horse after arrival. Uther had departed swiftly, appropriating his knights and leaving the original city guard to supplement the rest of th his forces. He supposed he could find little fault with the decision of his former mentor.
On some level, the Prince may have realized that he was doing a disservice to Uther, and that his father was ultimately to blame for his humiliation. The older paladin was the vessel for it, though. How could he have the opportunity to prove himself while a mere lackey in the shadow of a war hero? Arthas sighed, at least Uther gave me something. He supposed he should be grateful towards his instructor for that, if nothing else.
"Your highness." Falric approached, disrupting his path of thought. Possibly for the best.
"What is it, Falric?" The prince had always been on positive terms with the captain of the guard, even if he was not the comrade that Marwyn was.
"Would you consider accompanying me on an inspection of the ramparts?"
Arthas glanced up at the wall, then the sun. "The defenses are manned and it isn't even mid-day yet. Surely the orcs wouldn't risk an attack now."
"It is unlikely, but hardly impossible. Little harm would be done by appraising the fortifications for any errors yourself. Doubtless morale would be boosted by the presence of a paladin and Prince, Arthas."
The Prince glared at the captain, but regretfully conceded the point. Arthas made for the nearest stairs and ascended the wall, Falric in tow. Before long his mood began to improve. There were no flaws in the defense as far as he could tell, but the men and women on duty seemed genuinely respectful and pleased to see him.
The moment he reached the southern gatehouse halfway through his circuit, any tranquility Arthas felt was shattered by shouts to the north, followed by the sound of an explosion. Then the screams began. For a brief moment he was paralyzed, then burst into motion. Falric had reacted more quickly, and was already racing down the nearby flight of stairs, himself close behind and soldiers on his heels. As they closed, the vocalizations resolved into howls, some almost canine, others of pain. Along with an assortment of defiant cries.
"For Lordaeron!"
"For the Alliance!"
"Blackrock!"
There was a common misconception that heavy armor severely inhibited a wearer's movements. On the contrary, well made armor slowed most functions relatively little, substantially less so than many mistakenly believed. As such, Arthas and his allies approached the battle swiftly.
"Remember, Prince." Falric called between breaths. "Orcs are...?"
"Larger and stronger, but slower and less agile. Frequently less disciplined."
"Well done!"
Arthas had taken the lead and made the last right-turn first, came within sight of the gate and stopped, given pause at the scene of bedlam ahead. Though the northern gatehouse remained intact, it was blackened with soot from the explosion that had all but obliterated the gate itself, the splinters of which lay burning throughout the courtyard. Most other visible buildings were partially on fire.
A number of his soldiers lay unconscious or dead, with the rest engaged in furious melee against the orcish horde as civilians fled in terror. The archers upon the wall appeared to be trapped, some exchanging fire with enemies beyond the town while others had drawn swords to prevent orcs from attaining the rampart. Sounds of conflict from multiple directions confirmed that some of the barbarians were loose inside the town proper. His subjects arrayed themselves behind him, a line of shields and spears protecting bows.
Having visited internment camps, Arthas had seen orcs in the flesh before. With the exception of a few, such as that would-be 'Warchief,' most had appeared lethargic, sedate, drained. That was certainly not the case here. Most of the grunts - as they were called with just derision - were male, with some females in attendance. All were various shades of green, and near universally larger than the corresponding human sex. They wore hide kilts and boots, leather gauntlets reinforced with metal on the arms, and nothing on the torso save two large pauldrons of the same material bound with a crossed harness. Each bore one or more axes and/or hammers.
There were sounds of combat from most directions. The Prince took a moment to survey the battlefield, and cursed. "We can't open fire without risking our own. Charge! For Lordaeron!"
"For Lordaeron!"
"For the King!" That one irked Arthas, but he buried the thought as the charge began.
"We may be flanked," warned Falric as their pace quickened. Arthas ignored him.
They had barely passed the first block, when growls and heavy footfalls directly behind and to the left were the only warning they received. With an earsplitting metallic crash, and surprised shouts of pain and alarm, Arthas and Falric spun to see a pack of orc wolf-riders emerging from a side street and smashing into the adjacent back and side line. Facing the opposite direction, the frontline could not turn in time and were scattered as some of the wolves' momentum carried them through, leaving very little time for the Prince and Captain to steel themselves.
With hardened, lethal grace, Falric near simultaneously sidestepped a wolf, crouched beneath the rider's axe stroke and drove his sword through the throat of the mount. The beast gave a loud, almost pitiable gurgle and pitched forward, sending the rider flying, instantly pursued by the captain. Regrettably, Arthas had no such experience. His attempt to evade and strike the head of the wolf were both mistimed and misaligned, impacting the shoulder instead.
Fortuitously, the long, heavy blow forced the beast to swerve with a yelp. The orc was dislodged before it could bring its axe to bear, while his steed slammed into Arthas on the flank, rather than jaws first. The collision sent him sprawling to the paved road, but his masterfully crafted armor took the worst of both impacts, while the wind was knocked out of the orc. Unfortunately, Arthas had lost grip of his war hammer and was on his back facing a very angry wolf the size of a horse.
The outsized canine stalked forward, jaws slavering. "Your highness!" Arthas heard an unknown soldier cry. Prom his prone position, he saw his defender drive a spear deep into the side of the beast with both hands from behind. The creature's snarling became an agonized yelp, clearly a mortal wound. Unfortunately, the wolf was unaware of that. It turned on the man, yanking the spear from his hands in the process and pounced with the last of its strength, pinning its killer to the ground and tearing into his throat.
Having just regained his feet, Arthas watched helplessly as his savior's lifeblood burst from his now half-headless body, the wolf keeling over. Righteous rage and vengeance filled him as he lifted his hammer. The orc had recovered as well, looking first to his slain steed, then Arthas. With a roar, the brute rushed forward and made a massive swing with a heavy axe, much as he did with his own weapon.
He is stronger, Arthas thought bitterly as he staggered when the hafts made contact. The orc wasted no time in capitalizing, raining powerful blows and keeping him on the defensive, able to do little but retreat and desperately ward away blows haft to haft. Finally, his guard was dashed wide and a blow came for his head that he had no hope of parrying.
Arthas frantically ducked, stepped to the side and interposed one of his formidable pauldrons between himself and the blow. As he had been taught, it was angled to deflect rather than outright block. It worked, but he stumbled beneath the impact and a kick to his chest sent him to the ground.
He managed to hold on to his weapon this time, but his right arm was instantly pinned to the paved street with a large boot. To the dwarven armorers' credit, he felt little pain and the gauntlet was undamaged. Regardless, Arthas was trapped. The other foot came down on his breastplate, and the grinning savage raised his axe. "I will feed your innards to my next wolf, boy!" it spoke in stilted common.
Rather than the terror his would-be slayer no doubt hoped for, Arthas began laughing near hysterically, without being entirely sure of why. The orc seemed almost disturbed by this, though the Prince wasted no time pondering. He curled the fingers of his left hand, which the animal had foolishly left free, into a fist and slammed his gauntlet into the side of the pinning left leg at the knee.
Bone audibly fractured or broke and his opponent howled, involuntarily releasing his hand, stepping back a little while trying to remain upright with a ruined leg. Arthas knew better than to attempt use of his hammer from this position, instead bringing an armored knee into the groin of his foe as it tried to raise the axe.
Now the orc reeled and tripped backwards, unable to support itself on one good leg. Arthas climbed upright once more and delivered a mighty overhead blow to the chest of the brute. It tried to block with the axehead, which shattered, driving the shards deep into its sternum along with the crushing force of the hammer. The orc's chest was all but destroyed, and it managed only several bloody coughs before a swift death.
Panting with exertion, the victorious Prince grinned, basking in the glory of his first kill. Reality sunk in, and Arthas looked up sharply at the skirmish. To his pleased surprise, the battle was all but over. The enemy had picked an ambush location where momentum, the quintessential advantage of any cavalry, could not be sustained. When it was depleted, they had found themselves in the midst of a force superior in number, arms, armor and discipline with only one inevitable outcome.
Arthas watched as the last wolf was skewered by four spears, tossing its rider in death to the swift vengeance of his men. Impressively, the archers had managed to feather one duo before the combat became too close and forced swords. The heavily armored and shielded spearmen had taken care of the rest. He saw with some envy that Falric had by now singlehandedly dispatched two wolves and their riders.
He appraised his troops as they began to rally once more, shocked at how fast the engagement had been. His pride at his accomplishment sobered slightly at the observation that while injuries were relatively minor and casualties had been few, the latter were beyond his aid. In his hectic, first life or death struggle, he had somehow forgotten to use his powers. "I couldn't save them," he muttered, mostly to himself.
"Later, Prince. There is still a battle to be won." Falric said.
Arthas was not fond of the veteran captain's tone, but did not disagree. Both men viewed the battle still raging at the gate as his band picked themselves up, and the race resumed. Very little time had passed and it seemed that a status quo had been established. The soldiers on the wall were still struggling to repel the orcs, while their brethren inside the gate had been pushed backwards, yet had managed to form a shield wall that the green-skinned invaders were attempting to breach.
A howl sounded, and from a side street more wolf-riders loped for the gate, safely behind their own forces. To the horror of all human observers, these lupine fiends escaped carrying several hogtied prisoners. Even worse, this distraction enabled the orcs to break through a portion of the Lordaeron line and turn the battlefield into a frenetic brawl once more.
"We need the wall," Falric said, panting only a little.
Only one, desperate option occurred to Arthas. He spun, "Archers! Target the orcs on the stairs!"
"But highness, we might hit our own..."
"Do it!"
"Yes, Prince!" said another. The archers stopped and formed a line, bows rising.
"Fire!" roared Arthas. With a loud, synchronized twang, a volley was loosed that instants later took the woefully unprepared orcs in the back and slaughtered them. Along with what looked to be three of his soldiers. He winced at that, but rationalized it. I had no choice. The prince didn't bother to face his men this time, raising his war hammer again. "With me!"
In no time at all, they were seconds away from impact. Now! The paladin seized the light within, and shaped it into one of the of the forms he had been taught. Not the most complex or taxing, yet amplified here on a scale that immediately began sapping his strength. A slight aura of gold-tinged blue burst from him and spread throughout the plaza, clinging to those he willed.
Falric witnessed this, grasping his intentions. "Archers!" he shouted, pointing his sword in the air to attempt a signal. Fortunately, at least one of the bowmen that had just regained control of the walls managed to hear the cry and draw the attention of the others, who watched their reinforcements joining the battle, and the power of the light embracing friendly forces.
In moments, arrows were nocked. The Captain directed his sword at the chaotic mess, "loose!" A brief hesitation, then one let fly, with the rest following suit. The orcish targets, who had not had their defenses bolstered by the aura of a Paladin, were taken in the rear for the most part and decimated.
Arthas was forced to cease channeling, collapsing and briefly passing out from the strain. He did not see or hear his soldiers finish off the surviving orcs, remaining in a daze until two pairs of strong arms took his and hauled him to his feet. Blinking, he noticed Marwyn and Falric at his sides. Somewhere close, a man called out "hail, Prince Arthas!" Others took up the cheer. A satisfied smile overcame his features. This. This was what he had wanted, deserved. Caught up in his victory, he hardly noticed that yet more of his men were slain in that last volley.
A swift sweep of the town was conducted, confirming the orcs had been wiped out and failed to breach the defenses in any other locations. The townsfolk had begun cautiously emerging from whatever shelter they had taken, expressing utmost gratitude and joining the cleanup efforts. A comely young brunette approached him with a smile. "Bless you, Prince Arthas!"
A wide-eyed child at her side asked timidly before he could respond, "but what about the others that were taken away?"
Arthas got down on one knee before the boy. "Don't worry, son. I'll find them and bring them home safe."
Before more words could be exchanged, Arthas heard the thundering hooves of many approaching horses. "Knights return!" came a shout from the wall. He excused himself, and stood before the gates as the cavalry arrived.
Their captain approached without delay. "Prince Arthas, a patrol told us of the attack. Lord Uther is on his way, and sent us ahead to aid you."
Arthas smiled and raised his hands to indicate the area. "As you see, Captain. The situation is under control."
The knight looked around at the ruined gate, singed structures, bodies gathered for services and orc carcasses for burning. "So I see. Given that Uther had intended to summon you in any case, perhaps you should return with us and give your report in person. Many of my men will stay should the horde return."
Arthas gave a questioning look at Falric, who nodded. "We can hold the fort, Prince. Go where you are needed."
The Prince rested his hammer on a shoulder. "Never a dull moment. Let's get moving."
Perhaps an hour later, Arthas stood with Uther at his forward camp. He had just finished detailing the attack on the town, and his role therein. Perhaps with slight embellishment and omitting of the collateral damage he had inadvertently caused.
The senior paladin shook his head and sighed. "I didn't think they would be brazen enough to risk a frontal assault against a superior force behind walls. And in broad daylight, no less."
"There was no particular stratagem in play. They seemed to want little more than prisoners and to cause as much suffering as possible." replied the Prince.
"By those measures, they succeeded."
That was not something Arthas wanted to hear at this time of triumph. "They were bloodied more than we were," he assured.
"True enough, from what I have been told." Uther cocked his head slightly. "Why do you think they took prisoners?"
Arthas considered, then grimaced. "I have of course been taught that orc warlocks sometimes use sacrifice to fuel their foul magics."
The older man nodded. "I can think of few other reasons. Yet no warlock was present at the battle."
"Perhaps there are none among them?"
His mentor delayed a moment in answer. "I am not entirely certain. We should consider ourselves fortunate that they had seemingly to resort to some stolen blasting charge in lieu of fel magic, whatever the reason. While tragic as ever, this battle may have provided some useful information. I suspect that these orcs are not aligned with the Warchief to the south."
Now Arthas was perplexed. "What? What makes you say that?"
"On more than one occasion, those tracking the new Horde have discovered what appeared to be execution sites. These contained the remains of warlocks and the demonic minions they have often relied upon. Unlike its predecessors, the leadership of this latest Horde seems staunchly - even ruthlessly - opposed to those powers.
"If the captives are intended for any ritual purpose, it is unlikely to be under that banner. For our present foes, any encounter with this new Warchief and his many followers would be no less a death-sentence than trying their luck with ourselves. Furthermore, the latest Horde has proven deceptively elusive, keeping to the wilderness and avoiding confrontation where possible. There have been renegade splinter groups still at large since the last war, this is likely one such. If so, that is welcome news." explained Uther.
"That makes sense, I suppose." I should have known that.
Uther looked away and muttered, almost to himself. "Damn, these orcs will never surrender."
The Prince felt righteous anger fill him once more, "then perhaps it is time we destroyed the beasts!"
The Paladin-general narrowed his eyes at him and spoke firmly, "Arthas, we are paladins. Vengeance cannot be a part of what we must do. If we allow our passions to turn to bloodlust, we will become as vile as the orcs."
Arthas briefly averted his gaze, trying to mask his resentment. "Of course, Uther."
Clearly that did not satisfy the man. "This is not the royal palace, Arthas. Or a casual meeting amongst friends. On the battlefield, you are a soldier of Lordaeron first and a Prince second. I am your superior officer and you will address me as such. One day that may change and I will extend the same courtesy as duty demands. I allowed this to pass earlier out of friendship. You were clearly distraught and I hoped to spare you perceived humiliation. I will not do so again."
He could feel his blood boiling, tempered only in part by the gesture that had evidently been offered by Uther. Stiffly, Arthas gave a short nod. "Yes, Sir."
"Good." Then, to his surprise, the paladin abandoned his hardened demeanor and smiled. "That established, I am proud of you, Arthas. Your performance today was admirable, and I expected little else."
"Really?" His anger ebbed at the admission.
"Of course. Many are not forced to suddenly contend with such a potential disaster upon their first command. Your efforts may have spared numerous lives."
The face of Arthas broke into a smile, grateful for the praise from a near-legendary figure. "Thank you."
"I know the King will likewise be proud when I make my report." Uther added.
Arthas soured at that. Uther must have seen something on his face, as he sighed. "I am not going to ask what happened between you and the King. Just remember that your father believes in you." Uther placed a hand on his nearest pauldron, "I believe in you." The other hand made a sweeping gesture, encompassing the camp. "As do all of them."
Touched by the words and sentiment, the Prince could only nod.
"You made your kill today?" Uther asked, more statement than question.
"I did. It wasn't easy."
"Indeed. There is a world of difference between facing an adversary in the sparring ring and on the battlefield. The first of the latter has simultaneously been the last for no shortage of warriors, even amongst those exceptional in training prior. Such a confrontation is often cited as one of the hardest ever faced by those that prevailed. It will become easier, just be sure never to forget why you fight."
"I won't, don't worry." Arthas nodded.
"Now, if you're feeling up to it, I want you to lead the attack." The older paladin offered.
His mouth parted slightly in surprise. He contained his pleasure at that statement with difficulty, knowing Uther would not be pleased at such eagerness. "Me? Well, of course! I will gladly defend our people, once more."
Uther seemed to find his reaction and wording acceptable. "I will remain with the rearguard and ensure that the orcs cannot strike us from behind. Admittedly, they may lack ability to do so, considering the losses they have already incurred.
"I won't fail you, Highlord." His gratitude was genuine. Surprisingly, this day had proven to be almost everything Arthas could have hoped for.
"I know you won't, lad."
Within half an hour, Arthas was leading the host up into the hills towards the identified orc encampment. Unfortunately the area was just steep and wooded enough to prohibit easy use of horses, and so those knights not maintaining the rear had dismounted to lend their skills at the front. He was pleased to have these elite warriors serving in his ranks, and eagerly awaited deploying them against those wretched animals.
He knew from his lessons that most rough terrain would favor the outsized, slobbering canines the orcs used as mounts, but he had no intention of being ambushed again. The environment seemed less conducive to such skullduggery to him, and the forces under his command were far more formidable. Marywn and the knights directly behind, archers following them protected by a perimeter of spears on all other sides. Another frontal assault by the orcs was surely out of the question, considering they had lost any element of surprise, along with what must have been a significant-quantity of their forces.
Arthas resisted an urge to glance over his shoulder. It was unlikely Uther was directly observing him at this time, but he knew that his mentor would be monitoring the progress of his offensive. Uther had proven an ally, and the Prince appreciated the opportunities he had been offered. If only his father shared the same generosity and belief in him. Today Uther would have another victory to report, and Terenas would be forced to repent of his lack of faith in his heir.
The terrain began to level out as he crested the hill and stood at the lower lip of a small forest depression, the elevated opposite of which was free of trees, perhaps the start of a clearing. Any such analysis was disrupted when he noticed the orc casually standing at the bottom. He instantly grasped his hammer with both hands in stance.
His adversary wore no torso armor, or even a shirt for that matter. Only cloth pants with several ornate, oversized and cumbersome leather plates on his legs. Its weapon was a slightly curved two-handed falchion with the final fourth of the blade sharply angled, meeting the spine. Laughable wargear.
The creature bared its tusks in a sinister grin, opening in rough common. "So, this is why my warriors inflicted so much damage upon your defenses. Did we kill everyone else in your chain of command? Or is Lordaeron incompetent enough to send a boy to do the work of a man...?"
Fury filled Arthas. He tamped it down, with limited success. "This 'boy' bested you! Only an orc has the cowardice to command from the rear. Or did those few with spines abandon you and join the Warchief?" Clearly this struck a nerve, if the sneer and growl were any indication. The Prince was pleased at that.
"How much of your blood stains our weapons?" snarled the orc.
"Less than yours upon ours!"
"Bah, foolish pup!" The orc paused and seemed to master itself, the smirk returning. "Good that I have more awaiting my blade."
Arthas froze as the words sank in. "Where are they?!"
It didn't answer, simply turning to jog up the far rim. The prince wasted no time in dashing after. "Wait, your highness!" He barely heard Marwyn's call, fully intent on his adversary. The orc paused and turned to laugh at him, which naturally only enraged him further. The moment he closed, Arthas made a heavy, overhead and overextended swing.
To his considerable surprise, the maul passed clean through the foe and carried him forward onto the clearing beyond, as what was clearly an illusion of some sort vanished. The momentum almost caused him to stumble to the ground, at which a derisive howl of orcish laughter sounded, and he flushed with indignation. However, the embarrassment Arthas felt was muted at the sight he beheld, only half-noticing his troops forming up behind him.
Across the meadow, in front of another forest hill stood his tormentor, along with several orcs. Before them, four braziers were placed around a rough circle of cleared earth, upon which were the four townsfolk he had seen taken, trussed like roasts. The ringleader stepped behind the captives, raising his blade. "Let this sacrifice appease our masters!" he bellowed. The forces of Lordaeron could only look on in horror as three strikes were made and four heads flew, bodies slumping in their bonds as gore poured forth.
A veil of rage, perhaps unprecedented in potency shrouded Arthas. "Slay the orcs! Slay them all!" He roared, beginning the charge, assorted cries for vengeance and justice resounded.
Marwyn shouted, "hold ranks!" Fortunately the soldiers retained sufficient discipline to master fury, even Arthas slowed his pace. Slightly. As they closed, the orcs fled to the treeline.
Marwyn must have seen something before the rest of them, crying out, "Wall!" Arthas paused as the shield wall formed around him, and orcs poured forth from hiding in the trees. Most on foot, with some wolf-riders; indeed a smaller force than they had dealt with before. That did not prevent the wave of rabble from breaking upon the formation with considerable force. He was directly behind the frontline, but the greater part of his focus was not on the battle. Some two-dozen paces away, under the eves, that infernal orc-leader was mocking him again. It made a beckoning motion with its blade, then turned and ran up into the trees, shouting something in orcish as it went.
Arthas snarled, and shoved the knight in front of him aside. Directly before him seemed a straight-shot to the tree line, with most combatants otherwise engaged. It pained him to leave his soldiers behind, but that fiend could not be allowed to escape. He darted forward as quickly as possible, slamming the maul into the shoulder of an unsuspecting orc. As satisfying as the subsequent howl was, he left it to its fate, continuing into the forest.
A shout echoed over the fracas, likely Falric. "Arthas, no!" Prince! He paid the reproach no mind, keeping to the hunt. In very little time Arthas emerged on another, much smaller clearing at the crown of the hill. Here his foe calmly awaited his arrival, giving a suitably malevolent chuckle.
"Welcome, warrior. I had hoped you would accept my invitation. Even ordered my people to give you safe passage."
The fact that he had apparently failed to notice this only increased his frustration, and Arthas wasted no time in striding towards the enemy. "Then you signed your own death-warrant!" He studied the 'sword' in the orc's hand once again. In every possible measure, single-edged weapons were inferior to their symmetrical counterparts by a significant degree. Cut, thrust, or bash, this one would never penetrate his armor, only his head would be vulnerable. The weapon would be notably faster than his own, however, and posed a threat to the hammer itself.
The orc mirrored his advance. "I had hoped for a worthy opponent. But you will have to do!" With a growl, it rushed forward and sidestepped the Prince's powerful hammer strike for its torso, making a probing thrust for his face. Unprepared for the speed of the attack, Arthas desperately removed a hand from the haft to divert the blade with an angled gauntlet. Though he felt the force of the blow, it was harmlessly deflected without any damage - that sword would break long before it got through his armor. Knowing that the maul would not be effective one-handed, he stepped forward and punched out with the fist grasping the haft, connecting solidly with the orc's gut and driving it back long enough to grasp and swing his weapon once more.
Arthas smiled viciously, which almost seemed to confuse his opponent for a short moment. Now that his first, desperate life-or-death struggle was behind him, he could feel his skills reasserting themselves. A two-handed war hammer was more dependent on momentum than any other weapon, and he used the distance he had gained, making sweeping blows that kept the orc on the back-foot. None of the answering blows inflicted meaningful damage to his plate, and one solid strike of his own could easily end the fight in his favor.
The orc was obviously aware of this, lashing out at the hammer-haft itself before Arthas could react. Thankfully, the blessed weapon held, but was sent wide and dislodged from one hand by his stronger opponent. He narrowly ducked the following swipe for his head, which his enemy immediately attempted to chain into a thrust. He failed to fully evade this time, and the blunt rear of the falchion made contact with his throat.
Arthas laughed at this, in spite of the gravity of his situation. If the orc had not been too stupid to use a double-edged sword, the duel might well have ended there. As it was, the orc was both overextended and very briefly disturbed, enabling him to drive his empty fist into its chest once more. This was an even more solid hit, and when the orc briefly recoiled, he gripped the hammer behind the head with his free hand and rammed it as near the same location as could be done.
The orc stumbled onto its back from the force of the blow, but rolled sideways, narrowly avoiding his attempted strike from above that left a respectable furrow in the grass. It rose to its feet, panting. "You will not be the first lordling I have slain. Nor the last!" it spat. Then, to the bewilderment of Arthas, there was a ripple in the air around his adversary and three orcs stepped from that location, in different directions. They immediately circled around him and advanced as one.
The Prince frantically swung his maul at the apparitions, attempting to keep them at at distance. Clearly they were illusions of a sort, but somehow each blow carried some amount of force nonetheless. He interposed his armor towards them while tucking his head as much as possible. One of the the three swords struck more powerfully than the others, but as they continued to circle. it was difficult to determine which.
As much as he struggled to admit it, Arthas wasn't sure how much longer he would last. Desperate, the paladin raised a hand and invoked the light in the most powerful form he had learned. A glowing, golden aura materialized within a small radius around him. A divine shield impenetrable to any assault, which flawlessly rebuffed the blades of the orc.
"Paladin!" one of the images behind him hissed. "Your precious light will not save you. And my glory will be all the greater!" The rapid blows continued. Arthas knew he would not be able to sustain the barrier for long, the power and focus demanded was too great. Knowing he had little time left, he hunkered down, ignoring the swords above as much as he could. In a last ditch effort, the Prince grasped his weapon with both hands and swung the hammer in an arc while dropping the barrier, striking for the thighs of the hated enemy.
Surely the light, or even fate itself favored Arthas. While his weapon passed harmlessly through the first orc of the two within reach, it brutally connected with the near leg of the second. The sound of bone shattering, and the ensuing agonized howl was music to his ears. The orc leader dropped his sword in shock or pain, falling backwards like a hewn tree as his doubles disappeared.
Arthas instantly took advantage, landing an overhead strike that his opponent could not evade, seemingly breaking the pelvis, hips and lower spine. Another all but destroyed the sword-arm. The screaming redoubled and the victorious Prince stepped forward, pinning his vanquished adversary with an armored boot to the chest.
"Any final words, beast?" Arthas mocked.
The mortally wounded orc attempted a wheezing laugh, spewing blood. "You've won nothing, pup. The demons come. You and your misbegotten world will burn."
Arthas paused for a moment, troubled. Only a moment. "It would be satisfying to see you suffer as you deserve. But even more so to watch my soldiers butcher the last of your primitive people." Then he raised his hammer and split the orc's head like an egg.
Almost immediately afterwards, his forces streamed from the trees, clearly victorious and relatively undamaged at a glance. Uther had apparently arrived in time to aid them, and he, Falric and Marwyn approached at a run, slowing slightly upon seeing Arthas unharmed, standing over his fallen foe.
Uther narrowed his eyes at him, almost seeming oddly angered for some reason. Finally, his expression cleared and he gave a nod, "well fought, lad. The day is ours."
Arthas was proud to receive just praise, but this was slightly tainted by the words of the orc. "I don't know, Highlord. This wasn't just an execution, it was a sacrifice after all." He motioned at the corpse, "I think they may have been trying to summon demons."
Uther appeared to consider a moment, then approached and placed a hand on his nearest pauldron. "Have faith, Arthas. These orcs are trying to hold on to dying traditions."
Arthas frowned, somewhat dubious of how readily Uther dismissed the ominous prospect. "Are you sure?"
Another nod. "We defeated their demons a long time ago. Now, let's head back to the camp. It's been a long day."
The first two post-prologue campaign missions, and there are major issues. From least to most egregious:
The orc leader directly approaches Uther and explicitly references the coming demonic invasion. This lack of subtlety certainly won't destroy the story in and of itself but is hardly a promising sign.
Uther, a seasoned veteran, sets up his military camp some distance outside of what is apparently an otherwise defenseless settlement. Arthas arrives at this previously established encampment and yet is somehow more aware of regional reconnaissance.
Uther later apparently sends two of his most capable warriors on a near certain-death futile negotiation attempt. These lapses also don't render the story unsalvageable, but are yet more evidence of blizzard's general stupidity via a complete lack of logical awareness.
Now, it becomes irredeemable. These missions plainly establish that Uther outranks Arthas in the military hierarchy, as ordered by the King. The fact that Arthas is a Prince is irrelevant. This detail in and of itself completely nullifies a certain pivotal plot-point. Many readers may well be aware of which I am alluding to.
Additionally, and more important to the story at large, 'blackrock and roll' dialogue confirms that Arthas has no prior command experience and is a newcomer to combat in general. This preemptively destroys the narrative they are desperate to tell. More on that in time.
Furthermore, no legitimate commanding officer would state "the men and I are honored by your presence" to a subordinate. Laughably, this was done merely so that blizzard could suck themselves off through their own self-insert. There is no limit to the characters and plot lines that they will gleefully compromise to that end.