Chapter 1:
The sun is shining down from the heaven, spreading its pleasant warmth across the countryside as the birds are singing melodies on this beautiful summer afternoon in eastern Lordaeron.
Luckily for me and the town as a whole the small lake going directly through our little plot of land offers refreshment for everybody.
The rays of the sun reflect on the surface of the water letting it look sparkly and glitter like liquid gold.
The warm summer breeze compliments the atmosphere perfectly as it playfully jumps through the trees nearby.
Just as usual I'm lying directly at the water daydreaming about this or that...
Every day I admire my how, think about how great this place is and that I never want to leave it, no matter what might come. Northdale is my home and I love it! It makes me want to stay here forever.
The moment as I hear someone approaching I hurry to sit up straight. As I turn around I recognize our neighbor, Mister Browman. Admittedly it's a bit of a let-down as I've hoped for somebody else but it would unjust to really think this way. He is about as old as my father a kind man and owner of the few sawmills north of town.
With a friendly smile he greets me as he passes by. Sometimes, when I was younger, he used to bring me small presents. Sometimes when they had very little to do some of the workers, including Mr. Browman himself, started carving little animals or other figures from spare chunks of wood, for their children. He on the other hand has no family of his own, never had and therefore he just started making them for me instead. My father was very angry at him at first and I'd not fully understand why. But it's okay now.
I wave at him as he passes between me and the house of my family and heads for his own home. He returns my greetings before I then turn back to the water and after a moment or two just fall backwards into the green grass.
But come to think of it, if Mr. Browman is already home, where is dad? What is taking him so long today?
On the other hand, I guess I shouldn't worry too much. My mother always tries to soothe me when I get worried and besides, dad says so himself. She then tells me that my father is a very strong man and that he knows what to do if he gets into a fight.
Calming myself I close my eyes for maybe a minute, yet still it was enough for me to fall asleep for a good while.
As I wake up from my slumber to the sound of a familiar voice in my ear, I open my eyes and look right into the face of bearded man with long dark brown hair. The expression he carries is stern, the armor of a light grey and producing sounds with even the smallest movement he makes.
I'm still drowsy for a moment, but after I realize who I am looking at, I try my best to quickly jump to my feet without staggering.
Within an instance the man starts to smile at me as kneels down, he is a lot taller than I am.
"Father!" I call out "What took you so long?" the sound of my voice a bit reprehensive.
My father replies with his usual calm and utmost warm voice "Everything is fine, Marc. Just a little extra round through Corin's Crossing. Making sure everybody's fine just like us up here."
He gives me a hug, pressing me against the cold metal. The sudden chill surprised me on such a warm day.
"Do you have any idea what mom made for dinner today, son? I'm starving..." The way he talks and pronounces the words is clear and free of any dialect, although he always loosens up a bit when talking to his family alone.
The people of this area respect him as a strong and kind man, as an authority. And rightfully so! He is a paladin, a member of the Silver Hand.
As he gets back up to his feet again we walk onward over to our home. Happily I follow by his side. And I'm sure that mom has everything already set up, just as every day.
"Tomorrow is my day off, Marc. What do you want to do?" He asks me with a smile before he opens the door. I take my time to think about this question. I'm sure I'd still have a lot of time to answer it until tomorrow.
"Sarah, honey?" My father asks blindly into the room after opening the door. She comes rushing down the stairs immediately, hugs my father and gives him the usual kiss as a greeting. She is a beautiful woman with dark blonde hair and clear grey eyes. She is only a bit smaller than my father and rather slim.
Usually her mood is great, she is always smiling and spreading happiness, but today something is different. Instead of her outgoing appeal she whispers something to my father and even the smile on his lips disappears in an instant.
"Already?" He asks in a low voice as if somebody had taken something precious away. The expression in his eyes showing sadness and fear, feelings I have never seen of him before, let alone imagined they would exist at all.
The world around though look just as usual. Dinner is already waiting for us on the table and after my father changed into something more comfortable to wear we sit down at the table and try to eat.
The bread tastes wonderful, just like every time my mother decides to make some. It is a bit sweeter than the bread of the baker, but that is what I love most about it. But still, something about this evening feels terribly wrong. I cannot even swallow the second bite I have taken.
My father and mother do not eat anything at all. They sit a lot closer together today as he only holds onto her hand while she is crying silent tears. She looks down to the floor, trying to hide it from me, but I had noticed some time ago already. I decided not mention it openly and just gave my father questioning look from over the table.
"Should I tell him, honey?" He asks my mother as even his voice is about fail him. Unable to respond with words, she only nods with her head.
"Well, Marc... We knew this day would have to come sooner or later..." He takes a deep breath "Your mother received a note today telling her that she would have to return to Dalaran for a while."
'A note?' I ask myself. I didn't see anybody coming to our house today. I must have fallen asleep for longer than I had imagined. The urge to ask why she had to go there formed many questions in my mind, but I am too startled to say anything as it dawned on me what this actually meant.
"That means for us... that we will have to leave Northdale behind. Only a few days ago a messenger from the Capital City visited us too." I remember that guy at least he came here during last week. He was wearing almost the same armor as my father usually does.
"He told me that I could get a position in the royal guard of King Menethil II. He also informed me that we could get a home in the town of Brill directly north the Capital City if I should take this place."
My throat feels tied up. I can't say even a single word. First my mother is taken away from me all of a sudden, then the place to live I love the most within mere minutes afterwards?
We sit at the dinner table for while without saying a single further word, none of us eats anything from that point on.
After some time I ask if I could stand up and go outside until nightfall. My father nods quietly, while still looking at my sobbing mother.
The sun is still high on the firmament, although the color of the sky is already turning to a deep red.
I sit there for hours staring at the clouds doing nothing else.
Why is this all happening? Everything was fine until this evening, and now within minutes they told me everything would change.
I roll around in the grass so I can look at my home here in the right angle. A sole tear forms and rolls down from my right eye. Right in the middle of my cheek it stops and turns cold, as cold as ice. As I look up into the sky again, I see snow falling.
This is the moment when I realize, that I am only dreaming.
I touch my face with my right hand.
There really is a drop of ice hanging from my face. I remove it from my cheek with my fingers, hearing it crumble between the fingertips of my black Saronite gloves.
This is what I hate about being undead. You may not have to sleep anymore, but sometimes, if everything is quiet and you feel safe, your mind just wanders off...
The snowfall around has been increasing dramatically in the meantime.
I'm sitting on my deathcharger Abigore with my blade Armageddon tied tightly to my back, the axe Shadow's Edge fastened to the back of my steed.
We are on a mountain ridge in the northern areas of Icecrown. From here you can overlook everything if the sky is clear. But now everything is slowly disappearing behind a veil of snow. To the west there should a building visible called Aldur'Thar, basically it is a gate with a large watchtower on top of it, also known by the name 'The Gate of Desolation'. Although there is little left to see now except for its grey spire, standing fast between the whirls of snow.
To the east of me there you find the snow-covered fields known as Sindragosa's Fall. It is supposed that the mighty dragon Sindragosa, former prime-consort of Malygos miserably died there. Now it's only a large open pit pointing out that the rumors are true slightly to its south; the rumors that Arthas himself has raised her as his own companion, the Frost Queen, Empress to the all the frost wyrms of the Lich King.
To the south I can see few remaining spires of Ymirheim reaching from the snow. I despise the ymirjar, every single one of their kind! They are such ignorant fools! None of them ever survived a fight against me and they call themselves the pride of the Lich King! And still the rest of them run blindly into death because none of them knows common fear. Each and every one of that village has never lost in combat with their own kin. And if one of them is defeated, none of the others will acknowledge that they don't have a chance. They are such a meddlesome folk.
Yet what lies behind Ymirheim is far more interest to me: the Icecrown Citadel as it winds up around the Frozen Throne.
In there he is, he sits waiting for his enemies to strike so he can turn them into ghouls and make them his own.
In there he is, he sits waiting for his doom.
At the foot of the mountain I'm standing on is a large open space festering with ghouls and skeletons, ready to move into combat as soon as his will demands it. Some officers of the Kor'kron refer to this place simply as the bombardment. A name that becomes clear once you have monitored it for a while. Every day hundreds of soldiers fly over this short area blasting holes into the ground with their cobalt bombs constructed by engineers just like myself.
Many things have happened until today, great and terrible alike. Many people died so that the few still alive could come this far as we have ventured now. Some of the more unlucky ones are surely down there in between all those ghouls right now, waiting to be blown to bits and reassembled in the Fleshwerks .
At the moment this is an all-out war against the Scourge. The Horde as well as the Alliance are gathering their troops together for the final push. But not only they are mobilizing everything they have. To the north-east of my current location the Argent Crusade is having a Tournament to determine the strongest and most capable of warriors to stand against the Lich King in the final charge on the Citadel.
The effort Tirion Fordring is making might be a key to victory, but as chances are it is just an opportunity to show our world how hapless most of these so-called warriors participating in the tournament really are. I heard they run around with lances jostling each other off their horses. To me it all sounds like a large playground.
It is a shame that I plan on heading there too. If nothing else I will show them to end this pointless playing around, only gambling for time and instead begin with the assault we all have been waiting for so long!
Yet the first great victories have already been achieved. After Naxxramas had disappeared from the sky of the eastern plaguelands, it spotted hovering above Dragonblight, where it lay siege to the outposts of Horde and Alliance alike.
Only a few weeks later though a group of strong men and women were sent into the necropolis to bring an end to Kel'Thuzad reign. Members of every faction and even renegades like myself were included in this little army, our number in the hundreds.
About twenty of us were able to make it to the Lich in the end. The fight was straining and only few of us survived. In the end a total of seven people overcame the former sorcerer. Those few... They are the real warriors, me amongst them. But none of ever received the tribute we deserved. They sent us in to die for their cause, but as we survived, our greatest price was probably our life.
I can't recall what happened to the phylactery of Kel'Thuzad, if it was destroyed or handed over to Tirion Fordring or somebody else. To be honest, I did not care too much about it. If we were able to kill him once, we would manage to do so again. And I? I took my revenge on the Lich for my own, but more importantly: I also was able to kill Anub'Rekhan and Noth the Plaguebringer. Both of them had been a thorn in my side. And it brought ease to my savage soul for a while as I stood above their motionless bodies, but still it did not award any real satisfaction.
Another great victory was achieved in the Borean Tundra in the far west of Northrend. The head of the blue flight, Malygos, was gathering strength to attack the Kirin Tor in Dalaran on his own behalf. After his beloved Sindragosa had been revivified by Arthas, the aspect of magic slowly grew insane. He accused the Kirin Tor for her death at first, but by the time this thought spread and he ultimately swore revenge for her on all living beings which use magic in whatever way. He wanted to protect the world from further harm, but his growing insanity and the pain blinded him, sending him on a reckless killing spree. Because of this the Wyrmrest Accord was created, an alliance of the four other dragonflights, to bring an end to the crusade of Malygos.
Eventually the Blue was defeated and killed by Alexstrasza, the mistress of the red flight and the only one of the aspects that could stand up against Malygos, for Ysera is still dreaming in the Emerald Dream standing against the growing corruption and Nozdormu is fighting against the eternal dragonflight.
The whereabouts of Neltharion, better known as Deathwing, are still unknown, though many believe him as dead. And either way he surely would not be welcome in the Wyrmrest Accord.
But not enough... recently a large Titan facility was opened in the north of the Stormpeaks, releasing more anguish upon this world. Over the past months everybody thought that there was no way to get into this place called Ulduar. But now, only days ago, the gates opened on their own, no one knowing why this was happening. But it didn't take long until the first iron dwarves came charging out of the gates attacking every living under the 'curse of flesh' near the entrance. Only a small group around the dwarf Brann Bronzebeard survived the onslaught and with the help of Kirin Tor they were able to set up a magic sphere directly at the entrance keeping the iron dwarves at bay.
But slowly as my thoughts begin chasing each other so does the snow flurry around me turns into a blizzard.
The wind is howling in my ears, spreading the artificial feeling of cold.
Only moments later you can only see a few couple of meters ahead of you.
This is when I finally turn Abigore around and I head towards the pass leading to the Argent Tournament.
As I ride through the dense snowstorm, I think of Frostmourne once again. Since the day I vowed my loyalty to Sylvanas Windrunner, the image of the sword kept haunting me every once in a while, maybe a single time a week.
But now, as I draw closer to Arthas, I see it more often again.
I know fully well where it is - at the top of the spire.
It feels my presence drawing closer to it again and calls out for me, treacherous little thing it is.
Yet as I touch the bag tied to my belt, the image vanishes immediately.
I know that Frostmourne is a dangerous weapon and still I want to wield it as my own.
It is not any different from the Ashbringer.
It has a mind and soul of its own.
Both these weapons only toy with their masters.