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Chapter 10: Return II
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Quel'Thalas, was it ever more beautiful, if you had been away for awhile. Sylvanas was excited to be back again, the grass under her feet seemed more greener and the leaves...more colorful, another elven autumn was slowly approaching. The Royal Mage of Lordaeron might be an excellent mage by human and Lordaeron' standards, yet by elven standards he was a bit off as Sylvanas had been teleported a bit farther from Silvermoon, but she didn't mind. It gave her the chance to enjoy the view to the city.
"Ranger-General! You're back!" Or not, as Sylvanas saw a brown haired human run up to her, Nathanos.
"Hello to you too, Nathanos!" said Sylvanas, waving at the human ranger. "How have things been here?"
"Same as usual," replied Nathanos.
"You and Lor'themar?"
"One troll away from putting a dozen arrows in his elven ass," replied Nathanos.
"You guys on that bad terms?"
"He is a good archer, yet I hate his attitude," said Nathanos, as they walked towards Silvermoon. "Bloody fool acts like he owns these forests. Had to save his ass twice."
"Trolls?"
"From pissing off his fellow Farstriders," replied Nathanos. "But nevermind about us, how was your trip? I heard it was...interesting."
"You don't know the half of it. But first I have to report it to King Anasterian," said Sylvanas, as they arrived at Silvermoon. "Go tell Lor'themar, that I'm back and he is relieved of duty."
"Right away, Ranger-General," replied Nathanos, a little too eager as he left to carry out his assignment.
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As Sylvanas relayed the information of her three-month trip, she could see that King Anasterian wasn't pleased on what he heard: undead, ones similar to what the orcs had used to burn his land; plague, that turned affected into more undead and that it was affected in Eastern Lordaeron, shipped by grain.
"How many?" asked Anasterian, gripping Felo'melorn angrily.
"I'm not sure, they attacked from inside Eastern Lordaeron, yet I suspect they operate from Northrend, from the ruins there," explained Sylvanas.
'Northrend...' thought Anasterian, tapping on the hilt of his blade. Was that place a forgotten one, even the few knowledge from the cursed kal'dorei times - called an un-liveable place, due to the spider-creatures that roamed the part of the continent. Now it would seem that this Scourge had cleared off the ancient threat. Although at the moment, Anasterian wasn't interested in engaging the new dwellers there, for new land opportunities. "What do you advise, Ranger-General?"
"We need to shore-up defenses and train more rangers. These undead, might strike again," warned Sylvanas.
"Not under my watch or I assume yours," replied Anasterian, as he rose from his throne. "I will call-up the Silver Circle - so we can discuss the threat you presented us and of full separation of Quel'Thalas from the Alliance."
"What?! But...at this time...we need to stay together," said Sylvanas, shocked stiff on the High King' verdict. "The Scourge will-"
"-attack Lordaeron, if need be, not us. As I will not waste elven lives on another war, farther away from our borders anymore. I have uphold my oath to the Arathi bloodline and we elves owe nothing anymore. If need be we can send supplies, not soldiers and that's it. We still have the troll threat on our edge and we don't need to drain our resources any thinner. You mentioned that this plague is magical in origin, then we can handle ourselves if it comes here. This is my verdict and let it be so!"
As King Anasterian left with his bodyguard, Sylvanas was left angrily standing. King Anasterian was wise, powerful and had thousands of years of experience - yet sometimes he could be too blind to see the threat, he only saw the numbers of the dead and resources used, and not the victory achieved. By far he was as stubborn as Arthas...yet she had managed to bring him to reason. With Anasterian she had nothing.
Now Sylvanas was seriously worried - she had seen the undead and how they fought, they had been hard-pressed against the endless horde together, with Lordaeron' troops and now her King wanted to take them on alone. To this she prayed and hoped, that the Scourge would stay in Northrend and away from them, because a direct attack from the Scourge would end horribly for the elves - if the warnings of the nerubians from Northrend are anything to go by.
Aswell that now she was faced with writing to Arthas about her kingdom leaving the Alliance, like Gilneas. Which would likely harm relationships between the two lands. Yet she was also writing to remind him that she still remembred them - no matter what their rulers did.
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Arthas
By now you might have heard of what has happened - Quel'Thalas, namely King Anasterian is pulling us out of the Alliance. He believes he can take on the Scourge on his own...we both know that is a lie. I explained him the dangers, yet he was adamant of separating and isolating us, like the Gilneans...yet he forgets, we don't have a giant wall made of iron and steel to protect us - just trees and magic...and against the undead I fear it won't be enough...I...sorry...first time writing a letter to somebody close.
I'm worried, about the safety of my lands, I heard Eastern Lordaeron is still recovering from the plague and the undeath - not much against a full-blown Scourge attack, from there I imagine they could turn either way...to us or to you, along with the dead and killed, who serve them...I...I fear for our safety...and I'm confused on what to do about this predicament...but I hope you can respond to this one and give some help on the subject. - Love, SW.
Arthas crunched up the letter and threw it into the fire, after he had finished reading it. Four days had managed to pass, and now this had to happen - the Alliance of Lordaeron had lost another member due to politics. He would have to write back to Sylvanas, to calm her worrying mind, when he got back. As a man who defended his homeland almost as equally as she did, he understood the troubles burdening her mind - he would feel too, if he were in her position. Another thing he had to do, as Arthas wiped the sweat from his face - as the forges of Ironforge were the hottest on the continent.
He had come here with Uther, two days ago, so Arthas could be made a new weapon - this time he had opted for a sword. Hammering away at the forge was the Dwarven King himself, Magni Bronzebeard. When he heard the Prince of Lordaeron needed a sword, he was more than happy to oblige in gratitude for rescuing his brother. Toiling next to him was Brann Bronzebeard, the Great Explorer and another grateful brother. With finally Muradin himself hammering as well - the three Bronzebeards hammering together.
Both Arthas and Uther would agree that this newly forged weapon would be one of a kind. Forged with the best metals in Khaz Modan and mixed with remaining shards of Light' Vengeance, this would be a sword unequal. Even the wooden handle remains were added to fuel the fire - nothing would be wasted. Arthas felt his mistakes burn away with each blow - brashness, arrogance, zealousness, foolishness - as a weapon was reforged, so too would the wielder be a different man.
"The flame burns brightly!" spoke Magni, as sparks flew.
"This weapons wants to be made!" replied Muradin, hammering hard.
"Our greatest achievement!" added Brann, as he added his own hammer blow. Magni then finally thrusted it into the icy-water as the metal cooled and hardened - it was completed, the Sword of the Three Brothers as Magni would then remember it.
"It is done!" spoke Magni, presenting the completed sword - a mix of gold and blue, in a similar pattern that once adjorned Arthas' maul, as if it had been hammered from the Light itself and on the hilt was the symbol of Lordaeron. Now only one thing remained to be done.
"Prince Arthas, it is customary to speak a phrase from the Light, during the blessing of a weapon. Would you do the honor?" asked Uther, as he got ready to bless the blade.
"Of course," replied Arthas, as he stood opposite of Uther. "Before me stands a weapon of steel, made for war and battles, I ask the grace of the Light to make it into something more. Let it be a defender of the weak and protector of the helpless. Let it be unbreakable as the Light itself. Let it never be used to spill the blood of an innocent. Let it bring a swift end to the lurkers of the void. Let its wielder be calm, be courageous, wise. Let this weapon be known as Athe'mar - Wisdom' Edge."
"..."
"...boy...that was amazing..." said Muradin, as Arthas soon lifted up the blessed sword.
"I meant every word I said..." uttered Arthas, as felt the sword' weight around. Then he sheated the holy blade in respect.
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Meanwhile, farther away from Azeroth, somewhere in the Twisting Nether three high-ranking dreadlords had gathered: Tichondrius, Anetheron
and Mephistroth - two of them being the epidome of anger at the moment.
"This is a damned disaster!" yelled Anetheron.
"Calm down brother."
"I don't see your head in any danger, Tichondrius!" replied Anetheron. "Archimonde is mad with anger - the Lich King is incapacitated, the undead are only one step away from going mindless! The Lich King' plan had failed in the worst way: Frostmourne is in pieces and so was his plan of a gaining a champion; and added to the insult, the blasted nerubians have grown even bolder! We are in danger of losing control of Northrend itself!"
"Even so, the plan must go on," spoke Tichondrius.
"How?!" asked Mephistroth mad as well. "We don't have the full-control of the Scourge anymore, only the ones we have created or subjugated to our control. Damned be, if the Lich King wasn't comatose I'd melt his damn prison myself!"
"Then we make to with what we have!" said Tichondrius.
"We barely have enough forces under our control to hold Northrend, the dreadlords there are trying to fix this problem yet the damned nerubians are hindering our every step!" said Anetheron.
"All the more reason the speed up our plan," replied Tichondrius.
"We lack the power to completly crush the human kingdom, let alone take on the elves afterwards," said Mephistroth.
"Ahh...but who said anything of crushing the humans...atleast for now."
"What are you scheming on, Tichondrius?" asked Anetheron.
"Of doing what we Nathrezim to best - sow chaos," spoke Tichondrius. "Remnants of the Cult of the Damned still linger in the human kingdom. All we needed to do is grab the Summoner and leave a trail of destruction and confusion in our wake, courtesy of the cult. The humans will remain to pick up their pieces and from there we charge towards Quel'Thalas."
"Even so, we'd still be short on forces," said Mephistroth.
"Your forget about a certain race at elves border," added Tichondrius. "I don't think it would be much trouble, to persuade the trolls to join our cause...and added to the sweetness, the Elven King has isolated his lands from his allies, further alienating the elves from the humans - their arrogance will be their downfall."
"Maybe...but we still need a leader!" said Mephistroth.
"There is a human baron, who leads the Cult of the Damned remnants, who can fill our requirement. As well as, that I'll be personally leading this assault to ensure it succeeds," spoke Tichondrius. "It has been awhile, since I had the pleasure of spilling...elven blood..."
"This is a bold step...yet nothing less, than what Archimonde demands," said Mephistroth.
"It advise you to be careful...brother...these elves are descendant of the Highborne exiles...and...kal'dorei," spat Anetheroth at the last name.
"They are mere shadows of the high mages who we battled long ago," replied Tichondrius. "It's time we ended the High Elven bloodline...permanently..."
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A/N: Quel'Thalas left the Alliance; Arthas got a new sword and the dreadlords are scheming. Find out where this leads...
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