Hello people! I am back to write again. Sadly, I have been way too busy with school since forever to spend any time writing or even playing WotLK Classic for research purposes. Suffice it to say it has been a long 14 months. I guess my writing of canon events later will have to come from what I can scrounge up in wowpedia and other wiki sources. I decided to make a major plot decision in this chapter that will change just about everything later. While this story is not abandoned, it is not my focus. I have been working on my own issues and school the last few years, and that battle isn't over. I also had a small breakthrough in writing my original novel (the first of many, hopefully) that gifted my writing focus to that. I have once again reached a block there, so here I am finishing a chapter I started over a year ago. Future chapters of this will be slow, but hopefully not as slow as this one has been.

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of World of Warcraft of Activision-Blizzard's other IPOs. But may they be doomed to the Twisting Nether for the disaster the lore has become since Legion.

Dustwallow Marsh, Theramore City

26 ADP, 8 Days Before the Battle of Light's Hope Chapel

Given our short time frame, I had hoped to request a portal to Dalaran off of Jaina immediately so that we could get back before the battle with days to spare, as I had no idea how long a request to the dragonflights could take. Hell, I didn't even know if they would receive me. Given their longevity, it was entirely possible for such a meeting to take weeks to arrange, especially since I knew they must be busy dealing with Malygos' bout of madness. While that poor aspect had been driven mad over ten thousand years ago when Deathwing/Neltharion use the Dragon Soul to obliterate most of Malygos' Blue Dragonflight - including his prime consort, Sindragosa - he had spent most of the time since hidden away in the Eye of Eternity, an arcane plane he used as a retreat from the world.

But according to my spotty knowledge of Warcraft lore, he was drawn out of his grief by the return of Archimonde during the Third War, the destruction of the Mt. Hyjal world tree Nordrassil, the Night Elf use of fel-tainted druidic magic to create Teldrassil, and the recent teleportation of the entire city of Dalaran to its current spot above Northrend, in Crystalsong Forest.

The Aspect of Magic had seemingly come to the conclusion that mortals could not be entrusted with magic of any sort, and that it was his job to purge Azeroth of what he considered 'rogue' magic users, which basically amounted to everyone not of his dragonflight. News had even reached the Argent camp that blue dragons were seen across the Eastern Kingdoms and Kalimdor, attacking locations that held valuable magical relics. Most had been driven away in failure, but I guess this was just a prelude to Malygos' canon attempt to divert all of the world's leylines to the Nexus in Northrend, which was sure to doom the entire planet if it succeeded. Magic of one form or another was everywhere in Azeroth, and quite literally sucking the life out of the planet and world-soul would turn it into a ruined wreck like Outland.

It really sucks when uber-powerful beings go insane. Luckily, he canonically took a lot of time to set up and begin, so intervention isn't immediately urgent.

Back to my immediate plans, I really wanted to head off to Dalaran as soon as possible, but Corporal Stephens (and Fitz, the bastard) was trying to put his foot down.

"No!", Stephens scolded me. "We absolutely cannot leave right away! The Lady Proudmoore has graciously offered the assistance of herself and her people in fighting a dire threat! It is very disrespectful to even consider leaving immediately! We need to spend at least a few days here offering our thanks for her aid and hospitality!"

"What he said.", Fitz added.

"But we can't!" I argued. "We're on a very short timetable, and who knows how long a meeting with dragons might take!"

"Lad, Stephens is right. You don't show up on a diplomatic mission, get given a meeting on that day, be 'volunteered' over a thousand soldiers and supply personnel, and then just leave them in the lurch, waving goodbye. We need to take the trip back to the Dawn with them, arrange a meeting between Lady Jaina and the Dawn leadership, be a diplomat. That's not how things are done. Even the Dark Irons wouldn't do such a thing, at least, not before the Second War." Fitz told me gently. "I know you want to seek help from the dragons but it isn't likely to happen. Lady Jaina is volunteering us half of her personal guard, all of them veteran fighters, and four ballistae. We have to avoid alienating our existing allies before we can run off to find others."

"I've already alienated Lady Jaina, and she's not the type to renege on such a promise. I get it, but the fact is that even this lot won't be enough to hold back the Lich King's army. So unless you think the Dawn is unbeatable, I have to try.", I said. "We've already wasted too much time here. Collecting supplies for the Dawn, helping organize the volunteers…we arrived here with an estimate that we had maybe two to three weeks before the Scourge could attack Light's Hope. It's been ten days since we had that meeting and it's been ten days since they started preparing! At that rate this lot will be ready for departure after all of the Dawn's bones have been reanimated and the last holy ground in the Eastern Plaguelands desecrated!"

"Perhaps…" Stephens hesitated. "Perhaps I could stay here and help arrange things? The people of Theramore…Theramorans?…Theramese?…Therawegians?...need help getting supplies in order. While most fought or survived the Scourge when they ripped through Lordaeron years ago, they haven't been part of such an effort since the Battle of Mount Hyjal, and most who went there died. I can help here with logistics, while maintaining the presence of the Dawn so your departure won't be as insulting."

I brightened. "That works! See! Solutions, people. There are three of us. If it is absolutely vital that we stay here and do the diplomatic dance - and what an awful dance it is, humourless and rigid - and it is also vital that we beseech the aid of the dragons to fight the Scourge - which I absolutely believe that it is - then I'll go by myself. You two have doubts about that anyways."

"Lad, I'm not about to let you go gallivanting off to Northrend all by yourself! Even if the dragons don't feel like blasting you, that's Scourge central!" Fitz yelled, gesturing dramatically. "There's a thousand and one different things there that want to slaughter you and suck out your living marrow, and a thousand and one more that'll raise you into undeath afterwards!"

I knew that. Hell, did I know that. Better than anyone living, probably. Based on how this Azeroth was compared to the canon Azeroth, stepping a single foot on Northrend by myself might as well be waving the dinner bell for every ghoul, spiderling, and ice troll on the continent. This stupid self-imposed mission was suicidal. But the Battle of Light's Hope Chapel is the only definitive chance that we would have to kill the Lich King until after a massive invasion of Northrend was complete. If the dragons were there, particularly powerful ones…we could really do it. End a war against an organized and intelligent Scourge and start a new one against a rabble of mindless undead. Yes, people would die. Possibly even people that weren't meant to, ones that took part in the fight against the Legion later.

But I had to try, and taking these two with me would not improve my chances enough to risk their lives. I was just coming to like Fitz, and while Stephens was a prick with a pole up his ass, that wasn't a reason to get him killed.

Ok, so maybe it might be a reason, but it wasn't a good or reasonable one.

If trying to gain the help of the dragonflights was going to be my end, so be it. I'd already guaranteed Jaina's presence at Light Hope, so at least things should go a bit better for them than it did in canon, which should trickle down in the future. I was still determined to try. Admittedly, part of that may be the desire to show up like fucking Gandalf at the Battle of Helm's Deep with a roaring, fire breathing cavalry. That would certainly guarantee me a badass of the year award, even over Fordring wounding and driving off the Lich King at the end of the battle.

But I'd been fighting with those poor Argent Dawn bastards for weeks now, sometimes quite literally in the trenches. I knew many of their names. I knew their faces. They weren't NPCs to me anymore. They were people.

And I'd be damned if I didn't do everything in my power to save them from Arthas and his merry band of saronite-sucking shitheads.

"I appreciate the thought, but you'd just get in the way, Fitz." There, that ought to scare him off. He wasn't that much of a friend that he wouldn't be offended by it. And he was a gnome, they were rather sensitive about blatant insults.

Judging by the look on his face, it worked like a charm, even if he didn't seem to believe I meant what I said.

But before he could try arguing again, I turned around and walked off to beg for a teleport from Jaina.

Eastern Plaguelands, Crown Guard Tower

Primary Argent Dawn Encampment

Four Days Earlier, 13 Days Before the Battle of Light's Hope Chapel

Maxwell Tyrosus, Lord Commander of the Argent Dawn in the Plaguelands and veteran of the Third War, was exhausted. Fearing the desecration of the last holy ground in old human kingdoms as well as the bodies of the honoured soldiers interred there, he had been dragging the Argent Dawn eastwards at a relentless pace. While the Dawn was accustomed to campaigning and having to regularly shift position across the desolate and deadly plaguelands, effectively moving an army of hundreds while being constantly attacked and slowed by Scourge warbands meant that it had taken an elite force four days to pack up and travel from Andorhal to the Crown Guard Tower in the Eastern Plaguelands. Attrition amongst the men had been light thanks to their experience and constant vigilance - as well as their numbers compared to the paltry roving groups of undead that constituted most of the remaining resistance in the Western Plaguelands - but it was an exhausting job, and it needed doing. Every hour they had to travel was one less they had to prepare for would be a massive battle at Light's Hope Chapel. Leaving a small garrison of some hundred men to keep the Forsaken honest in the Western Plaguelands had been painful enough, wasting time would not help. He had a strong fist of seven hundred men traversing difficult terrain that was actively hostile to them. With the few hundred strong garrison at Light's Hope, they would barely break a thousand in total, only fifty of whom were heavy cavalry.

"Lord Tyrosus! Lord Tyrosus!" a messenger shouted outside his command tent.

Maxwell, or "Uncle Maxie" as his nieces used to call him, sighed. Standing stiffly from his hard backed chair, he walked over to the tent flap and gently lifted it. "Yes, what is it, Jackson?"

Neophyte Edgar Jackson, a boy not even twenty summers old, saluted him. "Sir, message from Knight Captain Akris. We lost another two horses to the wildlife last night. The slugs, sir." He shifted nervously.

Maxwell closed his eyes, the weight of this damned land pressing harder on his shoulders. "Alright, Jackson, tell him thanks for the update."

Jackson saluted again, turned, and ran off in the direction of the logistics compound.

Make that 48 heavy cavalry. The Plaguelands were not kind to horses.

It had been difficult enough trying to maintain their horse population when their cavalry were their best force for hunting down local Scourge that did not immediately attack them, but the land itself was cruel. Undead beasts from wolves to spiders roamed the land, serving as an additional barrier, one that sometimes wreaked havoc on the outer tents at night, slipping through their barricades with almost all of the grace and cunning they had in life.

That was before they crossed the Thondroril River. Now there were also slugs the size of dogs that regularly seemed to escape the notice of his scouts, blending into the diseased undergrowth as they did. They also did not tend to wake up their victims until it was too late.

Maxwell slowly marched back to his map table and leaned heavily on it, tracing the route to the next stage of their journey: Light's Shield Tower. Before the Dawn could reach that, however, they still had to finish wiping out the Scourge in Corin's Crossing, or else they would be flanked. A job that the garrison in Light's Hope was supposed to accomplish weeks ago, only for more Scourge to flood the area and choke their communications.

Fucking Scourge. Fucking plaguelands. Fucking war.

"Maxie" reached up and withdrew the small oval pendant inside his armour, the only memento he still had of his sister's family. The happy eyes of his nieces seemed to stare at him accusingly.

He thumped the table with his mailed fist and closed his eyes, snapping the pendant shut.

There was work to do.