Life almost got in the way of a timely post of this chapter! But fortune prevailed, and I was able to remotely do it from work rather than waiting till I got home... Thank you to those who are faithfully reading and responding to this story as it continues with full speed through the narrative of the Warcraft expansions, it has been very gratifying to see the reviews of many who are enjoying the story, and makes the struggle with writing the one expansion I did not play through worthwhile! Check out socials on the profile page, R&R, and please enjoy! ~F

Chapter 153

Avalanche

Mahan paused from his work, looking up from the crates of magically enhanced grain he was mixing into the stockpiles of the Scarlet Onslaught, as he sensed a burst of Fel magic to the northeast. There was only one mortal that could summon that much power, as no member of the Legion was in the mountains east of the Dragonblight.

"Nobu'tan is here," Theodore whispered, recognizing the signature to the magic.

While he was significantly secure in his alliance with the Nathrezim, the Master of the great secrets still remembered the shudder of pure power that had descended upon him in Desolace, and knew that the future conflict with Nobu'tan and the Dark Horde would be a long and bloody thing, filled with betrayal and countless deaths of people he had known since his youth.

Nevertheless, he was set on his course, despite the small vestiges of fear that the sheer Fel power of the Grand Warlock of Stormreaver clan possessed. Mahan would rule this world, under the watchful gaze of the Nathrezim, and together they would usher in the true master of all existence. But in order to do so, they must feed the wheels of death with as many mortal souls as possible, which was why he was here in Dragonblight, poisoning the Scarlet Crusade at random while they prepared to face off against the oncoming storm of Naxxramus.

The undead of the Scourge was nothing compared to the powers that Mehan now served, and the new powers that he had to keep hidden behind his personal magic, and the Fel. With that secret weapon, he would have more than enough of an edge if it came to a rematch between himself and Nobu'tan. The humiliation of how easily he had been surprised and defeated when he had tried to match power with the Grand Warlock still stung.

Never again. He would not allow himself to be found in that sort of weak situation ever again.

"Inquisitor Ward?" a voice said, catching Mahan by surprise at how close it was.

Turning quickly, Theodore spotted Brigette Abbendis looking curiously at him. Inwardly he ground his teeth. The paladin was infuriating in her ever-watchfulness of his movements now that he was down in her domain, and both of them were well aware of the disdain that they felt for each other.

"Yes, General Abbendis?" he asked, straightening and turning back to face the woman, untouchable as far as he had been commanded by his confidants.

"Are you well? You seemed to be rather tense, looking over our grain stockpile there?" the woman asked, seeming casual but the pointedness of her eyes told another story.

"Nothing, just focused in calculating the supplies to let the Scarlet High Command know are needed here in New Hearthglen for the front lines against the Scourge." Mahan lied swiftly.

"Ah, of course. Thank you for watching out for even the smallest detail of our needs," she said, drawing back as she returned to her personal patrol to oversee the running of the city and base of the Crusaders.

Glowering at her back, Mahan quickly set out the remaining crates among the others in the stockpile. There would be plenty of dead crusaders to go around, and unfortunately he could not do something to ensure that this paladin met her end in any way other than at the hands of a Scourge, Horde, Alliance, or Dark Horde warrior.

The Nathrezim were adamant that this area of new Hearthglen was to be the sweet smelling lure for their enemies, in order for a grand scheme to begin with whoever took the bait.

It would be something to eventually destroy all three factions, and therefore it was irrelevant who the immediate target became, but still Mahan was partial to the Dark Horde being the eventual host for the destruction of the peace that they strived for with the other factions of this world.

Nevertheless, his job here was completed, and he would be departing back to Onslaught Harbor in the north, where their forces were prepared to be thrown against Icecrown, and whomever was first to start invading the bastion of the Lich King and got in their way.

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Teron watched impassively as the wild charge of the Drakkari Trolls alongside the Dark Horde, as the two armies descended into the Scourge-held lowlands of the tiered landscape. They knew from their warlocks' scouting eyes that there was both Ebon Blade Death Knights and Argent Crusade factions fighting desperately in these lands, but the Frost Trolls had been known to be hostile to them, which may prove to be something of a problem when they reached the two camps.

A bridge to be crossed when reached, he supposed, but their momentum was not something to really be countered, so he figured it would be most likely that the other non-Scourge forces would either step out of the way as their rampage spilled past, or join in the driving of the Scourge from Zul'drak completely.

Behind them on the upper tiers, one-by-one, four massive lights started to shoot into the sky, and the hex priests and other casters of the Frost Trolls seemed to get empowered by some force unknown to the Death Knight. This was interesting, as he had experienced many things in his overly long lifetime, but this was something novel and new.

The religion of these trolls, these Loa, and their powers that they could freely bestow on their worshippers was something that not even the demons of the Legion could do without a sizable about of Fel power behind them, which they have to take from a source more powerful than themselves.

Meanwhile, these Loa seemed to draw energy from their followers, and then in turn can bestow it back on them in greater quantities. It was fascinating, and something that Teron wished to look into manipulating regarding creatures like Nobu'tan, or other mortals that have become changed through the Fel and other powers that have altered their very being.

If Nobu'tan could grant Fel power to his followers directly, rather than through rituals based on the blood of demons, it would counter the problems that occurred when the Legion demanded that the Horde bend the knee, and they were compelled to do so by the magic running through them.

If Nobu'tan granted the Dark Horde direct power in the Fel, they would be answerable to him alone, rather than any outside influence, demon or otherwise. It could be a massive counter to any future advance of the demons to try and invade Azeroth.

The only reason that Teron had even thought of that, already musing as he swung his blade mechanically, cleaving through scores of mindless Scourge undead as he advanced through their ranks, was because of the power that Kil'jaeden had exerted to control Nobu'tan directly through the Fel.

The damage that could be caused if their forces were dominated, Fel orc, warlock, or whatever, through the simple nature of their being, then the entire Dark Horde had to find a way to defend themselves from it ever happening again.

Hopefully, the defeat of the Burning Crusade would buy them all time before they had to face the Legion again, but it was never too early to start working on a solution, even if they had to split some attention from fighting other battles that only tangentially affected their faction.

As their wild rampage approached the end of the second tier of Zul'drak, the howl of the dead ahead was steadily drowned out by the shouts of the living. "Push forward Crusaders! For the Light!"

Teron spotted the first of the banners of the Argent Crusade, clustered in the structure that blockaded the stairs separating the first and second tiers of the region. "Standing between the maw of death and those left, even if they might be stabbed in the back. Like true paladins," he said, moderately impressed in the valiance of these mortal Light-wielders.

Idly, he wondered what the Crusaders thought as the Scourge was driving right into their lines, even as the blaring instruments and fluttering banners of the Dark Horde approached at a mad dash, alongside the Frost Trolls of Zul'drak.

But whether they were momentarily flustered at the oncoming Dark Horde, Teron was denied the knowledge, as by the time they arrived, the dead had been slaughtered, and the paladins were working swiftly to mend their wounds and turn their lines back toward the overrun lower terrace.

"Lord Nobu'tan, a pleasant surprise to see you and the Dark Horde in this place," the leader of the force said, the dark haired man said, shouldering his arcanite reaper axe.

"Commander," the Grand Warlock replied, turning to glance at the Frost Troll leadership. The Drakkari had withheld themselves a ways off, looking suspiciously at the Argent Crusade forces as though expecting to be attacked themselves.

"I see," the warrior said, understanding the situation immediately. "The Drakkari have decided to fight alongside us, rather than try and take back their lands alone."

"That is something akin to the truth," Nobu'tan said neutrally, "I plan to make something of a more… permanent, association with them in due course. But for the time being, we are allied in driving the Scourge back into the Dragonblight, and then northward to their Master's doorstep."

"Then we can work with that," the commander said, nodding toward the Frost King, and beckoning them to join in the discussion.

"We have three obstacles to taking the lowest level of Zul'drak," the man explained, turning to point downward, "two flying necropoli, Voltarus and Zeramas, and then there's the fallen Drak'Tharon Keep."

Glancing at King Malakk, Teron caught the look of concerned anger on the troll at the mention of their keep, but Nobu'tan was already scanning their forces and deciding troop maneuvers. "If the Argent Crusade can handle one of the Necropoli, I can send part of the Dark Horde to take on the other, and the rest of us can assist the Drakkari in liberating their forward Keep. Assaulting each location simultaneously will prevent the Scourge from reinforcing the others while we regroup and move from place to place."

"My Lord," Bannok Grimaxe said, stepping forward, "The Dawn's Hammer wish to spearhead the destruction of the second Necropolis."

"Granted, alongside the Balefire Clan and the Blackrocks," Nobu'tan replied. "I want the Amani to reinforce the Stormreavers and the Drakkari to the south, while the Bleeding Hollow, Blightbringer, and Bonechewers will go with the Argent Crusade. Teron, the Shadowmoon will see to reinforcing our foothold here."

"As you wish, Grand Warlock," Teron said, already scoping out the surrounding lands and how they could use every available resource, including the slain Scourge, to hold the line as the other undead washed upon them in waves.

"The Ebon Blade will be falling back to our lines soon enough," the Argent Commander said, glancing into the tide of undead and their blighted horrors across the lowest region of the troll territory.

"Then we have our orders," Nobu'tan said, dismissing them all. Turning to the Frost King, he nodded, "Lead the way; we are at your command to see to Drak'Theron Keep."

Teron was left watching as the Dark Horde split among their sub-factions, each segment of the army signaling the order to march with long blasts of horns and the pounding of drums.

"Plant our banner atop the ruin," Teron ordered the page bearing his standard, "We shall hold this line until Lord Nobu'tan returns!"

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Lor'themar shifted edgily as he watched the grand clearing of the partition of Silvermoon. Too long had the ruin of the Dead Scar cleaved their city in two—but that would end, starting with this day. With all the advancements that the Blood Elves had achieved since the relighting of the Sunwell, they had more than enough manpower and strength of magic to finally commit the rejoin their city together once more.

But still, Lor'themar would rather be elsewhere. As important as this event was for their people, the fact that the Horde was marshalling forces on Northrend, and the Blood Elves had only a token force among them grated on the former Ranger General.

They had been harmed greatly by Arthas and the Scourge, their entire way of life shattered in one vile instant. To not have been summoned to take the fight on those frozen shores was painful. The Forsaken had some of their magisters with them, and Archmage Sunreaver keeping them abreast of the movement of forces from Dalaran.

It had taken a great deal of effort on his part, as Grand Magister Romath had been most irate at Sunreaver's willingness to rejoin the Kirin Tor, after their participation in turning a blind eye to the prejudice that had almost wiped out the Blood Elves after the Third War. But Lor'themar had been promised that all those who had had a hand in that torment had been punished, and the Kirin Tor had changed.

For now, that was enough for him, and he had ordered Romath to aid Dalaran if they had need of it, regardless of the remnant of the High Elves that remained in the city and wanted nothing to do with the Horde-affiliated part of their race.

So much for loyalty between kin, but Lor'themar wouldn't let that blind him to the importance of keeping an eye on Northrend through Dalaran. Rather than spend effort to bully their way onto the front lines, especially with the brute Garrosh Hellscream in charge, they would be able to swoop in once the time was right and be part of the final push on Icecrown.

The young upstart of an orc leader did not impress Lor'themar. While he was charismatic, as far as other races were concerned, the Elf Lord needed something with substance to be inspired by his leaders. Thrall made the cut, because the wise shaman was at least keen and subtle enough to keep up with even the likes of Sylvanas, but Garrosh was all force and arrogance, nothing remotely similar.

Still, the Blood Elves had their fingers on the pulse of the Northrend Campaign. Their friendship with the Forsaken, as one sided and manipulative as it was, would guarantee that they were made aware of events at the right time to intervene.

Still…

Lor'themar wanted to make every one of those undead monsters pay for what they did to his people, the lives that they had shattered and left him to pull the pieces together. In the meantime, Lor'themar had commited most of the Sin'dorei fleet to patrolling the northern waters, keeping eyes on the coast and stopping any potential counterattack from the Scourge or other undesirable factions on the waters between Northrend and the other continents.

They had standing orders to allow Alliance and Dark Horde ships through, although the latter was more because they were not remotely prepared to fight the powerful technology that the Dark Horde kept developing ahead of them.

Lor'themar still remembered the power of the magically protected ship that had forced them from their last grasp of Arathi, and the reports from Sylvanas made it clear that they had made their fleet even stronger. Ships reinforced with enchanted iron and steel, all mined from their mountain fortress.

Their wooden vessels wouldn't stand a chance, and Lor'themar knew it wouldn't be a useful effort to try and engage them. Luckily the Dark Horde's ships had remained on the easternmost coasts, funneling up and down the coastline without even getting close to the shores of Eversong.

Still, that did little to ease the nerves of the Regent Lord of Quel'thalas. Eventually, some day, likely one drawing closer than they wanted, the Forest Trolls would demand revenge for the breaking of Zul Aman. Lor'themar knew it, and he knew that Nobu'tan knew it. As long as the war with the Lich King progressed, he figured that they would be forestalled from such action, but after that… he couldn't be sure.

He had promised the Lord of the Dark Horde that the Sin'dorei would be ready when that war came, and while he had more than meant it, Lor'themar did not want it to happen.

All the preparations that they had made in secret, all the weapons forged and enchanted to prepare for a resurgence of the Troll Wars, and Lor'themar hadn't the heart for such wanton bloodshed. It could drag both the Horde and the Dark Horde into an all out war, and he did not want such a thing to happen.

There had to be another way.

The assembled citizens applauded as the first large piece of rubble was vanished by the magisters, and engineers started to swarm the hole, applying all manner of mechanical and magical devises to begin the excavation of the narrow strip of rubble that rent their city in two.

Lor'themar suddenly had a thought strike him, one that could possible mend all rifts, or at least patch them enough to allow a means of peace between them all.

It wasn't likely, but it was the best way forward he could see in the brewing situation, to let them all emerge with their honor intact.

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Garona much preferred the new chambers they had been given in the upper levels of Blackrock Mountain. The camp had been more remote, true, but the presence of the now active Fel Altar was not acceptable for Med'an and his resistance to the lure of the Fel. Nobu'tan had understood, and granted them chambers near to where the Felblood Elves were, in the uppermost levels of the mountain.

From here they had access to the wide balcony that was connected to Nobu'tan's war room and throne chamber; although Garona at least knew he didn't use it as such. It was one of the few things that she greatly appreciated about the young pup. He was a humble leader, not lording his power or knowledge over the rest of the Dark Horde, and allowing the tribes and clans to mostly govern themselves while he handled those matters that affected them all as a whole.

Currently, her son was with his tutors in the central platform of the mountain, suspended over the lava pit on dark iron chains forged by the dwarves long before the Horde took the mountain.

There had been structures there before, but Nobu'tan had them removed and the entire platform turned into an open amphitheater for displaying the skills and magical prowess of the various clans. For now, it served as Med'an instruction classroom.

Mages and Shaman from every clan were assembled, wanting to add their own special techniques and brands of magic to the boy-hero that had, according to the rumor mill of the mountain, singlehandedly saved the Dark Horde from another Scourge invasion.

Nobu'tan had leapt on the rumors, and rather than quash them, had fanned the flames and set up Med'an as something akin to his personal apprentice, which buoyed his reputation in the mountain to the point where it breached the uppermost ceiling. The magic users were more or less competing to have the privilege of training Med'an with anything they felt was useful or new, and that was before they realized how gifted he was with all forms of magic.

Warlocks, however, were notably absent. Nobu'tan had specific instructed that only a select few could instruct the boy in knowledge regarding the Fel, and only theory under the strict observation of Garona herself. So far it was working out quite well, High Warlock Xi'lun of the Blackrock Clan being very careful to do nothing more than minor demonstrations of Fel power and demonic summoning in the boy's presence.

Nevertheless, it was amusing to see all that Med'an was learning just by watching the others fight over the opportunity to train him, and Garona, even from a high vantage point of one of the overlooking balconies, she could see him already subtly practicing gestures and stances as a pair of shaman dueled for his instruction.

"Lady Halforcen?" the Felblood Elf leader, Valdris Felgorge, said, approaching cautiously.

"Yes," she said, not removing her eyes from her son.

"I know it is presumptuous to ask, but I would be remiss to not offer the experience and knowledge of the Arcane, the Light, and now the Fel for the training of your son," Valdris explained, "several of our number were priests and magisters before their change, and as you know we now have a very intimate relationship with the Fel."

She hummed noncommittally. It was a tempting offer, and she knew that Med'an was ravenous for all manner of magical knowledge, but she did not want to seem too eager to sate the Felblood's need to prove themselves to Nobu'tan.

"Perhaps I can convince him of the benefits," she said, "but what do you get in return?"

Glancing at the Elf, she spotted the knowing smirk that crossed the deformed face, "I think you know we will already get what we want just by having the opportunity," he said, "status among the Dark Horde, and good graces in the eyes of Lord Nobu'tan."

"You Elves are all alike," Garona said, straightening and stretching her wiry back, "desperate at every moment to scrape together more notoriety and reputation."

At least Valdris had the momentary humility to shrug sheepishly. "We do what we must to survive. The Scourge taught us that the hard way, and the Legion only cemented the notion."

"Alright," Garona acquiesced, "I can already tell you Med'an would be thrilled to learn anything you have to teach him. And keeping you around is useful to Nobu'tan, so it is beneficial to the both of us that your reputation among the other factions grows."

"I am glad that you understand our position," Valdris said, "We shall await you to contact us for a more private setting to teach the young Med'an. I suspect we would not be particularly welcome in the pit with the others vying for his attention."

"No," Garona said, turning her attention back as the Elf took his leave, "I suppose you wouldn't."

Eventually a pair of shaman and a mage won the impromptu tournament, and Med'an joined them in the center, eagerly listening to what they had to say while the others who had been defeated watched.

Garona noted the extreme strategy that Nobu'tan had performed in using her son as a prize for the clans to fight for. Each would end up learning from each other secrets that they would otherwise have kept hidden, improving the power of the Dark Horde's spell casters as a whole under the guise of training their future champion.

Perhaps even that was part of the warlock's plan, in order to draw her son into choosing a home faction over the others. Garona did not see that happening, as Med'an had friends and allies in all three now, and wouldn't want to choose between them against the others.

Not that she was going to stop them from trying. Every scrap of knowledge gleaned into that sponge of a brain her son had inherited from his father was something that possibly could save his life when dark forces such as the Twilight Cult remnant came for him again.

And she had no doubt that there were sinister forces looking for someone as powerful as Med'an, in order to forcefully convert him to whatever brand of madness they subscribed to.

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Nobu'tan had to suppress the urge to burst into manic laughter as he rode hard after the Drakkari warriors heading south to the lowest point of their lands. The clear displeasure of the Frost Troll king regarding their involvement in liberating their southern fortress, but was not enough of a fool to outright reject their help.

And so here they were, chasing after the mammoth and rhino mounts of the Drakkari, as well as their transformed druids and shaman as they crashed through knots of Scourge forces already marshalling out of the fallen Keep.

Undead were pouring from the steep stairs from the troll stronghold, with necromancers, both Scourge and even some fallen Drakkari, raising many more from piles of bones that clogged the entrance to the fortress.

"Traitors!" King Malakk bellowed from the back of his mammoth, "You will all die!"

"Crush the Scourge!" Nobu'tan ordered, even as goblins scurried forward, pulling a new piece of technology from their backs and loading them in the snow. Nobu'tan had been extremely interested in the other factions and their technology, and had put the goblins of their homeworld up to the challenge of reverse engineering the mortars of the dwarves from the Alliance.

They had succeeded.

The launchers took small iron balls, the size of old Quidditch bludgers, and with an explosion of chemical powders, sent the projectile flying at higher speeds than the trebuchets could ever dream. They lacked the range of the larger siege engines, but their velocity was something to be impressed by.

The snow around the base of the stone stairs exploded upward as the iron ball struck, leaving a crater and scrap of bone from the undead it had struck. More teams started firing their explosives, peppering the ground around the fortress' entrance, shattering the attempt that the Scourge had mustered to defend them, while the cavalry of the Drakkari and the Stormreaver Clan charged up to the stone steps.

Fel Centaur roared in demonic rage as they hurled javelins and rammed spears into the front line of Scourge minions, while the Trolls leapt from their mounts, allowing the beasts to rage on their own, scaling the steps to attack their undead kin and the necromancers trying to keep their hold on the fortress.

Scaling the steps after the Frost King, Nobu'tan watched as his people moved to take the outer defenses of the Keep, and turn their weapons against anything that dared to try and force them from their position on the outer battlements.

"My Stormreavers will start clearing a wide swath around the stronghold of the undead," Nobu'tan said as they walked, "I will attend to you as we clear the interior, as a counter to whatever necromantic casters lie in wait for your warriors."

The flow of emotion across the Troll was amusing. Malakk knew without a doubt that Nobu'tan was stronger than any of his druids, shaman, or priests, but he didn't want to rely on an outsider for their protection.

"Just try ta keep up…" he eventually ground out, gesturing at his warriors to enter the Keep, and stepping ahead of Nobu'tan.

Following swiftly, Nobu'tan kept himself aware of what might lay ahead, sweeping the area with his personal magic. There were two major sources of necromantic magic, one in the bowels of the keep, and one atop the summit. He would be willing to bet at least one was a high ranking servant of the Scourge, if not both.

But first, they had to pass the long corridor, clogged with undead trolls and their handlers, which already was starting to pose a problem for the Drakkari. "You need only ask," Nobu'tan helpfully suggested to King Malakk, smiling benignly as he watched his warriors struggle to break the enemy lines in the tight hallway.

It was clear that the trolls had expected to be only ever defending this place, and had built it in order to stop their own tactics of fighting, and the undead Scourge was using that very fact to their advantage.

The glare he got in return only made him smile wider. "Do it," the Frost King ordered, his voice already weary at the clear dependency they had on Nobu'tan personally at this point.

"As you wish, King Malakk," Nobu'tan said with a flourishing bow, before he leveled his magic onto the Scourge before him.

A torrent of demonfire leapt into the air at his command, the streams of emerald green flames snaking through their forces and splashing across the undead all along the corridor.

They fell away swiftly, their flesh melting and those who yet lived screaming in agony. The braziers along the corridor flared with emerald flames, the oil in them reacting to his passionate magic. "Burn you wretches," Nobu'tan muttered, advancing through the lines of trolls as he pushed his inferno further down the passage, "Burn!"

But before he reached the end, a massive troll foot slammed into view, followed by a hulking berserker. The sagging tusked jaw and glowing blue orbs told Nobu'tan that it too was undead, but from the hesitation of the living trolls around him it had to have been some manner of champion of their race.

The dire troll, closer to the size of an ogre or possibly larger, bellowed some unintelligible diatribe of rage before starting to charge at their line. The creature didn't even care as it smashed into the low hanging statues and carvings, knocking stone across the floor and leaving countless gashes across the massive shoulders and arms.

Releasing his control on the demonfire, Nobu'tan clapped his hands together, ripping a large portion of chaotic magic together into a sphere, and hurled it at the charging troll. He knew before the magic hit that it wouldn't bring the beast down, but he was glad that it did stagger the charge, altering his course just enough that he crashed into the corridor wall.

"Strike now, while it's stunned!" Nobu'tan shouted, turning back at the trolls. Those nearest heeded his command immediately, but those closer to their king hesitated, looking to him for allowance.

"Slay Trollgore," King Malakk commanded, "De Scourge will not have our greatest warrior!"

That convinced the rest of the Drakkari into charging the beast before it could rise, and hack it to pieces. Their savagery at their king's order impressed Nobu'tan. It made him want these trolls in his Horde so much more. Their strength would extraordinarily bolster the Dark Horde, and granting them a powerful stronghold on the roof of the world, once the Scourge was dealt with.

The Frost King strode past Nobu'tan without a word, but the warlock sensed that the respect he had from the Drakkari leader was growing. To face down their champion, even in undeath, and not falter had to do something toward prove his mettle.

Unfortunately, the death of the massive troll did not remove or dissipate either of the signatures of powerful magic. Something more powerful yet lay ahead, and Nobu'tan was not going to allow these trolls to foolishly walk into a trap, even if they thought that they had overcome the worst.

"Dere be somethin' else, somethin' stronger…" Malakk said, and Nobu'tan looked up to find the troll studying him.

"Two somethings," he confirmed. "One above, one below."

"Den we deal wit dem quickly." The Frost King said, the chill of his attitude toward the warlock seemingly lessened, despite the posturing he made for the sake of his people.

"Gladly," Nobu'tan replied, already turning toward the passage where the massive dire troll had come. He was eager to see what the Lich King had thought who or what was sufficient to take these lands.

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Narcissa sensed a shift in Stormwind after their armies sailed northward. A literal chill was in the air, but the changing weather was nothing compared to the aura of fear and sadness that was spreading through the city. On her daily walks with Aurora, she saw it: the red eyes of a wife keeping herself composed in public while her husband was gone, a mother missing her son, children playing mournfully while their fathers were away at war.

Moral in the city was at an all time low, and she understood from their history the reason. The Scourge had nearly destroyed the entire world once before, assisted by the Burning Legion, and countless had died against them. It was not highly presumed that their attack on Northrend, their bastion of power, would be effective. Most probably thought that they would never see their loved ones again, their bodies claimed by the frozen continent.

Narcissa felt her heart strain at seeing these people in pain, and even her young daughter could sense the sadness around them. She knew that she was in a poor position to cheer the people here, but Narcissa spotted something that gave her an idea on how to rally the people of the city, and at least give them a small boost of hope.

"Aurora, how would you like to visit Anduin for today?" she said, and the toddler beamed happily. Hand in hand, they quickly left the trade district, bound for the Keep, and ascended into the fortress of Stormwind, even as the youngest Malfoy cheerily waved at the guards that they passed.

"Anduin," Narcissa said, finding the boy in the library, pouring over tomes of history and the political movements of the ancient times before the orcs came to Azeroth, "Can you watch Aurora for a time, I need to speak with your father about something…"

The boy looked up, smiling, "Of course," he said, before pausing to watch Narcissa's eyes. "It's about the aura of gloom that has taken the city, isn't it?" he asked, and Narcissa smiled at the precocious nature of the Prince of Stormwind.

"I have to do something to help them, and I have an idea," she said, leading Aurora inside and shutting the door behind her. There were plenty of books that Anduin could read her daughter, and Narcissa was certain of her safety with the Prince. He adored the girl, and the guards would protect the pair with their lives if the unthinkable happened, although Narcissa had no thoughts regarding that at this time.

Danger had passed the city, but now they needed to think of the good of others far away. Quickly locating King Varian, Narcissa paused and waited for him to be finished with the foreign dignitaries from Westfall and Redridge that he was speaking to before approaching.

The king noticed her, but only gave her a small smile as he wrapped up his conversation with the two leaders of the outlying regions of his nation. Narcissa didn't listen in on the fine details, but understood that it was in regards to the same depression that surged through the city. Apparently it was affecting even the outermost regions of the kingdom, everywhere where men had been drawn for the assault on the frozen north.

Still, she waited for the other dignitaries to depart before voicing anything. "Majesty," she said, approaching, "I may have something that could alleviate some of the misery that is circulating the kingdom."

Varian's eye snapped to her, the king all ears for anything to help the suffering of his people. "Yes?"

"It's something minor, but if we could rally all the families of those men out in Northrend to prepare care packages for their relatives, we could send relief to the front lines, as well as bring back reports of their status for their families," she explained.

"That, is by far the most brilliant idea I have heard yet to ease this situation." Varian said, his eyes brightening, "We'll need an abundance of cloth, something that is strong enough to withstand the chill of Northrend, for blankets and cloaks. Mageweave at the least would be best, Runecloth if we could get it."

"Petition the adventurers not in Northrend to collect it from all possible sources, as well as purchase it from those who have become merchants." Narcissa suggested.

"Yes, it would be a worthy use of the charity coffers here in the keep," Varian said, turning to pace, "I'm sure that countless citizens would offer their time and talents to create the items."

Spinning back to face her, Varian continued, "Can I trust you to lead this effort, with the full approval of the royal family behind you, and the all the funds you could need."

Narcissa smiled. It was more than she had even hoped for. "I can manage to arrange something that will bring all the involved parties together, starting with the tailoring masters in Stormwind."

"I don't say it often," Varian said, already pulling out parchment and writing a draft of his call for cloth, which was to be posted in the Trade District for all to see. Narcissa gladly took it after he pressed a wax seal of the Stormwind Lion into it for the validation that it came from him directly, "but I greatly appreciate how involved your family has become in the workings of Stormwind."

"Thank you, your Majesty," Narcissa replied, already turning to see herself out, "We strive to support those around us, even as we were supported when we came here for aid."