Hi, R&R, got little to say today because everything is hitting the fan IRL... Until next week, enjoy the chapter. ~F

Chapter 150

The Frozen Shore

Mahan, master the great secrets that would be the undoing of all his enemies, drew his robes tightly around him as he exited the cold of Northrend and entered the heated command building. The white and crimson vestments did little to stay the chill of this frozen continent, but with his orders to monitor and control this human populace, he had little choice but to continue to play his part as Scarlet Inquisitor Ward, second only to the High Abbot Landgren in authority over the priestly cast of Onslaught Harbor.

These fools had been so easy to manipulate, and even as the two dreadlords, Banehollow and Mal'Ganis, had been playing them for their own ends, Mahan was watching and learning all that he could. The Nathrezim's power over the minds of the weak-willed was unparalleled, and with mere fleeting words and gestures, they had these Scarlet Crusaders dancing whichever way they were needed.

True, there were some here and there that started to question the validity of their orders, and these were they that Mahan had to eliminate for the two demons. The only one that he could not touch was the human woman Brigette Abbendis, who controlled the southern garrison of the human forces, far away in the Dragonblight, and therefore out of view of what the three supporters of the Legion were up to.

Mal'Ganis had a plan, as well as orders from their mutual masters. Watch the Lich King, and make sure that he was hindered from actually fulfilling any of his plans if it came to the mad undead trying to wage war against the entire world.

As to why the Legion specifically wanted to protect Azeroth at this time was a mystery, even to Mahan, he had his suspicions, up to and including jealously that another power might take what they viewed as rightly theirs.

Still, being in his position offered many advantages, as Mahan was vital to the operations of the other two, and while they may have considered him nothing more than an errand boy, without him they'd have to risk the wrath of the soldiers around them with their orders of secret murder and denouncement of detractors to their standing mission of watching over Icecrown without interfering unless absolutely needed.

That was growing harder to achieve, especially as word reached the Onslaught Harbor of the coming of Horde, Dark Horde, and Alliance to Northrend. Many of the Scarlet warriors thought this a boon to them, allies that would wipe the Scourge from these lands, and at last they could return where warmth permeated the land.

In truth, this was an unfortunate outcome, as holding back the Scourge and the other factions from destroying each other was well beyond the ability of these sycophants to their precious light and corrupted sense of justice.

Mal'Ganis had more than seen to that, in replacing their most holy leaders with imposters, namely Banehollow, and training their priests in the way of shadow magic, convincing them that they needed to prepare every available weapon to fight the Scourge, even those that their own doctrine had forbidden.

Naturally, they had shared their overarching plan with Mahan, in how they planned to used the Onslaught to break up the little truce that the three major factions had created in light of the Lich King's onslaught. Meanwhile, using the human's own hatred of the undead, they would provoke the Scourge into rampaging throughout Northrend, and even into the continents southward, dealing massive damage to the populations and ending with the total destruction of the potential resistance of Azeroth.

Then, the Dreadlords could swoop in, and put the world back on the correct path for the Legion to come and eliminate the entire planet, as they should have before Nobu'tan interfered.

Mahan cared very little for the fate of this world, much as he hadn't when his own homeland was destroyed because of the actions of Nobu'tan. What was another dead world in the grand scheme? It was all just a game; a grand game that Mahan was now included in as a player rather than a pawn.

"Lord Inquisitor," a scarlet crusader said, entering and disturbing Mahan's thoughts.

Quickly, he sank into the role he had been given, and turned to hear the man's report. "Yes my child, what is it?" Mahan said gently, burrowing his irritation deep down behind the smile.

"Reports from the Dragonblight, my lord," the man said, "Horde, Alliance, and Dark Horde vessels have been spotted all along the southern coasts of Northrend. The end has come for the undead Scourge at last!" he said triumphantly.

"Perhaps," Mahan said, cooling the crusader's zealotry for the end of the undead menace, "we cannot fully assume that all factions are completed going to battle with the Scourge solely. Do not forget that both Horde and Dark Horde are allied with undead themselves, as well are both mutually guilty for bringing the demons, and by extension the Scourge, into our world."

The man's mood soured, predictably, at Mahan words. He had been taught be some of the best manipulators in Azeroth. It would be a simple matter to spread the rumors about the two Hordes, and effectively turn the Onslaught against the orcs and Nobu'tan altogether.

"But surely the Alliance…" the man protested. He was growing bolt, but Mahan knew that he could quash the dangerous thoughts very quickly, "Remember that they listen strongly to Lady Jaina, who speaks frequently with both hordes." Mahan added, nodding in mock sage-like wisdom.

The realization crossed the dimwit's face in a flash, and soon he was walking away, muttering how none of the world factions could be trusted, and that the Scarlet Onslaught was the only group fighting for what really mattered in their world.

It was pitifully simple, twisting the heads of these lesser humans, and Master Mehan knew it was going to be a strong balancing act to keep all their little ducks in a row and listening to keep the masses eating metaphorically out of his hands.

They would have the world war, and those that were dangerously close to allies would be tearing each other's throats out soon enough. Such was the decree, to cause as much chaos and death as possible.

"You have no idea what we have planned, Lord Nobu'tan," he muttered, smirking to himself as he thought of how insignificant the Stormreaver Grand Warlock, and his ideas, truly were.

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Sylvanas glared at the blazing eyes of the Lord of the Dark Horde.

Upon seeing their ships coming up behind them at a great speed, she had wanted to give the order for all ships to turn and broadside the lead ship, but she had stopped with the words on her tongue at the sight of the metal sheen in the bright sunlight.

"He coats his ships in refined dark iron…" she said scathingly, watching the reinforced hulk of metal and wood slip past them through the water, followed by another and another in the long line of the Dark Horde's fleet.

"Their technology is remarkable," a Blood Elf Magister, their contact with Lor'themar back in Silvermoon said, watching the passing ships alongside her.

"They certainly have keen minds in the arts of devastating contraptions and ingenuity," the Banshee Queen admitted. It would be difficult for the Forsaken, even at their best and with the advantage of terrain and surprise, to defeat their fighting force, she suspected.

It would take the full effort of the entire Horde, all united and fighting as one, to even breach one of their strongholds. Unless…

"How difficult would it be to send word to the goblins?" she asked casually.

"Not terribly difficult, Dark Lady," the Elf replied.

"I will draft a message for them, and I require you to take it to them for us after we land on Northrend." She said, already thinking of how best to persuade the goblin engineers of the Steamwheel Cartel.

If there was to be something to compete with all that they had seen the Dark Horde create in so short a time, the goblins alone would be the people that the Frosaken, or the Horde if needed, would be able to count on to come up with it.

In the meantime, she could do nothing but allow their fleet to pass unmolested, and keep themselves afloat and en route to Northrend. For now, the Lich King, and the Forsaken's long awaited vengeance, took precedent over the newfound enemy of the Dark Horde.

Nevertheless, Sylvanas vowed that they would revisit the wounds inflicted on them by the Dark Horde, both literal and metaphoric, in due time. But for them the Hand of Vengeance was stayed, while its fist swung down on the icy shores, and they approached their landing in the Howling Fjord.

"I want bat riders sent ahead to our scouts, and keep eyes out for any attempted ambush. We do not know what other threats lay in these lands," the Banshee Queen ordered.

From their fleet, a half dozen bats erupted from decks or out of holds, carrying a swift scout rider as they raced over the ships and toward the coast before the cliffs, whereupon the rest of the landmass was perched.

There were some strange architecture, like massive elevators in the distance, and Sylvanas knew that they would need to capture at least one if they were to push inward and make a stronger holding than the beach.

The adventurers among the Forsaken, as well as the Elven magisters, would be highly effective in such an undertaking. "Take a force and capture one of those devices," she said to the Elven representative, "We'll need it if we are to ascend with our supplies. Find a suitable location on the cliff top for a base, and send word back."

"As you wish, Dark Lady," the Elf said, a group of Deathguards and several adventurers coming near at a gesture, and the mage created a short-range portal for them to warp to the beach.

"Encircle this place; it will be our landing, where all our forces will cross through to enter Northrend." She commanded the High Executioner in charge of her forces, and The Banshee's Wail took point in creating a perfect blockade, securing the landing in preparation for the shallower crafts to be lowered into the water from the larger troop transport ships.

They needed to get their critical supplies up on that ridge as quickly as possible, before any of their pseudo-allies learned of what they had planned. The canisters of plague needed to be field tested before heading toward Icecrown, and this place was conveniently located well away from all others, with an abundance of both living and Scourge forces to use as test subjects.

The Apothecary Society swore that the new plague worked on the undead just as well as the living, but Sylvanas wanted to make absolutely sure of it first before green lighting the march on the Wrathgate.

Her vengeance would be swift and merciless, or it would wait until the time was ripe. Her hand, the Hand of Vengeance, would see that command through to the end.

Once all was in order, Sylvanas nodded to the helmsman, "Return us to Lordaeron, we have much to prepare and send northward, and cannot linger."

"Yes my Queen," the loyal undead said, turning them out of their place and setting full sail back toward the south.

The mysterious force of Dark Horde ships were nowhere to be found, and the Banshee Queen wondered where they had found purchase to land, as there had been nothing nearby the Forsaken's landing that would house their immense forces.

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Nobu'tan was pleased with the small island that the Dark Horde's scouts had found, off the eastern shores of the frozen continent. They would have adequate defenses here, natural as well as build by their goblin engineers and other allies, as well as a large beach area for a staging port to attack the mainland, should a threat come for them.

"Did we bring enough supplies," he asked, turning to the Chief of these goblins, Adlaff Felsword.

"I believe so, Lord Nobu'tan," the green creature said, detailing some features of the island on a map in front of him, and adding some light sketches of fortifications and other facilities, "There may be a small need for more dark iron and stone, but the isle has trees enough to make up for what we lack."

"How long will you need?" the Stormreaver Chieftain asked, and the goblin did mental calculations.

"Four days for a suitable beachhead, two weeks for all troop facilities and preliminary fortifications. Full functionality for what we have planned in a month's time." He said, smiling at the thought.

Nobu'tan nodded. It was as swift as he could ask for such a thing. "Should we push onto the mainland then, to keep anything away from this place?" he asked, wondering if their presence would be needed to guard the engineers as they worked.

"If you wish it, my Lord," the goblin responded, returning to his maps and plans, "a small force would be wise just in case, but otherwise you would all be free to pursue whatsoever missions you deem necessary."

"Whom do you want guarding your workers?" Nobu'tan pressed, truly wanting the honest opinion of his chief architect.

The goblin grinned as he looked up at Nobu'tan, "Honestly, my Lord, I want the Grimfang Pack here with us…"

It was an interesting choice, and the disbelief must have shown on Nobu'tan face, as the goblin flashed his pointed teeth again, "Their ability to blend into natural forests will be invaluable to scout the nearby area, as well as set up ambushes if any resistance is made aware of our presence."

Nobu'tan nodded. It was reasonable, and the Pack was with them, with only a scant few left in their base in Silverpine to continue harassing the Forsaken from pushing south there.

"Then we will march northward and sweep a wide arc around the nearby area, to make certain of whom or what is near our operations." Nobu'tan said, gazing northward of the island, where the cliff rose even higher than the place they had landed. There were structures all along that cliff side, and they were clearly Troll in origin.

"Daakara," Nobu'tan said, calling forth another of the Anami Trolls that had attended their fleet. The new chieftain of the Amani had been more reclusive, acting primarily through War Master Voone to deal with Dark Horde matters, but once they had allied themselves with the Felblood Elves, Daakara had been more active in voicing the concerns of his people.

"Wha'cha be needin' bossman?" the troll said, carefully arranging the tattered and repaired purple scarf that had been the legendary Zul'jin's.

"What tribe lives this far north?" Nobu'tan asked.

"Da Drakkari, Frost Trolls…" Daakara explained, "Dey be da most vicious of da tribes…"

"What are the chances that we can make contact without any hostilities?" the warlock inquired further.

"Judgin' by dem Scourge flyin' fortresses," the Troll Chieftain said, nodding toward a trio of Necrolpoli soaring over the region, "It may be easier dan we tink."

"I suspect a show of strength and a common enemy will do wonders for convincing them that we could be powerful allies," Nobu'tan speculated.

"If'in dere be any o' dem left…" the Forest Troll said, shivering as a chilled breeze rushed over the isle and onto the ships.

"It would be worth at least exploring," Nobu'tan reasoned, "there may be a useful route through there toward our enemies that bypasses the main road in the lowlands…"

Turning toward the helmsman, Nobu'tan ordered for their landing craft to make for shore, the goblins and the werewolves for the island and the rest for the mainland.

It took the better part of an hour for the majority of their forces to be amassed on the frozen shore. Nobu'tan could feel the massive wellspring of necrotic energy far to the northwest, but he chose to ignore it for the time being. They had work to accomplish, and even as fleets of eyes swarmed over their heads to begin scouting in all directions, the Grand Warlock of the Dark Horde addressed his people.

"Now is the hour of the Dark Horde's greatest victory!" he bellowed, his voice magically amplified so that all could hear him, "We have crossed the north seas, and will march on the very lands of the dead!"

The Balefire Clan led the roars in response from the Dark Horde. "We move northward, into the lands of the Frost Trolls, to see what aid we can lend there, and to push back the advance of the Scourge amassed in that place, while some of our best and brightest remain to fortify this base and establish our foothold on this shore!"

The bagpipes, their players now more learned on the instruments, blared to life, signaling the call to march, even as the whole assembled army turned northward, where a series of massive stairs cut a path up into the lower mountains.

"Zuluhed…" Nobu'tan said, stopping the chieftain of the reunited Dragonmaw Clan. The orc chieftain of the formerly split clan stopped as his forces started to follow in the wake of the others. "I have a use for you and your dragon riders…" Nobu'tan said.

"Name it, pup, and the Dragonmaw will see it done," the old orc replied, and the pride in his clan seemed to flow from the Dark Shaman's eyes as he spoke.

"Our initial scouts found another area, very close to the southern gate into Icecrown, far to the east of our landing site. It is a small section of enclosed ruins, surrounded on all sides by mountain ridges. I want you to capture it for us, before the other factions have a chance to even learn of it, and establish a base of operation there so we can launch an assault directly into Icecrown when the time comes." Nobu'tan explained, handing the older orc a map of the location in question.

"Ah, I see…" Zuhulud said, looking over the map and grinning ear to ear. "We get to have all the fun, while you and the rest play with the frost trolls… excellent. We take wing within the hour!" he said happily, the slight madness of the old orc's eccentricities showing through.

Nobu'tan had no doubts that they'd succeed, as the region was relatively empty, and there would be no means for Thrall's Horde nor the Alliance to reach it before the swift wings of the Fel and Nether Drakes they had from Blackrock and Outland.

Turning back to face his army, already making their way toward the mountain pass, Nobu'tan turned on his heel and apparated back to the front. Summoning a Dreadsteed of Xoroth, he proceeded to lead the way of his Dark Horde into the lands of a potential ally in the making.

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Garrosh reveled at the pace that his warriors took in organizing their hold in the Borean Tundra. The Zepplins had pushed themselves through the day, and they had arrived swiftly over Northrend.

He had been disgusted by what he had found there. Writhing masses of undead and their necromantic summoners scoured fields and only the cruelest of fauna survived to live another day.

But it was a challenge that the Horde was prepared for, and so he had commanded that their main structure be placed directly into the rocks of the southern peninsula, right into the heart of enemy territory. The goblin engineers had worked diligently, and with the strength of the orcs, tauren, and trolls at his command, Garrosh had pushed back the undead nerubians from their caves and crags long enough for the goblins to carve out a usable underwork of tunnels, and prepare for a larger, metal structure to be erected atop it, where they would be able to dock zeppelins with ease and keep watch over all the surrounding lands.

Even Saurfang had admitted that, while bold, it was a cunning move on Garrosh's part, and he felt a surge of pride at the recognition of one of his father's comrades of old.

But now the problems had started. Part of an Alliance fleet had arrived off the south eastern coast of their peninsula, challenging their control of the region, and Garrosh would have none of it. He would have commanded the Horde to turn from their duties of fighting the Scourge and drive the Alliance from their lands, but Saurfang would hear none of it.

"We need a full military control of this place, if we can safely land our warriors and push toward the Wrathgate!" Garrosh raged, stepping over the representation of their hold on the massive woven map of the Tundra in his central command room of the Warsong Hold, as he had named this fortress.

"We are not currently at open war with the Alliance," Saurfang countered, his voice still calm and succinct. "To provoke them now, after all that the Warchief has won toward a lasting truce would be folly."

"But our advantage!" Garrosh shouted, but the old veteran was already shaking his head.

"Is neither lost nor challenged by their presence. We have other strongholds in the east, as do the Alliance." Varrok replied, "All three factions are converging on Icecrown, and now fighting each other at this time."

Garrosh snarled, but let his anger subside. The old orc was right, as much as he didn't want to admit it. Establishing their presence here was not harmed by the Alliance…yet.

"More adventurers are coming daily, and we have forces enough to send a company ahead into the Dragonblight," Saurfang said, looking over at Garrosh to make a decision.

"Yes, we shall send warriors ahead to make sure we have a seat on the Lich King's doorstep. Your son should lead them." He said with a nod.

While Garrosh chaffed under the stern gaze of Saurfang the Elder, he actually quite approved of the younger son, whom he had known well in Outland.

Dranosh had been one of the leaders of the Mag'har's raiding parties, constantly fending off threats to Garadar, as well as bringing back supplies and food from the wilds of Nagrand. If any orc would be responsible for leading their forces into the heart of the Lich King's lands and emerging victorious, it would be Saurfang the Younger.

The older orc seemed hesitant, but said nothing to counter Garrosh's amendment of his suggestion.

"Meanwhile, you are right. Eliminating the Scourge here is more important than dealing with the Alliance, but I will want a watch set on their landing place, and any report of their movements to be brought to me immediately. If they so much as set a foot toward Warsong Hold, we ought to be prepared." Garrosh said, and again it seemed as though Saurfang did not disapprove of being cautious regarding their allies of circumstance.

Not that Garrosh intended for that status to remain particularly long. He did not trust these humans, nor their other allies, who all seemed to have more than enough hatred for his people. Some of it, he reasoned, may have been justified, due to the actions of the Old Horde, and the manipulations of the Legion and the Warlocks, but the orcish race were just as much victims of the manipulation as the Human Nations had been.

If the Alliance could not reach their hand forward with forgiveness, then why should the Horde offer apologies for acts long set aside and repented for? Had they not lost the best blood of their people in order to pull themselves out of demonic enslavement, gone to the furthest reaches of the world, and settled in a harsh wasteland as atonement? If that was not to be enough, then what would be?

No, Garrosh did not believe that anything would be enough for the humans and their Alliance, aside from the removal of the Horde from their world forever. And unfortunately for them, Azeroth was just as much the home of the Horde as it was the Alliance. Outland was no place for any faction to survive long term, even if they spread the growth of Nagrand throughout the desolate regions.

They would have to carve out their homes here, and demand that they be welcomed in, as they had nowhere else to turn. And those who refused, or could not accept that the Horde was here to stay, well… Garrosh had an answer for them: Blood and Thunder… Victory or Death!

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Teron Gorefiend watched in interest as their united clans of the Dark Horde marched into the forested lands up from the coast of their settled isle fortress-to-be.

While he would never second guess the chosen engineers that Nobu'tan had assigned to construct their forward base of operations, he did think there were a few options that the goblins may overlook in their eagerness to model the island after their own designs.

While fortifying the island was indeed a priority, Teron would not have the beach itself ignored in the process. There were plenty of indicators that this was not some sandy outgrowth, but a real jut of stone that had survived erosion from the northern seas. That meant that the bedrock beneath was very close to the surface of the water, and connected the isle to the mainland.

They could make a number of bunkers and underground stone entrenchments, all overlapping to protect one another and slow the advance of any assault on their isle, and potentially filled to the brim with soldiers or supplies. Even the roots of the island could be worked downward for resources, space and whatever else they felt necessary.

While Teron was sure that a highly advanced race as they odd goblins were, separated from the Cartels that normally governed their people, he was knowledgeable in some of the more arcane, Fel, and necromantic means that such structures could be made to withstand the power of the raging sea.

Still, it was a matter for another time, to pose to those engineers when the Shadowmoon Clan was not otherwise occupied following their leader into battle. The natural beasts and sentients that occupied the forested area made no appearance as the blaring horns of the Dark Horde rang through the trees, and soon they arrived at the base of the massive, troll-made stairs.

The ruined structure was eerily vacant, including the nearly destroyed structures that dotted the slopes up to this point. Up at the head of the column, the Stormreaver banner waved suddenly, before being lifted and lowered once: a signal to press forward.

"Steel yourselves for what may come to pass up these slopes," Teron said, turning to the forces of the Shadowmoon, "The ravaging hordes of the dead are nothing compared to our fury!"

With grim determination they started up the stairs, following behind the other clans from Azeroth, even as Nobu'tan and his Stormreavers mounted the top of the massive ascent.

A flare of green magic shot into the air, exploding in all directions as the lead forces hastened their pace, weapons flashing as they were drawn. "Our enemies are there, prepare yourselves for battle!" Teron commanded, allowing the aura of death to wash around him.

Charging up the stairs like an unrelenting storm, Teron set eyes on the first undead warrior that was not one of their, and attacked, releasing a blast of darkness, one of the few magics that he had retained in death. It had taken a long and difficult journey to recover a fraction of his magical might that he once held in life. But it was still satisfying to watch the shadowy bolt splash over the skeleton, scattering the bones as though the strings of a puppet had been suddenly cut.

Ahead of them, the Stormreaver, Balefire, and Bleeding Hollow Clans spurred the lead of their assault, slowly rounding toward the south, where apparently one of the Scourge's flying fortresses had been felled by some means, and the creatures were spilling forth in droves from the bowels of the lair of undeath.

And while there was no sign of the native denizens of this land, Teron could sense a long ways off living that were not a part of the Dark Horde. He would guess that these could only be the frost trolls, eagerly watching this new force that had violently entered their domain, and sought battle with their enemies.

The Death Knight presumed that Nobu'tan was also aware of this fact, and was making as much of a show of the deed as possible. Leveling a hand toward the fallen necropolis, he bellowed a charge, and the Dark Horde followed obediently. They sped across the snow and dirt, and fell upon the dead with rage and passion.

Teron went forward in their leader's wake, hewing down anything foolish enough to approach him, and reaching for the waft of necromancy that animated these mindless dead. He hoped to follow such stings of magic back to their sources. It was faint, the direct spells of control becoming dim with the time that had passed between what Teron presumed to be the time of their razing versus that day.

As they started their final approach toward the occupied ruins, the Death Knight spotted the surge of emerald flames from the Grand Warlock's wooden wand. It was a curious devise, quite unlike the studier and stricter foci from those mages and warlocks of Azeroth, and clearly from the way that Nobu'tan wielded it, it was far more powerful.

The surging fire was enormous, and seemed to eagerly leap forward at a word from Nobu'tan, rearing up to wash liberally over the invading undead, leaving nothing as it passed toward the stone edifice.

Teron did not know how fire was supposed to have any effect on the stone and magic structure, but the fire seemed to have a mind all its own, and plunged on ahead without a care of where it was heading.

Then he spotted it, just as the flames started to lick at the sides of the fallen fortress. The flames would spread, striking very specific locations, and seeming to char the very magic of the necropolis, before moving on and now trying to melt the stone surrounding the magic.

The undead within seemed to fear this fire, and even more raced out of their hiding places to confront the united force of the Dark Horde on the open snow.

"Crush them all!" Teron yelled, sending his warriors forward as the Death Knight himself made his way through the others of his clan toward the Stormreaver lines, eager to seek answers regarding what they planned regarding the dread citadel.

"I want all forces to support the destruction of the Necropolis," Nobu'tan was saying as Teron arrived, sending off the Blackrock and Forest troll clans to reinforce the front.

"We're being observed, as you intended no doubt," Teron said quietly, leaning in so that Nobu'tan alone could hear him.

"Good, let's give the Frost Trolls the show they deserve…" the warlock replied, grinning widely as he allowed the Fel to wash over his body. The sky overhead darkened as the warlock started to summon a torrent of the demonic golems to crash onto the ranks of their foes.

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Bolvar Fordragon watched as the shores of Northrend drew nearer. While he had not personally wanted to land so close to where they had last seen Horde zeppelins flying, there were few safe locations to consider.

Scouts to their west reported that thick mists hid enemies that would attack any attempt at a landing, while to the east jagged ice formations blocked any safe approach to the shoreline for the massive Alliance ships.

And while they did have an icebreaker in their fleet, The Kraken, it was simply too precarious to try and weave one ship at a time to land. Still, the little offshore rocks seemed rather ideal for a fort, and from what Bolvar could see, his right hand officer General Arlos was already planning a design to keep their forces safe and give an excellent landing point for their ships that would come and go to ferry in reinforcements.

Still, there were complications. The Highlord of the Alliance armies could see that Nerubians, the undead spiders of the Lich King's forces warmed the shoreline, as well as hordes of flying pests, and they would pose a particular challenge to anything being constructed or defended on these rocks.

The other problem was less apparent, but no less dire. With the Light as his companion, Fordragon could sense the presence of their enemies among even their own forces. But as to who and where, he could not tell. The General had been warned, and therefore kept his circle very close just in case the Cult of the Damned or other Scourge sympathizers tried to influence the Alliance battle plan.

For more than a few times, Bolvar wished that Draco Malfoy, or his father Lucius, had come with their forces, rather than fly with the Mages of Dalaran. Their council was always a welcome addition in his ears, and they were under little threat of betrayal or manipulation, despite the misgiving that the likes of Matthias Shaw and the rest of SI:7 gave to their people.

Many could be connected to all manner of groups on Azeroth, good or evil, and still be very decent folk, Bolvar had learned in his lifetime, and he for one would never turn away a helping hand when it was offered. He had sensed that so very long ago when Lady Narcissa Malfoy had injected herself into the court of Stormwind, before Varian had returned, and even in his own addled state from the Black Dragon Onyxia, he had seen that the woman was formidable and wise.

That friendship had never faltered a step since, and he treated the Malfoys, and their people, as citizen of Stormwind with the highest of honors and gifts. Some of their number had come, but by and large they kept to themselves, shrouded by their magic to buffer away the cold of this forsaken continent.

"Lord Fordragon, we are prepared to make landfall and begin the fundamental groundwork for our fortress," General Arlos reported, and Bolvar nodded. The sooner that they got this base erected, the sooner he could proceed out toward Icecrown, and deliver the Alliance's reply to the Lich King personally.

"I want all ships to bombard the far beach," he ordered, pointing at the swarming nests of the undead spiders, "Let's see how deep their tunnels go even to the shoreline."

The canons rang out, sending their ordinance spraying across the beach. Many of the swarming spiders exploded, sending the rest into chaos as they attempted to locate their attackers. Holes appeared as more of the creatures poured upward to investigate, as Bolvar had expected, but the sheer number was indeed disheartening.

"Keep them busy while we land on the rocks and get material in place," he ordered, and the guns continued to fire, the dwarven contraptions unloading a torrent of fire and metal into the mass of undead flesh.

While the spiders raged, their numbers were slowly thinned, and the Alliance fleet was more than safe out in the water. Luckily, the flying horrors had not been alerted despite the bombardment, and did not come for their ships.

The transports for their engineers drew near to the rocks, which had luckily been completely clear of Nerubian forces, and soon ropes and planks were throw to the side, allowing the peasant to roll out timber and pallets of stone for the engineers to direct for creating a stable foundation for the structure they desired, all according to the General's design.

Unfortunately, it did not seem as though they would remain unmolested there, as the undead spiders swarmed and rolled under the shrapnel and flames of the shipfire, and started skittering across the beach toward the shallow water, which led directly toward the rocks where their engineers were hastily working.

"Cut them off, we need feet on the beach now!" Bolvar ordered, hand reaching instinctively for his own sword. If he could have, he would have leapt in to fight personally to defend his people.

Still, at his order, a trio of warships lurched forward, continuing to fire as they moved to cut off the charging spiders, longboats dropping with soldiers packed into the ship near to the point of sinking under their weight. "For the Alliance!" the cry went up, and the battle began.