Ravages of the Plague, Part 1
In his room, Arthas had a map in display on his study. His hand traced the path to Stratholme—a place that now haunted him ever now and then. The name Kel'thuzad was written in red ink to show his importance as a marked target. The necromancer and later ArchLich had been his 'friend' as a Death Knight, his confidant, and guide that led him to the life that haunted him still.
"Kel'thuzad," he murmured in contempt. "Though as of now, the Cult of the Damned's leader." He felt the urge to seek him out and crush him beneath his boot right now. But he needed to be careful. As rash decisions would mean greater consequences.
"Should I slay him where he stands, as I would a beast?" Arthas spoke aloud in deep thought. "Or should I bring him before the Silver Hand or the Kirin Tor to make him talk?"
If he killed Kel'thuzad and destroyed his corpse, then they would be sure that the Legion would not be summoned, but then he wasn't acting alone in this scheme. But if he captured him, they would be able could extract the knowledge needed to prevent another catastrophe.
He took a deep breath, deciding to try his hand. "I will bring him here if necessary." He scribbled a note beside Kel'thuzad's name: "Kill or Capture and Interrogate."
Right after that, his mind came to the thought of him needing to find the Prophet, to understand the true extent of his prophecies as it had helped Jaina and the others before.
He wrote another name: Baron Rivendare. He had served under Kel'thuzad during his stint of being a member of the Cult of the Damned before becoming one of the Four Horsemen. Kel'thuzad had often spoken of Rivendare with a twisted sense of admiration. The baron was a man of wealth and influence, a figure of respect in the city of Stratholme, and yet he chose to serve the Scourge by using his influence and power to have the infected grain stored in the city. He had to play it carefully. Arresting him without evidence would only serve to alert Kel'thuzad and risk their mission.
"To expose him, I need proof of his treachery.", he said to himself. The prince leaned heavily on the desk. "How many others are there?" he wondered aloud. "How deep does Kel'thuzad's influence run?" The thought of him reach made him feel ill.
"For now, I need to keep an eye on him and learn what I could.", he decided for the meantime.
He knew he could not face Jaina, his father or Uther with half-truths and suspicions. No, he would need solid evidence, a clear understanding of their plan.
Arthas paused, the tip of his quill hovering over the map as he etched the name "Mal'Ganis" in the corner of the page. The foul memory of the Dreadlord's treacherous smile surfaced, a specter from his darkest hours. The demon had been the architect of his fall, a deceitful guide that had led him straight to the Lich King's icy embrace. If he could prevent the same fate from befalling his people, perhaps he could find a semblance of peace. "If I can ensure Mal'Ganis's demise in Stratholme," he murmured, "It would stem the tide of the plague before it can spread further." Arthas knew better than to act on impulse. He needed a plan, a way to intercept Mal'Ganis in some way, though this would no doubt alert his 'brothers' within the Nathrezym.
If Mal'Ganis was indeed dead, then they would likely send another in his stead—Tichondrius, perhaps, Dreadlord who had served as the Burning Legion's liaison during the Third War.
"No," Arthas said aloud. "I can't allow that to happen. I must find a way to cut off the head of the snake before it grows new fangs." He stared at the map, his eyes tracing the path from Lordaeron to the plague-ridden city. "But how?"
WithArthas scribbled the name "Stratholme" onto the map. The very thought of the city brought back the cacophony of screams and the acrid smell of burning flesh that had filled the air on that fateful day. The haunting image of his civilians, once loyal to the bone, now twisted into mindless abominations under the influence of the very plague he had sought to contain. He had been a prince of the Alliance then, a beacon of hope, but his desperation had led him to make the ultimate sacrifice—his own humanity.
If he could not find a way to stop the spread of the plague without resorting to the extreme measures he had taken before, the very heart of the kingdom would be lost. The thought of his people starving, suffering the same fate as those in Stratholme, was almost too much to bear.
"The grain," he whispered, his eyes narrowing as he considered the logistics. "It must be intercepted before it reaches the city." He thought as he needed to head to Andorhal where he first met Kel'thuzad .
He looked upon the map, his finger tracing the path from the city to the capital. "An evacuation," he murmured. "We must get the people out before it is too late." The idea of ordering the evacuation of an entire city was daunting, but it was a measure he could not overlook.
He imagined the chaos that would ensue, the desperate cries of the innocents as they were torn from their homes, and the resistance that would come along with it. But not all is lost. With the assistance of the esteemed Kirin Tor mages, they could potentially detect the early stages of the plague's corruption, allowing for a more targeted approach to containment. The thought of separating families, of isolating the infected from the untouched, was something that he frowned upon
He slammed his fist onto the desk. "But it is not the same," he said aloud. "This time, it is not about purging the city with fire. It is about saving lives."
Turning to the map, Arthas knew would need to enlist the help of the Silver Hand, but trying to explain this to Uther would be challenging. But between the choice of purging the city and burning it to the ground or having its civilians safe and properly checked, he might be swayed to help.
Arthas picked up the quill once more and, angrily scribbled the name. "Frostmourne" in bold, angry letters across the map, at the North. "That accursed weapon," he growled. "It must be destroyed. It is the root of all this suffering."
He took a deep breath and continued to plan. Frostmourne's destruction was paramount, but he knew he could not leave it to fate. He had to be proactive, to make sure that the weapon that had once held the power of the Lich King could never be used again to corrupt another soul. His thoughts turned to Muradin Bronzebeard, the dwarf he had encountered in Northrend, whose fate was intertwined with his own.
"Muradin," he murmured. "I need to find him, and together, we will destroy that wretched sword." His meeting with the dwarf back then was of pure coincidence, and he knew that the Dreadlords have something to do with it given as to how it seemed to add up altogether.
Of course, he brushed those aside for a moment. Because he wasn't the Death Knight nor Lich King yet. He was still the Crown Prince. He needs to focus what's happening now. But that's easier said than done.
He added a few more notes to the map, detailing the potential locations where Muradin, his Lieutenant Baelgun Flamebeard, and his company might be found at Northrend.
Arthas stood before the map of Lordaeron, and cupped his chin in deep thought. "These plans are fragile," he murmured, "like a house of cards built on shifting sands. And I cannot let that happen again," he vowed.
He had to be strategic, anticipate every move, and be ready to adapt at a moment's notice. The thought of facing Kel'thuzad, Rivendare, and the legions of the undead sent a chill down his spine, but he pushed aside the fear, focusing instead on the warmth of the human connections he had lost and the hope of reclaiming them.
Arthas leaned heavily on the edge of the desk. The knowledge of his former life as a Death Knight and the Lich King was a double-edged sword, since it allowed him to anticipate the strategies of his former comrades in the Scourge, yet it also filled him with dread. The leadership of the undead hordes, though often seen as mindless, were shrewd and ruthless in their execution of war, especially when guided by the insidious whispers of the Burning Legion. Kel'thuzad, the Necromancer and future Arch Lich, and the shadowy Dreadlords like Tichondrius and Mal'Ganis would not be easily caught off guard.
"They will have anticipated this," he murmured to himself. "But perhaps... perhaps there is a weakness I have overlooked, a chink in the armor of their endless conquest."
With that, Arthas knew that his best course of action was to play into their hands, allowing them to believe that he was still the prince they know, driven by his unwavering belief in justice. It was a risky gambit, but one that might just grant him the opportunity to strike where they least expected it. He had to tread carefully, lest he reveal his true intentions and alert them
He sat back down in his chair. "They will expect me to seek out the grain shipments, to try and prevent the spread of the plague," he murmured. "But what if...what if I instead make it appear as though I am embracing my former role?"
He knew that the undead would not be fooled easily. They would be watching him closely, waiting for the moment he slipped up. But he was determined to use their expectations against them.
The sudden knock at the door startled Arthas, and he hastily concealed the map within the compartment, placing a nearby banner over it.
"Enter," he called out. The heavy wooden door creaked open, revealing Captain Falric who stepped inside and is seeking out his prince.
"Your Highness," Falric began. "The men are assembled and ready to proceed with the investigation of the plague's source as you ordered."
Arthas took a moment to compose himself. "Good," he responded, his voice measured. "I will join you shortly. Ensure that all precautions are taken. We need to be prepared for the worst."
Falric nodded. "As you wish, my prince. I have informed them of your instructions—discretion and vigilance are of the utmost importance." With a nod, he turned and left the room, the door closing with a soft thud.
Arthas then called for Captain Marwyn. The younger knight arrived swiftly as he approached the prince's chamber. "Your Highness," he said with a firm salute.
The Prince nodded curtly, gesturing for the captain to enter. "Marwyn," he began in a focused tone. "I have received disturbing reports of suspicious activity in Stratholme. I need you to take command of the garrison there immediately and investigate these matters with the utmost discretion."
Marwyn's brow furrowed in confusion. "But, my prince, the city is secure under Baron Rivendare's watch. What could be amiss?"
"I cannot say for certain," Arthas lied. "But I have reason to believe that Rivendare may be involved in dealings with...outside forces. Forces that threaten our people." He paused. "You have to be vigilant, my friend. Knowing outside forces, there is not telling what they have in store for us."
Marwyn, though puzzled, knew better than to question his prince in matters of strategy. "As you wish," he complied. "I will depart at once and keep a watchful eye on the baron."
"Good," Arthas was pleased. "But do not engage him unless absolutely necessary. I suspect there is more at play here than we can fathom, and I would not have us act rashly."
Marwyn nodded. "Understood, Your Highness. But what if the situation worsens?"
Arthas took a moment to think. "Prepare for an evacuation of Stratholme," he finally said. "I will let you know when you are to evacuate the people of Stratholme and secure the city."
Marwyn's eyes widened at the severity of the order, but he did not waver. "Your will be done," he said firmly.
With that, Captain Marwyn left, and Arthas stared at the now-empty space, He knew he had not revealed everything to his trusted captain, but the truth was too great a risk. The Lich King's influence stretched far and wide, and the fewer who knew of his true identity, the better.
In the next morning, Arthas stood alongside Captain Falric and the contingent of knights he had mustered. They were enough for the investigation, and should be able to handle what is waiting for them.
Still, he felt uneased. Because this is the very day when he first encountered the plague. And him crossing paths with that Necromancer.
Falric broke the silence. "My prince, it's odd that the Syndicate hasn't made a move against us yet. They're not known for their patience or their hospitality to the Alliance."
Arthas nodded solemnly. "Of course," he murmured, his thoughts racing through the labyrinth of his memories. "But perhaps their inaction is a strategic choice. If they had attacked us, it would have brought swift retribution from the Alliance."
Feeling they have waited for too long, Falric asked. "Prince Arthas, we've been waiting here for hours. Are you sure this friend of yours is coming?"
Arthas only gave him an assuring nod with confidence. "I'm sure. Jaina usually runs a little late."
It felt strange for Arthas in that moment. Because that is how he remembered how their conversation went the last time.
The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, interrupting the tension-filled silence. "Prince Arthas, it seems we have company," he said, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
The figure grew closer, and the early morning light revealed Jaina Proudmoore with her staff at the ready. But she wasn't alone. Two hulking ogres came at her. Arthas watched Jaina, her eyes alight with the arcane, summon a shimmering Water Elemental from the very air. It was a sight to behold, reminding him how it played out.
The elemental surged forward, its liquid form coalescing into a powerful fist that slammed into the first ogre with the force of a tempest. The creature staggered back, roaring in fury, but Jaina was unfazed. Her eyes locked onto Arthas, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "Looks like I don't need saving after all," she mischievously called out.
Arthas couldn't help but smile at her bravado. "I wouldn't want to keep a lady waiting," he quipped, charging towards the second ogre with Light's Vengeance aloft. The warhammer sang a hymn of retribution as it arced through the air, striking the ogre with such force that it was sent sprawling to the ground.
With the ogre threat dispatched, Falric and the knights approached Jaina, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and suspicion. Arthas stepped aside, watching the interaction with a sense of pride. "Falric, this is Jaina Proudmoore," he introduced. "A member of the Kirin Tor and one of their most talented sorcereresses."
Falric his head in a respectful nod. "It is an honor, Lady Proudmoore," he said, his voice gruff with the weight of his armor. "Your reputation precedes you."
Jaina's smirk grew. "The honor is all mine," she said, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "But I must insist, Arthas, that your gratitude can wait until we've seen this through." Her gaze flicked to the map Arthas had shown her earlier.
"The plague," Jaina began as they rode through the verdant countryside. "Our sources have traced its origins to the lands north of here. It seems to be moving swiftly along the King's Road, ravaging every village it touches."
Arthas nodded gravely. "The pattern of its spread suggests a deliberate and calculated effort," he said, his voice tight with tension. "But what could be the motive?"
Jaina gaze was thoughtful. "The only lead we have is the name of the one who is rumored to be orchestrating this horror," she said with uncertainty.
"Kel'thuzad.", Arthas stated in a tone of contempt, and Jaina nodded in confirmation. "I heard of him. He once a member of the Kirin Tor, was he not?"
Jaina's eyes widened with surprise. "How do you know that, Arthas?" she asked, her curiosity piqued. Because no one outside the Kirin Tor knew about it.
Caught off guard by his own slip, Arthas quickly recovered. "Rumors," he said with a shrug. "They are as plentiful as the grains of sand on a beach. One hears many things in the halls of power."
Jaina studied him for a moment. Then she nodded, accepting his explanation. "Yes, Kel'thuzad was one of the Council of Six," she lamented. "But he was expelled for his interests in necromancy. To think he would bring such destruction upon the lands he once called home..."
"What kind of mage was Kel'thuzad?" Arthas asked, his curiosity. He knew the answer all too well, but hearing it from Jaina's perspective might shed new light on the situation.
Jaina's expression grew darker as she spoke of the man who had once been a revered member of her order. "He was once among the most talented and respected," she began. "Even Antonidas esteemed him highly. But Kel'thuzad's thirst for knowledge was insatiable, and it led him to dabble with necromancy and dark magic. His spells... they were of a foul nature," she continued, her voice trailing off as if the mere memory of them left a sour taste in her mouth. "They drew power from the very fabric of life itself, twisting it into something else that it shouldn't be."
Arthas remained silent, his eyes fixed on the horizon, as if by focusing on the path ahead, he could banish the shadows of his past.
The group passed through the village, the cobblestone streets lined with cheering citizens, their faces a tapestry of hope and relief. Children waved makeshift banners crafted from strips of cloth, and the elderly offered silent nods of gratitude to the knights who rode by. The smiles and well wishes were a stark contrast to the somber mood that had settled upon Arthas and Jaina, their eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of the plague's insidious grip. Yet, as they ventured deeper into the heart of the village, it became increasingly clear that the residents were untouched by the horrors that had plagued their neighbors.
"It seems your arrival has brought more than just military might," Jaina observed, her gaze softening slightly. "The people here look...healthy. Hale even."
Arthas nodded, his eyes lingering on a mother cradling her child, her smile a beacon of normalcy in the shadow of the looming crisis. "Yes," he said, his voice carrying a hint of wonder. "It's almost as if...as if the very air here is untouched by the corruption that spreads."
Falric, ever the pragmatic warrior, kept his eyes peeled for any signs of trouble. "Perhaps we've arrived in time," he suggested, though the doubt in his tone was palpable. "Maybe the plague hasn't reached these lands yet."
But Arthas knew better. This was merely a ploy to give a sense of relief. His thoughts grew darker as he pondered the fate of these innocents if the Necromancer had his way.
"We have to be on guard," he murmured,. "The plague can be a fickle beast, lying dormant before it strikes without warning."
Jaina nodded solemnly. The group moved along the other side of the river, the sun casting long shadows across the uneven terrain. Recognizing the scenario before him, he called out to Captain Falric, "Raise your shields! We're walking into an ambush!"
Falric and his knights, baffled by the sudden command, obeyed without question, raising their gleaming shields in unison. Just as the metal met the air, a hail of arrows rained down upon them from the cliffs above. The knights braced themselves, their shields shuddering under the relentless assault. Meanwhile, Jaina's eyes widened with surprise as she quickly conjured a barrier of shimmering ice around her and Arthas. The projectiles shattered against the magical wall, the shards of ice glinting in the sunlight like a thousand tiny stars.
"Your intuition is uncanny, Arthas," Jaina exclaimed, her voice strained with the effort of maintaining the barrier. "How did you know?"
Arthas replied with a grim set to his jaw. "Because I've seen this before," he said. "We move with caution. We're out of horseback range, but we're not safe yet."
One of the Footmen called out. "Undead archers in front of us!"
Jaina, her eyes flashing with determination, raised her staff skyward and invoked the ancient incantations of her people. The very air grew colder as she channeled the power of the frost, her fingertips crackling with icy energy. With a flick of her wrist, a tempestuous maelstrom of hail erupted from the clear blue sky, raining down upon the skeletal archers with the fury of a vengeful winter. The clatter of bone and the shatter of brittle limbs filled the ravine as the undead assailants were torn apart by the relentless onslaught of ice and stone.
Arthas, seeing an opportunity, took a leap from the safety of their position, soaring over the heads of his companions. He brought Light's Vengeance down upon the nearest skeletal archer, the hammer's holy might shattering the creature into a hundred frostbitten fragments. Each step he took sent shockwaves through the earth, his power and purpose unmistakable. He moved with the grace of a dancer, yet the force of his blows was that of an enraged titan.
Falric gook stock of the situation and bellowed orders to his men. "Push forward!" he roared, and the knights surged forward, their shields held high, forming an impenetrable wall of steel. As the storm of ice pummeled the archers from above, Falric and his knights crashed into the remaining undead, their swords and warhammers ringing out with the rhythmic symphony of battle. Each blow resonated with the fury of a thousand souls seeking vengeance against the unholy scourge.
The archers, now in disarray, tried to regroup. Jaina continued to weave her spells, a blizzard of frost enveloping the cliffside, sending more skeletons to their final rest. Arthas, his heart pounding with the exhilaration of combat, tore through the undead ranks, his warhammer leaving a trail of shattered bone and frost in its wake.
"Keep pressing!" he called out to his allies. "We cannot let them regroup!"
Falric spurred forward, his men in tow. They charged into the fray with the ferocity of a stampede, their boors thundering like the approach of doom itself. The remaining archers, now surrounded and outmatched, fell swiftly to the gleaming swords of the kingdom.
As the last skeletal archer crumbled into dust, the hailstorm abated, and the air grew eerily still. The group took a moment to catch their breaths. Falric's knights looked to Arthas, their eyes filled with a mix of admiration and awe, whispering among themselves of the prince's uncanny foresight.
Jaina, her breath steaming in the cold air, turned to Arthas, a hint of suspicion in her gaze. "How did you know, Arthas?" she asked. "How could you anticipate such an ambush?"
Arthas looked at her. "I just have a feeling," he said simply, keeping his first hand experience with it a secret. "And that the enemy are bound to be waiting for us."
The group reassembled and pressed forward As the group approached the grainery, the stench of decay and disease grew stronger, permeating the air like a miasma of despair. Jaina's eyes narrowed as she dismounted from her horse, her staff crackling with the power of the frost. She approached the crates with a cautious stride. Falric and his knights followed suit, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern as they observed the mage.
"This grain...it's infected," Jaina gasped in disgust. "The very essence of life has been corrupted, twisted ehen." She turned to Arthas, her gaze intense. "Those crates bear the regional seal of Andorhal, the distribution center for the northern boroughs. If this grain can spread the plague, there's no telling how many villages might be affected.
Arthas saw it as well and he had a location to head into. "We need to act now," he said, his voice firm, and he turned to his Captain. "Falric, have your men set fire to the grain."
Falric, ever loyal, nodded and began to relay the order. However, his curiosity got the better of him. "But, my prince," he began, "why burn the food? Surely, we can find a way to purify it, to save it for our people?"
Arthas' jaw clenched as he watched the knights begin to pile the crates into a bonfire. "The taint is not easily cleansed," he explained to him. "Burning it is the surest way to prevent its spread."
Jaina, her eyes never leaving Arthas, stepped closer. "You speak with a certainty that suggests...you've encountered this before," she softly said. "What aren't you telling us, Arthas?"
Hearing that statement narrowed his eyes a bit, and he remained steadfast in his deception. "It is merely a precaution," he assured her. "No one would be able to use it for any purpose that would bring harm to my people."
The first flame licked the wood, catching the dry timber with a fierce hunger. The fire spread rapidly, illuminating the grim faces of the knights as they worked. Falric looked to Arthas, his gaze questioning. "Is there anything else we should know?"
Arthas' expression was calm as he turned to the burning grain. "Only that there are others infected," he said simply. "And we have to make sure that what happened to these fields does not happen to our people."
The fire grew into an inferno Arthas felt a pang of regret, knowing that the very lands he had sworn to protect were now marred by the same plague again. "We move on," he stated as he looked at the inferno. "The source of this plague has to be found at once."
I didn't mention the Barov family in his plans, but we'll see in the future chapters.
Edited: February 11, 2025