Part 1

The battle had raged back and forth for days now in the frozen valley in the Alterac mountains. Neither side being able to gain the upper hand over the other until just a few minutes ago. The Stormpikes and their alliance lapdogs had staged a massive assault on the strategic pass known as Tower Point, and gambled all upon securing the control of the pass to begin a siege at the Frostwolf village. They had failed, but just barely.

Standing amidst a heap of broken bodies Bishop Abraham Tremayne eminated thin tendrils of smoke in the chill air. Smoke from the blood that covered him after the recent engagement. Blood that were not his own but soon would run as cold as it. It had taken a great deal of effort to survive the last onslaught; where three enemies had broken through to his position. One had been a Kaldorei sentinel, whose mastery of the shadows had allowed her to stealth close enough to impale him on her sword. A wound that would have killed him, had he not already been dead.

Tremayne absently touched the tear in his robes where the blade had gone through, remeniscing over the events that had lead him to Alterac Mountains. Paying no heed to the dying grunts of the orcish defenders who still where bleeding their life away in the cold snow he remember the assault on Feathermoon Stronghold and the swift victory of the Horde army. Surely this provocation would drive the Kaldorei to reprisal although none had been appearant yet. Understanding the ways of the once immortals where a hard task, only their views on time alone were enough to alienate them from the rest of the sentient population of Azeroth.

Then there had come an atack on Sepulchre not from Kaldorei culprits but from the Scarlet Crusade and a new enemy known only as the cult serving some obscure God-figure named Vidomi. The Deathguards had alerted them of the presence of the enemy forces yet it had been all they could do to beat back the atack. The first onslaught of the atackers had been so violent that they had been forced to retreat to the crypts to regroup in order to survive. It had taken all of his skill to mend and strengthen his comrades enough that a counteratack had been made possible. He recalled sallying forth from the crypts to the sounds of the slaughter above with just anger and finally beating the atack back. His collegues in the Iron Ring had been stupified when he had halted the atack just before annihilating the final shreds of resistance in an appearant act of mercy. They had obeyed orders and done his bidding, but other less disciplined of the forsaken present had caused the survivors to stir again and scatter and free themselves. Tremayne had his reasons for doing as he had done and neither mercy nor clemency qualified. It had been simple political shrewdness: To argue his case infront of a Horde warcouncil he would gain from appearing as the benevolant party. Also, he needed to know from where the atackers had gathered. He had indeed learned that and the realization of what that could mean was more chilling than the winds howling through the Alterac Valley. The atackers had rallied in Ambermill, which answered to Dalaran authorities.

Dalaran. The jewel of magedom and a powerful member of the city states of Lordaeron of old was an enigma now. The grand city had been hit hard by the burning legion and scourge and had then sealed itself from the world by an impenetrable dome of force. The Ambermill faction where indeed hostile to the Forsaken, but Dalaran had not officially joined the new Alliance. Not yet, at least. If they would sally forth from their dome and proclaim themselves Allied to Stormwind, Darnassus and Ironforge, it would have dire ramifications. The whole balance of power in the North would drasticly change to their disadvantage and that could not be allowed. He must find out where Dalaran stood now, and if necessary act to prevent political unity behind the walls of the dome. Dalaran had always consisted of factions arguing with each other and he was on very good relations with one of them, the Violet Eye. He had pulled what strings he had that night to get the flows of information started. Knowledge was power. Thus, he had found himself in Frostwolf territory to personally inspect the strength of the orcish forces and improve relations there as they too stood threatened by Dalaran if it emerged as Alliance. He had been told about a recent increase in hostile activity and had deemed it necessary to ride out to the front himself to stem the flow. Frostwolf village must not fall.

His problems did not end there. There were rumours of a dwarven contigents of sturdy fighters that where marching north from Ironforge to strengthen the garrison at Eerie Peak and in Silvermoon the Royal Council was in turmoil and the word he had was that things where dire indeed. He had dispatched Margrave von Thierhoff as an emissary to the council with strict instructions and could only hope that the Knight would arrive in time for the session. The troubles where brewing everywhere, festering like putrid pools. It could be coincidences, but he wouldn´t stake anything on it.


Part 2

The scent of fragranced candles wore heavy in the large room, and the dim light of theese candles threw shadows that were indeed pleasing to the tired eye. The silken sheets were smooth against her naked skin, cool, but not to cold, just the way she liked it.

And yet, Magistrix Poesi Verdande seemed unable to void her concerns and enter sleep.

She turned, once, and tried to supress her face into her silken pillow. It did work, for a second or two. Poesi thougt it was shame for her to need to draw breath, as she was quite comfortable with her current position. And so, she shifted again, this time lying down on her back, her emerald eyes fixated at the roof of her four poster bed.

The room was silent at this time of the night. The only sound besides Poesi's own breathing, would be the dancing flames on the fragranced candles, licking away at eachother during the long hours of the night. And yet, in Poesi's mind there was turmoil. Voices of a doussin politicians screaming, commoners yelling at the nobles for warranting foul decisions, assassins whom saught to undo the opposition of their greedy, longfingered masters...

Such as the state of affairs in Silvermoon.

Indeed, today had been a grand day for the Royal Council. It had been simple enough on schedule - A few guilds whom saught membership, the election of a new chairman.

And then it had come, like a swing from a axe in the back, the dire question everybody was thinking about, but nobody had dared to speak out loud:

"...Why must we follow the prince?"

It was a delicate topic, and one which was prone to both debatte and conflict. True, many amongst the Royal Council, Magistrix Verdande included, had heard the rumours of what the Prince Sunstrider and his precious Sunfury was doing in "paradise". Many were the believers in the so called "Scryers", but few were those willing to speak loudly about it.

Then news had reached Poesi's ears of the Prince's supposed defeat at Tempest Keep. Allready, rumours were circling about Sunfury Sin'dorei having been seen setting up camp within the Sunwell Plateu, but even the Royal Council of Silvermoon was not informed by the Prince Regent, nor it's court.

Chaos had begun to emerge allready, Poesi knew this. Allready forces started to gather, and whilst none spoke of strife, Poesi had noticed that guards were more alert then usual, private guilds and orders were starting to make it a custom to bear arms in the streets of Silvermoon. Pact after Pact was made between guilds, and more eyes were placed upon The Court Of The Sun and the Phoenixheart Order.

Poesi had noted, to her horror, that even her own guild of Vermilion seemed to be thrown suspicious glances by commoners on the streets. Rumours were abound that Scryer and even ALDOR representatives were preparing to launch ambassadors into Azeroth and preach of the Prince's betrayal. Poesi could not even begin to fathom the consequences this would have upon her people.

Desperate for counseling, Poesi wished to seek out the High Chairman Ravenblade and speak with him - Though in the direst hour, the first Chairman Archon Ravenblade had resigned from his post.....

And hell had broken loose. The meeting ended abrubtly, with not all guild's having their voices heard, and no new chairman having been elected. On this day, even Poesi had felt a dagger against her back, from a lowly assassin by the name of Jakino, a so called vigilante, willing to go to any lenghts to quell the Sin'dorei rebellion and silence all whom would oppose the prince.

She had been saved, luckily, by a former noble of the Court, a certain Magister Aelric. Poesi had been a subtle supporter of the liberal parties that saught membership into the council, and many reservatory parties opposed them greatly. It was not unheard of for nobles of wealth and power to hire lesser assassins to do their dirtywork.

Poesi shifted in her bed again. The Iron Ring had not attended the latest council meeting and were unaware of the chaos that had risen. Silvermoon was on the verge of civil war, their forces and resources spent on the war against the Kaldorei, whose counter attack was still spoken of in the shadows of the night, and to top it off there were now rumours of Dalaran having joined forces with the alliance, pushing forward into the northern parts of the Eastern Kingdoms.

Poesi's eyes widened as a grim thougt hit her like a falling star: They were surrounded.

Sure, now the horizon was still visible, and the forests healed... But it could change at any time. Poesi dreaded for the day she would awake to see Kaldorei ships lay siege to the eastern and western borders, seeing dwarven and Dalarian troops marching through Eversong from the south, and at last facing the truth of the Sunfury from the north - all at once.

Not to forget the Court of The Sun and the reservatists influence in Silvermoon, should such a truth have to be faced. Anything short of a Civil War seemed insufficient.

Poesi finally did fall asleep that night, though her concerns continued to echoe her mind, and her dreams.


Part 3

The old orc was trobeled. The Shadow Council had not found all the items of power it truly needed. The Blood Elfs seamd ready to ripp one another apart. And whispers about some damed prophecy seamd to have taken Lord Ravenblade under it's wings. The good elf was a fool tho, a most insightfull cleaver fool. But a fool non the less.

The only good thing about this change in the elf mage was that he trusted Burgrsch now. This texts spoke of savage elders. And the old orc was whery much that. The texts had some power tho. They had been writhen long befor Orcs ever came to this world. And yet they spoke of them.

Also the fallen human prince that had become the Lich King was ponited out. The texts said he was the first sign of the end of the elfs old ways of life. The first omen of the fall of there kings. Maybe it was so, but how could that harm the Shadow Council? If anything the elfs would fall in line and come to understand and accept there new place.

As the survents of the Horde. And as soon as the Blade had found Zayn, who had been missing for some time now, the Council could start it's newest plot. On the reqvest of one of its most powerfull members they would cut down the Court. The rain of the Prince survents would end and a new order rise form its fall.

Of that the old one was sure.


Part 4

Zul'fan sat in his hut, in the area his people had just recently claimed for headquarters.

In the shadow of the old Amani Empire, on their grounds...On Troll grounds, Zul'fan reminded himself...And with the name of that other Empire of old.

Something old, something new...

Though he was now free of the mind-controlling spell cast so long ago on him by the wretched Morgania of the Court, his mind often wandered back. Mostly towards particularily humiliating events...Or in this case, towards the efforts he had been part of to help the organisation known as The Iron Ring.

Though he was now free, and gathering his own forces, Zul'fan could not help but ponder whether he should leave their cause to rot - or help them once more. Zul'fan, having had his share of battles, and attuned to the scent of trouble knew that something big was brewing.

Ah well, thought Zul'fan. Let the Arch Bishop come to me, should he choose to. The Empire would still need time to grow before being able to help properly with a war...But Zul'fan was never one to say no to a good fight. Especially, he thought to himself, leading my own Tribe, my own People...My own Empire into battle.

Zul'fan pondered these things, and more, while looking out over the area from his vantage point. Ah, such a sight, to see those who followed him already up and working, even though dawn had not yet fully arrived...


Part 5

How could this have happened? The Prophet Lord would be furious!

A smaller twig slapped her in the face as Poesi ran through the dense forest lands of Eversong, but she cared not. Her flamboyant golden-red robes were esnared by a root on the ground, and a large piece of cloth was ripped as she pulled it apart, but she cared not. Her lungs were aching out of protest in pain at the sudden and unexpected physical strain from having been running for twenty minutes in pursuit, but she cared not.

Even as she screamed, her throat and lungs burned as if on fire.

"Brother! COME BACK!"

She knew it was a futile call. Even now, she saw Dakrin Sunstone, the traitor of Silvermoon cross the River Elrendar, vanishing into the ghostlands, but she would not give up chase. Poesi's naked feet shivered as they touched the cold and wet surface of the wooden bridge - Her shoes had been unfit for running long distances, and had been discarded on the streets of Silvermoon as she began the pursuit.

Even as Poesi ran through the ghostlands, she pictured in her mind for what must surely have been the hundred time that evening, how everything had started...

The Magistrix Poesi Verdande had been unable to sleep, nightmares of hellish shadows engulfing her mind. Such was natural when you dealt with demonic forces - Demons were, after all, slaves to the will of it's master, and would constantly seek to break free - by any means neccesary. Unable to allow herself the luxuary of sleep that evening, Poesi had donned her robes and made her way down the guild halls, and alas, into the dungeons below.

Her brother had been imprisoned there for several months now, and always appreciated her company... Or atleast, so Poesi would imply to herself. In truth, her brother's mind had been ravaged by the Prophet Lord's continuos intrusions. If Poesi did not think higher of her master, she would say he was desperate for answers, desperate enough to sacrifice a young soul such as Dakrin's. Poesi did not argue, she knew deep down that the Prophet Lord's will was absolute, and yet she could not help but so sympathize with her younger brother. He was but seventeen years old, a child in the eyes of many, and a full grown in the eyes of few.

But age did not matter - A traitor was a traitor, and Poesi knew that had it been anyone but the Cult of Akeiri Vermilion whom had captured the vigilante, he would have faced certain execution before the Royal Council. His very existance was a closely kept secret to the Akeiri.

Yet, as Poesi had decended the dark spiral stairs this evening, she had been pushed aside. Caught unaware, Poesi had slammed into the wall and taken a blow to the back of her head. As she had stumbled there, strong arms had caught her. Had she not known better, she would have thougt herself to be embraced by a human, but as she opened her eyes, her eye's were struck with terror. Her brother, Dakrin, had looked down upon her with concern, as she had been knocked off to make way for his...

And then it struck Poesi. Dakrin was not in his cage, he was running upwards... He was escaping!

Poesi's realization must have reflected on her face, for her brother, superior to her in physical power, had pushed Poesi against the wall as he continued his ascention to the main hallway above. Poesi had given pursuit, desperate cries to summon guards to catch the Prophet Lord's prey.

And yet, as she arrived in the hallways, her brother was nowhere to be seen. Two male guards lay on the floor, no sign of physical harm, the presence of sentience gone from their blank, expressionless eyes. That the two were truly dead was deeply questionable, as Poesi could still hear their heavy breathing - Alas, she had no time to care for them. Dakrin was a prisoner of the Prophet Lord, and thus he was the property of said master, and she would not allow the traitor to escape.

As Poesi made her way through the large oaken doors, into the silent nocturnal streets of Silvermoon, she was faced with even more fallen guards - Neither of them truly dead, but nor sentient. It was as if a cold wind had come and stolen their breath away, stealing with it their will, their ability to think or speak. Poesi doubted this was arcane spellwork, nor that the effect was permanent. Behind her, several feet above, laid the vast golden balcony bordering to the Prophet Lord's master bedroom. Poesi heavely considered to awaken the lord and inform him of the situation, but decided that it may give Dakrin far to much advantage of terrain. The traitor-child had consorted with Kaldorei, and learned their ways. Poesi had no doubt that, should her brother reach the forestlands of Eversong, he would be impossible to track.

...And here she was, running through the dark and unforgiving ghostlands. To her far east laid the Dead Scar, a terrible reminder of the fate that had befallen her kin. And to her west laid a reminder of glorious victory - A shattered Kaldorei siege unit.

It had been not even a month since the destruction of the invading Kaldorei forces, and Poesi was now more then ever, truly thankful for not having been there to witness it first hand. Having heard of the Kaldorei's shadowy magicks and the ability to turn themselves to pure darkness, and hide in the shadows was enough to make Poesi paranoid in walking near shadows even in the streets of Silvermoon. She needed not that feeling here, so close to former Kaldorei camps, in a dead landscape whose very earth was soiled with shadowy powers.

And finally, Poesi caught up with her pray. A few feet infront of her, Dakrin laid on his knee's, breathing heavely. Poesi slowed down her pace, trying to catch her breath. Her brother would go nowhere. His red flaming hair had grown long enough to cover half his face by now, and Poesi would not lose sight of him again, having now adjusted to his colours. Slowly, she walked up to the young man, when she realized, he hadn't collapsed on his knee's... He was kneeling.

Poesi took up the pace again, a feeling of immense dread pounding in her chest, as if her heart was telling her not to approach but rather to turn back and flee. As always, Poesi ignored the yearnings of her heart, and followed the logic of her mind.

Surely not... Surely not...

Poesi felt small rocks make themselves reminded under her bare feet as she sped up towards her brother, mere feet away, her heart beating faster and more painful then ever before.

No... I am just being paranoid. They were defeated. They were defeated.

And yet, as Poesi reached her brother, she saw what he saw. Her hand fell upon her brothers shoulder, uncounsously pressing her leg against his back. Poesi known true fear merely once before, and that was as she fled from the voracious jaws of the undead scourge. That feeling of dread made itself reminded now. Once more, she stood frozen in place, her eye's resting on what she feared more then anything. Once more, her terror petrified her, rendering her unable to speak, to move.

Infront of the two siblings, a shadow stirred. The tall woman's skin was the colour of a black grape. and her hair the shade of ivory. Her robes and uncountable scarves radiated like moonlight, white in the darkness. The long ears were adorned with silver rings en-masse, and her breath created mist in the night air, even though it was not particulary chilly.

Truly, Isilvara looked nothing like Poesi had immagined. The young Magistrix had expected a being of faelike beauty and immense allure, and yet she was faced with a beast, an animal in elven form.

The Kaldorei stared at her. She had her eyes closed, but Poesi knew, she knew that the savage woman was inspecting every inch of the Magistrix's body, calculating best how to rid herself of her presence.

Poesi did the only thing that seemed sensible at the time. She raised her hand and aimed two fingers at the beastlike woman, chanting.

"Shadow Bo- !"

The next thing she knew, the Magistrix was gasping for air. She felt cold, for her circulation had been cut off. Poesi found herself restrained on the cold earth. In the blink of an eye, thorned, black vine's had launched themselves from the air and grasped Poesi by the ankles and wrists, the thorns digging deep into her veins, forcing the gush of blood. A fifth vine had placed itself around her throat like a voracious snake, choking it's prey.

This isn't happening... You're supposed to be dead... You're supposed to be dead!

Poesi's horned, rimmed and square glasses had fallen to the ground, and her eye's were teared. Alas, Poesi could see clearly the tall being dressed in white approaching her slowly, taking her time. Poesi pondered for a moment as the feeling in her limbs died away. She did not understand how she could still be alive. More then two minutes had passed since the vine had esnared her throat. Poesi figured that the thorns that had forced their way into her veins must carry a venom that sedates her muscle, and that was the root of her apperent paralysis. By the same logic, Poesi assumed the venom carried Oxygen directly into her blood. She was alive for a reason - The Kaldorei wanted something from her.

At last, the woman had reached her quarry. Poesi did not like being forced to her knee's, kneeling infront of her master's nemesis. Not a single word had been uttered by any of the three, and Dakrin was completely blocked out of sight by the billowing scarves of the Kaldorei woman. Poesi counted them to several doussin. In truth, Isilvara did not sport a robe at all. Poesi noted that the tall woman wore a modest tunic and what appeared to be pants of linen fabric, both white as marble. Doussin's of scarves worn by the Kaldorei gave the strange impression of billowing robes, but for what purpose, Poesi could not fathom.

"A'la'dieb. Nul felunevath Tal'kierthan." , the woman's deep voice spoke crudely. Poesi's grasp on the Darnassian tongue was vague at best, and the ugly words ment little to her.

"...I...", Poesi coughed forth, mindful of not moving her jaws to much in fear of the thorns, still deeply embedded into her throat, "...I...Do not...Do not understand..."

"A'la'dieb. Nul felunevath, Tal'kierthan.", Isilvara repeated, slightly louder and even more demanding. Poesi reckognized the tone of voice as a command, rather then a request.

Several minutes passed. The ache in Poesi's wounds made themselves reminded immensely. Poesi shivered, as the Kaldorei spoke, crudely and with a ugly accent very much akin to that of trolls.

"You... Ish Akeion?"

The Thalassian words were crude, and sounded as if they had been uttered by an orc with a trollish accent.

Poesi said nothing. Several more minutes passed.

"...You... Ish Rashputin Bachall?"

"Yes... Yes, I am Akeion...Rasputyn...Baal..."

The Kaldorei was clearly under the impression that the two were the same persona, and Poesi had decided that they must both be protected from whatever it was that the savage woman wanted from them. Her valiance was rewarded with pain, as the vine's stirred, gashing open deep wounds around Poesi's wrists, ankle's and throat. A quiet moanful pain escaped Poesi's lips.

"...You ish no Akeion Rashputin Bachall... You no Tal'kierthan..."

And then, Poesi heard it. The voice of her brother, murmuring something incomprehensible in darnassian. As the vine's had shifted in position, Poesi was now able to raise her head, and her confusement was immense. Dakrin was still not visible behind the billowing cloaklike scarves, but the being that stood before her could not be Isilvara. Infront of Poesi stood a faelike, enchanthing creature. The Kaldorei woman radiated with grace and beauty. She still had not opened her eyes, and appeared as a strange sleepwalker, as if dreaming.

Spellwork... Her legendary beauty is nothing but spellwork...

Poesi knew not how long her brother had watched her, but his voice disgusted her. To hear a Sin'dorei speak in the crude Darnassian tongue... Disgusting. Nor was his words welcome when they flowed on in Thalassian, intrusive and treacherous.

"Shan'do Heartmourn wants you to reveal the location of Tal'Kierthan's stolen blades."

Poesi had never been so disgusted with another Sin'dorei. Truly, not even Crimvar Phoenixheart would be able to top this taste of hatered in Poesi's mouth. Even so, the name "Tal'Kierthan" had been heard three times so far within the last hour, and Poesi still did not understand who or what it was. It was then that Isilvara's left hand slowly reached for something in her belt. Poesi caught a glimps of something wooden, concealed amongst her right hand within the many scarves, but focused on the object Isilvara was reaching for. Poesi's eye's opened widely as Poesi withdrawed what appeared to be an ivory blade, it's hilt white as snow, and the blade reflecting the pale moonlight above. For a moment, Poesi thougt her execution imminent.

That is, until the Kaldorei raised a disgusting, wood-like index finger from her right hand, pointed at the sword she was holding, and repeated: "Tal'kierthan... Tal'kierthan?"

Poesi glanced once more at her brother, his silhuette now visible in the shadows behind Isilvara.

"...Tal'kierthan's songblades were crafted by the Kaldorei priest with the same name several centuries ago... Each is imbued with strange "songs", magic from era's lost... The roots that currently hold you in place is the so called "song" of this particular blade..."

Isilvara said, quietly: "Lim, Mishadorei."

A strange elven song started echoing in whispers around the glade, mournful. A voice, a child's voice, echoed in what appeared to be a very sad lullaby. Although of what it sang, Poesi could do nothing but guess.

And Poesi felt the roots that bound her vapourate into smoke. Free from the support of the vine's poison, Poesi's lungs momentarily collapsed. She coughed severely, drawing many a breath before being able to support herself. Poesi's vocubalery of Darnassian was narrow indeed, but she had understood. "Lim" was the Darnassian equivalant of "light" or "shine". "Dorei" was universal elven tongue and meant "Child" or "Children". "Misha", however, Poesi had heard merely in druidic conversations between tauren. It did mean something akin to "Vision" or "Dream", although Poesi could not place her finger on what exactly. Basically, the Kaldorei woman infront of her had told a Dreaming child to shine?

Poesi was given no time to contemplate, however. In the far distance, Poesi heard voices yelling, and heard the sound of Hawkstrider's shrieking their birdlike callings.

"Magistrix!? Are you there!?" "Lady Verdande, where are you!? Are you well!?"

Of course. There must have been a guard switch, and the bodies of the others must have been discovered. Poesi felt an familiar numbness spread in her body. She glanced down at her wrists, and noticed that where there should be wounds from various thorns, there was no visible sign of injury. No scar, no dead tissue. As the Magistrix raised her head, she witnessed Dakrin and Isilvara gaze into the distance, where the voices originated from. Without as much as a second glance at her, Isilvara vanished and became darkness - As was custom for her race. The ability to shadowmeld, and become one with the dark surroundings was a myth spoken of in Sin'dorei horror stories of their savage cousins.

Dakrin, however, gazed at his sister with hesitation in his eyes. Poesi wanted to bite him, to curse him. But she could not summon strenght even to bare her teeth. The sedative poisons were forcing her into sleep. The last thing she saw was her brother vanish in a similar way to the Kaldorei woman, followed by a blurred face of a Sin'dorei man. She had been turned on her back, and felt the embrace around her numb body. Although her vision went black, the Magistrix could still hear the men speak of her.

"Look at her eyes... They are blank, just like the guards." "Curses! Then she will be paralyzed for atleast an hour, just like the others! Sunstone will escape!" "No matter... Bring her back to Greythorn Hold. I shall speak to Magister Shine and General Falanaar about this before consulting the Prophet Lord..."

And then, Poesi fell truly asleep.


Part 6

The Old orc wacth the members of the Council leave the keep. They had been fewer then he had hoped. The Tauren had not come, tho he hardly mornde that. He was strong and powerfull yes. But he was undiscipline to the borders of a chaso spirit. What trobleld the Master of the New Shadow Council more, was the fact that Mistress Blackheart had not been there.

Master Demonvoice had looked forward to seing her. Maybe even fight her for control over the Council. He would even had welcomed her arrogent elf brat of a apprentice. Or the Countess Ravenblade. But they had not come. Only the three and young Poesi had been there, it made the elder warlock smile to think that she had tryed to hide her skills. Calling herself a mage, a mage ha!

As he became alown in the Keep he thought about the plans the Council had made. The Shadow and the elf warlock had made plans to gether evidence agenst the Court. And he himself had made plans to from a force of arms to do the Council biding at last.

He hoped that the Council would soon grow in power. And he could almost feel how it would...


Part 7

The silence of the Silverpine forest was broken with a short laughter. Not the laughter of someone who was happy, but the bone-chilling laughter originating from the dead lungs of a walking corpse.

Lord Mestopheles Runestratum turned around and met his gaze with an expression of puzzlement plain on his undead features. a twig had entwined itself in his glossy black hair and his fine garments where covered with dirt and grime from the hike through the uncharted forests he had hawked and hunted in as a child.

"What is so funny, Abraham?"

"Us." Tremayne answered. "This situation. The proud scions of the Tremayne and Runestratum families stumbling through the wilderness in the dark; tripping on every root and finding every puddle of damp mud that has been placed in these forests by malignant Gods in times past. By the powers, Mestopheles! This was not a path we envisioned those brisk summer nights in Dalaran when our ambitions and lives lay ahead of us!"

Mestopheles frowned and looked over himself with disgust before uttering a short spell that seemed to instantly bring the luster back to his expensive clothings. "We do look and behave like highwaymen Abraham." He replied dryly. "Your Lord Father would turn in his grave if he knew."

"My father was a stern man and I would rather he rested eternally than stirred and turned to hold a sulphurous speech about my misdoings. It was enough that I turned in my grave, name him not!"

Now it was Mestopheles time to laugh. "Stern indeed. Oh I would have payed handsomly to be there when he learned about that peasant maiden of yours in westfall. I would have payed even more not to have been in your place then." Talking about events that took place in a time 3 decades ago when the world held color and warmth to them both raised his spirits somewhat.

"Luckily he was in Hearthglen and a continent away when he found out." His father had threatened to disown him and had it not been for his uncle he might have indeed. "Had I been..."

He was disrupted by a flash of blue that came through the trees from a short distance away, briefly illuminating the landscape before hitting him square in the shoulder. A cold painful numbness spread in his arm that he quickly supressed before calling upon his powers to shield him. Within seconds half a dozen arrows thumped against his shield and fell to the ground. Not 30 feet away a group of armor clad soldiers bearing the violet of Dalaran charged at them while behind them a mage started to chant to throw another spell their way.

Mestopheles had quickly stepped behind his shield with reflexed honed from generations of self-serving Runestratums who all had inbreed knowledge of what their best intrest was in each situation. "Lower ranked Dalaran soldiery." He said briskly. "I am reluctant to slay my countrymen but if what you said earlier.."

"We cannot be seen by anyone alive." He interupted with force. Mestopheles nodded, and stepped in front of the shield with a look of grim determination on his face. The men was almost upon him when he incanted words of power and summoned the unbridled fury of the north to strike at his assailants. Where the Dalaran mage had illuminated the forest with a bolt of pure frost Mestopheles froze the world around him. In an instant the trees and grass where white and silver and the soldiers dead with their very blood in their veins frozen solid in an instant. The Dalaran mage officers second frostbolt was like throwing a snowball at a glacier with the intention of destroying it. Tremayne reached out and seized control over the last survor of the patrol´s fragile mind and forced her to her knees in the frozen world Mestopheles had created.

"We are close to Ambermill now, Abraham. These Dalaranians must have come from there."

"Aye, it is as I told you, old friend. I did not wish to aggreviate you, but I must know more. These Dalaranians aided our enemies and the scarlet crusade and allowed them to stage an atack from their territory. I am deeply worried by this as you know. We have had no word from behind the dome in years now and I must now how things in Dalaran stand now." Dalaran was made up by myriads of factions and the Magocraty saw representatives from the most powerful of those. So far Dalaran had not declared for the Alliance but had stayed neutral and Tremayne needed to know if that was about to change. If Dalaran declared for the Alliance their cause would take severe hits and the whole powerbalance in the north would shift. All he knew was that this faction that held Ambermill had supported their enemies, he needed Mestopheles to tell him who they where and what powers they wielded.

Dalaran must remain neutral at all costs.

/ Tremayne

Part 8

The old orc was still take a back by what happened. He had fought Mistress Blackheart and he had lost. He was no longer the Master of the Council. He was now only a high ranking member, but it was not over. Part of him wonderd if this was the spirits testing him, or if his time as ruler was just over. In any case things where changsing.

Maybe it would soon be time for a new war... The Elven wars seamed to be coming to a end. And if that was true, there would soon be a new chapter in the history of the Horde.

The following takes place at the time before when Lord Archon Me'nar Ravenblade left the Royal Council and to the date of today:

The book seller seamd almost scread to sell Lord Archon the book he had asked for. But he deared not sell it, after all he was the First Chairman of the Royal Council. If he had not sold him the book he could have reported him to authority's for even having the text in stock. The Prince Regent had it outlawed not long ago after all.

So he toke the Lords gold and gave him the tome, it was ancient printed only a few hundred years after the funding of Quel'Thalas. It was intiteled: "The promise of Dorini'Thalas"...

Lord Archon Me'nar Ravenblade, knew there where dangers in owning this tome. There had been 50 copys ones, but after the Prince Regent had taken contact whit Silvermoon agen all but a few had been burned. And there owners had been beaten by the guards. Calling them disloyal to the Prince, back then Archon had not thought about it much. But now...

His grand father had one owned a copy. As a reminder that noting was everlasting he had toled Archon when he was a childe. His father had sold it not long after the grandfather died. Archon only recalled the meaning of the namn of the kingdom the text spoke of. It meant the Kingdom of the Spirit, could it be meing the ways of the shamans?

When he was back in his own chamber he toke out the book and read it. All if the 7 verse's.

The warning

Hear one, hear all! Hear the tell I tell thu! For one day when the sky is bright, death shall come! The land shall blead. And in that blood we shall bath. In that sorrow, we shall find hate! But hear thu, my warning! That hate shall steal the mind of our King. And he shall be as the bringer of death himself!

Thu have been warned! Now take heed, for I do not tell lies. Tho Kings and Queens will say I do! But heed me Elven child! The High Home will fall, and if it raises it will raise as a place of the damed! Only if thu find the path of the spirits will thu save our kin.

Thu have been warned. Thu most now chiose. Thu have been warned!

The Light will turn to Darkness

Hear one, hear all! Hear the tell I tell thu! For one day when the sky is bright, death shall come! A son of a human king will be blinded by hatred. Watch for him! He will go to the Frozen lands in the North and there he will find death! He will return to slay is father and betray his peolpe! For he is the bringer! He is the bringer of death, and death and only death will follow him!

He will bath the High Home in blood and break the back of our Kingdom. He will being the Burning horror back to our world and cast us all to the flame. He will watch as the outlanders kills the might heart of the Forset. He will betray the demons and give a weapon of pure darkness to the Kaldorei.

He is the first sign of the fall. He is the enemy of all whom art free. Tho Kings and Queens will say I lie! You most heed me Elven child! For from his evil hate will take root in our hearts! Only the Spirits can save us!

The Slayers and the Heart

Hear one, hear all! Hear the tell I tell thu! For one day when the sky is bright, death shall come! When non will hold our hand only the freed slaves of the bringer will take it. Only them and the outlanders that slayed the mighty heart will aid us. But the Heart, tho it's owner will die, shall never truly die. But the Burning horrors will steal it! They will hide it well! But it shall also be forgoten! Thu most find it!

The outlanders will bring you ways to speak whit the spirits. And the Spirits shall lead you! They shall lead you to the heart of the forset, Elven child, and whit it the path starts. The path that will lead thu to our new destiny. It leads to Dorini'Thalas. The spirit home, and from there thu will heal the other Elven children.

Seek the Heart in the Frozen lands, for the bringer has stolen it whit him. Seek it in the cused woods, for the demons know it well! Seek it in your own soul and the soul of the wise plane walkers, for you all feel it's power!

The betrayer betrayed

Hear one, hear all! Hear the tell I tell thu! For one day when the sky is bright, death shall come! And that brightness will bring power, but at a price. A prince betraying princes, leaving them to die in his place. A prince betraying his father's dreams to bind the light. A prince who will fall in turn to the rising king.

That king shall rule the light and the power it brings. And the Kingdom of Blood will bleed its own children to feed it. They hide behind the light and bow before its master. For they fear their hunger more than than they love their souls.

Turn back now! Turn back from the path of betrayal and deceipt! For the brightest light casts the deepest shadow.

Blood of stars, Bone of shadow

Hear one, hear all! Hear the tell I tell thu! For one day when the sky is bright, death shall come! In the forests of the old empire a son of the starts will steal a skull of shadows. As the skull gives him its power so shall his blood turn to darkness. As his blood turns shall his soul be tained for all time. As he is tained his brother and the one he loves will cast him out.

He will awaken the serpent's of the blackend sea's. He will try to slay the King of the dead and be cast out of this world. But the serpent's will find the heir of the Sun. They will offer him aid. And he will take it as he is beaten by humen and hunted by the dead.

Pacts will be made, a prince kneels befor the son of the fallen stars. In a valley of darkness the son of the fallen stars will rule a broken kingdome. In a storm of stardust the prince of blood will steal the chariot of imortals, there darker pacts will be made.

War of Night and Day

Hear one, hear all! Hear the tell I tell thu! For one day when the sky is bright, death shall come! In the mother of all lands, the night will awake. The awakening will unite all life and end a war. From the dawn of peace, comes the dusk of strife. From the death of peace, war is born.

The lost children will rise and walk hand in hand with savages. The lost children will follow the path of long dead men. The long dead men will start a crusade against the night. The night shall be rallied, and it's children will bring war to the land of the dead.

In the land of the dead, a gathering of lost children gathers. Within the gathering, power is divided. The power is given, but more is taken. Strife rises from the gathering.

The Promise

Hear one, hear all! Hear the tell I tell thu! For one day when the sky is bright, death shall come! But do not despair, for thos brave enough to walk the path there will be light! For as the spirits of the worlds take the mind of our King they give us new guidance. They give us the aid of spirit speakers and prophets to lead us in to a new light! They will lead us to the Spirit Home. The new Kingdom of the Elven children.

The savage elders will extend there hands in friendship even efter all the eons of hate. Thos whom over come there hate shall be blessed. Thos whom misstreat this elders that ones share our blood shall be cast out. There shall one day be war betwen the followers of the fallen prince and the free elven children.

That war shall bring the final battle of the elven races. Thos whom follow the prinse shall become damed and will on longer be elven. Thos whom stay free shall grow and be come the new race united in harmony.

Lord Archon was sure of what he needed to do. The time of blidly following the Prince Regent was over. It was time for change. The firs step on that path had to be the fall of the Court of the Sun! Whit out the Court the Prince power over Silvermoon would be weakend. And the Royal Council could then, and only then be reformed.

The war whit the Night Elfs would have to wait. This was more important. First his peolpe would need to become free from the Prince. And then there path from there would be choisen whit great care. For he would lead his kin to Dorini´Thalas. If it so ment his own death...

The old orc was trobeled. The Shadow Council had not found all the items of power it truly needed. The Blood Elfs seamd ready to ripp one another apart. And whispers about some damed prophecy seamd to have taken Lord Ravenblade under it's wings. The good elf was a fool tho, a most insightfull cleaver fool. But a fool non the less.

The only good thing about this change in the elf mage was that he trusted Burgrsch now. This texts spoke of savage elders. And the old orc was whery much that. The texts had some power tho. They had been writhen long befor Orcs ever came to this world. And yet they spoke of them.

Also the fallen human prince that had become the Lich King was ponited out. The texts said he was the first sign of the end of the elfs old ways of life. The first omen of the fall of there kings. Maybe it was so, but how could that harm the Shadow Council? If anything the elfs would fall in line and come to understand and accept there new place.

As the survents of the Horde. And as soon as the Blade had found Zayn, who had been missing for some time now, the Council could start it's newest plot. On the reqvest of one of its most powerfull members they would cut down the Court. The rain of the Prince survents would end and a new order rise form its fall.

Of that the old one was sure.

Lord Archon Ravenblade was trobeled. The Order of the Flaming Blade was losing it's power. It's members growing complasent as inturnal strife threathened to ripp it apart. But there was even now hope. Hope that could be found in the lines of the prophecy.

He would seek out the "Savage elders" and seek there council. He would turn away from the dieing kingdom and lead his followers whit him.

Shara Heartroot shivered, not only from the cold but also in anticipation. She was going to meet him last she had seen him up close had been when he had come to clame her husband. A member of the Cult of the Damned. She had fallen to her knees begging him not to take her husband. He had then offered her to join whit the Cult and be whit her husband for ever and ever.

She had accepted, at first for the love she felt for her husband. And then to survey next to him, and as time passed, she lost her love but gained something ells. She had a purpose, there was meaning to exists, that meaning was to follow the command of the Lich King. She could hardly remember her husbands name, and if they did not shear the same living quarters she doubted she even remember how he looked.

She knew they would never have children, unless there King commanded it, but that did not make her sad. It had ones but that was long ago now. As she climbed the steers to her beloved King she found that she wanted to see him. The feeling was so strong that she knew that if she would fall and die her spirit or dead body would walk up the steers. Now she could see him, a small court of Necromancers and other servants in circle him.

Whit a wave that was so small that non would have seen it if not all eyes had been on his smallest movement commanded that the court parted to give Shara room. She walked forward and fell to her knees, kissing the icely foot of her King.

"Speak Cultist" her god said to her. He had spoken to her, she this small miserable little shell of a human.

"My King, I have news... " she started then cut herself short. How was she to say this, how could she even think of speaking to this God, it was hybris even to think so.

"Shara, stop! I may be your god, but as all Kings I have use of my servants. So you most tell me why your master Kel'Thuzad send you here?" said the God siting on the throne before her.

"Y-you... know my... "

"Of course I do... Now pleas Shara, speak!"

"As you command." she said and felt how badly she wanted to tell him. "Master Kelthuzad has sent me to tell you that the Age of Prophecy is upon us. The final sighs will soon be well known by all. The mortals will try to break us as we did the Legion. We most be ready my Lord. My King I can travel faster back to my Master if I am one of the holy undead."

Her God smiled and then spoke: "No... You will be my spy in Dalaran. I feel that your mind is strong and your love for me is great. Now go!"

Lowering her head, crying she ones more kissed her Gods foot. And then she walked away crying. Not only because she had not been given the gift of undeath but also because she had to leave her god. A part of her wanted to jump of the tower and fall to her death, but that would mean going against her Kings will. And that she could not do.

Sleeping next to the Pools of Vision as she often did they came to her. Or two of them did in any case. Ther'Zule the Burner of Souls, thin and sickly circled her several times before the other of the Masters of Old appeared. Azurix the Mask of Fear soon followed, he was far more calm and seamed at home in his spirit form.

"Wake her! Wake her now!" demande Ther'Zule.

"Patience fool! She will wake soon, she feel our presens..." said Azurix calmly.

"What is it you want?" asked to young half-orc slowly raising from her sleep.

"Is that any way to speak to your dark gods!" hissed Ther'Zule

"We come bearing news from the Master. He commands that you speak the Heart of Cenarius, tell the Council that the Masters of Old commands this!" answered Azurix.

"I will do as you ask... But I am not sure Mistress Blackheart will hear me..."

"She is blinded by the greatness of the Master... His mind sends all he sees and knows in to hers... But no mortal can Handel vision as that! That is why we can only tell you to look for the heart and to start looking in Felwood!" hissed Ther'Zule and snarled.

"I understand... I will tell my father and the mistress... If she won't listen... Then so be it..."

"Good... We will be watching you shaman... The Shadow Wars has begon..."

The one true king walked the lads where his alchemist examend one of his greatest relics. The legendary Heart of the Land. Under it a zombie was chained to the frozen ground. The god of the undead had been told that ones exposed to the hearts power even the undead became... life like. In this case despite the freezing cold and rooting flesh a flower had taken root. It seamed to not only bloom, but also attempt to rule the dead body.

Some of the cultists even said the flower spoke. And spoke ill of him. This was indeed a great treasure, and ones it followed the will of the Lich King all would kneel. The dead, the living, the damned and the blessed. The world it self would bend to his power, for there was only one thing he could not stand. And that was things not following his will.

Looking at the flower this small thing of life and beauty in a land of death and ice. He marveled at this will. And he wondered, could he bend this thing, this creation of the Heart follow his command? grasping the frail crown of pencils in his hand he reach out and thought it's mind.

"You know who I am?" he asked.

"No, but I know what you are." answered the flowers mind, the answer was slow and lacked power, but it was whit out fear.

"Oh, what am I then little flower?!"

"You are King of the rooting and weak of mind. Your reign will soon come to a end."

"You are wrong! I am the Lich King, god of the dead. And soon whit the Hearts aid god of the living as well!"

"You are mistaken, the heart will never aid you. And mortals will one day soon slay you. How can you then be what you say you are?"

At this insult the Lich King ripped the plant from the long dead body. It's roots tearing the body to pieces screaming in anger he cast the cursed thing to the frozen ground and cut it in two whit his blade. The life left the plant at ones. Still shacking in anger he turned to his cultists.

"I want the hearts power! Give it to me and you'll be rewarded whit holy unlife. Fail... And I'll see to it that you all live for ever more!"

And whit that the King of the Dead returned to his throne.


Part 9

Poesi was not a leader. She had always known this and always admitted the fact that she would probably drive the rest of her peers to oblivion, whether it be playing team-ball as a child or leading an army as a fullfledged Magistrix.

No, the Magistrix Poesi Verdande knew her limits. She would leave warfare and strategic shouting to those more fit for it, Nobles and veterans of war. And thus this was a very uncomfortable situation for the Magistrix.

Used to rule in shadows, using puppets and magics to make her way across everyday life, the Magistrix felt extremely exposed and vurnerable now that the Warlords of the horde turned to her for advice. This was never supposed to happen, her name was never ment to be known to anyone outside the covens and orders of which she attended. How did a simple Magistrix get drawn into open war? How would she get away?

And so, the Magistrix gritted her teeth. She was sitting at the far end of a long, oval table. All around her sat summoned advisors - The Warlords of the Horde wanted directions, they needed to know where the threats were imminent lest they direct their forces and spend resources in vain. But the Magistrix had nothing to tell them.

The Forsaken advisors were cursing the Sin'dorei for being closeminded and selfish, and the Sin'dorei advisors barked at the Forsaken for being manipulative and serving their own ends. The Magistrix could understand both of theese.

The situation had distorted severely. Nethergarde Keep or Ambermill, those were the questions. Two targets that were going to be eradicated and purged of alliance influence in order to maintain neutrality between Dalaran and the Horde.

There would be no Horde banners swung at the dawn of battle, oh no - That would be to invite the wrath of gods. Something still had to be done, however, as the Violet city leaned onto the Alliance shoulder like a small child to her mother. The Kirin Tor couldn't fall to the alliance. They simply couldn't.

And so the Magistrix drew a heavy sigh, accepting the goblet of water that was passed to her from one of the maids. The squabbling infront of her reminded her of a circus with slave men and beasts devouring eachother for the amusement of their peers.

Magistrix Poesi Verdande, however, was not amused.


Part 10

Bishop Abraham Tremayne stood silently in an alcove in the grand hall, listening to advisors arguing about how to retaliate against the alliance for the mishaps at the Warsong lands in Kalimdor. A campaign he had deliberatly missed to send forces to as a defeat there would serve his purpose better than just regaining the status quoe on the Ashenvale border. Feelings of loss, of hurt pride and the rememberance of wounds taken provided the perfect breeding ground to work on directing a massive horde effort against a worthier prize.

Such as aqquiring some leverage in the Dalaran situation. The Magocracy acting beyond the dome still hadnt openly proclaimed themselves as part of the alliance and to keep things so was his prime concern. Appearantly there were strong contigents high up in the Magocracy that had gone so far as to press openly and violently for joining the Alliance by taking liberties of late. Pups no doubt, eager for glory and driven by the hunger that fills every student of the arcane. A hunger that could not be sated by remaining inside some dome listening to old greybeards squabble and wait. Tremayne could understand the reasonings behind the atacks and if he knew anything of politics he could be certain that the "greybeards" in the domed city had scolded them for their inprudent actions. Called them insufferable fools to incur the wrath of the Horde and warned them of reprisals. Equally certain was that the supposedly glory hungry pups had secretly hoped for a such to better be able to earn their fame and renown.

Thus, a strike now would not be a political risk, but a show of strength. Atacking Dalaran itself was to invite every faction inside to unite against the threat and strike back with everything they had to survive. This would for sure drive them to open negotiations with the Grand Alliance and the whole power balance in the North would change to the worse. This would anger the Queen, who had only a few days ago hinted that the time for reprisal against the traitor-prince could be imminent. A war with Dalaran would mean another front needing attention.

Nethergarde Keep however..

A faction acting almost independently for the last decade, openly friendly with the alliance. Their once so important task, to guard the portal, was now almost obsolete. This would make them expendable in the eyes of the prudent Magocrats and send a strong message forward as well. Nethergarde was perfect.

He did not speak however. The perogative of the wise was to speak only when needed, and if so, to make certain to be the last speaker. If the opinions would sway towards his end, he wouldn´t need to speak at all. Wishing it would be so, he retreated further back to avoid notice, and kept on listening.....


Part 11

Antus was deep in thought. Everything seemed to be happening at once now. He had had all the time in the world, and now he seemed to have little. Alterac Valley was as hectic as ever, several high ranking members of his Regiment had taken leave temporarily to seek their own goals, the Sin'dorei needed support in their struggles recently, and the recent massacre at the Warsong Lumber Camp still played on his mind.

Sudenly, a knock on the door. More disturbances.

"Enter." called the Warlord, looking up to see who dared disturb him at this hour.

A small, plate-clad Forsaken woman entered, looking at Antus with a slight grin. She gave a short salute before walking up to Antus' desk and dropping a small sack and a letter on his desk.

"This came for you, Warlord"

Antus paused a moment, looking carefully at the objects covering his paperwork. Extending a hand, he first poked the sack, feeling many small, disk shape objects move as he did so. Raising an eyebrow, he next picked up the letter, carefully opening it and reading the contents. A few moments passed, and he sighed. Another thing to worry about.

"Alluccia, take the sack of gold to my vault and store it with the rest." The Forsaken woman smiled and did as was ordered, leaving the room quietly and shutting the door behind her softly.

Antus re-read the letter. Nethergarde Keep it was then. He'd make sure his Regiment was ready for the attack, all that was required was date to be set. Re-reading the letter for the last time, he smiled. If the words were true, he would have a lot more influence this time as to how the Horde forces were organised. He slid the letter onto the desk, and made for the door....

The large wooden doors flew open, unleashing an icey northern wind into the Barracks, chilling all those inside. A large figure clad in plate-armour marched in, his boots thudding against the floor in a perfect beat, a long furry cloak draped over his wide shoulders. His eye sockets flared around the room, blazing a dark deep red colour. He scanned around furiously for a few seconds.

Antus Draconus was annoyed.

"All of you, get up and ready NOW!" He roared at his Regiment, all of which had seemed to be resting for the past week while Antus was away.

And he had been away, on a mission far away, for her... the Dark Lady. But this was not about that. The moment Antus had arrived back he had been bombarded with letters and requests from different Diplomats regarding a completely different matter. Nethergarde Keep. It had been pushed to the back of Antus' thoughts for a while now, but regardless, he knew it was coming. But it seemed no-one was willing to step up to the position of taking charge of the Horde forces, so he had been drafted in to sort out recruitment.

"We're heading out immediately! We're travelling light, so bring the minimum you need to keep your damned souls living and ready to fight!"

With a snarl the Warlord turned on his heals, leaving his men to scarper about their living place preparing themselves. They'd pay for their laziness in time, and Antus made a mental note to speak with his Officers of their responsibilities too. But now he needed to think... needed to relax. His recent mission was still on his mind, and he wanted to clear his head.

"You have an hour!!" He bellowed backwards through the wooden doors.

Antus let out a sigh as he lowered his head. Yet again, War was just around the corner.


Part 12

Dean had ever been the lojal survent of the Lich King. He had kneet before Kel'Thuzad and did so still. He had under the last mouths had a grim mision given to him by the King himself. As his wife spyed on the wizards he was to gather champions.

Champions that would be transformed by the greatness of the allmighty Lich King. Thos lucky few he would gather would become the Masters new Death Knights. But before he could choise he was forsed to spy on the Horde and Alliance alike. But lucky for him the Cult had spies every.

The reports that intrested him he looked in to himself. One of this was the reports of a orc warriors. Not a sesoned veteran true, but old enough to remember the inturnmet camps and the first and second war. The intresting thing was how he was fighting against the Scourge. He seamed to have a burning hate for the Kings forces.

And he fougth them in the Blood Elfs homelands. Not seaming to cear how long he was from home and family and loved ones. This hunger for combat whit his most hate of foes facinated Dean. The blind bloodlust almsot made him feel fear. The orc had been seen ripping the heads of powerfull undead warriors in the Scourge, even biting them off.

But most impresive of all. He and a pair of Blood Elfs had done what non had done before them. They had killed Dar'khan and the orc had ripped his head of whit his teeth. Not wasting any time master Heartroot gatherd his gear and teleported to Undercity where the orc had last been seen.

He found the orc at the translocator in the Ruins of Lorderon. The orc drew his elven blade as soon as he saw the necromancer. "Whom ever you are human, your dead!" snarled the orc. "Oh, I think not..." said Dean and cast a spell that summoned ghosts that grabbed the orc warriors limbs. Roaring like a traped wild animal the orc tryed to ripp himself free, but the hands of the dead where like steal. "You sould look on this whit pride orc. You have been choisen to join the most finest of the True Kings forces." said Dean and slowly walked towards the orc taking out a vail containg a blue, and faintly glowing, fluid. Rubgrsch understood what was happening and clampt his mouth shut. "Now, now... You need to take your medicin if you are to grow strong." moked the human and had his minions force the warriors mouth open. And then he poured the vails containts in to it.

The orc felt like he was going to be sick. The world had begone spinning, dark blue spots apperd infront of his eyes. His body whent cold, and that cold spred to his mind. And then the world whent black. When he woke he was in a dark chamber, chained to the floor. All around him where the workings of necromancers at there center was a tall dark being dressed in black plate armor. "A fine specimen Heartroot..." said the dark being. "Now all I have to do is take his soul."

The footsteps of there Baron echod in the hall as he walked around them. They all sat perfectly still. Any whom moved whit out the order to do so was taken away to be killed. All of them, male and female, had lost something coming to this place. Some had surved the King for years others like the orc had just resently been taken.

They had saved his beard and braded his hair in to one singel lock. His green skin where turning gray and he had long felt the emtyness where his soul had been. The Baron had taken it himself, it had hurt in ways the orc had not belived possible. But now he missed even that pain, well a part of him missed the pain, the rest of him felt noting.

Next to him a gnome sat. The old Rubgrsch had killed the damed being and then stared to fight his way out of this place, or die trying. But the new Rubgrsch just sat there as orderd. He was becoming less and less of a orc and more and more of a Death Knigh.

The gnome next to him made a small movment. He scratched his nose whit one finger. Baron Rivendare eyes locked on the gnome in the fraction of a second. His hand flew out and pointed at the illojal gnome and he declerd in his dark voice: "You moved soldier! Did I say you could move!?" "Um..." "Anser the qvestion!" "Well..." "Disciples! Did I give the order for this maggot to move!?" "Sir, no sir!" all of them replayed. "Just as I tought... Your useless maggot! Report to the hole!" "But sir, my nose..." "NOW!" the Baron roard, there where no room for exuses, no exptions and no mercy. All whom failed at there tests where sent to the hole. The only way out of that was to fight one of the Knights that had succeed and live. The gnome bowed and walked of to the hole.

The Baron started to circil around the remaing knights. His ice cold eyes on them as he walked. Then he stoped and turnd towards them. There eyes did not meet only becose to do so they would have to move, and non had given the order. "Knights! Raise!" roard Baron Rivendare. Immediate all of them got on there feet. "Knights! Whom is your king!" "Sir, Arthas Menethil!" "Knights! Whom is your god!" "Sir, Ner'zhul!" "Kngights! For whom shall you kill and die!" "Sir, the Lich King!" "Prove it... Kill the Knight to your left..."

At his last order the hall was transformed from a quiet meditation chamber to a slaughter hose. The orc made a wordless pacted whit the human two rows to the right of him to kill the blood elf betwen them. Only afterwards when the elf was dead om the floor Rubgrsch turned his bloody hands towards the dwarf to his left. Said dwarf was wreselig a troll whom had tryed to bite his foe, but only borken one of his tusks.

Rubgrsch grabed the dwarf by the beard and pulled. The dwarfs head flew forward and his eyes was pierce by the orcs armored fingurs. Crying in pain the dwarf let go of the trolls neck, but it was to late. Rubgrch grabed the dwarfs throat whit his sharp, armored fingers and ripped it open.

Blood coverd the floor, the dead and thos still living. This was the fifth time the Baron had given the order to kill. The first time he had killed one of the Knights to make his point clear to all. He had not needed to repet himself ever seens. Rubgrsch had been wounded a few times in this battles but he had allways walked away. He had lived.

When it was over less the half of the Knights lived. The Baron was pleased, he gave them a grin and then said: "Good... You are dissmised..." "Sir, yes sir!"

/Me via alt

Part 13

It is all over now...

Lombardic De Valter, weakened in body after the contigency who brought him back to life and more, wounded in heart because he failed...

Thinkin of time beyond, he wanted to see Castle Valter again.. But it not exist now. After the treachery of the Dark Lady before the orc invansion, the castle is now dust.

He sensed her influence on the last battle. He hears her laugh. Her face appears as she was known once. A young darkhaired female human. A pretty face that could make anyone to trust her. She starts to speak: 'You are failed once more. Did you think Seriously that could stop this? You lost your mind?' 'I am fighting on my beliefs. I am fighting of what I dream of. And I am doing it in honor, something that you lost forgotten.' 'Honor, Bah! Power... yes Power.. and I got more! I am back again to haunt you once more. The gate is open.. I am back. Think of it and Despair' 'My death is no in vain. Your power grew but mine aswell. The world changes. Soon we will be equal and I will destroy you once and for all' 'You know you cant... You are cursed by me. Every beat of your heart sounds because of me. You are here because of me. You become what you become because of me' 'I have chosen a different way that you may think. Your mistake was to split me. You are one now, we are many.. and full in power....' 'We will see, we will see......' The image starts to dissapear. Lombardic tried to catch a hint of where the Dark Lady is now. Snowy regions.. but its not like Winterspring. Seems more harsh.. 'Yes! Northrend. there you are hiding. There i will find you at last!'

But a bitter thought took any little bit of happiness of this moment. 'So many died, and we could do nothing. At least we tried.'

He walked outside Nethergarde Keep. The air was heavy of the smell of corpses everywhere. He senses more that the polluted air.. He senses dark energy everywhere, from the mass pain and death of so many soldiers.

"Magistrix, your actions opened the way to horrors walk again...'

He prayed for a last time and moved away....


Part 14

The sound of battle was all around. The clash of metal on metal, the screams of pain and fear drowning in the roaring of fires hot enough to melt steel. Orders shouted out that was never heard by any but those closest to the captain relaying them. The sound of a storm of arrows descending from above like messengers of death.

Bishop Abraham Tremayne had seen battle before and was resolved to stay calm and focus in the sea of confusion around him. At his left side Nourken Blackhorn and Ser Ivar Darkslade hewed at a contigent of Stormwind infantery with ferocious vigor and lethal precision. In front the Elf Captain Elturion Sunfighter forced his way ever forward over the remains of the shattered gates of Nethergarde Keep; His armour blackened from the fires the Dalaranians had thrown against them. A bit further ahead and to the side the Commander Draconius of the Shadow Stalkers laid about him with his monstrous greatsword, dealing out death grimly as a dealer gives cards. Behind him Lord Aramaine and Demitrus Solon uttered words of power that sent the fury of fire and ice against a phalanx of shields that remarkably held their ground.

This was not right. There should be no enemies behind them. Something was very wrong.

He instinctivly re-inforced his protective shield at the last time as all hells exploded around him. Bodies burnt to cinders, the ground erupted and throw boulders of stone about with force enough to shatter bones. Lightning flashed from the dark skies above, striking down with relentless force and deadly aim.

His shields broke and half a dozen arrows hit him in his torso and upper arm before everything around him went dark.


Part 15

Knights’ blades shone from squires’ preparation Wizened wizards waited in quiet meditation Heroes chattered happily, full of battle’s elation Tabards of all colours; Alliance from every nation

For the Alliance! For the Light! A golden figure’s declaration As priests preached blessings to bolster constitution And sentries reported back, bent double with exhaustion The Horde were on the move, prepare your fortification

Horde roars deafen armies on occasion It seemed to Nethergarde this would be no exception Knees knocked together in fearful anticipation Orcs bore down on men in bloody invasion

But heroes are steadfast and stood their crowd in spite of this suppression It wasn’t long before trolls lay, victims of evisceration My own flaming halberd sliced many an aberration And it wasn’t long for all present to draw a clear summation

A victory, clear and true! The Horde fled in desolation The Alliance were united in happy jubilation But a small crowd gathered, away from the celebration For one knight died, too late for resuscitation

Still, though death took its toll it didn’t stop the exultation For disgraced leaders of this attack, no more orders would Thrall sanction Peace was won at a small cost, through force and not evasion And valour and bravery shown at a battle of Horde creation


Part 16

Blood stained the ground where he lay. The force of the blast had caught him off-guard, but fortunetely, his rune-encrusted armour had absorbed the fiery wrath of the mage. So now here he was, amidst the Alliance forces, laying face up, watching the darkened sky above. He expected death, but none came. Instead a voice, one that he recognised as one with authority, one belonging to a Draenei Female.
The Alliance Commander.
Antus stood up slowly, peering around at the Alliance. They glared at him, some in fear, some in anger, some in confusion. Dwarves, Humans, Elves, Gnomes... all were there to witness the Warlord fall now. He leaned down and picked up his sword, feeling the familiar grip, feeling the weight, preparing for his last stand. He watched them circle him, trap him in so that escape was impossible.
But they did not attack. Instead, the Draenei who had shouted stepped forward, her plate-armour now stained with the blood and dirt of the battle. She examined the Warlord for a moment, before saying something in a foreign tongue. He watched her take her weapon, and smiled.
A challenge of honour.
"You have fought valiantly today, Commander. As have your men. But now it is time to show you the foolishness of fighting a Forsaken...." The Warlord's voice showed he was smiling. He has not faced such an honourable opponent for years.
They bowed, and readied their weapons.
Shouts went up, both insults against the Warlord and Cheers for the Alliance Commander. The Forsaken clutched his sword, trusting in it's sharpness, his armour, his skill. If he won this last battle, he would have egained honour for his people. The Horde.
They both charged, each with determination in their eyes. Blades flew, spells were cast, and there would be one winner....

Antus looked down at the female Draenei. He had torn a large chunk from her arm, and saw blood flowing down across her armour. However, she did not weep, she did not scream... she merely looked up at the Warlord, showing her pain, yet remaining strong. He approached her, and noticed several of the Alliance readied their weapons. With a small smile, he knelt down, and gently put a hand on her shoulder.
"You fought valiantly indeed." Antus smiled. He felt the wounds she had caused him across his body, but he did not care. Slowly, he rose to his full height, and smiled as several members of the Alliance began clapping, and slowly, they cleared a path out of the Keep and into the Blasted Lands. Now he would return to Stonard. He would return knowing he had done his part to regain honour and peace, for now.
The battle of Nethergarde Keep was won by the Alliance, but to Antus, the battle to prove that the Horde should not be forgotten had been won.


Part 17

With sorrow dripping from his face, Thyr Fairhand looked over the battlefield. So many deaths... So many wounded.

He had tried to stop them. Together with Lord Lombardic De Valter, he had tried to reason with both Alliance and Horde. But were they Horde? Renegades, some nobles of the Convocation had called the leaders of the Crimson Storm, and one in particular. No. This is not the time for doubts. Thrall would never approve of military agression towards the race that helped us banish Archimonde... He had listened to the Guardian once, and would listen to those who followed the wake of Medivh as well. This was not the Horde. And yet, every soldier had screamed "For the Horde!"...

A painful shock goes through his body... The axe of the dwarf that nearly killed him had left a nasty wound. No, he was not nearly as powerfull as the great Guardian of the Tirisfalen... Far from it, it seems, according to the bleeding. But then again, the Council never was as powerfull as the Guardian. Easily disposed of when they were no longer needed by the corrupted Medivh as well. Perhaps the Council should hide again, and was it a mistake to reveal his plans... No. Hiding now would be a sign of weakness, of public vulnerability. And if there is one thing the Horde races shared, it was a hatred for weakness. He knew that.

And it's too late to hide it's existence. The world knows about a new Council of Tirisfalen, that has taken up the oath it's ancestors made... An oath that this world would not fall to the might of the Legion. Some claim the Legion is already destroyed, that Kil'Jaeden has fallen to the migth of some champions. Fools! Aegwynn made that mistake, of underestimating Sargeras' might.

No, the task is not done. The world does no longer need Guardians, but they do still need a Council of Tirisfalen that reminds them who is the real enemy. Allies had to be sought, enemies had to be sabotaged... If this group of renegades was out on chaos, they would find at least one to oppose them.


Part 18

Dwarves... Idiotic, drunken and violent dwarves...

Kevarus had been put in charge for the preparation of the outer defenses by Lord Guderian, and could not have ANYONE run of. The scouts had already been sent towards Stonard, and he could not allow these two drunken morons to put these men and women in harms way.

Kevarus rode out on his ram, having his faithful bodyguard and friend Zelani by his side. The two riders rode swiftly over the endless barren wastes of Blasted Lands. When they finally got to the marshes he heard guns fireing. - Lady Zelani, get ready for battle!

The dwarves had encountered a Stonard orc, which they had shot down in cold blood. They both seemed a little surprised about the human and the draenei arriving at the site. - Wha' are ye doin' here, human? - I am here to stop you two morons from killing our scouts! - Ther' be no scouts her'. Only thes' greenies. Kevarus breathed heavily, barely being able to get the words out. - GET BACK TO THE KEEP!

The dwarves looked at him, then each other. Then burst out into laugher and ran further into the swamp. Kevarus and Zelani rode after them.


The dwarves stopped and looked into the stronghold. The walls was crawling with soldiers, and the gate was shut. The dwarf with a rifle aimed... then just as he was about to shot, a flash of light blinded him. - HOLD! DO NOT ATTACK! Kevarus was furious. Just as he was about to dicipline the dwarves, the gates opened. Out came two elves who started riding against them. Kevarus understood they must be diplomats of some kind and told the other three to avoid bloodshed at all costs. He then rode up to the emisaries. Just as he was about to greet the diplomats, a bullet flew past his shoulder. It hit one of the elves who immediatly fell of his horse, lying motionless on the ground with a expression of shock in his face. The other elf stared at Kevarus, then the elf. His expression showed he was stunned by this act of violence, yet scared about what was about to come. - DWARVES, DO NOT... To late. The axeman of the two came charging in, wounding the other elf gravely. Kevarus just looked at the two dwarves with a sad expression. The two started screaming: - CHARGE! ATTAAAAAAACK!

Kevarus just turned his back on the two attacking dwarves... Let them die. Why would it matter? Nobody would be able to stop the conflict now. He called on Zelani and rode back to the keep and reported the two dwarves MIA. Stupid, drunken race...


Part 19

Far away from Nethergarde Keep, Amasofia watched a group of soldiers carrying a dwarven prisoner away, ready to be executed. Since she had nothing to do, she followed them. She was the only who would see this dwarf die...

One of the soldiers read out aloud the charges. "... accused of body snatching, plundering, ..." Body snatching, she wondered, and she asked one of the guards.

"The man was stealing bodies, miss, we intercepted him when he tried to sell them to a warlock. Now leave me be, I don't like what I have to do now..."

With a strange look, she observed the dwarf. Why would one be stealing bodies?

"Hold on!"

Yelled the dwarf, and Amasofia looked up.

"Lass... You're not one of them. This I found on a nearly dead elf in the swamps. Nasty blow he took, and unarmed he was!"

"Shut up, scum!" Yelled the captain.

The captain gagged the dwarf, but this one managed to take a piece of paper out of his pocket and gave that to the soldier next to him, with a begging look. The captain did not wait anymore, and decapitated the dwarf on the spot.

"Let's go, we've wasted enough on this piece of..." The captain looked at the young girl. "Go home, girl, and try to forget what you've seen... This criminal deserved no mercy."

When leaving, one of the soldiers handed a paper to Amasofia. "To the defenders of Nethergarde Keep" was written on it, and it bore a seal that looked elvish.

Wondering what this was all about, she made her way back to Stormwind. Sure, someone who sells dead bodies is no good... But what did he speak about? A letter? From an elf?

Well, it can't hurt to bring someone a piece of paper... But what if the dwarf was lying? Could it be a treasure? A hidden message perhaps? She opened the letter, but it held no information she could make something out... Well, there would be better be a reward for bringing this to the right people! But who are the right people? Defenders of Nethergarde?

Amasofia decided to find out.


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