This message is an update on 9/23/13. Below is one of my first attempts at a story I've been working on for a while. I plan on making the updated story, which actually follows the lore into something playable. I'll keep some of this up as an archive.
RISE OF THE FORSAKEN
(This is not intended to infringe or profit from Blizzard entertainment. This is simply a story based on the lore, thank you for reading!)
A woman’s voice penetrated the arctic winds, “My son; the day you were born, the very people of Lordaeron cursed the name… Cyrus. From the moment of your birth it was known to all the kingdom that your blood, was tainted.” Figures rush through a city’s walls, burning and killing all in their path. “ The orcs; beings from another world poured across the last human kingdom of Lordaeron, slaying all their demon masters would call a threat.” A human dressed in steel armor overlooks a battle below him; orcs and humans slaughter one another. “But, we would not be so easily beaten.” The man charges down the hill with elves, dwarves and magicians behind him. “Through our Alliance, we managed to hold back the Orcish Hordes.” The soldier stabs an orc and raises him into the air on its end. “ However, we cannot hold out forever.” The vision turns black as creatures of shadow engulf the armies; bodies of men are raised into the shadow to fight their brethren. “It was said ages ago, that one will rise to defeat this darkness and defend the kingdom for all time.” A baby is held before a king on his throne, the child smiles and the woman holding him is dressed in black. “You were banished my son; they felt that the chosen was already among them.” A young boy stands near his father on the throne, “He was the doom that the prophecies foretold.” Visions of a man with silver hair and black armor stabbing the king with an evil sword appears; “Only one of the demon’s curse and the blood of the pure could be among the chosen.” The woman appears screaming as orcs crawl upon her, “This is how I know you’ll be the one to save our home my son. You are that being of prophecy.” A baby looks up towards the woman who speaks in the snow. “You are our savior.” The snow whirls around the two, the winds gust and the baby remains silent. “Remember, your line will always rule with wisdom, and strength. Goodbye my son.” The woman kisses the child on the forehead, “May the Light guard your path, Cyrus Menethil.” Blood flings through the air as the woman is cut down by the orcs.
“Here me, friends, brothers!” All morning announcements have echoed through the streets of Stratlhome. Many were stirred and awakened by these calls, shops failed to open promptly as every other morning. Dogs and beasts of all kinds howled and yelped but grew silent along with the crowd, the long awaited news had arrived; war has come to Lordaeron. “Friends! Orcs have been seen crossing the mountains to the south, we require men and supplies by order of your king Terenas Menethil.” The crowd had grown silent, but still gathered; they wished to see who would be sacrificed to the dogs of war. “I know this calls for much, but hear me we—.“ At that instant the royal officer was affronted by boos and screams from the crowd. “We’ve given enough for this cause!” “When will it end?! How many orcs are there left to slay?” Many protests such as these were launched from the crowd onto the pavilion of soldiers.
“We’ve had enough! Our children are not fodder for your war machine!” The crowd yelled in approval. The officer, mildly shocked turns around and is about to leave the stage when he looks up from his stride and sees his point in the making. A figure steps forward across the stage moving the officer aside. The crowd once again grows silent; their prince had taken the reins of the gathering.
“Citizens! Hear me, I know this war seems unfair; I know you want to protect your children from harm.” The crowd is in full attentiveness,” However, will you have them safeguard themselves? Here, today you all have a choice, will you band together with your fellow man? Will you contribute to YOUR kingdom?” The crowd is in awe. “Will YOU march forward with your brothers for the good of humanity? These beasts, these…orcs they seek nothing else but YOUR destruction! They desire nothing more than to skewer you and your family…” The crowd begins to grow resistant and some back inches backward. “Brother.” A hand presses against the man’s shoulder. “Cyrus, you’ve made your point, these people will follow us.” Cyrus stands before the crowd in a daze, his anger was getting the best of him again. “March southward with us, the orcs are moving north as we speak.”
Cyrus steps from the stage, dazed and embarrassed, a son of Lordaeron should never behave in such a way. “Cyrus, you did good.” Arthas pats him on the shoulder, “A little more dramatic than father would have liked, but good.” Arthas walks with two soldiers to handle the registrations below the pavilion. Cyrus heads with one of the expeditionary paladins to meet with Uther Lightbringer, the commander of Lordaeron’s military might.
“I’ve only been here once” says Cyrus “Sir?” replies the paladin.” I was here when I was younger, that shop, I remember was a blacksmith, now I believe it’s a broffel.” The paladin looks away and gulps, “I would know nothing of it sire” said the paladin with haste. “Of course, I meant nothing by it, just saying.” The two continue towards the keep, Cyrus keeping the paladin on edge as he is so known for. The Light’s faithful were not safe from his taste in humor.
“Where is that platoon we deployed last month? 50 men, some of our strongest went to fight on the coast not a month ago, why can’t you tell me Uther? We have a right to know where our children are going!” Baron Rivendarre was having a heated debate with the paladin commander. Cyrus and his escort enters the lodge- like foyer as the discussion escalates. The paladin escort is clearly gripping his faith for dear life. “Ah, Cyrus, perhaps…you can tell me where our reinforcements from last month went?” Uther budged between the two, “Now, Rivendarre, I assure you—“A voice interrupts him, ”The 4th or 5th?” asks Cyrus. ”What? Err, the 7th. Cyrus, what happened to the 7th?” asked the baron. “Dead, well probably, the party sent to deal with the orcs on the coast?” The baron slowly turned toward Cyrus and then to Uther. “Dead? I promised they would return! What am I to tell the city?” “That they died honorably” said Uther with confidence. “With honor..” He turns towards Cyrus at the entrance,” and now they bask in the glory of the light.”
“What were you thinking Cyrus?” said Uther with great strain. The rooms of the keep were majestic and very clean, they were reserved for only the most important people in Strathlholme at a time. Cyrus sits by the fireplace weary of Uther’s lectures. ”The baron, no, the people of this land don’t need to hear assumed reports of dead platoons and orcs on the coast!” exclaimed the paladin. “Do you believe they yet live?” asked Cyrus. “That’s not the point Cyrus… we don’t know what happened to those men, it could have been orcs, could have been trolls, by the light for all we know, it could have been a bear attack.” “So, you believe they’re dead.” said Cyrus. “They’ve been gone for a month, its not likely they survived. We may need to mount an investigation to save the campaign.” said Uther with a fatigued sigh. “I know we aren’t the best of friends Cyrus, but please, for now listen to my counsel.” Uther Lightbringer left the room.
“Hmm, an investigation. A perfect opportunity to scout the orc’s arsenal and capabilities.” Said Cyrus as he plops a map onto a nearby bed table. On the map there is space which shows the whole of Lordaeron, and even parts of Quel’ Thelas, the high elven kingdom. “What good is the coast for the orcs? There’s no significant mineral deposits, suitable places for a port, no nothing. Even for Orcs this seems like a futile venture.” Cyrus stood and unsheathed his blade, “Time to kill some orcs.”
The main square was once again abuzz with excitement, the morning was greeted by volunteers seeking glory; and many are saying good-bye to their loved ones. Clergy priests bless the new warriors as armor is granted and blades are given. Mass is held on the other end of the square towards the gates of Stratlhome Uther Lightbringer himself heads the mass accompanied by Prince Arthas who sits idly in prayer.
“We have gathered, not only to wish our sons farewell, but to bestow upon them a blessing that will keep them safe during this campaign. Let us pray.” Many in the crowd silently fell to their knees and murmur their hopes to the light. “These people…” says Cyrus to himself, onlooking from a nearby alleyway. “They choose to beg to some ideal.” He looks at an Alliance insignia gripped in his hands. Looking up,” They should be serving in any way they can; not wasting their time like this.”
“What of our brothers from the last draft?”—The mass looked behind them to see a small group of men. “What will happen to these…men? Will they be killed too?” said the nearly drunken leader. “No one has declared them dead, you’re jumping to conclusions good sir, please, join us in our ceremony.” Says Uther in a peaceful voice. “Rush!? My brother was with them!” The crowd looked eagerly,” There has been…talk; talk of corpses hanged on trees by the coast. We’ve all heard them! Farmers coming here calling for help, when will an investigation be launched?! Do you even know where the orcs are?!” the crowd began to develop a hostile atmosphere; clearly this had been on their minds.
“You want an investigation do you?” The crowd turned along with the group of men to the shady part of the square. A pair of metal boots clink to the cobblestone and travels towards them. “You want someone to check in on this talk, to clear up the veil?” Cyrus arrives in the sunshine with a stride worthy of an orc warlord. “Why…” Cyrus turned to Uther, “I think that’s a marvelous idea!” “Cyrus!” yelled Uther ,”This is hardly the time or the place to be talking of guard’s work, let them investigate” said the paladin. “Uther, this is a time of recruitment, a time of war, this is the perfect time.” Cyrus looked to the mass, ”Permit me to search for your lost sons, I will find out what happened to them...” He looked to Uther, “-and bring them home!” The crowd cheered in jubilation, finally a true hero.
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The mass quickly dispersed and surrounded Cyrus, many to volunteer, many to shake hands, many more to hug. After, a short time Cyrus had broken through the crowd and began to trek towards the garrison behind the square. “Cyrus!” screamed Uther, “ What do you think you’re doing?!” gasping for air. “Im providing closure, and I’m going to investigate an orc presense on the coast.” “That’s not what you’re doing. You’re just trying to irritate me!” “Uther,” said Cyrus, ”Does it matter?” He turned and made for the garrison. “Uther, what’s going on?” asked Arthas. “Your brother is angering me again, Henngh… by the light.” Uther stormed back to continue the ceremony, what was left of it. Arthas headed to the garrison.
“There are reports of orcs on the coast, there are also indications of a platoon being executed in the area.” Cyrus stood before a group of troopers clad in plate armor, a hunter and a mage. “You’ve been called, well no, volunteered, by the way, thank you.” The grouped chuckled a bit, ”hehe, well anyway Talera here” the hunter salutes. “She has a route planned out in the area, this route is meant to evade any possible enemy patrols. The mission is basically this, search, destroy, search and bring home.”
A door shuts near the crew,” So, you had this planned anyway” said Arthas. “Despite Uther’s counsel you decide to play this game anyway. Cyrus, what would father think?” The group including Cyrus all faced Arthas,” I think he’d say to get off your ass and help us” stated Cyrus. “Shows how much you know of him, Cyrus, this is not the time to be looking for some lost platoon, this a time to prepare our offensive against the orcs..” Cyrus interrupted,” That have not been properly scouted, not properly deduced, advanced on, even prepared for. This mission is the perfect opportunity to ascertain the enemy’s strengths! Hell, you don’t even know where they really are!” “Do you?” said Arthas, “You’re going by rumors and assumptions, you know as little as I do!”
“Well, then this will be good for both of us, I find orcs, yay. I don’t find orcs well, we’re back to your plan” says Cyrus. “The Light will lead us in the right direction, we have to look to it for guidance.” Said Arthas with a renewed calm. “I’ve had enough of this Light Arthas, we do things my way. Suit up! We’re heading to the coast! Gonna kill some orcs!” The squad left with Cyrus at the back, he turns,”Tell father, that is if I don’t make it, tell him…I died being his jackass of a son.” Arthas stared blankly at the exit. Had the family dispute grown larger than he had thought?
The lands of Lordaeron were lovely this time of year, warm and full of color. “How Ironic” said the mage, “The days are so beautiful, but the times are so dark.” “Irony is what makes the world go ‘round” said corporal Sevren, “besides the colors of the leaves are more idyllic of the times, blood red.” The troupe is taking a scenic route through the bush; they don’t have to go too far though, the orcs are on the move. “I hear something,” the hunter raises her bow and moves over a nearby rise. She signaled with her hands to look over the hill. The band crawls over the grassy knoll and spots smoke in the distance, as well as a nearby orc patrol below them. “Lets not attract too much attention, it looks like they’re closer to Stratlhome than we imagined” whispered Cyrus.
“Grall! You impudent son of a bitch! More ale!” the orcs were in need of drinks tonight, they had just been given a slight hint of freedom. “Grall! GRALL! Where is that toad?!” yells the warlord. “Here I am chief, sorry some of the worgs got their chops into the barrels.” Replied the small orc. The orc receives his ale in a huge goblet made from an animal skull. The warlord then smashes his axe into the wall. “Ok, listen up pups! Tomorrow, we have a big day ahead of us. The humans of the nearby city Stratlburg have decided to take up arms against us. Boys, tomorrow we sack the place and secure our new home!” The large tent hurls with cheers and war cries. The Orcs of Lordaeron are on the warpath.
The next morning, Cyrus and his group of soldiers head back towards home, it’s clear that the orcs are a far bigger concern than the missing platoon. “Only a day away? How can Uther miss them?” asked the hunter. “I don’t know” said Cyrus, but rest assured, I wont make the same mistake.” “Are we going to get reinforcements sir?” one of the soldiers asked. “More or less, said Cyrus as he pulls a flare from his pack. “Mage, I can use some embers for the flare.” said Cyrus. “But sir, the orcs will see it, they’ll send forces to investigate.” Said the mage. “I’m well aware mage, light the flare.” “Hold it” the hunter says, “Let’s come up with a plan first, we can be all killed.” Cyrus looks at the hunter and points to the rise, “Shoot the big ones, the mage crisps them, the shield men skewer them.” “What about you” said the hunter, “What will you do?” “My dear, what I do best, annihilate them.”
The flare was lit and a rumbling can be heard as orcs approach from the camp over the rise. “What’s this here?” says one of the orcs. He bends over and picks up the strange fire. “Inform the others! We have humans amongst us!” The orc is then crushed by a figure coming from above. “Razh nikik rofaer!!” screamed some of the orcs. “YOU ARE ALL DEAD!!!” yelled Cyrus. He takes his sword and whips it in a circle around him causing a bloodbath. More orcs come over the rise before him; he raises his shield and assumes the position of a solo phalanx. The other shield men join him from the trees as well as fireballs and arrows.
“Are all the preparations complete Arthas?” asked Uther “Yes sir, the supply caravans are ready, the soldiers are equipped and spirits are high.” “Good” said Uther not the least surprised. “Arthas, you’ve become quite the paladin, getting an army on the move is no easy feat.” “Thank you sir” said Arthas. “Too bad you’re younger isn’t as promising as you are, or as faithful.” said Uther. “I wish to apologize for earlier Uther, he was out of line.” said Arthas.” When isn’t he? He’s arrogant, and crude; no better than some orcs.” “Though I’m not one to dispute your opinion Lord Uther, but hasn’t he led our men in many victories over the years?” Uther began to roll his eyes. “Even if his strategies are crude, he’s still vital to the security of Lordaeron.” said Arthas. “He may be vital to the kingdom’s immediate safety, but he fails to see the consequences of his actions. He’s arrogant, nothing more.” The men stare at each other, and silence ensues. “But from what I hear, a fine soldier.” A voice of a woman echoed through the dimly lit room. “Ah.” Said Uther in relief, “our high elf friends. “A pleasure as always Uther.” Said Sylvannas Windrunner.
The veil of night fell on Eastern Loredaeron, it’s been nearly two days since the trek from Stratlhome and already Cyrus and his group have made hostile contact. “Reckless? Oh, yeah sure! Did we or did we not kill all those orcs?!” exclaimed Cyrus over the campfire. The flame moves back and forth during a heated debate, swaying to avoid any sort of retribution from the combatants. “Indeed, we killed fifteen orcs, and indeed we came out with two wounded sol—“ “Two!” interrupted Cyrus. “Two! Just two! No more, I call that a success!” The huntress is obviously passionate about subtlety; “We could have weaned down their patrols and reported daily findings on the orc forces.” Cyrus sits back on his stump listening intently,”However, why is it we decided, no YOU decided to carve a swath through their front lines? Thus, risking our mission, and not to forget the prince of light forsaken Lordaeron!” “My choice, my risks...” Cyrus puts his face in her’s over the fire,” my mission.” Cyrus leans back to his seat, “I found it necessary to ascertain the enemy’s strength, I do that best with combat.” The huntress begins to speak. “Also, before you interrupt me...” The huntress’s lips close, still resistant, “I found it necessary to lead the orc forces away from Stratlhome.”
“Away? How do we know that’s the case? How do we know they were planning such an attack? There certainly no where near enough in number,” asked the mage. Cyrus leans over to the mage, ”Here take a look at this.” Cyrus hands over a parchment stained in blood, “What is it?” asks the mage. “It’s a letter to some orc named Grall.” The group looks intently at Cyrus, “How do you knows what it says?” says a soldier. “I was imprisoned by orcs, some years back, I learned their tongue as well as cut some out” says Cyrus with a bold candor. He swipes the piece of parchment from the mage’s hand. He rolls it open once again, ”Grall, I’ve sent you to help our prestiged warlord; but I need you to do something while you’re so called aiding him. He will attempt an attack on the human town of Stratlhome, this attack cant turn out well for us. So, I need you to insist on him leading his orcs away from the coast, we need more time to set up a proper base of operations and to prepare for our little spread. For the Horde; –Hellscream.”
“How did you come across this letter?” asks one of the soldiers around the fire. “One of the orcs that attacked us had it in him, I can only guess that it was Grall and he was carrying it for whatever reason.” “Away from the coast for a base? This is bad Cyrus, we have to warn the main unit. An attack has to be made.” Said the huntress. “I feel that’d be ill advised, first off they have an army of orcs between us and the coast. Second, this base hasn’t been properly scouted, plus another interesting concept. This letter can be a rouse.” “What do you suggest then sir?” ased the mage. “I suggest moving around the Horde and getting an eye on that new home of theirs, preferably a tower or hill of some sort.” Cyrus reached for a chest in front of the tent behind him and opened it. “This my friends is the flag of peace” He threw it aside, “and this” he hoisted an Alliance flag up with his arms. “This is the flag of war, this flag will be flown at this campsite tonight. In the morning my brother and his teacher will clean up the mess."
The morning brought a slight frost; the chill of winter was fast approaching. “Men, today we march to the south. Orcs have been reported to be camped at the base of the mountains.” Arthas looks intently as he rides paces in front of the soldiers,”This battle will be fierce, we have their backs to the wall.” “My lord!” Arthas turns around; Invincible his steed bucks to meet the cry. “My lord” gasped the soldier,”The flag of war has been spotted towards the coast! It’s Cyrus, two of his men reported back and said they’ve found and engaged the bulk of the Horde.” Arthas looks stunned, “Sir, the orcs are to the west, not the south. Uther Lightbringer is sending an attack force as we speak. He asks you meet him at the gates before then!” “Men”, says Arthas, “to the gates!”
“Ah, prince, I was hoping you’d make it” says Uther. “Yes, sir,” says Arthas “It seems your brother’s intuition was correct, our own scouts have ascertained the orc’s position and with the help of Cyrus’s report we know the leader’s rank in the food chain and how many orcs to expect on the field.” Arthas is given the report and begins to scroll down the crinkled parchment. “Their numbers are no where near sufficient according to this. We have at least twice the amount of soldiers they have.” “Yes.” Says Uther plainly, “However, look here, he’s discovered a note suggesting that not only that, but the orcs are creating a base along the coast. Also, it seems they’re led by Grom Hellscream.” Arthas looks up from the parchment, troubled. “Hellscream? Why would they send such an orc here? Surely there are more important targets down south, Stormgarde perhaps?” Uther looks down grimly, “You haven’t heard?” Arthas looks with concern towards his teacher. “Stormgarde was annihilated, along with their island citadel, Tol Borad a month ago.” Arthas’s eyes widen. ”They’re here for the oil, they seek to cut us off from Quel’Thelas!” Uther nods. The two hear a set of soft footsteps behind them,” Indeed young prince.” Says a voice. The two paladins look over to the sound. “This is a matter of extreme importance; that is why we are here.” Ranger General Sylvanas Windrunner continues, “If Stratlhome falls, we all fall; northern Loredaeron and our beloved elves will die at the hands of the Horde.” Sylvannas pauses and takes a breath. “Arthas, I believe your brother has launched himself into the bulk of the Horde. Alone.”
“That’s a lot of ships”, the gnome is clearly nervous by the sight of the Horde transports off the coast. “It looks like this is the new front, everyone we have to get over there and disrupt this invasion in whatever way possible.” The group nods at Cyrus,” How on earth are we gonna do that? I know this sounds cowardly but…” Cyrus offers a quick glance to the gnome,” No buts, not yet. Lets worry about how to get in there undetected.” Just then, Cyrus spots some orcs loading crates half hazardly by the trees. Cyrus motions the group to follow; they sneak down the hill taking care to stay behind the trees. The huntress raises her bow and takes the two orcs down. The group, one by one, fits into the giant crates and awaits the delivery team which will come in due time.
“The army is well and in high spirits.” Says Arthas. “Good, I trust you’ve briefed them on the situation?” replies Uther. Arthas nods, “They know who to thank, don’t worry.” The force is on the move to intercept the Horde at the designated location. They follow the roads at a slow pace, hoping to keep their supply lines intact. A dwarf rides to the front on his ram, “Uther Lightbringer sir, we have news, Kaz Modan is under attack from the Horde and you are to be notified sir.” Uther peers to the dwarf grimly, “I can’t send soldiers now good dwarf, tell them we’ll send someone as soon as we can.” The dwarf smiles.” No sir, you don’t understand”, he turns his ram towards the paladin. “We’ve sent reinforcements, just wanted to show off Dwarven loyalty a wee bit.” Uther looks back and sees a regiment of dwarves coming from the rear, “At last, some good news.”
The crates were successfully delivered to the inside of the Orcish keep. Cyrus is the first to leave his box and guts the orc peon who opened it. He hides the corpse behind some barrels and begins to open the other crates. “Ok, so what’s the plan sir?” asks the gnome mage. Cyrus picks up a torch from the wall socket, “They’re here for oil, Stratlhome is full of it and, this is their port for the invasion of western Lordaeron. Gentlemen and lady, we’re gonna show the orcs that oil, catches on fire.”
“That was a great feast last night, eh Gork?” The peon is overly happy. “Yeah” replied the orc in front of him, ”Lots of ale and food, nothing was stale.” The peon looks to his friend bewildered. “Gork? You ok?” The orc has a blade sticking out of his chest. With the corpse being used as a puppet a voice behind it, begins to speak. The voice says, “Uhh, no I just got stabbed by the human that’s gonna kill you all today.” The orc’s corpse is thrown aside and Cyrus charges the other. “You’re not Gork!” The orc’s head is chopped off, and the sound spans throughout the chamber. Other orcs partaking in drinks below dash up the flight towards Cyrus, food raining from their mouths. Cyrus parries several axes and spears and catches them in a hook. The orcs are thrown downstairs alarming others to the ruckus, “Bar fight! Humans in the cellar!”
The Alliance army is moving through the countryside ready to engage the Orcish Horde. The trees in the area have been cut, some burnt and some have axes stuck in them; throwing axes. Uther halts his line and Arthas follows suit. He peers intently towards the wood, then whipping sound causes him to duck. An axe swings past Uther’s face and into nearby tree slicing two branches off the trunk. “Men, prepare yourselves!” screams Uther. More axes twirl at the paladin only to be blocked by Artha’s skillfully used barrier spell. Trolls and orcs alike charge the column, “TO WAR!!” scream some of the soldiers as they charge the rampaging Horde forces. The two armies clash with the hatred and toil of generations behind them. Many of the humans are armed with swords, shields, pikes and heavy plate armor. They rip through the orcs and trolls quite easily, those who are not as well equipped and armed. Wolf riders break from the flanks and converge on the center of the human line hoping for a hero’s death as well as honor. Pikes thrust into the heads of the wolves and flip the riders over leaving their bellies open to human blades. The elves of Quel’Thelas fire arrows from a rise on the flanks and decimate the orcs while keeping friendly fire to a minimum. Many of the Horde fall back and flee into the woods from whence they came.
“This is pathetic,” sighs Uther. Arthas scans the carnage before him, “It seems the Horde is just testing our strength…and our weaknesses.” Uther shakes his head. “Arthas, we just defeated a part of their army, I feel we were successful. “No, Uther, they tested our front and nearly broke it, they now know we’re weak in a frontal charge, as well as on our flanks.” Uther looks at Artha puzzled, “It was just some rein happy orcs, no need to concern ourselves with them.” Arthas puts his hand over his face, “We need to reinforce our flanks and hope the center holds for the next engagement.” Uther replies. “Now boy, what are you suggesting? That the orcs sent a large scouting party just to see what we’d do?” Arthas twitches with aggravation, “Sir, I believe we need to learn from this battle’s mistakes; we owe it to these men.” Uther moves toward the front to rally the troops,” I never suggested otherwise, I’m just wondering if you’re perhaps, over thinking this.” Arthas gallops to a nearby rise to seek the elves’ opinion.
“I believe you’re right Arthas” says Sylvannas. The two begin to discuss a tactical overview of the situation in Sylvannas’s tent. “The orcs indeed are beginning to ascertain our strengths. Those wolves were being used to test our line; it’s too weak, as you have seen. We should develop another kind of tactic.” Arthas looks up from his seat in the tent. “What do you mean General Windrunner?” asks Arthas in a respectful tone. Sylvannas begins to fondle her lower lip. “Instead of these brutish Alliance tactics we need to move the orc forces as we see fit, into ravines and groves. When we attack, it will down hills not up, we must remain on the offensive. Keep the orcs at bay.” Arthas presses his thumb against his cheek,” How do you intend on doing that?” Sylvannas points east, towards the coast; a flag of war has been raised. “Your sibling seems to have the right idea.” Arthas peers from the tent towards the coast. “Of course he does Lady Sylvannas, he always does.”
“I’ve fought in battles before Lord Cyrus, but this, this is something else.” Orcs lay over tables and chairs; the ground is littered with corpses. Cyrus stands in the center of the wine cellar sharpening his sword with a loosened cobblestone from the blood stained floor. “Did you do as I asked?” The soldiers return from the other side of the cellar. “Yes, Cyrus we found the oil room and placed torches inside against a fuse, the barrels are burning as we speak.” Cyrus smirks,” Good, now lets head over to the orc’s great hall, we’re gonna bring them down with their house burning around them!” The Orc hallways were adorned with skulls of beasts, old Stormwind shields, and symbols of the Blackrock Clan. The group found the great hall in ample time, taking down any unlucky patrol that found them. The party discovers the hall entrance and gets ready to charge the doors. Cyrus thrusts the large doors open. “RAAAAAAAAGGHHHHH” many orcs scream and hiss, but stay docile, unwilling to attack. A large orc comes from behind the horde, a huge axe sliding against the floor making slight sparks as the orc walks. “Tul de petoon alekal Cyrees.” Says the orc. Cyrus tilts his upward, “Grom Hellscream I assume, Lokteal ogar.” Cyrus bows his head to the orc intending an invite of war.
“So, you’re Cyrus of Lordaeron? Hennh. I’ve heard much of you.” Grom grips his axe handle and swings the weapon atop his shoulder; his eyes glare a deep red, deeper than any orc. “You come in here.” He steps forward slowly. “Slay my brothers, my soldiers.” His axe lowers to his right, “You’ve come to die I take it?” Cyrus flings an axe at Grom who dodges it allowing another orc to die. “I’ve come to end you, and before I do that” Cyrus flings his shield and sword over to his front, “You’re gonna bring me to your warchief!” Grom laughs as Cyrus charges him, “Really?! My warchief will be the end of you little human!” The two groups engage in the orc’s great hall, the Alliance soldiers flip over tables to create a small barricade in order to funnel the orcs through. They kill many as the archer and mage spew fireballs and arrows into the hall.
Grom picks Cyrus off his feet and throws him into a window leading to a balcony. The windows shatters but Cyrus quickly gets up. Grom slams his axe against Cyrus’s shield only to have it knocked back nearly into his own face. Cyrus offers a quick slash to his stomach. The orc screams and goes after Cyrus again and again with no sign of letting up. Cyrus strikes at every opening he can find, playing it safe. “You coward!” He screams as he becomes more and more frustrated. “A testament to your kind’s weakness!” Grom charges Cyrus with his body, but Cyrus doesn’t budge. “Im not moving orc.” Cyrus thrusts his sword at Groms head, but misses. Grom then grabs the sword edge with his bare hands and attempts to rip it from Cyrus. With his shield, Cyrus charges Grom and pushes him back into the assembly room.
The hall is full of corpses, all dead except one. A large orc casts a spell of lightning that passes from Cyrus’s shield to a nearby wall. “A shaman.” Cyrus says. “You killed my warriors?” he asks. The orc peers to Grom who is struggling to get off the ground. “As you killed mine human.” Thrall lifts his hammer and points it in Cyrus’s direction as hordes of orc warriors rally behind him. “The spirits tell me much young human. They tell me of your plans, your ambitions.” Thrall looks towards Cyrus now. “Leave young human, you’ve done enough.” Cyrus smirks,“Not quite orc.” Cyrus turns and jumps off the balcony. “Thrall!” screams Hellscream. Thrall turns and the room is becoming engulfed in flames.
“My lord!” flames have been seen towards the coast, we’re getting close!” Arthas takes the spyglass off the soldier and looks to the east; “indeed flames are erupting. “Gather me a scouting party soldier, I need to see if anyone is still alive down there.” The spotter nods, “Yes my prince.” The soldier mounts a nearby horse and gallops away to find sufficient candidates. “Arthas, no need to be hasty.” Says Uther. Arthas’s head jerks from Uther’s direction, “I have to see if Cyrus is still alive, he forced the orcs to return to their base somehow. We’ve met no resistance, something is happening!” Cavalry arrive to the front, “Scouting mission sir?” asks one of the riders. Arthas speeds forward with the cavalry in hot pursuit, they ride quickly through the trees.
An hour passes and the horses are tired; the scouting party stops for a drink. “Arthas, you ride so damned fast. Henh, want to become a rider? Hehe.” Says one of the horsemen. Arthas stays on his horse attentive; the horse is hardly fazed by the trek. “I’ll scout out ahead, stay here…” “But sir!” “—and watch the horses.” Demands Arthas. He gallops off towards the smoke.
“LOKTAR OGAR!” Orcs are everywhere on the shore. A few of them lay strewn in a path along the beach. The swings and clashes of swords echo across the cove, “Buaelve de dalsheaneah!” screams Cyrus while he cuts down two wolf riders. As the orcs approach, greater in number, arrows come from behind Cyrus penetrating the orcish armor with ease. “Quickly Cyrus we have to get out of here!” Cyrus turns to see Sylvannas standing with a contingent of high eleven rangers. “More orcs are coming!” Cyrus runs over to the trees under the cover of elven arrows.
“Hop on!” says the ranger general riding a blue hawkstrider. As he considers climbing on, orc riders come from the trees and attempt to kill Cyrus but are shot down by Slvannas. The worgs slide on the ground just before him, one lives and his orc master crushes the other. Cyrus takes the worg’s reins and climbs on top of him. “Thank you Sylvannas, but this pup here will do just fine.” He pats the worg on the side, it’s coat is filled with bugs.
Sylvannas and her rangers escort Cyrus to a designated meeting site in the wilderness. Arthas is waiting for them with a platoon of tired cavalrymen; a fire has been prepared as well as lodging. Cyrus and Sylvannas ride to the camp as it gets dark and camps for the night. “Cyrus! So good to see you’re not dead!” The worg forces his head through Arthas’s arms hoping to be scratched, “I see you brought a friend…” replies Arthas nervously. Cyrus hops off the canine and pats it on the head. “Hawkstriders aren’t really my thing.” Says Cyrus. The reunion is cut short, “Lord Arthas” says Sylvannas, “the orc numbers are growing by the day, we saw ships dropping off supplies and reinforcements. We must strike as soon as possible.” Arthas ponders for a moment, “As much as I appreciate your counsel, ranger general our forces aren’t near ready; we still have to wait for Uther.” Says Arthas. “Very well, we’ll wait for reinforcements prince.” Sylvannas sighs. “I’ll be in my tent if you need me.” She and her rangers head towards the northern part of camp that overlooks the area.
Cyrus and Arthas sit before the fire along with some of the more fearful troops. “What happened? Where’s your unit?” asks Arthas. “I’m afraid an orc shaman killed them. Thrall he said his name was.” Arthas blinks in a twitch, “Thrall? I’ve never heard of him before.” Cyrus nods “ He said he’s Grom’s brother, he’s certainly tougher...” says Cyrus wearily. “You fought Grom?” asks Arthas “Yeah, would have had the orc too, but Thrall came in; sort of walked in on us.” Arthas stares at the fire, “I heard a report from the elves saying the fortress was burning? Is that all you accomplished?” Cyrus jerks his head back, astonished. “Not only is their fortress destroyed, but their supplies and troop numbers are severely slashed--.” “I dont care Cyrus, You failed to do anything definitive, just made the orcs more pissed at us.” Arthas’s eyes widen in regret, the stress is getting to him. Cyrus gets up and says, “Tell that to the troops that died to burn those orcs to the ground, we killed at least fifty. You know what Arthas, this paladin shit is getting to your better judgement.” With that, Cyrus storms off towards his worg.
The morning came and the sky was the color of roses and blood. “Never ceases to amaze me, Munch.” Cyrus says to the barely awake worg, “Whenever blood is spilled, the next day, the sky is stained with it. Fuck you sky.” “A beautiful morning sky indeed.” Cyrus looks over to see Sylvannas Windrunner standing over him. “Good morning Sylvannas, how are you today?” Cyrus asks. “Nice to see you’re concerned.” She looks over to the campsite and puts her finger to her lips, arms crossed. “I need you for a mission, one not condoned by your brother, or Uther.” Cyrus begins to stand, “What does this adventure entail?” Sylvannas grins, “You’ve proven yourself a warrior with an eye for strategy. I require someone with your skill to lead a contingent of my rangers to attack the orcs; keep them distracted.” Cyrus smirks, “Good, someone who understands that fighting fire with fire doesn’t always work.” Sylvannas nods, “My scouts have reported an orc encampment near here, they’re searching for any advance groups, namely us.” Cyrus begins to stretch, “Alright, tell me where to go, I’ll bring your rangers back in one piece.” Sylvannas looks to Cyrus, “I never thought I’d see the day, when I’d be giving a prince of Lordaeron orders.” Cyrus shrugs, “Around me, there’s no need for pleasantries, give me a job and I’ll get it done.” Cyrus slings his pack over his shoulder as well as his shield. “Don’t be too impressed though, I have no legitimacy to the throne. The king had me disowned.”
The light pours down from the elaborate ceiling as usual, the throne seat glows red from the sunlight, “Perhaps a sign of things to come.” King Terenas sits contempt on his throne, ready to deal with the day’s duties. “My lord, you need something?” asks a woman, his aide. “No, Charlotte, just an old man rambling to himself.” The throne room doors open and three men enter, soldiers from the front. The men approach the king across the polished marble floor. “My lord” says one of the men, “we bring Lord Uther’s report.” The king leans over, eager for the news. “Cyrus and Arthas have gone ahead to meet the enemy on our eastern shores. Sylvannas Windrunner of the high elves have moved in to assist and things look good. Your son Arthas seems to think that a deciding battle is imminent.” King Terennas Menethil stares at the men, gripping the arm of his throne, “Indeed, thank you soldiers.” The troopers bow their heads and exit the throne room. “Cyrus, Arthas? I hope that Cyrus doesn’t get my son killed.” The aides grow silent, “Excuse me sire, but isn’t Cyrus your son as well?” asks Charlotte. The other aides and servants gasp. Terenas gives her a piercing glare, “Listen well, girl. Cyrus is a mongrel, a Light forsaken being, I care only about Arthas, what happens to Cyrus is decreed by the light and by fate. He is forsaken by me, that’s all.” The aides return to their work and the servant girl Charlotte looks down to the floor, she hears the king mutter something of vileness for the first time.
“Lord Cyrus.” One of the elves says kneeling over a hill. “Orcs have been spotted.” She motions to the right,” There’s an orc encampment, nestled between two farms and an orchard.” Cyrus looks at the underlying forests “Ambush from the trees; I want chaos, give me disorder.” The elf commander nods and dashes down the hill to provide the closest thing to that she can give, the elven ambush. The elves get into position on the nearby hills and fire. Arrows fly all over the encampment; every direction is being shot into. Orcs fly out of their tents to escape, and if they’re lucky, they’ll meet the ground. Rangers come out of the woods towards the orcs, pikes and swords in hand, they cut down the orcs in due time. Orc wolf riders and trolls take the field and are dispatched by the elven infantry. The trolls fall fast, but the orcs take some work, but are also cut down. “We had them outnumbered sir.” Says one of the few male elves. “Where is the rest of the Horde?” another elf says.
The camp is quiet; Arthas walks silently to Sylvanna’s tent careful not to wake the other elves. “Sylvannas?” he peers into the tent. As he scans the inside, a presence can be felt behind him and he looks. Lady Sylvannas stands tall with two guards next to her. “We need to speak.” Says Arthas. Sylvannas tilts her head and raises an eyebrow. “Where’s Cyrus, and most of your troops?” Sylvannas gives the answer plainly. “They’re fighting the Horde.”
“Cyrus!” Cyrus turns toward the cry. Dozens of orcs race across the camp toward them. “Elves! To me! To me!” the elves attempt to regroup as best they can, but the attack is so sudden. Cyrus makes a gesture towards the marauders and arrows fly on queue, toppling their first line. The elves and Cyrus develop into a phalanx and prepare to hold off the attack. The phalanx is immediately ripped open by shadow magic. Elves fly into the air and Cyrus is left to hold off the darkness. The orcs avoid him and make for the elves that have survived. Cyrus peers past his shield and sees a man in a black robe casting a shadow like spell. He picks out an axe from his belt and hurls it toward the caster and hears a grunt. The figure begins to laugh, “My power is beyond imagining.” Says the figure. “That’s what you think.”
The sight stuns Arthas, as he arrives, and watches the battle unfold before him from the top of a nearby rise. Arthas stares intently, “Cavalry, hit the orc’s left flank, archers take position and cover their advance, infantry…” Sylvannas glides down the hill with her warriors and clashes with the orcs. Arthas’ men follow suit creating a giant melee. Arthas himself rides toward the caster taking his brother into his grip. Cyrus doesn’t know it, but the Horde isn’t the only thing he’s facing.
“The orcs are quite kind.” Says the figure. Cyrus grunts, “I’ve noticed.” As he still holds the spell at bay. “Marvelous creatures, easy to manipulate and such wonderful patrons of the arts….” Cyrus’s face turns grim, “Dark arts you mean?” The figure’s head rises “Are they so dark? You see one spell and deem it dark, how arrogant.” The galloping of horses can be heard approaching. The figure begins to back away. “Well, it seems it’s my time to go, your forces are formidable indeed.” Cyrus smirks and raises another axe form his belt. “Know this Cyrus, sometimes the greatest threats---“ Cyrus hurls another axe and hits the man in the face. The specter moans and falls to its knees. Cyrus sees through the veil of shadow and witnesses the man hunched over, laughing. He tilts his head upward and an insane smile arises, “Come from those you love most.” The man dissipates into a cloud of darkness with only a whisper. “I am Kel’Thuzad…”
“Cyrus!” Cyrus turns around to see Arthas on his horse. Elves, humans and dwarves pour from behind him. They begin to charge past Cyrus, and he again turns around; the Battle for Lordaeron has begun!
Cyrus, Arthas and Sylvannas hold the line with many of their brothers and sisters at their side. The orc camp is crowded with fighting; trees are being used as obstacles and barricades, nearby farms burn. “Funnel them with whatever you can find!” soldiers work to keep the Horde in small areas for easy slaying. Arrows fly from the hills to the north striking Horde archers on hills to the south. “For the Alliance!” “Lok Tar Ogar!” screams of war echo the valley. Cyrus creates another phalanx and moves forward against the orcs; Arthas provides light magic to enhance the men’s strength as well as casting his own offenses against them. Sylvannas fires arrows with great accuracy from behind the phalanx and silences enemy warlocks. “The Horde are too many!” yells one of the soldiers, Ogres then take the field with trolls close behind. “Uther’s arrived!” screams Arthas. The three look behind to see Uther Lightbringer charging forward with the whole of the might of Lordaeron.
“Ill handle the ogres! You keep it up!” Uther yells as he races past the phalanx, which now is being fueled by reinforcements. The ogres become blinded by Uther’s light magic and fall to the ground, trolls fling axes his way, “Oh not this again!” the paladins run the trolls over with their horses, trampling every one of them. “Keep up the wall, remember you are the wall!” Cyrus yells. Orcs pour over the phalanx like water on rock, many are slaughtered. The Horde is being pushed into nearby hills by the phalanx and the orcs begin to crush one another.
A part of the phalanx is broken when a large orc takes the field, the spot is filled with the barbarians and the phalanx begins to break. Cyrus abandons his spot and rushes to the opening. The orc moves towards him slaughtering every trooper in his way. “Hellscream!” Cyrus thrusts his sword at him but is blocked. “Hello, human!” Grom swings the axe forward hitting Cyrus in the arm; he drops his shield and is left with only his sword. “Aww, is the human hurt? Thrall may have saved you earlier, but this time. You’re all mine!” Grom thrusts forward intending to slice Cyrus in half. Cyrus dodges the swing and stabs Grom in the arm. “You lil’ bitch!” Grom groans, but swings again nearly hitting Cyrus. “Ill bleed, but itll do.” Grom lifts his axe as best he can with one good arm. He swings and lets go of the axe; the axe swings to the left and hits Cyrus. He’s winded and knocked to the ground, “Glaaph!” he sputters. Cyrus is stuck on the ground and looks up to the sky and watches the arrows flow past. He hears a scream and looks over his wounded chest; Grom picks up his axe and is forced to retreat. “Get up!” Sylvannas screams as she drags Cyrus by the arm to a nearby house. “Priest, do heal him.” She runs off to join the battle leaving Cyrus to the elven priest.
“Please sit still” the priest casts a spell that seems to rejuvenate Cyrus completely. “You may have lasting wounds my lord.” Says the priest. “Thank you for the concern, but I must…return to the battle.”
The orcs were defeated that day, though not completely. Under Cyrus’s command, the phalanx pushed the orcs over the hills and caused the rest to orchestrate the most unorganized retreat in history. Though the eastern parts of Lordaeron were saved, threats loomed. Not a month after the battle, a mysterious disease began to accumulate in Lordaeron. People began to act strangely and a new cult has been spotted in many places, rumors are abounding of cauldrons in the forests, graveyards and battle areas. These rumors trouble the king and his closest advisors, today, in the throne room, there will be much to discuss.
The throne had a disturbing aura about it and the King knew it. However, though the days were dark there was hope on the horizon. Today, a crow has chosen to visit the king, what inconvenient timing, the hearing had already begun. “The Horde is regrouping.” says an ambassador “Their attacks on the internment camps are proof enough.” “As I had said”, says a wizard advisor, “This plague that has gripped the Northlands can have dire ramifications.” “You Wizards are paranoid!” says a wayward ambassador, “Please, wizard even you do believe this plague exists, what do you suggest we do about it?” “Its is simple, we impose strict quarantine. The Kirin Tor are already prepared to…” “Enough!” says the king. The throne room grows quiet. “I will not make my people prisoners in their own home without proof of your accusations ambassador. The people of Lordaeron have suffered enough without becoming prisoners, in their own lands!” The emissaries begin to nod and renew the discussion. Just then, the crow begins to take shape in a bright green light. The king and the ambassadors take cover behind their hands. “Yet prisoners they are my king.” Says the mysterious shape shifter. He is a man, adorned in a robe, hood down with feathers circling his throat. “What is the meaning of this? Who are you?” demands the king. The man extends his arm and begins to speak, “Humanity is in peril, the tides of darkness have come again and the whole world is on the brink if war!” The man’s arm lowers. One of the ambassadors yell, “Enough of this! Guards! Remove this madman.” Two guardsmen approach from behind. “The only hope for your people is to travel west, to the forgotten lands of Kalimdor.” Says the man. The king stands, “I don’t know who you are, but this is not the time for prophets. Our lands are besieged, but it shall be we who decides how best to protect our people. Not you! Now. Begone!” The king waves the intruder away. The robed man raises his head towards the throne. “I failed Humanity once before, I shall not do so again! If you cannot take up this cup, I will find another who can.” The man leaves for the doors.
“Excuse me.” The mysterious man stops. The town inside Lordaeron is bustling this time of day. “The orcs aren’t the darkness you were talking about, is it?” asks Cyrus. “The warning has been given.” The man turns revealing an eye from behind his cloak, “Your fate is now your own.” The man walks away in a hurry, he clearly has business. A guard comes from the throne room, “Cyrus, the king requests an audience with you.” Cyrus turns toward the throne room and enters.
The ambassadors are on edge, many are arguing about the event that just transpired. “Cyrus” says the king, “It is to my understanding that you met a dark wizard during the recent defeat of the orcs, am I right?” The room grows silent. “Yes good king.” Terenas looks at Cyrus with a violent glare. “This wizard, he mentioned a scourge? Also, a threat from the inside?” “Yes king.” Replies Cyrus. “He said orcs were valuable to him, and that they were funding his studies?” asks the king. Cyrus peers into his father’s eyes. “I must assume so, he applauded them for their patronage.” King Menethil slouches further in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Can these two things be related, the disease and the sorcerer?” “I wouldn’t know sire.” replies Cyrus. “Sire.” One of the ambassadors says. “Should we not be worried with the more immediate threat? The Horde is regrouping.” The king frowns. “Yes, I believe our time would be better spent on that, don’t you agree Cyrus?” Cyrus turns around and begins to leave the court. “Cyrus! Do you NOT agree?” Cyrus stops and looks over his shoulder behind him. “What good is the land when its tainted? You can’t mount a defense of your people when they’re all sick and dying.” Cyrus leaves the room, leaving the politics up to the old.
“Cyrus.” Says Arthas who was passing by the throne room. “Arthas, what are doing here?” Arthas’s horse bucks before him. “I’m going to investigate the northlands, this plague is spreading and we must find out the source.” Cyrus smirks and gives a faint salute. “Good luck to you then brother.” Arthas nods. “I’m worried, that wizard you fought Cyrus, I’m reading reports of lots of them, this can be the source.” Arthas turns along with his escort toward the gates. “Something isn’t right, something is happening.”
Weeks pass and Arthas returns with grave news, the plague is deadly. Many are dying in their homes and the plague becomes known as the scourge. The disease gains a dramatically worse reputation when the dead began to rise in the northlands. Ghouls and skeletons led by a mysterious figure lead an attack on Northern Lordaeron using all they kill, as servants. Few victories are to be had as the only one of mention is the recent defeat of a necromancer by Arthas and Lady Jaina Proudmoore. The Kingdom is being overrun. Arthas’s expedition to Northrend and his war against the undead haven’t helped the situation. Stratlhome lies in ruins, as does much of Eastern Lordaeron.
“My lord! I bring bad tidings.” Cyrus is sitting in a burnt mill, destroyed by the last scourge attack. “Yes corporal?” the messenger has given bad news before, but this is beyond imagining. “Your father is dead.” Cyrus asks, “and…?” The messenger is at a loss of words, “yes---well—Prince Arthas has assumed the throne and asks for you to return to the keep.” Cyrus snuffs abruptly. “This is hardly the time for a coronation ceremony!” He thrusts the order out a hole that once was a wall. “I will defend the northlands as ordered and as deemed proper by me. Tell Arthas to shove it. “ Cyrus pauses in thought. “How did my father die?” “We’re not sure yet, but there are claims of old age.” The messenger leaves to report the grave news throughout the Northlands.
The Throne room is bleak and empty, only Arthas and a few of his trusted advisors occupy it. These men stand among the corpses of the king’s guard, adorned in black robes. “So, the time has come has it master?” asks Arthas to the wind. “Yes, soldiers…” The ground begins to tremble and the castle bells begin to toll. Dead rise from the ground all over the throne room and rise from the catacombs. “Deploy the plague, this pathetic city is doomed.”
“Cyrus?” Another visitor comes to the hovel of a command center. “Yes?” says Cyrus. Jaina Proudmoore enters the mill. “Cyrus something isn’t right, Arthas is acting very strange.” Cyrus tilts his head back in thought. “He’s been acting like this since the incident in Stratholme and Mal’ Ghanis.” She pauses for a moment. “I think it’s when he went to Northrend Cyrus. His men are dead and he has some new sword with him, he looks like a lifeless corpse.” Cyrus stops his writing. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him.” says Cyrus “Ever since he’s returned he’s been… demanding. He demands the throne, the obedience of his people, he’s not the king I expected him to be.” Cyrus gets up and places his hand on her shoulder. “I think the Arthas we knew died up there.”
Days pass and fewer units are reporting to Cyrus, his command seems to have been stripped and he has fewer than one hundred soldiers. Word reaches the kingdom’s defenders that their beloved price Arthas has murdered the king and leads the Scourge. The skies darken and more and more of the undead are seen every day. It becomes unnecessary to hold the northlands when all the inhabitants are either turning or have fled. Cyrus and his force move south to the Andorhal to secure a better position.
“Sir, scouts report a huge amount of undead bearing down on us from…” Cyrus quickly turns to the soldier. “Where from now? The north, we already know that!” he slams papers to the table in frustration. “Lordaeron.” Cyrus looks to the map on a nearby wall. He draws an arrow pointing to the town. “That’s the seventh arrow I’ve marked. They’ve officially come from every direction, every direction!” There are so many marks on the map; many of the names are indiscernible.
“Scourge forces approach from the south! No-no! To the---Damnit! They’re everywhere!” The soldier has yelled at the top of his lungs for hours before he is cut down by abominations. “Hold the line! Hold the line!” Cyrus struggles to rally his troops against so many. The Scourge pours over the walls of Andorhal, the cracks of gun and cannon die, unlike the screams of geists and other monsters. “There are three towers in this town, each fortified like a castle wall!” Cyrus says in desperation. “How can they not be firing?!” A soldier aside of him in the trench is shot in the head from the west. Cyrus’s head jerks toward a now firing tower. “Oh, now you fire! Cyrus yells. The dead soldier’s corpse is then dragged down by hands in the trenches. “Everyone out of the trenches! Out, Scourge in the ground!” Many men are dragged and devoured by ghouls. Cyrus runs towards the town hall behind the line, with other survivors. “Get the hell in there!” yells one of the troopers. “NO!” screams Cyrus. “They’ll just trap you inside!” The panicked soldiers run into the one entrance hall intending on a last stand. Cyrus searches around for a means of escape; Andorhal is lost. He spots a way out and escapes the village on a nearby horse. Cyrus flees through the forest towards the Tirisfal Glades. “Damn it!” Cyrus swears as he gallops away from Andorhal. “How is this happening?! Is the whole kingdom undead?!” Cyrus rides his horse to the town of Brill near the Capital.
Cyrus arrives after hours of riding. The town is empty and nothing but rats remain, big ones. “Hello? Hello?! Anyone?!” The town remains silent, not a soul, not a word. The horse falls to it’s knees and dies; Cyrus falls off the side. “You were a good horse.” He says as he gets back to his feet. Cyrus brushes himself off and makes for the keep, “Ok, Arthas where are you, you bastard?” Cyrus ascends the rise towards the doors to Lordaeron. The gates are covered in claw marks and none remain inside. The square’s statue is broken in half and the drawbridge leading to the throne room is broken at the hinge. “Oh no.” Cyrus says as he walks toward the throne room. The door falls at it’s hinges and a large cloud of dust kicks up. The throne is the only bright place here, as the moonlight beams down upon it.
On the throne itself lay a metal object, the crown of Lordaeron. Cyrus cautiously approaches the throne. He arrives and takes the crown in his hands; the crown is covered in blood. “Astounding isn’t it? Asks Arthas from the shadows. Cyrus turns towards the sound. “How simple it was to kill such a man, such a weak, weak man.” Arthas circles around the room Frostmourne, his sword in the air held by two hands, so close to his face. “How easy it was to do my master’s bidding.” Cyrus shakes his head “Master? Arthas, why are you talking like that? Better yet, what have you become?” Arthas turns and faces Cyrus, his bright eyes of blue energy flash at him, “A death knight!” He grasps Cyrus from the end of the room and attempts to drag him using shadow magic. Cyrus holds his ground and unsheathes his sword, with sword and shield he rushes Arthas and is frozen in place. Arthas then summons an army of the undead that attack Cyrus in turn.” Light damn you!” Cyrus slices them in two and intercepts Frostmourne with his blade. “You know nothing of my new powers!” Arthas’s sword glows ice blue and freezes his body allowing for chunks of ice to become his armor. Cyrus chips at the ice with his sword and smacks Arthas upside the head with his shield. Arthas staggers back, Cyrus continues with slash and kick, slash and bash. Arthas is backed against the wall. “Too late brother.” Arthas grins and snaps his fingers, undead come pouring from the catacombs and the outside. “Nothing can stop the might of the Scourge Cyrus! Certainly no one can resist it either!” Cyrus backs away and carves a path into the catacombs, there’s nowhere else to go.
The catacombs were massive, transformed by Arthas and the Scourge into an underground labyrinth, an Undercity. Ooze pours in fountains and into plague streams; these streams were being filled with ghouls and former citizens by Cyrus and his escape plan. “There’s nowhere to run!” all the undead say, the Scourge was a machine and it will back Cyrus into a corner. He fights until he’s forced into a large room, an undead throne room. A group of sorcerers wait in the room and grasps Cyrus in their spells, “Hello young Cyrus, We are the Cult of the Damned!” Arthas enters escorted by banshees, wicked reflections of agonizing women, fated to suffer for eternity. “I hope you like my new throne room Cyrus, it will be your grave.” Just then Cyrus breaks from the spell and lashes toward the sorcerers; he cuts through them with ease. “We will see you in undeath Cyrus…count on it!” a smoke emerges from the group and dissipates. “Well now, how will this conclude?” asks Arthas “Will you fight to the bitter end? Will you surrender yourself? Will you beg?” Cyrus says plainly, “None of the above.” He takes his sword and stabs himself in the chest. Arthas looks to the crouching man with a wicked smile upon his face. “Well, I take that, as surrender.” Cyrus smiles. “No…Not surrender” he says weakly. He bursts into flames, ”Thanks Jaina! You’re a lifesaver!!! RAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!” Cyrus’s body is turned into a charred husk within moments. “Damn that woman; always one step ahead.” Arthas looks down at the charred corpse, “Bury him along with the others.” He turns from the banshee, “He thinks he’s safe from undeath.” He then smirks at the charred husk. “Goodbye Cyrus of Lordaeron; for now.”
Much has happened since the fall of Lordaeron. The Horde under the leadership of Thrall has become more docile and has become essential to Azeroth’s security. They and the newly strengthened Alliance still fight each other, but have also proven to be capable to work together when faced with greater threats. The Burning legion; an army of world devouring demons, have been driven out of the world and have suffered great defeats in Draenor home world of the orcs. The new Lich King Arthas; was also defeated by the races of Azeroth and the Scourge has been dramatically weakened as a result. The humans of Lordaeron became Scourged, but after the old Lich King’s weakening during the Third War, many of the undead followed the banshee Sylvannas Windrunner in a rebellion against the Arthas and the Scourge. Being victorious the newly formed Forsaken joined the new Horde and became a fragile asset. However, after the seeming betrayal of the Forsaken royal apothecary, Putris and his demon allies, the Forsaken became less and less of an asset. The new Horde Warchief Garrosh Hellscream has only fueled this lack of trust towards the undead. With tensions on the rise since the Cataclysm and Alliance incursions from the south, the Forsaken are in desperate need in help; whether they like it or not.
“Aale, Aaaale.” Says the worker. “What? What, are you trying to say Bale?” Bale looks down, ”Oh, your jaw fell off again.” Turner picks the jaw off the ground, pulls out his sewing kit and starts sewing the worker’s jaw back on. “You know, you’re lucky, I used to be an Overtaker during the…. Dark times.” “ I o, Io, ooh ay is ey ime.” “Yeah, well, keep up the good work, I’m taking a break. Dale stands up, and walks toward the mushrooms vendor, well where he was supposed to be. Brill changed quite a bit since the Scourge invasion. Once a hovel of old houses, it is now a shining example of Forsaken architecture and commerce. “Dale! You’ve made it, I thought you were gonna miss me again.” Dale smirks, “Well, Alchemist, maybe if you knew the time…” “Hey I still do good considering the one eye!” The corpses chuckle, “Just give a green one, over easy.” The vendor nods happily, “Lots of salt got it.” Dale awaits his mushroom hoping to get a small break to give his bones a good breather. “Ale, ale!” Dale hears screaming coming from the worksite. “By the lady! It fell of already?!” Dale begins to take out his sewing kit again, but the worker grabs him by the arm. “Ook, ook!” The worker leads Dale back to the work site behind Brill. “Dark Lady Watch over us.” A large corpse is laid in the pit, one covered in runes. “This one’s cursed, Just like Sylvannas herself!”
The Undercity maintained the musty atmosphere as its known for. Usually the catacombs are empty except for the occasional ambassador or merchant. Today, despite the darkness, there’s excitement. A cursed undead has been found; the last one to be discovered became the Forsaken’s Greatest Hero, who will this one be? The corpse is taken to the throne room escorted by many of the Forsaken. A grey woman awaits anxiously in her throne. “What is this you bring before me?” asks Lady Sylvannas, “An undesirable” says an apothecary. Sylvannas looks stunned and then looks down to the corpse. “This body is, covered in runes.” The crowd nods, “Yes, just like you were my lady.” Says one of the forsaken. Sylvannas shakes her head, “No, I only had one rune, one damning rune.” She stands, ”Whoever this is, they caught the eye of the Scourge alright. For so many runes, this must be a monster.” The crowd grows anxious and begins to chant, “Valkyr, Valkyr.” These winged women were used by the Scourge to raise the dead, but since the Scourge’s defeat, the Forsaken employed the remaining Valkyr to keep its population up.
Anael’a, one of Sylvanna’s Val’kyr approaches the corpse. Sylvannas smiles. “Forsaken! Today is a day of birth! A day when a hero will rise, or fall forever, prepare yourselves.” Sylvannas gives the order and the Valkyr casts a blue torrent into the corpse. Time stands still, the air stays stale and the corpse begins to crawl from it’s box. The corpse is charred, tall and begins to blink. “Say something! Who are you?” asks some of the crowd. The corpse replies after adjusting his jaw, “I am Cyrus, Cyrus of Lordaeron.” The crowd is shocked, but not as shocked as Sylvannas whose eyes widen. “Finally, he’s come back.”
Cyrus lays on a granite slab, a bed for the Forsaken. He stares at the walls and then his hands. Footsteps can be heard outside the chamber; the door opens “How are you feeling?” asks Sylvannas, Cyrus stares at the Banshee Queen. “You had so many runes on you, what’d you do?” Cyrus rolls over on his ribcage, “You first.” Sylvannas’s eyes glow. “I made it hard for him to kill my people. His invasion of my home wasn’t easy.” Cyrus smirks “Ha! I wish I could have died like that, but no.” Cyrus rolls over, “I killed myself in a corner.” Sylvannas glares over. “With this?” she flips a blade from a pack. She touches it and it turns aflame. “This is an impressive weapon.” She sheathes it in her belt. “It’s now mine, just as you are. You are Forsaken, follow me to glory Cyrus, serve your people well as you did in life.” Cyrus stands before the Banshee Queen, “My only regret Lady Sylvannas.” He looks down to her. “Is not finding out something.” “What?” she asks, “Would our babies have pointy ears?” Cyrus walks out of the room leaving Sylvannas in a twitch, “That’s not funny.”
The next week or so is spent talking about the former prince returning to Lordaeron. Military advisors, historians, artists and all manner of trades visit him. He learns the Forsaken history and the impacts he’s had on it. He begins to attend royal meetings as a person of interest and is nominated to be General of the Forsaken armies, and he is to be tested. “In a few days, the Horde ambassadors will come to see how we’re handling matters.” Sylvannas explains further as Cyrus is being fitted for his new armor. “ If they don’t like what they hear, we may just develop a problem amongst the Horde.” Cyrus nods, “Yeah, and we’ll have to prevent that.” Sylvannas smiles, “You’ll be Lordaeron’s champion again. We just need to convince these barbarians you’re not a threat to them.” Cyrus smiles, “So, Grom had a son?”
The throne room is occupied with guests today, Tauren, Orcs and Trolls hold court. Lady Sylvannas is to speak to them about Forsaken affairs, surprisingly all feel interested. Except, a red orc in the corner with a very familiar axe. Cyrus walks over to the orc, pretending to be looking at maps on the walls. One of the orc guards notice him.” Stand back undead.” Says the Kor’kron bodyguard, the warchief’s personal guard. Cyrus backs up a bit, “Are you the one they call Hellscream?” The orc moves his head in Cyrus’s direction, “Whats it to you?” the orc says. Cyrus brushes his hand over his head. “That axe, I’ve seen it before, fought against it.” Garrosh holds up his axe. “Oh really? Hehe…” He holds it out and taunts Cyrus with it. Cyrus grabs it, “Ooh, someone likes to polish their toys.” Garrosh stutters, “How dare you?!” Garrosh charges Cyrus and runs into him, nearly falls back on his feet. “Whoa there, you just need to say please.” Garrosh is shocked, the bag of bones barely moved. Cyrus hands the axe back to Hellscream, “Your father treated it so badly, nice to see its not being dragged around like some children’s toy.” Hellscream turns away from him and watches Sylvannas. Cyrus hasn’t realized it yet, but the room was focused on him. “I imagine he’s the one you wish to have us approve?” asks Baine Bloodhoof. Cyrus looks at the Tauren with astonishment, “A talking cow. Interesting.” Baine frowns. “You mock me?” Cyrus raises his hands slightly, “No, I meant no such thing, I’ve never seen one of you kind before.” The tauren looks puzzled. “I beg your pardon Baine, he’s new to undeath. We recently raised him from a nearby work site.” Sylvannas plucks her bow. “During the third war this man before you took on the majority of the Horde and prevailed. Something that had never been done.” Cyrus chuckles, “Well, Sylvannas, of course I had help.” Sylvannas nods and Baine huffs, “How will he take his new life. Is there any chance he’ll side with humans?” The topic is discussed among the Horde leaders, the last candidate for Sylvanna’s champion became one of the Argent Crusade and fed information to the Alliance. As the conversation continues, Cyrus develops dizziness and has a flash back to an unknown time, flashes pass by of him carrying a shield into ruins of a great city directing and overseeing a conflict between the undead. His forces are charging with him at the front and Arthas appears before them.
“Cyrus?” asks Sylvannas. “Im fine, ernnh.” He grunts and returns to his feet. “What is this some sickly forsaken?” Hellscream. “What are we to do with him exactly? What if this sort of thing happens while he’s on duty?” Sylvannas glares at the group. “As a show of good faith between us, I wish to send Cyrus to aid your people on whatever endeavor you choose. If he succeeds, he will become one of my generals.” The crowd grows silent, “I have a better idea.” Cyrus says. The group turns to him, “And that be what mon?” asks Vojiin. Cyrus paces the wall behind him that has been adorned with maps, “Well, it seems there’s a major conflict in this place called the Barrens.” Cyrus points to the location on a Kalimdor map. “It looks to me that Alliance reinforcements are stemming from this little port.” He points to Theramore port on the paper. “Send me to take care of this problem.” Garrosh begins to laugh; the other leaders of the Horde remain silent. “What makes you think you can succeed in such an attack? Theramore port is far too well fortified; our own fleet would have trouble bringing that monstrosity down, let alone you.” Cyrus turns to Sylvannas. “Send me my queen, I’ll make mincemeat of them, the humans will pay for what they did to us. Lordaeron is ours, even in death!” The Horde leaders nod their heads, Garrosh ends the silence, “If he succeeds, I have no problem with him in command.”
Cyrus has a seat and listens to the assembly talk about Alliance activity in the Plaguelands. He is barely able to relax when another flashback obscures his thoughts. Cyrus sees himself in the Agamand Mills years earlier.
“Masher! Masher!” shrieked the small ghoul. Masher te other masher wans to see you!” the ghoul ran quickly out the door as he had to maintain his reputation as he had done in life; Loredaeron’s fastest messenger. Cyrus gets up and brushes off his cloak, his armor was rusted, sword dull and mind enslaved. He steps out the door of the town house. He looks around and takes the undead working the fields before him. Agamand Mills was a place of interest to Arthas, it held something of value but none of the Scourge have found anything enticing. Cyrus walks to the nearby farm square and hops on the cart to the Undercity. “The driver was silent, her jaw slacked to the left, “Yes, master where do you wish to go?” Cyrus was silent, his eyes peered from under his cloak and he pointed south, “To the Undercity if you please.”
“It seems you aren’t useless after all Cyrus.” Says Arthas. The thorne room was decorated with Scourge flags and tattered tabards of the keep’s former masters. “Your body was easy to raise, even though burnt. Are you grateful Cyrus?” The corpse of Cyrus looks at Arthas from under his hood. “For the glory of the Scourge! I am indeed in your debt.” He beats his arm against his chest, nearly collapsing a rib in its center. Arthas smiles, “Cyrus, I have something that needs your immediate attention.” Cyrus stands still, arm across his chest and head bowed in reverence to his master. “The remaining humans of this land require crushing. They call themselves the Scarlet Crusade.” Cyrus looks up to his lord, “I know of them, they hold land in the north of the glades. Provide me with troops and they will be extinguished my lord.” Arthas looks down to his subject, eyes glowing icy blue, “I ask you to turn them to our side.” Arthas points to ghouls carrying pumpkins in an old farmer’s cart. “Cyrus, these will be you instruments, your toys, you will direct my retribution. Inside these fruits hold the Scourge’s ultimate weapon, the plague.” Cyrus looks to his left at the seemingly harmless pumpkins. “My lord, I have no need for these.” Arthas grits his teeth in frustration. Cyrus pulls a massive blade off his back and allows it to slide on the ground. He drags the behemoth harshly towards the cart smashing the cart and all of the pumpkins. “I seek the glory of my master and the Scourge, I can deal with the Scarlets without pumpkins.” Cyrus turns to walk away and throws the blade unto his shoulders. The mass exits the throne room, “My lord?” asks an apothecary, “Was that resistance to the Lich King’s will?” Arthas turns to the apothecary, “No, my servant. Cyrus knows my deepest desires. He knows I despise the plague, I desire destruction.” Arthas peers to what is held in Cyrus’s hand, a book; he smiles, “He’ll always know what I want.”
The skies above the castle were dark, a deep blue with black clouds, and sharp, twisted shapes. It had been nearly half a year since the fall of Lordaeron. Broken carts had been put to the sides of the streets. Flags of the Scourge were placed all over the walls. Huge masses of collected bodies called Abominations patrolled the roads while the undead citizens did whatever they could to aid the Scourge war machine. Mushroom venders, blacksmiths of Saronite ore, necromancers in training, all had one goal, one collective mind. They were one; they were the Scourge.
Cyrus walks out of the keep and the castle drawbridge collapses before him. With Cyrus a small unit of Scourge troopers accompany Cyrus. The troopers in comparison to the rest of the Scourge, are clean cut with black armor, they held shields and long swords. Their uniforms were black and grey for general camouflage. The troopers had already served Cyrus for a long time and they knew all the tactics of old. Cyrus and his warriors were the elite of the Scourge. “My lord, the regiment is ready for the trek to the cathedral on your order.” Cyrus nods and walks towards the caravan. The company hops into the wagons, eight of them. This escort contains 10 troopers for the first five carts, the other three contained catapult parts to be assembled in the field, and the other wagons contained a mix of human and high elf parts, likely for the Abominations.
The caravan leaves Lordaeron in the early morning hours and follows a cobblestone road towards the Scarlet monastery. “Sir, what’s the game plan? Are we hitiing the monastery up front?” asks one of the troops. Cyrus peers with his glowing yellow eyes from under his hood. “No, such a move would be foolish, we’re not going to go for the typical Scourge tactics today. In a matter of speaking.” Cyrus pulls out a map from his robe and places it on his leg so all the captains in the wagon can see. “The monastery is heavily fortified in this area, hence the skull drawings.” Cyrus scans the map for a moment. “Easy to see why. It would be easy to funnel large groups into a tight enclosed space while catapults on this rise could bombard us.” Cyrus looks around the wagon, “I recommend a very different approach.” Cyrus points to the southeast of the cathedral, “This grove here allows us a trajectory from which we can launch our troopers in to the monastery graveyeard with the catapults.”
It didn’t take long to set up the siege machines, they rolled into position and two rows of scourge infantry awaited their turns for glory. “The launchers are calibrated and ready for take off sir.” The Scarlets haven’t been seen yet and Cyrus begins to give orders from an abandoned Scarlet Crusader’s campsite, which was so graciously given. “Excellent, any news on Scarlet movement? Patrols?” says Cyrus as he motioned instructions. “Yes sir, scarlets have been seen mobilizing up the road from where we came in. They seek to box us in sir.” Cyrus ceases his motions and turns his head to the scout. “Another excellent report, I’ll begin preparations.” Cyrus then swings his sword over his shoulders and pats the scout on the shoulder, “You’re in charge until I come back.”
“Twisted monsters thinking they can sneak past us so easily!” says a Scarlet Crusader. “Indeed, they become more deranged by the day, this should be a short skirmish.” Says another. “Quiet.” says the captain, “We should catch them off guard with all haste, our victory will then be assured.” The company behind him nods in agreement. The force of nearly fifty crusaders move slowly and cautiously through the trees, much like many of them did here when they were children. The captain begins to ascend a slope; he peers over and motions the rest to come forward. The company begins the sluggish ascent. Just then the captain is thrown over their heads followed by a smashing sound. The captain flys to the ground behind them with a throwing axe pressed into his face. They turn to the crest of the hill and see a figure walking towards them. The figure throws a large claymore over from behind his shoulders and points the blade at his opponents, “Humans! Prepare yourselves!” Valky’r rise from behind Cyrus and cast a black spell from their hands causing ghouls to rise from the round. “Feast my friends!” The ghouls run towards the crusaders, who charge towards them in turn. Cyrus smirks as he walks into the fray, screams and crys for help follow his descent into the bloodbath.
The monastery graveyard was secured and scourging began on the tomb’s inhabitants. Cultists if the Damned joyfully fulfilled their instructions and prepared a foothold using their black magic. Spirits rise from the crypts and begin to stalk the nearby halls, engaging any crusaders they find. “Lord Cyrus has engaged the Scarlets down the road ma’m.” The elf turns around, eyes red and flesh pale. “Very good, proceed to the hallways, we must draw out the remaining crusaders and take out their leader.” The soldier stands back and motions nearby troopers to follow him, “Being in charge my rotten ass.”
More crusaders charge through the trees, its clear that this is no simple skirmish. The Scarlet monastery looms on a hill overlooking the crusaders fleeing from the undead’s direction. The sentries are shocked to see so many men fleeing from the south; many had arrows in limbs and ghoul bite marks on their attire. “Prepare yourselves! The Scourge has arrived!” The Scarlet catapults turned to face the small entrance; pike men stand in the path of the expected invasion. The pikes are held outwards, shieldmen stand behind prepared to engage any who pass the spears. Everything was set; the Scourge would never get past.
Behind the Scarlet lines was a cliff overlooking Tirisfal’s silver coasts. The sea was interrupted by creatures flying overhead, beasts of bones and hanging stretches of flesh. Scourged wyrms, glide towards the battle to aid the attack from behind enemy lines, blue energy pouring from their jaws; the Lich King promised great rewards for these behemoths. The wyrms flew over the crusader lines raining bursts of corrupting magic upon them. The crusaders are engulfed by the pools of magic, those that remain succumb to the ghouls who have sprinted up the hill. Just as it seems the monastery was taken, a bright light shot through the Scourge forces killing many of them. “That is enough!” yells High Inquisitor Whitemane with her staff planted unto the ground. She stood tall, her eyes white staring at her adversaries, “Mograine, finish these creatures.” She shoots the wyrms down with light magic and cleansed the rest of the Scourge from the field leaving Cyrus and a small platoon of troopers. “Yes, my lady!” Mograine beats his chest with a balled up fist, “For the Light!” Many crusaders were behind him barking and cheering as they ran down the hill towards the undead. “Spears!” Cyrus yells; the crusaders lauch themselves on the spears. Some two or three were impaled per pole knocking many of the Scourge over on their backs. Cyrus jumps forward taunting the crusaders to him and his shield, “Curse the Light! Come crusaders, feel true salvation!” The troopers are given many opportunities to strike at the enraged crusaders. Mograine notices this and charges at Cyrus planting his sword between his ribs. Cyrus smiles at the commander and smacks him with his shield. Mograine is knocked back, winded. “Commander!” yells one of the crusaders. Mograine looks to the voice behind him to see Scourge pouring from the monastery. A hand is placed on his shoulder, “May I use your strength, champion?” asks the High Inquisitor. “My lady!” he screams, her eyes glow and a strong beam of light shoots to the sky, the undead fall before the beam. “What is this?!” yells Cyrus. The eyes of the Inquisitor hold to his, “The end of you!” Cyrus is blinded by the power along with his soldiers.
Cyrus leaves the throne room leaving the company of Horde officials in question. “I assure you, he is capable. He will annihilate the humans.” says the Banshee Queen Cyrus makes his way from the throne room and heads toward the fleet at Garren’s Haunt. “So, you’re going to attempt an attack on the Theramore port?” asks Hellscream. Cyrus has barely left the throne room corridors. “Yes warchief?” Garrosh looks with an annoyed face. “I asked you a question.” Cyrus’s face turns grim. “As did I, Hellscream” Cyrus proceeds toward the surface despite the warchief; preparations need to begin.
A map is laid across the elaborate table, the finest of furnitures of which to plan a battle. Elven craftsmanship is prized in the Alliance, anything before the rise of the Blood Elves is treasured, especially in the human kingdom of Stormwind. “My king, Forsaken forces in the vicinity of Stromgarde Keep have dramatically increased.” The battle master plants his finger on the fortress in the Arathi Highlands. “According to the troops we have patrolling Refuge Point they could be preparing a full assault on the area.” King Varian Wyrnn of Stormwind looks at the map with his hand clenching his chin, there were many markers on the board, most of them were purple, the Forsaken’s national color.
“With our forces concentrated in Kalimdor we’ll be unable to properly reinforce Refuge Point. Sir if the Forsaken were to make a push, we’d be helpless to stop them. The purple pieces moved towards the blue Alliance pieces and surrounded them, they attack, and the helpless soldiers are gone. His teeth clench together, his finger caresses his chin and clearly the king is concerned. Since the fall of Lordaeron he had hoped of reclaiming the kingdom from the undead. He had also promised the remaining people of the land protection from the Scourge and the Forsaken. The Banshee Queen was slowly moving south, so close to their goal of being the lords of Lordaeron. “South…” Varian gasps. The commanders around the table offer glances to him. Varian smirks, “The bulk of the Forsaken forces would react to an invasion in the Highlands, right?” The Battlemasters reply, “Yes, my lord, but they number in the thousands.” Varian looks around the room and plants his hands upon the table. He points to Tirisfal, “Then lets avoid this force all together and strike at their heart.”