User:Joshmaul/House of Whitehair: Tale of Glory Won and Lost

The House of Whitehair

 * Kal'manis Whitehair: First Patriarch of the House of Whitehair and advisor to Dath'Remar Sunstrider after the War of the Ancients
 * Zirannye Whitehair: First Matriarch of the House of Whitehair, Ambassador to King Thoradin of Arathor
 * Dath'Kunam Whitehair: Zirannye's son and heir, Patriarch of the House of Whitehair and advisor to Anasterian Sunstrider until prior to the Second War
 * Kel'theris Whitehair ("Decibelius"): Dath'Kunam's son and heir, current Patriarch of the House of Whitehair, advisor to Anasterian Sunstrider prior to the fall of the Sunwell, member of the Kirin Tor of Dalaran
 * Ordevaas Whitehair ("Portalseeker"): Kel'theris' son and heir, Master of the Blood Knight Order, student of Lady Liadrin
 * Areinnye Whitehair ("Scourgebane"): Ordevaas' daughter, Silvermoon Ranger
 * Euphrati: Daughter of the High Priest Sekhesmet, Kel'theris' personal assassin and bodyguard
 * Kaleris Skyfire: Captain of Kel'theris' personal guard

The Kingdom of Quel'Thalas

 * Dath'Remar Sunstrider: Leader of the Highborne, first High King of Quel'Thalas
 * Anasterian Sunstrider: Last High King of Quel'Thalas, veteran of the Troll Wars
 * Kael'thas Sunstrider: Anasterian's son and heir; known after the discovery of his affiliation as the Demonslave, the Traitor Prince, the Red Murderer, the Betrayer's Betrayer, and other unflattering titles
 * Sylvanas Windrunner: Ranger General of Silvermoon, later Queen of the Forsaken
 * Lor'themar Theron: Sylvanas' successor as Ranger General, later Regent Lord of Quel'Thalas
 * Dar'Khan Drathir: Member of the Convocation of Silvermoon who betrayed Quel'Thalas to the Scourge
 * Telanis Dawnblade: Patriarch of the House of Dawnblade, member of the Convocation of Silvermoon during the Troll Wars
 * Efanis Dawnblade: Telanis' successor
 * Lor'tanis Kethlir: Royal chamberlain to Anasterian Sunstrider, member of the Convocation of Silvermoon

Allies

 * Thoradin: Chieftain of the Arathi and King of Arathor
 * Ignaeus Trollbane: Arathor's greatest warlord
 * Sekhesmet of Stratholme: High Priest from Lordaeron, Ordevaas' mentor, later Forsaken
 * A'dal: Master of Shattrath City
 * Voren'thal the Seer: Leader of the Scryers
 * Ansirem Runeweaver: Leader of the Kirin Tor of Dalaran

Enemies

 * Joshmaul the Warlock: The Corruptor, master of the Hands of Joshmaul, liar, thief, traitor
 * Grand Magister Rommath: Emissary of Prince Kael'thas
 * Sharth Voldoun: Blood Knight in charge of the Firewing Point Project

Cameo Appearances

 * Alleria Windrunner: Ranger-Captain of Quel'Thalas, emissary to the Alliance
 * Thoras Trollbane: King of Stromgarde
 * Terenas Menethil II: King of Lordaeron
 * Genn Greymane: King of Gilneas
 * Varian Wrynn: King of Stormwind
 * Alonsus Faol: Archbishop of the Church of Light
 * Uther the Lightbringer: Grand Master of the Silver Hand
 * Antonidas: Leader of the Kirin Tor of Dalaran
 * Admiral Daelin Proudmoore: King of Kul Tiras
 * Arthas Menethil: Prince of Lordaeron, Death Knight of the Scourge
 * Kel'Thuzad: Necromancer and leader of the Cult of the Damned, later resurrected as a lich
 * Archbishop Benedictus: Faol's successor as leader of the Church of Light
 * Artimus Devaneaux: Magistrate of Tirisfal, Commander in the Scarlet Crusade, later death knight

Prologue
The boats rocked back and forth as they progressed further and further to the east. Through the turbulent seas of the Maelstrom and the stormy weather that had several times threatened to send them all to the bottom, the fleet of the Highborne made its way across the Great Sea, far from their druidic night elf cousins, to the lands blown to the east by the Great Sundering a millennia before.

On the lead vessel, Dath'Remar Sunstrider - not the most easily fazed of men - looked somewhat green as the vessel gently rocked. His stomach had heaved several times already on this journey, as had those of his companions. They were sorcerers, not seafarers. Dath'Remar swore to himself that he would never even go out in a small rowboat in a small pond ever again, after this journey.

"Little something for that, m'lord. Its taste leaves something to be desired, but it helps." Dath'Remar turned slightly to see one of his loyal advisors, Kal'manis Whitehair, holding out a steaming mug of some potion that helped with the seasickness. Dath'Remar took it gratefully and gulped it down, grimacing at the taste. Kal'manis hadn't lied...the stuff was disgusting. But it helped, by the hells; it was better than vomiting your guts out.

"Hope we find some place to land soon," Kal'manis said quietly, out of earshot of the others. "They're getting restless. That is, if they're not busy with their heads over the sides."

The Highborne leader chuckled grimly, his robe flapping in the wind. "Not exactly what you thought would happen when we were forced to this, is it, old friend?"

"You made the right choice, Dath'Remar. Stormrage was a fool to renounce our powers. He will pay for his stupidity in the end."

Dath'Remar nodded in agreement. "Perhaps he might. But his choice to exile us did give us a chance to escape from our...conservative cousins." He was silent for a moment, lost in thought. "However, I wonder if perhaps Malfurion may have raised a good point."

Kal'manis looked confused. "My lord?"

"Remember what happened to Eldre'Thalas, Kal'manis. Remember the Legion, the portal, the Well, the Sundering. You saw what happened to Xavius and other members of Azshara's inner circle, how their bodies were changed by the 'gifts' that Sargeras placed on them. And of course, there is the matter of the druid's own brother, Illidan..." He remembered what happened to Illidan quite distinctly. Especially the eyes - the amber eyes that Illidan had been born with were replaced by green, glowing orbs courtesy of the Legion overlord. He wore a scarf over the burned-out sockets, but the eerie glow leaked through them. "Those were the results of our reckless use of magic, Kal'manis...those were indications of what can happen when we flaunt our powers." Dath'Remar nodded to himself. "Yes. Our new home, our Quel'Thalas, must be ruled by caution, not by carelessness. And we must find a way to hide the use of our powers from the Legion, so that they cannot discover us again."

"Land ho!" came the cry from the watcher atop the mast.

Dath'Remar turned and looked up. "What direction, lad?"

"Directly ahead, my lord! Hidden in the cloud cover! I can barely see it myself, but it is definately solid - forested hills!"

Dath'Remar nodded in satisfaction. They had survived, and would continue to survive. He turned to Kal'manis. "And now, my friend," he said, putting a hand on the other man's shoulder, "we will begin anew."

Part 1
Several years after their landing in an area known today as the Tirisfal Glades, the exiled Highborne were presented with an even greater problem than the exodus from Kalimdor.

Standing near a large tent set up outside the main settlement, Kal'manis Whitehair shook his head sadly as another unfortunate was brought in, crazed in mind and withered in body. Ever since they came here, people had started to go mad. No one knew why. No one could figure out how to stop it. The murmuring had already started. There was something about this place. Something tainted. Something evil.

Something familiar. Kal'manis had felt it shortly before the Sundering...

Walking into the main settlement and heading for its largest structure, Kal'manis approached his master. "Another one quarantined. Gevanis Firesong, one of our magisters. They brought him in a moment ago." The advisor's expression was pained. "My lord, the people are starting to grow concerned. They say this place is cursed. Like the taint we felt before the Well collapsed. Something more evil than even Sargeras."

Dath'Remar Sunstrider was silent for a moment, his expression one of rage and anguish. He had not brought his people to this land only to have them turn into ravening maniacs. A decision had to be made, and made immediately. Finally, he spoke. "We must be gone from this place, Kal'manis. This is not the place for our people to live...not suitable for us to ensure that generations of our people will survive. There is certainly more of this land for us to traverse, and a place that will allow us to practice our magic."

Kal'manis' voice was low as he asked the question on his mind. "But where can we go, Dath'Remar? This place is so alien to us." Even if it used to be part of the same land years ago, Kal'manis thought. "How will we know where to stay? And what can we do about the affected?"

"We will know, my friend. I will know." Dath'Remar smiled slightly, then his expression hardened. "As for the affected...we must leave them behind."

"My lord -"

"I understand they are our people, Kal'manis, but we cannot take the chance. This place is secluded. If the fates are merciful, they will die quickly and without pain." Dath'Remar did not like making this decision, but it had to be made. "We must look to those who are healthy. They are the future of our new home, our Quel'Thalas."

Kal'manis did not like this decision, and he could tell Dath'Remar was not pleased with it either. But necessities were not always pleasant. "As you wish. I will inform the others."

"Do so, my friend, and quickly. I will not stay another minute in this place." Dath'Remar's sadness returned. "I pray others are not similarly affected."

One year passed.

Clothes torn, shoes frayed, thin and gaunt from starvation and the elements, the Highborne made their way over the mountains of what is now northern Lordaeron. Staff in hand, wincing at the frigid wind of the northlands, Dath'Remar pressed on, leading his people through the mountains to find their new homeland.

Dath'Remar became disturbed by the changes coming over his people. Their skin became more pale, like the tribes of primitive peoples they had encountered in this place. Moreover, they were completely cut off from the energies of the Well of Eternity - and had not received Nozdormu's gift of immortality when the World Tree was created. As he glanced behind him, he saw two men drop dead right then and there, from the cold and from starvation. The elements were not being kind to them...though Dath'Remar had to admit that they were being about as kind as the damned trolls. Which is to say, not very.

Finally, as they trudged through the rugged land, they came upon flatter lands. Forests as far as the eye could see stretched out before them. Fresh, ripe fruit grew from every tree, and the water was clean and refreshing. Moreover, Dath'Remar could feel the magic in this land - without the taint felt in their landing area. This would be a good place to start anew. He glanced at Kal'manis, ever at his side, who nodded slightly, as if reading his lord's thoughts. Yes, this would be perfect.

The remaining Highborne had assembled behind him, their eyes wide with awe and their mouths slightly hanging open at the beauty of the forests. Dath'Remar smiled and raised his staff high, speaking clearly, heard by the multitudes. "My brethren, we have endured much hardship in our search for a land to call our own. The resources this land can give us are plentiful, enough for us to easily live on. This land will be our home now, a place where we, and our descendants, will live in peace. We are the high elves, and we will prosper here! Behold our High Kingdom, my brethren! Behold - Quel'Thalas!"

The cheers of the high elves echoed throughout their land. At last, the dream of Quel'Thalas was now a reality.

On an island off the coast of Quel'Thalas, Dath'Remar and Kal'manis, along with a group of other magisters, could sense the tremendous power that ran through this place. A nexus of ley lines ran beneath this point. At last, there was a solution to a tricky problem: how to regain the powers of the Well of Eternity. At Dath'Remar's instruction, the high elves had constructed a fountain of sorts on this island - right where the ley lines converged. Now, many months later, it was complete, and the magisters were all looking to Dath'Remar for their instruction.

Reaching into his robe, Dath'Remar pulled out a vial of faintly glowing water - one of the last remnants of the Well of Eternity. Uncorking the vial, Dath'Remar poured its contents into the fountain. At once, the power took hold, and a flash of bright light emitted from it, forcing all present to shield their eyes. As the blinding light dimmed, all present could feel the power pulsing from this thing they had constructed.

"The Sunwell," Dath'Remar whispered. He turned to the others. "This will be the source. Our magic, our defense, our very existence will be determined by the Sunwell. We will use it to build our cities, shape our land, and protect our people. The trolls will think twice before facing our magic."

As the city of Silvermoon began to rise from the northern edge of what the high elves called Eversong Woods, a forest troll scout looked on, his ugly face contorted into a grimace of disgust. These stinking pale-skinned invaders had violated their holy lands with their strange powers. They would regret the day they ever set foot in the lands of the Amani Empire.

Four thousand years passed...

Part 2
Lady Zirannye Whitehair, the first female head of her family, stood quietly on the balcony of Duskwither Spire, east of Silvermoon. The spire floated serenely above the forests of Eversong. Her gaze was centered to the south, towards the lands held by the many-times-cursed Amani forest trolls.

Tensions had risen in the last several months. The trolls were a superstitious lot, easily scared off by the arcane magic wielded by the elves. That had been four thousand years ago, during the time of her grandfather, Lord Kal'manis - said to have been the great King Dath'Remar's closest advisor. The Whitehairs had always been closely linked to the House of Sunstrider, and today was no exception - Zirannye was a member of the Convocation of Silvermoon and one of the advisors to the newly-crowned High King, Anasterian.

Her acute senses - gained after spending many years in the Ranger Corps, a unique place for a head of the House of Whitehair which was predominantly made up of sorcerers - picked up movement coming from Silvermoon to the west. She glanced over and saw a rider approaching the spire. A royal messenger, no doubt something of great import from the High King.

Zirannye scowled. What did Anasterian want this time? He had been raging in his palace for weeks after hearing countless reports of random attacks against hunting parties in the woods. He paced anxiously in his chambers every day, the rumors said. He was a warrior - he wanted to fight these beasts and, preferably, wipe them out. That, at least, Zirannye could sympathize with.

As the rider approached, Zirannye smiled as she saw it was her son, Dath'Kunam. He was a dutiful and loyal lad, and would make a fine leader one day. She had raised him to give his service to Quel'Thalas unquestioningly, and he had done so by ferrying important messages from Sunfury Spire to the various towns in Quel'Thalas. Anasterian considered him indispensible, often praising the boy's diligence.

Dath'Kunam stepped onto the entry platform and touched the orb that would bring him up to the top. He approached his mother and bowed deeply, in respect. "Mother."

"I am glad to see you, my son." Zirannye embraced him warmly, but her smile faded as she saw the look on his face. "What news from Silvermoon?"

"I'm afraid it is most dire, Mother. This one is addressed to you personally, from the High King himself."

Zirannye's eyes widened in surprise. Most times, the missives had come from the royal chamberlain, Kethlir. To receive a missive from Anasterian himself was extremely rare, and was often very important. Anasterian was not one to waste time. Nodding in shock, she took the missive, opened it and began to read the High Thalassian script known only by the nobility:

Zirannye -

''Matters have become far worse than anticipated with the forest trolls. I am calling an emergency meeting of the Council to discuss how best to confront this threat, and also to have the Ranger General explain the situation to you all fully. Return to Silvermoon immediately.''

- Anasterian Sunstrider

Zirannye turned to one of her servants, waiting at her beck and call. "Ready my mount immediately. We are called to Silvermoon."

In the council chamber of Sunfury Spire, the members of the Convocation of Silvermoon waited for their King and the Ranger General to begin explaining the situation.

"This had better be good," Magister Dar'Khan Drathir, a long-standing member of the Council, muttered darkly. "I was in the middle of important work when I received the summons."

"Is your egotism more important than the greater good of Quel'Thalas, Dar'Khan?" Lord Telanis Dawnblade said scornfully. "You always chatter about your so-called important work at Council meetings, and I for one am sick of listening to your whining."

"Mind your tongue in the presence of your betters, Dawnblade," Dar'Khan snarled, "or I will rip it from your mouth."

Telanis chuckled. "For a magister, Dar'Khan, your intelligence appears to be lacking. Too much time looking in the mirror and not enough studying the arts, that's your problem."

"Listen here, you pompous -"

"Oh, for pity's sake, be silent, Dar'Khan," Zirannye snapped. "This is not the place for you to be spouting off how you're so much better than us. If you are truly greater than we are, then why do you constantly repeat that platitude? Are you trying to convince yourself?"

"Enough." The commanding voice of Anasterian Sunstrider quelled all bantering. "Listen carefully, all of you. Our futures may depend on it." He glanced at the tall figure of the Ranger General. A Windrunner, from the look of him, Zirannye guessed. They had a long standing history with the Silvermoon Ranger Corps, producing most, if not all, of the Ranger Generals. "General Windrunner, your report."

"Yes, Your Majesty." The General bowed slightly and began to speak, his voice clear and echoing, even though it was not raised. "We have received reports from scouts that the trolls have begun to pour out of Zul'Aman. And I think pour is the appropriate term...reports of an army of thousands headed in this direction. We've lost contact with the town of Tranquillien and all of the southern villages." Zirannye felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. Windrunner Village - and the home of the family itself, Windrunner Spire - were located in that region.

"You're certain of the size, General?" Telanis asked. "It's not an exaggeration from an overeager recruit?"

"Positive, Lord Dawnblade. I have seen the numbers myself. They vastly outnumber us, and they are coming in this direction."

"It's like their entire race is marching out of Zul'Aman and headed to wipe us out," Zirannye said thoughtfully. "How long before they reach us?"

"They will cross the Elrendar River within four days, at most. Longer, if we can put up a resistance. Which is already in the works," he said quickly as he saw that question about to be asked. "However, we could probably only hold out for a few months. After that, Silvermoon is fair pickings."

"The Runestones will stop their advance," Dar'Khan, ever the overconfident snob, said contemptuously. "We are safe from them here. No invader has ever penetrated our lands in four thousand years."

"How long can that last, though?" Zirannye demanded. She turned to Anasterian. "My King, we may possess the skills necessary to combat this threat, but we do not have the numbers! We have only so many to put on the front lines. With respect to you, General, we have no army. Our Ranger Corps could, at best, be called a militia. Nothing more. We can handle the occasional war party - I have fought many of them myself - but several hundred rangers cannot pierce an army of thousands."

"Lady Zirannye is right," Lor'tanis Kethlir, the royal chamberlain and member of the Council in his own right, agreed. "We have one of the finest fighting forces in the land, but our scope is limited. We require aid from an army powerful enough to fight the Amani on their own terms."

Zirannye could tell where this was going. "You think we should turn to the humans in the south."

Kethlir nodded. "We have no choice. If we do not find allies, we will be annihilated, and all our great works will be for naught."

"Outrageous!" Dar'Khan was absolutely livid. "We do not need the aid of primitives to defend our borders!"

"Those 'primitives' have probably the largest standing army in the northlands, you near-sighted idiot," Zirannye snapped. "And King Thoradin is a powerful warrior."

Anasterian did not look pleased at this proposal, but knew that Zirannye and Kethlir were right. There was no choice left. "What can we offer them?"

"Magic is a weapon we use to great effect," Telanis commented. "Would it be possible to take, say, a hundred humans, and train them in the use of magic? It may come to naught - as these humans, despite their might, are still vastly inferior to us - but perhaps something might come out of it."

Zirannye thought Dar'Khan would start foaming at the mouth at any minute, and his eyes would bulge right out of his head. But to her surprise, he was silent.

"Lady Zirannye." Anasterian's commanding voice brought her mind back to the situation. "You will accompany the ambassadors to Strom, and plead our case to King Thoradin. Inform him of our plight, and offer our terms. Let us hope that he chooses to agree to them."

"Thoradin has no more love for the trolls than we do, Sire," Telanis pointed out. "He may realize that if the Amani wipe us out, they'll come for him next."

"Pray that you're right, Telanis, or we may not live long enough to regret it."

Part 3
"Sire, riders approaching!"

Thoradin, King of the Arathi, looked up at the unannounced visitor's approach. "Trolls? Riding those damned war bears?"

"No, Sire, they're from Quel'Thalas. The elves wish to parley with us."

Lord Ignaeus of Strom, Arathor's greatest warlord, rose an eyebrow in curiosity. "What do the elves want with us? They're a self-centered lot."

Thoradin privately agreed, but said aloud, "Let us see these elves, lad. Bring them before me at once."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Thoradin turned to his old friend. "What do you think, Ignaeus? You said it yourself, the elves are self-centered; what could they want with us?"

"Light only knows," Ignaeus replied. "But it can't be good news."

"Then let's see what our elven friends have to say, shall we?" Right at that moment, the doors to the great hall of Strom opened to reveal the ambassadors, all hooded figures - all of them wearing robes except for the one in front, who wore a hooded cloak and well-crafted leather armor, a bow in her hand, and a quiver on her back. Stepping forward, the figure lowered the hood, revealing a shock of white hair. "Greetings to you, Thoradin, King of Arathor," she said, bowing in respect. "I am Zirannye Whitehair of the Convocation of Silvermoon. I am here at the behest of my lord, High King Anasterian Sunstrider."

"Welcome to you, Lady Zirannye," Thoradin replied, inclining his head. "What brings you all the way from Quel'Thalas?"

"You may have heard of the plight currently affecting Quel'Thalas. The forest trolls have sacked all of the southern villages - we had to circumvent a sizeable army in order to get through the Thalassian Pass to reach you."

"How sizeable, milady?" Ignaeus asked.

"Thousands. More than we can field, certainly." Zirannye's eyes bored into Thoradin's. "Many of my people, including my colleagues in the Council, are overconfident and of the opinion that our defenses are more than enough to deal with the Amani, who have been our foes for millennia. Some, including King Anasterian, believe otherwise. I am one of those few voices of reason." Her jaw clenched at that. Damn Dar'Khan and his ilk for their short-sighted stupidity! she thought, mutely seething. "We are a proud race, not quick to admit this, but we are in a very desperate situation." She paused to let that sink in. "We require your assistance."

The King of Arathor exchanged a surprised glance with Ignaeus. This was bad news. If Quel'Thalas fell, how long would Arathor last against the Amani onslaught? Still, no one was going to pull Thoradin of the Arathi into a potentially costly war without some kind of price. "What will you provide us in return, milady?" he said aloud.

"This has been a point of contention in the Council, but...we have decided that in exchange for the support of your armies, we will teach one hundred of your most educated and talented men in the arts of the arcane."

Thoradin's eyes widened. Magic users in his army? "Preposterous!" he heard one man shout.

"Heresy!" he heard from another.

"SILENCE!" Ignaeus shouted.

Thoradin was lost in thought. Humans practicing magic? That was generally the province of the elves; humans had no use for such things. For that matter, they had no talents.

Or did they?

Thoradin looked up at the waiting elven emissary, who met his gaze evenly. Finally, the human king nodded. "Very well, Lady Zirannye. I will give you the hundred. And in return, Arathor will fight alongside Quel'Thalas against the Amani scum. Ignaeus?"

Ignaeus stepped forward. "My King."

"Assemble the army. Now."

"Yes, Sire." Ignaeus nodded and made his way out quickly. Zirannye turned around and spoke to her waiting messenger - her son, Dath'Kunam. "Go at once to Silvermoon," she commanded in Thalassian. "Alert King Anasterian - and avoid the trolls if you can. Quickly!"

Dath'Kunam nodded and ran, jumping nimbly onto the back of his hawkstrider and making his way quickly out of Arathor...back to the front lines in Quel'Thalas.

Anasterian Sunstrider paced in his chambers, waiting for word from the ambassadors sent to Thoradin. Would the human accept the terms? Anasterian doubted it; Thoradin was well-known for his prejudice against magic users. But would he put it aside in the face of annihilation?

"Sire." Lor'tanis Kethlir entered Anasterian's chambers, bowing deeply. "A messenger. Young Dath'Kunam has returned. He sends word from his mother in Strom."

"Send him in at once." Kethlir bowed once more and made his way out. Shortly after, Dath'Kunam entered and knelt before his King, his hand over his heart - where the family crest, the white shield with the red eagle grasping the rays of the sun - rested. Anasterian smiled as he placed a hand on the boy's white-haired head. "Rise, lad. What news from Zirannye?"

"Sire, King Thoradin has agreed to our terms. His army is on its way. He is preparing one hundred men to be trained by our magisters."

Anasterian couldn't believe his ears. Thoradin had agreed! "Well done. Lor'tanis!"

The chamberlain returned. "My lord."

"Assemble the other members of the Council. Immediately." Kethlir bowed and made his way out. "As for you, young Dath'Kunam," the High King said, his smile broadening, "you and your family will be rewarded for your diligence in the defense of our realm. But first, go and eat; you must be starved from your long and urgent journey."

"Not at all, Sire," Dath'Kunam said modestly, though it was true.

"I insist." Anasterian put a hand on the younger elf's shoulder. "I can't have all of my loyal servants suffering from starvation, now, can I?"

"Thank you, my King."

"No, Dath'Kunam, it is I who thank you." Anasterian's smile held for a moment more as he shouted out, "MY ARMOR!"

In the Council chambers, Anasterian strode into the room decked out for war - white armor trimmed with gold, a golden war helm held in the crook of one arm, and his other hand on the hilt of a beautifully-crafted sword. A deep red floor-length cloak trailed behind him as he moved. Setting the helm down on the throne, Anasterian raised his arms to encompass his councillors, a beatific smile on his face.

"My friends," he said, "I have received word from Lady Zirannye. Our southern neighbors, the human Kingdom of Arathor, has pledged the assistance of their vaunted army in our struggle against the foul trolls."

His gaze went around the room, noting the surprise on everyone's faces. Dar'Khan Drathir, who had been against the idea from the start, was staring in shock, his mouth half open. Telanis Dawnblade was nodding, pleased. Only Kethlir seemed unsurprised. Then again, Kethlir was part of Anasterian's "circle within the Circle".

"I have ordered our rangers and magisters to assemble at once. But I will need trusted advisors to train the humans selected to partake of our knowledge." His gaze rested finally on Telanis. "Lord Telanis Dawnblade, you have been selected to train the human mages."

Telanis nodded, as he had been the one to suggest the idea. "I will do so to the best of my ability, my King."

"Then it is settled." Anasterian nodded in satisfaction. "The Troll War has begun."

Rejoining the Ranger General at Suncrown Village, the ancestral retreat of the Whitehair family, Zirannye's hand rested on the hilt of her sword; her other hand held her bow. She was worried about her son, who would also be participating in the fighting. She scolded herself; Dath'Kunam was no doubt at the side of Anasterian himself. Anasterian loved him like a son. He was safe. Safer than she would be, at any rate.

Then again, Anasterian had a reputation for fighting at the front. But he was a superb warrior, and could get away with such bravado. Besides, it inspired the troops, and that was important.

Chieftain Zul'gash of the Shadowpine led the first wave. The Warlord of Zul'Aman himself, the ruler of the Amani Empire and lord of all forest trolls, had chosen the Shadowpine for this mission - a sign of the trust he placed in their chieftain. Even if it cost him his life, Zul'gash was tasked with finding and killing the commander in this area. The elves would surely break after that. They were outnumbered and outmatched.

"Chieftain." One of his scouts approached. "Da elves be assemblin' at dat village near de lake. Just hope dey don' see us comin', boss."

"Don' worry 'bout it," Zul'gash said with a contemptuous wave of his hand. "Dey gonna die anyway, seein' us or no. How many didja see?"

The scout chuckled. "Enough for killin', but not all dat much..."

"Dat's fine wit' me. I got no interest in prisoners." Zul'gash grinned. "Kill 'em, take dere heads and put 'em on sticks, then plant 'em all over dis place. Let dem elves know whose land dey be on...before we kill dem, too." He raised a hand to signal his waiting tribesmen to prepare themselves...then lowered it. Like a silent, green horde, the trolls hopped from tree to tree without so much as a whisper. In the trees near the village, they halted. Zul'gash pointed to the two closest warriors, axes at the ready, and pointed down at the guards. They nodded, waiting for his signal. Raising his arm, Zul'gash waited for a moment as the guards patrolled back into the village...then lowered it. The two warriors leapt from the trees and decapitated the two guards before they knew what hit them. Raised voices shouted in Thalassian, wondering what was going on.

Zul'gash leapt from the tree himself, and his warriors followed suit...and with a wild, ululating cry, the Shadowpine charged into Suncrown.

"Here they come!"

Zirannye leapt nimbly from the building in which she was standing. Before her eyes was a charging sea of green beasts. So like any angry, battle-lusting warrior would, she made the only decision she thought possible in those circumstances.

She notched an arrow and fired it into the head of the first troll she laid eyes on - at such close range, the arrow passed all the way through her enemy's skull. Tossing her bow aside, she unsheathed her sword and began hacking and slashing her way through the green ocean that threatened to swallow her. Desperation had turned her into a living engine of death; if she saw green skin, she cut the head off the one who owned it. They would be posted along the roads from Silvermoon to Strom as a warning to the Amani: Cross us and die.

As she hacked her way through the Shadowpine trolls, she could hear the lookout's cry: "The army approaches! King Anasterian comes from the north!"

"HOLD THIS POSITION!" she shouted for her troops to hear. Many of her foes lay dead around her, her blade slick with their blood. As she breathed heavily, the elation sweeping over her as she glanced around, she felt a sharp, agonizing pain bite into her back. She sank to her knees as the source of the pain - a blood-stained Amani axe - entered her vision. She glared up at the figure holding it, and was surprised to see an expression of...respect on his face.

"You fight bravely, ya," the troll said, nodding. "Pity we don' have many like you. We'd win faster." He clipped his axe to his belt, and pulled a dagger. "For dat, I give you a quick death wit' honor. Even if all your people be dead by the end of dis...and dey will be."

He plunged the dagger into her heart, and Zirannye Whitehair knew no more.

"Leave her here, as is," Zul'gash commanded his tribe. "Her head stay on her body, so da elves find her. She be buried with honor - if we don't bury dem first."

Suddenly, he heard a sound from the south. Battle horns. Did the elves have another army? Zul'gash turned and saw that the approaching army were not elves - they were humans...

"Trollbane," he whispered, fear entering his heart for the first time in his life.

"Sire, King Thoradin's army comes from the south!" one of the scouts from the Ranger General's main force reported. "We have them!"

Anasterian raised his sword high and then pointed it out towards the enemy. "DEATH TO THE TROLL SCUM! VICTORY FOR QUEL'THALAS!!!"

On the other side of the field, King Thoradin raised his own weapon. "For the glory of the Arathi! CHARGE!"

With his legendary Trol'kalar in hand, Ignaeus Trollbane led the human attack alongside his King...

The Warlord of Zul'Aman lost his air of confidence in that moment as he saw Ignaeus Trollbane coming right at him. The humans were coming on one side, and the elves on the other. They were trapped, and they all knew it.

We will die with axes in our hands and curses on our lips, he thought, raising his axe to throw...just as the legendary sword of Trollbane cut through his neck.

The slaughter lasted several days more, but in the end the trolls hid in their capital of Zul'Aman. Content to let the monsters rot there - their power over the land broken - Thoradin and Anasterian allowed their own armies to rest and tend to their wounded.

At Suncrown, Anasterian's party were travelling through the village when suddenly, at the King's side, Dath'Kunam Whitehair screamed out in anguish and leapt from his mount. Anasterian, momentarily confused, then saw what Dath'Kunam had seen, and dismounted himself, walking over to where the boy knelt next to the body of his mother. She had been hit in the back by an Amani war axe, and then stabbed through the heart with a dagger. Filthy vermin! he thought. Probably tried to rip out her heart for their barbaric rituals!

The High King placed his hand on Dath'Kunam's shoulder and said, "You must take her place, young one. The House of Whitehair is your responsibility now." He placed a hand under his arm and helped him rise. "You know as much about statecraft as any on the Council. Now you must take her place - your place - on the Council." He looked up and saw King Thoradin approaching him, accompanied by Trollbane and a group of mages. Mere striplings compared to the elves, but still formidable. Their assistance was invaluable.

"Your Majesty," Thoradin said, bowing slightly.

"Your Majesty," Anasterian replied, returning the gesture. "Your assistance was most timely, and has made our victory all the sweeter. We owe you a great debt, and as High King of Quel'Thalas, I make this pledge: Should you, or any member of your bloodline, require aid in your time of need, as you aided us in ours, the high elves will be there to give it. Let this pact of friendship between Arathor and Quel'Thalas be witnessed by all, and upheld until the last of our bloodlines have faded into history."

Twenty-eight hundred years passed.

A messenger from the House of Whitehair ran into the Council, breathless. The Council members looked up in irritation at this interruption, then became silent when they saw who it was. Anasterian - by now showing signs of his age - bid the courier speak. One chair had been empty all morning and no one knew why.

"Sire, great councillors...Lord Dath'Kunam is dead!" After the collective gasp had echoed through the room, the man continued, "Taken in the night by illness."

"Has he named a successor?" Lord Efanis Dawnblade, successor to Lord Telanis, asked, glancing at the empty seat.

"He has, my lord. His son Kel'theris, a powerful magister. Trained in Dalaran, some say by Prince Kael'thas himself." That caused a bit of a stir; Kael'thas was a powerful member of the inner circle of the Kirin Tor, the rulers of Dalaran - populated by the descendents of the one hundred trained during the Troll Wars nearly three millennia earlier. The Prince rarely, if ever, took apprentices. "Lord Kel'theris is currently tending the transition of power within our House, but will join Council within a day or two."

"Excellent. It is good to see the Whitehair line will survive," Anasterian said clearly, with a strong voice for a man his age. "They have always been among my family's most loyal advisors." He gazed into the man's eyes. "Return to your lord. Tell him we accept him among us." He glared around the room, daring anyone to say otherwise. No one did - not even the disagreeable Dar'Khan.

"Yes, Majesty." The man bowed and made his way out.

Part 4
"Nose stuck in your books as usual, eh, Kel'theris?"

Kel'theris Whitehair looked up at the unwanted intrusion, about to snap at whoever was speaking to him so casually...until he realized (mentally slapping himself in the process) who it was. He stood, bowing respectfully. "Prince Kael'thas, I..."

Kael'thas Sunstrider raised a hand to silence him, an ear-to-ear grin on his face. "Relax, my friend, I jest with you." His smile faded as he saw the text he was reading. "The reports from Azeroth?"

Kel'theris nodded. "Just from any mages that might have survived the fall of Stormwind...and what little Khadgar has said. Which tells us everything...and nothing." The Whitehair patriarch slammed the book shut. "It would have been easier if this information had come from Medivh, as he was supposedly the greatest sorcerer on the planet. Damn the man and his secrecy! Hoarding all that knowledge in Karazhan like it was his and only his..."

"His name does mean 'keeper of secrets' in our tongue, you know," Kael'thas pointed out.

"Maybe, but keeping a secret like this? No one, not even one as powerful as Medivh, has that right. Or had, as is the case." Anyone who dabbled in magic of any sort would know by now that Medivh was dead. "But convincing the Council, that will be trickier." Kel'theris smiled. "You should be fortunate, my Prince, that your duties to the Kirin Tor require you to be here even more than I."

"That bad?"

"Dar'Khan hasn't changed in millennia, the way my father tells me. Still a whining sycophant." Kel'theris snorted. "I think the only person I don't utterly loathe among them is Lord Efanis. And your father the King, of course." He chuckled. "Been away too long from a fight. He may be old, but he's still a warrior."

Kael'thas nodded, his expression somewhat guarded on this talk of Anasterian. If his father died, he would have to return to Quel'Thalas to take the crown. But he also had his duties to the Kirin Tor; could he rule Quel'Thalas and still be able to do his duties in Dalaran? Plus, as Kel'theris pointed out, the Council was probably the last thing he wanted to be involved in. No more talk of defending the realm, instead a sense of complacency and petty bickering.

But Kael'thas knew something was coming, something more dangerous than these orcs that Khadgar had mentioned. So did Kel'theris. But no one knew exactly what...yet.

"Forgive the intrustion, Prince Kael'thas." One of Kel'theris' servants entered the room. "I must speak with my lord."

"Speak openly, or can you not trust your Prince?" Kel'theris replied. He could see the expression on the lad's face. "A meeting of the Council?"

"Called just this morning, my lord. The human kingdom of Lordaeron has sent emissaries to us in order to request our assistance. King Anasterian will explain the matter to full Council."

Kel'theris glanced at Kael'thas, who nodded. "Very well. I will be there."

"My lord, there is one other thing. Due to the urgent nature of the summons, your conveyance will be somewhat...different." The man smiled slightly. "If you may forgive my candor, I hope you don't have a problem with flying."

"Flying?" Kel'theris was mildly confused.

"A Quel'Danas dragonhawk rider will take you to Silvermoon, my lord. He is waiting on the grounds - that's how I found out what he was here for. It is the fastest way, and with rumors of some kind of invasion coming from the south, it may help avoid any hostile confrontations." The man handed his master an envelope. "Compliments of Lord Dawnblade."

"Good old Efanis." Kel'theris chuckled. "Very well, then, I shall be out shortly." The servant nodded and stepped out. Kel'theris turned to his Prince. "Never a dull moment."

"So it would appear," Kael'thas agreed, smiling. "Go on then, see what my father wants with you."

Kel'theris bowed as he teleported out to the grounds.

The dragonhawk rider held the reins of a riderless mount ready as he saw Kel'theris approach. He saluted with his free hand. "Lord Kel'theris, I have brought your conveyance to Silvermoon."

"Majestic creature." Kel'theris laid a hand gently on the dragonhawk's head, then climbed up into the saddle on its back and held the reins. "I'd imagine it's a lot like riding, but with the air as your road," he joked.

"Don't worry, my lord, she knows where she's going," the rider said with a smile. "She'll follow me all the way. All you need to do is hold on and enjoy the ride."

Kel'theris nodded. "Lead on, rider. Time is of the essence, or so I'm told."

"Indeed it is, at that, lord." With that, the dragonhawk rider brought his mount into the air. Holding on tight, Kel'theris felt his lift off the ground as well. As fast as possible, the two dragonhawks sped across the Alterac Mountains, making their way through the Lordaeron heartland to Quel'Thalas...

A day later, Kel'theris entered the Council chamber. It was empty...interesting that he was told there was news of import, and no one was here.

"Ah, young Kel'theris. You are the first to arrive." Kel'theris smiled at Lor'tanis Kethlir - as hunched and aged as an elf could get, but still doing the duty of the court chamberlain. With Kel'theris' father Dath'Kunam dead, Kethlir - and Dar'Khan Drathir, an arrogant and self-centered snob, as far as Kel'theris was concerned - were the last remaining members of the Convocation of Silvermoon that had fought alongside Thoradin three millennia earlier. "Efanis is in Silvermoon but is dealing with a family matter before the meeting. The others are taking their precious time. Especially Dar'Khan...can't imagine what he's up to. And damn the man, but he's probably aged the most gracefully out of all of us since the Troll Wars."

"Wishing ill of your fellow councillor, Lord Kethlir?" the Whitehair patriarch replied, an innocent look on his face. "Now that's not exactly an elven notion."

"No, it's not," Kethlir agreed. "It's my notion, and I will stick to it." Kel'theris laughed. He liked Kethlir; his father had spoken well of the old man, and he was definately a man you didn't want as an enemy, even if he was old. "Don't let his age fool you, my son," Dath'Kunam had told him once. "He is the right hand of the King. He has more power than you think."

As he thought this, the other members of the Council began to walk in. Dar'Khan, of course, was the last councillor to enter - and with a sneer on his face.

"This had better be import --"

"Oh, for once in your life, stop whining, Dar'Khan," Kethlir said irritably. "You set a bad example to our new members...and plus I've listened to you talk about your important works and how you were so busy for the last three thousand years. I'm tired of it, and so is just about everyone who knows you. SO SHUT UP!"

Dar'Khan's eyes widened, as did the eyes of everyone in the room. No one had ever seen Kethlir so irritated.

"Thank you, Lor'tanis," came the voice of Anasterian Sunstrider. The High King glared at Dar'Khan. "If you cannot speak without mentioning yourself and your so-called work, Dar'Khan, then keep your mouth shut before I allow someone to sew it shut." As he turned his back to Dar'Khan, he smiled warmly at Kel'theris. "Settling in, young Kel'theris?"

"Just fine, my King, thank you."

Anasterian continued to his throne and sat down. His helm sat on a round table at the side of his throne, kept clean and polished. "Now, then, we will discuss the matter of the missive from Lordaeron. Lor'tanis?"

Kethlir nodded, taking a scroll from his robe and unrolling it. "This message was delivered by a courier from Lordaeron less than two days ago. It reads: 'To His Majesty Anasterian Sunstrider, King of Quel'Thalas: For generations now, your people have pledged eternal friendship with the bloodline of King Thoradin of Arathor, to aid them in their time of need. Anduin Lothar, Knight Champion of Stormwind and last of the Arathi bloodline, has come to Lordaeron bringing a warning of hulking, green-skinned invaders not native to this world, invaders he identified as orcs. These orcs, combined into an army known as the Horde, have wiped out his homeland and murdered its King, and are now making their way upwards towards Lordaeron.'"

Anasterian glared in Dar'Khan's direction as the snobbish bastard was about to speak up. Kel'theris hid a smile. "Continue, Lor'tanis."

Kethlir nodded and continued reading. "'On behalf of the newly formed Alliance of Lordaeron and in the spirit of friendship between our two nations, I formally request assistance from you and your people to combat the Horde and, if possible, destroy them. Respectfully yours, Terenas Menethil II, King of Lordaeron.'" Kethlir looked up. "My King, despite whatever qualms we may have about the humans," and he glanced at Dar'Khan as he said this, "we are honor-bound by the oath promised to them after the Troll Wars."

"I agree with Lord Kethlir, my King, but why should we give assistance to a race that is not exactly known for its honesty?" Efanis Dawnblade asked. "The reason Arathor split into seven kingdoms in the first place is due to the greed of the city-states that made up the nation."

"The fact that Thoradin was practically the only thing that kept the tribes united in the first place contributed heavily to that, I think," Kel'theris pointed out.

"What response should be sent?" Anasterian demanded.

"We can't send nothing, and we can't send the whole army," Kethlir said.

"We can send a scout force, that should be sufficient to appease the oath," Kel'theris suggested.

Sylvanas Windrunner, the current Ranger General, nodded in agreement. "I have someone who has volunteered to respond to the humans' request for aid, she can lead the expedition."

"Alleria?" Anasterian smiled.

"She's one of our best," Sylvanas replied, smiling herself. "And she did volunteer, so it would be better than having to decide who to send."

"So be it then. Inform her to prepare for departure."

Sylvanas bowed and made her way out.

Part 5
In the bedroom of his home in Elders' Square, Sekhesmet of Stratholme was seated on the floor, legs crossed and eyes closed in meditation. Despite his being nearly seventy years old, his dark skin remained smooth and unblemished, the only sign of his age being the white of his eyebrows. His bald head was bowed slightly, as if in deference to someone or something.

"Master!" Ordevaas Whitehair, one of Sekhesmet's apprentices, ran into the house, breathing heavily. "I've just come...from the cathedral..."

Sekhesmet was surprised, and smiled somewhat. The high elf didn't tire that easily. "You ran all the way across the city? No wonder you're winded." His smile faded when he saw that something was wrong. "What is it?"

"The invaders...the ones we were warned about in Lordaeron. They're on their way here. The Magistrate has ordered us to evacuate and go into hiding. Corin's Crossing, Darrowshire and Tyr's Hand are also being evacuated."

"Have the invaders reached Silvermoon?"

Ordevaas shook his head. "No, but they may head in that direction."

"Then we had best make haste." Sekhesmet frowned for a moment. "Where is Saavedro?"

"He left to rejoin his family in Corin's Crossing. No doubt they're on the move."

Sekhesmet nodded. "Go over to Euphrati in King's Square. Tell her to take only what she absolutely needs. We must go at once to Silvermoon; even if the majority of your people are reluctant, your father will not deny us shelter." The junior priest nodded and sprinted out. Once Ordevaas was gone, Sekhesmet looked around the room at the bookshelves, feeling a pang of regret at the knowledge that they would likely be burned. But he would take one with him. Glancing through the shelves, he selected a single book, the first one given to him by his master. He would be damned if he let the orcs burn this one.

Straightening his robe, the High Priest of Stratholme walked downstairs and out the front door. He glanced around the square and was disturbed by the silence. Normally this area, like most of the city itself, would be bustling with activity - particularly those who had heard tales of the paladins' valiant struggle against the orcish Horde and wished to see the church where Uther and his brethren received their holy calling.

"Master Sekhesmet." The city's Magistrate bowed respectfully to the High Priest, and Sekhesmet did likewise. "You must be away from here. The enemy is within sight of the city."

"And we shall be, as soon as...ah, there they are." Three horses approached - Ordevaas riding one, with the other's reins in his hand for the High Priest, and the other rode by a tall, dark-haired young woman in leather armor, with daggers at her belt. "We return to Quel'Thalas, my child," Sekhesmet informed her. "I would have preferred it under different circumstances, but it seems this Horde has made the decision for us." His face hardened. "We will need your skills with the blade. No doubt the invaders may head towards Quel'Thalas as well. And there is also the matter of the Amani crawling throughout the south." Sekhesmet noted that Ordevaas barely contained a snarl when he mentioned the dreaded clan of forest trolls, ancient enemies of Quel'Thalas.

Euphrati nodded. "I will be ready, Father."

Sekhesmet laid a hand on the horse's head, then put his right foot into the right-hand stirrup and lifted himself up, adjusting his robe so he could comfortably sit on the horse. "Let's go out the side gate here." He nodded towards the Eastwall Gate, and his companions acknowledged. Rearing back, Sekhesmet suddenly charged forward out the open gate and into the Lordaeron countryside, riding hard to reach the road that would take them into the Thalassian frontier...

Part 6
"Halt." At the Thalassian Pass Gate that separated Quel'Thalas from Lordaeron, the guards glanced at the approaching party. "What business have you in Quel'Thalas, human?"

"He is with me, soldier." A tall, white-haired elf stepped into their view, his sash marking him as a member of the House of Whitehair. "I am Ordevaas, son of Lord Kel'theris of the House of Whitehair. This is my master, the High Priest Sekhesmet, and his daughter Euphrati. We must reach Silvermoon immediately; my father is waiting for us."

The guard was surprised that a member of the Council would wait for humans, but nodded as he recognized the heir to a noble house. "Of course, my lord." He turned towards the gatehouse. "Raise the gate!"

The huge gate opened before them. Nodding pleasantly to the guards, Sekhesmet of Stratholme spurred his horse forward; Ordevaas and Euphrati followed suit. Once they were well out of sight of the gate, on the main road towards the town of Tranquillien, the High Priest commented, "Rather paranoid, I think."

"Not too many humans are allowed into Quel'Thalas," Euphrati pointed out. "We're only here by virtue of our friendship with Lord Kel'theris." Both priests nodded at that. The fact that Ordevaas' father was a member of the Convocation of Silvermoon and head of a family that had long advised the Sunstrider Kings had been a great boon - one that Sekhesmet would never abuse.

Three days later, a runner ran down Feth's Way, towards the house that had been the Whitehair family estate since the foundation of Quel'Thalas. The guards at the door took a good look at the man and let him pass. Entering the patriarch's study, the runner knelt - partly in respect to the Council member, and partly to get off his feet. "Lord Kel'theris...message from the front gate."

Kel'theris Whitehair stood from his desk, blue eyes glancing at the younger man. "My son?"

"He has arrived, lord. Along with two humans - an elderly priest and his child. He says he is the High Priest of Stratholme." Kel'theris heard the mild surprise in the man's tone and was amused that no one seemed to think that a human could speak Thalassian, but Sekhesmet - through his tutelage of Ordevaas and his friendship with Kel'theris - spoke it fluently, as did his human apprentice, Saavedro. The High Priest often joked that Ordevaas had taught him as much as he had taught the noble heir.

"Bring them to me. Immediately."

"At once." The runner bowed and made his way back out. Moments later, three tired-looking individuals - two humans and an elf - stepped into the room.

"I apologize for our appearance, Kel'theris, but we did not have much time to stop," Sekhesmet said.

"You have no need to explain yourself to me, my friend. I am just glad you arrived safely." Kel'theris glanced at his son, who looked no better than his master, and placed his hands on the taller elf's shoulders. "You look well, my son, all things considered."

"As Master Sekhesmet pointed out, we couldn't stop - we had to get here as fast as we could."

The Whitehair patriarch nodded. "Just as well." He glanced at the High Priest. "You think they may be headed in this direction? These orcs that King Terenas warned us of?"

"They might. They seem hell-bent on conquering everything and everyone."

"Some people we spoke to in Tranquillien mentioned that there's been an increase of forest troll activity," Euphrati spoke up. "Could these things be connected? Could both kinds of greenskin, orc and troll, be allies?"

"If so, Zul'Aman will have another reckoning coming for them," Ordevaas said with a snarl. "Along with these orcs."

"Peace, my son," Kel'theris admonished. "I know as well as you do what the Amani did to your brother and to our family in the past. But now is not the time to let our hatred cloud our judgment." He sat down, his mind racing. "Any word from Alleria Windrunner's expedition?"

The priests looked confused. "I was not aware of any expedition from Quel'Thalas," Sekhesmet replied. "Ordevaas and I were only present in Lordaeron along with the Archbishop, during the initial reports of this Horde coming at us."

"I was there when she arrived, my lord," Euphrati - once again a fount of surprises - admitted. "Beyond that, no idea. I believe they were headed east from Hillsbrad, towards the Hinterlands."

Kel'theris nodded...then mentally slapped himself. "Forgive me, I'm forgetting my manners. You must be tired after spending so long on the road. There are guest rooms upstairs, if you wish. I will have my tailors make you some new clothes, to get out of your ragged outfits, if you so wish."

Sekhesmet bowed formally. "My thanks, Lord Kel'theris. Your generosity is much appreciated."

"I wouldn't be much of a friend if I was not generous towards them, Sekhesmet." The Whitehair patriarch smiled. Just then, a messenger from the Council ran in, looking urgent. "Lord Kel'theris, I have been asked to summon you back to Sunfury Spire for an emergency meeting of the Council. Eversong is burning!"

"They are well?" Lor'tanis Kethlir inquired. Kel'theris was walking - somewhat urgently, and surprised that the old man could keep pace - down the Dawning Lane towards Falconwing Square with the royal chamberlain, on their way to eastern Silvermoon to once again meet in the Council. Kethlir lived in the house next door to Kel'theris', along with his son, Lor'revan - who would succeed him at Anasterian's side as court chamberlain one day.

"Well as can be," Kel'theris said grimly. "They just had their city burned to the ground. How would you feel?" Then he realized who he was talking to, and looked mortified. Kethlir's hometown of Tranquillien had been destroyed by the Amani during the Troll Wars, a fact the old chamberlain had never forgotten. "Forgive me, Lord Kethlir, I meant no disrespect -"

Kethlir raised a hand to silence him. "No need for apology, Kel'theris. Your point is well-taken." His face hardened somewhat, but not at Kel'theris' slip of the tongue. "And now other greenskin invaders are burning my homeland. Anasterian is likely foaming at the mouth right now."

"No doubt. Too long from the battlefield - that's what my father always said. The Troll Wars were a good diversion for him. Now...I worry about all of you elders, those who led Quel'Thalas in the past and would defend it to the death...again, I mean no disrespect, but both you and the King are a little old to be fighting on the front-lines again."

"We may be old, but we can still defend our homeland, Kel'theris. Never doubt that for a moment. I may not be spry enough to be a warrior anymore, but I am still a magister of Silvermoon, am I not? Can I not still call upon the power of the Sunwell to help defend our capital, our homeland and our people, same as you?"

Kel'theris inclined his head, conceding the point. "If only Quel'Thalas had more leaders like you, Lor'tanis," he said, surprised at his informality with the elder councillor, and expecting to be reprimanded.

But Kethlir just smiled and nodded. "And more like you as well, Kel'theris."

((Joshmaul's Note: Some of you may recognize the next portion of this text as being part of the novel Tides of Darkness. It sets the stage for this portion of the narrative.))

Once in the Council, it was the same as usual. Debating what to do about the burning of Eversong Woods - and getting nowhere, Kel'theris thought bitterly.

"The humans are no doubt dreaming up this Horde of greenskins from beyond our world - such a thing is impossible!" Dar'Khan Drathir said contemptuously. "They're trying to use us to fix problems they could probably handle without aid, but are too lazy to do themselves. And they're throwing this Lothar's supposed blood ties to Thoradin in our faces to lend their demands credence. Lunacy!"

Kel'theris glanced at Kethlir and at his comrade Efanis Dawnblade, also the son of a Councillor during the Troll Wars. Both nodded, their faces mirroring the disgust on his own.

Then, all of a sudden, the doors opened...

Anasterian Sunstrider suddenly came to his feet, as did many in the room. "What is the meaning of this?" the High King demanded.

Unfazed, and focused only on Anasterian, the intruder - who was familiar to many here - spoke. "I am Alleria Windrunner," she replied. "I have been beyond our borders, and have fought alongside the humans in their war. And I have returned to bring you grave tidings, not just for them but for us. The Horde the humans warned us of is real and vast and powerful. The bulk of their forces are orcs, but they have other creatures as well. Including the forest trolls."

Kel'theris' eyes widened. ''Euphrati's suspicions were right! Greenskin and greenskin, together to destroy us!'' Similar expressions of disbelief echoed through the room.

"You say this Horde includes trolls," Lord Duskwither - who controlled the spire east of Silvermoon - said loudly, "yet why should that concern us? Let the trolls follow these strange creatures you tell of, and hopefully march far away from here. Maybe the humans will even do us a favor and kill them for us!" Laughter echoed through the room.

"You do not understand," Alleria replied hotly. "The Horde is not some distant problem we can ignore and laugh about! They intend to conquer all of Lordaeron, from coast to coast! And that includes us here in Quel'Thalas!"

"Let them come!" Dar'Khan scoffed. Kel'theris stared at him. By the Sunwell, was the man always this stupid? "Our lands are well-defended - none can pass the Runestones and survive."

Alleria's lips curled up in a snarl. "Oh no? Are you so sure? Because already the trolls have entered our forests. Already they stalk through our lands, killing our people. And the orcs will not be far behind. They are less powerful than the trolls, individually, but they are as numerous as locusts, enough of them to cover the land. And they are here.

Anasterian snorted. "Here? Impossible!"

In response to that, Alleria flung the object she had been holding in her hand towards the King's throne...coming to a rest at Anasterian's feet. The other Councillors stared. "This one attacked Vereesa and me, not an hour's run from the river crossing. Several more followed us to there, and their bodies still lie on the far bank unless Sylvanas and her party have moved them." Kel'theris noted with some satisfaction that no one seemed to be laughing. "They are here!" Alleria shouted. "The trolls are within our woods, killing our people. And the orcs are the ones burning the edges of Eversong Forest!"

Anasterian was furious. "Outrageous!" He kicked the troll's head at his feet across the room. "They dare to attack our home?" he shouted. "They dare!" The spirit of the warrior, long caged, was back in his face again. "We shall teach them to trespass here! Gather our warriors. Summon our rangers. We will attack the trolls and drive them from our forest so sternly they shall never dare encroach again!"

"The trolls are only part of the danger," Alleria pointed out. "The Horde is numerous beyond belief and the orcs are strong, tough, and determined." The ranger grinned. "Fortunately I did not come alone."

After the Council adjourned, Kel'theris spoke to the head of his House Guard, Captain Kaleris Skyfire. Euphrati was standing at the captain's side; she spent much time in Quel'Thalas and had also become part of the House Guard. "I am placing you and your troops at the disposal of Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner for the duration of this crisis," the Whitehair patriarch said. "You will report directly to Lord Lor'themar Theron, her second-in-command. Kill the greenskins in the name of Quel'Thalas."

"I will, my lord," the guard captain said, her fist clenched over her heart in a salute, before departing to carry out her orders.

Kel'theris turned to Euphrati now. "Which brings me to my duty for you, young Euphrati. You will accompany me to Sunfury Spire. I will be with the Council, erecting an aura of protection around the city. If the Horde manages to break through, your task - along with the other bodyguards - is to defend the Council. If it becomes too difficult to do so, you will return to the house at once, take your father and my son, and get out of Silvermoon. Take them to Prince Kael'thas in Dalaran. The Sunstrider dynasty will survive if we fall - the Whitehair line must live along with it."

"I will, my lord."

"Good. Come with me."

Two months later, the siege of Silvermoon was over, and Quel'Thalas had survived..for now.

Ordevaas and Euphrati aided the rangers in taking the bodies of the orcs and trolls who had fallen, and casting them into the North Sea. "They do not deserve a burial like any civilized being," Anasterian had said contemptuously, and the Council had unanimously agreed with that sentiment - even Dar'Khan, who tended to disagree about everything.

Quite some time later, after the dust of the Alterac crisis had cleared, the High King of Quel'Thalas and several members of the Convocation of Silvermoon sat around the great table in the royal palace of Lordaeron. Anasterian was not so infirm that he could not travel. The same applied to Lor'tanis Kethlir, at Anasterian's side as he always was. They were debating matters of the Alliance.

"These internment camps are more trouble than they are worth," Thoras Trollbane, King of Stromgarde, said with a contemptuous scowl. "The orcs are too dangerous to be left alive, the whole lot of demon-crazed brutes. They should all be put down like the dogs they are."

"As ever, your counsel is appreciated, Thoras," King Terenas of Lordaeron, ostensibly the head of the Alliance with Lothar dead and Turalyon lost beyond the Dark Portal, said calmly. "However, yours is not the only voice in this council."

"Listen to yourselves." Anasterian sneered at the lot of them. "Thinking only about yourselves. If I had known that we would have to have this bunch of self-righteous, dishonest incompetents to deal with, I would never have made the pact with Thoradin. A pact, I may add, has been paid with blood. Lothar is dead, and with him the Arathi bloodline - and with him, our need to listen to your imbecility. Your so-called leadership, or lack thereof, is what left most of Eversong Woods as a charred ruin. We are only now getting back on our feet, now that the orcs are being put into their camps, or to the sword, or whatever you want to do with them. For my part, I'm glad it is no longer our problem."

"Now see here, King Anasterian," Terenas protested. "Hundreds of humans died to protect those forests, side-by-side with your people. If Turalyon and his troops had not come when they did, nothing would be left of Quel'Thalas at all. Surely you cannot dismiss these sacrifices out of spite!"

"Be that as it may, the decision of the Council has been made." At Anasterian's left hand, Kel'theris looked somewhat sad. He had personal doubts, but he could not debate his King. "We are withdrawing from the Alliance, and going home to tend to our own lands." With that, the elves in the room stood from the table and walked out.

"What of my proposal?" Trollbane demanded, not deigning the elves with a second glance. "We cannot suffer the orcs to live a moment longer. They must be destroyed!"

"We do not have the right to destroy another race, savage and destructive as they may be!" Terenas snapped, losing his patience. "Interring them in the camps is the best way to insure they will no longer be a threat, now that we cannot send them back to their world via the Portal. The cost to maintain them is great, yes, but it is better than allowing the orcs to -"

Genn Greymane stood, interrupting Terenas' explanation. "Damn the orcs, damn the Alliance, and damn you! The last thing Gilneas needs is sponges from other nations drawing from our resources, Dalaran wizards meddling with our affairs, and someone else's enemies killing our soldiers! Gilneas is its own nation and it always will be. This is the last time I'll ever talk to you, Terenas, so I hope you were listening." The King of Gilneas stormed out of the room.

Trollbane also stood, his face a mixture of anger and regret. "I cannot accept your 'softly, softly' approach in regard to the orcs. If you will not destroy them, then I see no reason to stay here." He bowed slightly to the King of Lordaeron, and left as well.

Terenas glanced around the room. "What of the rest of you?"

"You gave me shelter in my time of need, and pledged yourself to restoring my kingdom," Varian Wrynn, the restored King of Stormwind, said without preamble. "We will remain at your side, no matter the cost."

"Our duty is to the Alliance, and we will never shirk that duty," agreed Archbishop Alonsus Faol, head of the Church of Light. Beside him, Uther the Lightbringer - Grand Master of the Knights of the Silver Hand - nodded once. He and Terenas were good friends, almost brothers.

"The Kirin Tor is, as ever, at your service," pledged Antonidas of Dalaran.

"As is the navy of Kul Tiras," Admiral Daelin Proudmoore seconded.

"Ye'll not find any dwarf speakin' against the Alliance," Muradin Bronzebeard, the Ambassador from Ironforge and brother of King Magni, shouted heartily. "We owe you a debt we can only repay by staying at your side through thick and thin. That's Magni's pledge to ye, King Terenas."

Terenas inclined his head, pleased at the support he still had. He hoped it was enough. "Thank you all, my friends."

As the elven contingent strode out the front gate, a voice from behind them shouted, "Kel'theris!"

Kel'theris turned to see an angry Sekhesmet walking towards him. Before he could say a word, the Whitehair patriarch found himself slammed against the wall, the High Priest's hands on the collar of his robe. "Why did you agree to this?" Sekhesmet hissed. "Anasterian is looking upon us as no better than pond scum, and you know better than that - but you still support his line of reasoning! Why?!"

"I cannot betray my King or my people, Sekhesmet." Kel'theris' hand grasped Sekhesmet's wrist, squeezing the tendon until the priest's hand went numb, forcing him to release his grip on Kel'theris' robe. "You of all people should know that." Straightening his robe, the Whitehair patriarch kept his eyes locked with his old friend's for just a moment...then he turned away and mounted his waiting horse.

Silently, the King of Quel'Thalas and his advisors made their way east, along the road that would take them home. Seething with this betrayal, Sekhesmet still knew that Kel'theris was right. Loyalty to one's leader and one's homeland still had to matter for something, after all. But what about to a people who had sacrificed some of their best for them? It made no sense.

Thirteen years passed....

Part 7
Word has come from the Quel'Lithien Lodge, just outside our borders." Efanis Dawnblade looked particularly solemn, as the situation called for. "Lordaeron has fallen to the undead."

The Council - with two notable exceptions - stared at him in disbelief. Their thoughts about the humans aside, Lordaeron had been a mighty nation. "What is the cause of this?" asked Lor'tanis Kethlir. The aged chamberlain disdained any talk of retirement, and answered any comments about why he wasn't dead with "I don't have time to die, I'm too busy" - often to everyone's amusement. "Surely the humans would have been able to resist in some way."

"From what we have been able to ascertain, Prince Arthas - heir to the throne of Lordaeron - has been corrupted by the undead force, an army known as the Scourge. He has murdered his own father, the King, and has also slain the leader of the paladins, Uther the Lightbringer. And now..." Efanis hesitated for a moment. "My King, fellow Councillors...the lodge's rangers report that the Scourge is headed northeast from Lordaeron City. Arthas is on his way here."

Distressed cries echoed through the chamber. Efanis waited until they were silent, his eyes glancing around the room. Remarkably, two of the most vocal members of the Council, who would usually have something to say in these proceedings, were absent. Kel'theris was in Dalaran, that was understood...but where in the hells was Dar'Khan?

"Then let us pray that the wards that Lord Whitehair recommended be placed near our southern borders will keep this force at bay," Kethlir commented.

Across the Elrendar from Eversong Woods, in the spire of the Dawnstar family, Dar'Khan Drathir seethed with rage and impatience. He had siphoned as much as the Sunwell would allow him. With so many other magisters in Quel'Thalas, it was difficult to gain perfect clarity...perfect control. Not that any of these cretins would let him. He gave his all for the glory of Quel'Thalas - and no one seemed to appreciate it! The damned Whitehairs and Dawnblades, that simpering old fool Kethlir...even the King himself! All looked upon him with scorn and disgust.

"I can give you what you want, magister."

Dar'Khan spun around at the voice. But he could see no one. "Who are you? Show yourself! I will not deal with bodiless voices!"

"Oh, I am not bodiless. Not yet anyway." The voice's owner stepped into Dar'Khan's view - a tall human with white hair, wearing armor adorned with skeletal motifs. In his hand was a skull-hilted sword that glowed with powerful runes. This was a far greater being than even I, the egotistical magister realized.

The figure's cold, soulless eyes stared into Dar'Khan's. "You desire more power, but these selfish elves will not give it to you. They downplay your contributions, ignore your opinions, and generally look upon you with scorn. They are not deserving of one such as you." He smiled benevolently. "But my master has use for someone of your talents."

"What do you wish of me?"

"Your...friendship with the second-in-command of the Silvermoon Ranger Corps has given you insight into the workings of Quel'Thalas' defenses - the wards that stave off the legions of the dead. We require your knowledge to get around them. In exchange for your service, my lord the Lich King will grant you power absolute - all the power you could desire."

Dar'Khan was giddy with greed, his eyes widening. The Sunwell could be mine at last! he thought. I can have my own power without these fools hampering me... Finally he nodded. "There are two stones set at strategic locations in the southlands, not far from the southern borders. They are imbued with the powers of the Sunwell, and they power the wards that prevent passage of the undead." He licked his lips in anticipation. "I will obtain them for you. I will also...deal with the scouts at the border. They will not hamper your progress."

"Excellent. I was right to come to you. You shall be rewarded for your loyalty."

Dar'Khan felt such joy in his heart that he went to his knees and prostrated himself before the armored figure. "Thank you, Blessed Lord, thank you..."

"You must move quickly. The Scourge is making its way through Lordaeron to the gates of your land."

Dar'Khan nodded eagerly. He hesitated for a moment, then decided to take a chance. "I have a request, Blessed Lord, before you return to your army. I would like to know the name of the one who has come to me with this gift."

The figure laughed, a sound of dark humor that echoed through the room. "Of course you would." His hand reached out and rested gently on Dar'Khan's head. "I am called...Arthas..."

With that, the figure was suddenly gone. Dar'Khan spun, looking around the room, trying to see where he had gone. Then he realized...a projection. He was leading his army here, he said...he tried to string together his thoughts.

Scourge...Lich King...Arthas... Suddenly, Dar'Khan smiled an joyous and evil smile in the welcoming darkness of his chambers.

SUNWELL!

Two days later, the legions of the Scourge arrived at the forested borderlands of Quel'Thalas.

"Wonderous, eternal Quel'Thalas. I haven't been here since I was a boy." Arthas Menethil, first of the Lich King's death knights, smiled to himself.

"Be wary," came the whispery voice of Kel'Thuzad - heard only by Arthas himself. "The elves likely wait in ambush."

"The frail elves do not concern me, necromancer," Arthas sneered. "Our forces are strengthened by every foe we slay."

"Don't be too overconfident, death knight. The elves must not be taken likely."

"We shall see. Bring forth the prisoner!"

A captured elven priest was brought roughly forward by two ghouls and thrown at Arthas' feet. The elf glared hotly at the death knight.

"Where is the entrance to your land, elf?" Arthas demanded.

"You will never enter Quel'Thalas, fallen prince," the priest said contemptuously. "The woods themselves protect our borders, and the enchanted elfgates protect our capital."

"Your precious gates will not stop me any more than these trees, little elf," Arthas said smugly. "Bring up the meat wagons! We'll make our own entrance."

The meat wagons fired off their diseased ammunition into the trees. Within moments they rotted and withered...and then fell out of the way. "The energies of this place are strong," Kel'Thuzad's voice echoed in Arthas' head. "Kill the elves. Level their structures! This location is perfect for your base."

Arthas' smile widened. "It'll be a pleasure."

Once they were situated at their base, which became known as Deatholme in later days, a necromancer stepped forward and bowed before the evil prince. "Lord Arthas, we found this one approaching our base." Arthas could feel the egotistical smile of Dar'Khan Drathir long before he could see it.

"Ah. Our insider." Arthas gestured the necromancer to stand back. "Have you fulfilled your end of the bargain?"

"I have, Blessed Lord. The stone of light and stone of flame are hidden in nullifying containers inside the towers set along the path; they will not affect your match. And as promised, the scouts from Tranquillien have been...dealt with."

Arthas noted that the magister's robes were spattered with blood. He nodded approvingly. "Well done, Dar'Khan. The time for your reward is close at hand."

Three days later, Arthas - accompanied by Dar'Khan and several necromancers and acoyltes - strode into Sunfury Spire. Standing in front of the throne, sword in hand, was Anasterian Sunstrider. The Convocation of Silvermoon stood along with him, carrying weapons or wielding their magics.

"You have killed Sylvanas, destroyed our city and despoiled our homeland, Arthas," Anasterian snarled, "but your march ends here. You will not claim the Sunwell - you will die before you ever taste its power."

"I think not, O Great King." Dar'Khan stepped from behind the death knight, an evil smile on his face. The Council stared at him in shock, wondering what was going on.

"Dar'Khan?" Anasterian was dumbstruck. "What have you done?"

"I have paved the way for the fall of Quel'Thalas, Anasterian. Today is the day I gain my true power - the Sunwell will be MINE!"

"How could you do such a thing to us?" Lor'tanis Kethlir shouted. "After all we have done for you -"

"Silence, old fool!" Dar'Khan's knife flew up his sleeve to his hand, and was thrown across the room into Kethlir's head, splitting the old elf's skull.

"Kill the death knight! Kill the traitor!" Anasterian commanded. With a speed surprising for one of his age, the High King of Quel'Thalas charged headlong towards the Prince of Lordaeron, meeting him blade for blade. Arthas was astounded. For one so old, Anasterian moved with grace and strength, his sword hammering at Arthas' defenses. But then Arthas found an opening himself, and ran Frostmourne through Anasterian's stomach. Eyes widening with shock as the death knight pulled out his evil blade, Anasterian remarkably remained on his feet. He met Arthas' gaze evenly. "Traitor!" he spat.

Arthas swung his blade once more, cutting the elf's head from his shoulders.

So fell Anasterian of the House of Sunstrider - the last King of Quel'Thalas.

Not long after the fall of Silvermoon, Arthas stood on the edge of the Sunwell itself. Having left Dar'Khan in Silvermoon to continue the slaughter, Arthas took the urn of his father, King Terenas, that held the bones of Kel'Thuzad...then poured its contents into the swirling fount.

A flash of white light blinded the death knight and all present...then the waters of the Sunwell became dark and shadowed, a reflection of what it had been. Floating above it, a skeletal figure rose, looking upon its new form and nodding to itself. This was the reward promised by the Lich King, and it was good indeed.

Kel'Thuzad lived again...

"I have returned as promised! The Lich King has granted me eternal life!"

In his study in Dalaran, Kel'theris Whitehair's hands suddenly went to his chest. A great pain he had never felt before had suddenly taken hold. Something had happened in Quel'Thalas. Something terrible.

In the Cathedral of Light in Stormwind, Ordevaas Whitehair was conducting a prayer when suddenly a feral scream came from him, and he suddenly became wracked with convulsions...before finally falling to the floor. His friend Saavedro ran to his side, followed by Archbishop Benedictus, Faol's successor as head of the Church. The congregation looked confused and horrified. Benedictus stood and addressed them. "Brother Ordevaas has suffered some great shock. Something has happened..."

All throughout the next two weeks, Saavedro heard the reports from all over the city. Anyone of Thalassian ancestry had suffered seizures, or had gone into some kind of comatose state, like Ordevaas had. Some had even died.

As he tended to his unconscious friend, a messenger - ragged and stained with blood - entered the side room of the Cathedral. Benedictus frowned at his appearance until he saw the sash he wore: the crest of the House of Menethil...the royal house of Lordaeron. "Archbishop, Master Saavedro...Lordaeron has fallen! The undead have risen and destroyed everything! And they took out Quel'Thalas too!"

"What?" Saavedro was staring at him incredulously. "Speak sense, man! I only left Lordaeron a month ago, and everything was fine!" Well, not everything, but the investigation of the death cults near Borealis and Andorhal was an internal matter, not for the common folk to know. "You're either sloshed to the gills, or you're high on incense fumes."

"I am not, Master," the messenger said, somewhat calmer and now indignant. "I just came as fast as I was able through Khaz Modan from...what is left of the Kingdom."

"What is left? Stop speaking such falsehoods in my presence!" Saavedro was hysterical - and in full denial. He grasped the man by the collar. "Lordaeron is not gone! I will go there myself and prove it, and then I will have your head for spreading such lies!" With that, he tossed the man aside and stormed out, shouting for his horse.

Benedictus looked at the shocked messenger with sympathy. "You speak the truth, young one, but I think Saavedro must learn of this himself. What is left of the Kingdom?"

"Southshore and Hillsbrad were pretty much untouched, and I think Hearthglen and Tyr's Hand escaped the worst of it, but the rest of Lordaeron is gone. They're calling the whole place the Plaguelands now - from Tirisfal and Silverpine to the edge of Quel'Thalas. Almost every town in that region is crawling with the undead."

"Something must have happened in Quel'Thalas," Benedictus commented, mostly to himself. "The elves in this city have suffered ailments of some kind..."

A week later, Saavedro rode through the Hillsbrad Foothills, not seeing the death and destruction the messenger had moaned about. He snorted to himself. "What manner of fool is it that would imagine up such a thing? An undead horde destroying Lordaeron. Nonsense!"

By the time he reached the edge of Silverpine Forest, however, he was starting to rethink that. The trees were withered and the area decayed - much like he had seen in Borealis. Silverlaine Keep, on top of the bluff overlooking Pyrewood Village, was in ruins. Seeing the devastation for himself, he started dreading what he would see in Tirisfal...

Two days later, he entered the courtyard of the palace of King Terenas.

"Hello?" he called. His voice echoed through the empty space. Normally this place would be bustling with activity. Now it was dead and cold, like the land itself. Saavedro shivered, his robes providing little protection.

Entering the palace itself, Saavedro saw that the doors had been ripped off their hinges. In the light that fell from the ceiling, he looked down in horror at the corpse of his master, the High Priest Sekhesmet. Judging from the smell and the wasted, desiccated state of his body, he had been dead for weeks. His facial features were frozen in a grimace of scorn and disgust, as if he was scolding the plague...before it finally killed him.

"You there!" Saavedro turned and saw, to his relief, living and unaffected humans. "We're all that's left out here," the leader of some of the survivors - Tirisfal Magistrate Artimus Devaneaux, Saavedro realized - said to him. He was wearing leather armor and a white tabard with some kind of red flame sigil on it. "Are you from here?"

"Stratholme. I've been in Stormwind for the last few years, but I left just as Prince Arthas and Lord Uther were arriving there." He glanced at the man's tabard in interest. "What order are you from?"

"We're called the Scarlet Crusade," Artimus explained. "Founded by a few survivors of the Silver Hand with the intention of driving the Scourge from our kingdom. Highlord Mograine has charged us with finding survivors of the Plague, and bringing them to Tyr's Hand or Hearthglen - they're the only intact towns in this hellpit. We are also to bury any dead, and burn them if they are contaminated with the plague." He glanced at the body on the floor. "That's Sekhesmet, isn't it? The High Priest of Lordaeron?"

Saavedro nodded, tears welling in his eyes. "My master."

"I understand he had a mausoleum in the graveyard outside of Brill, where his daughter's buried at." Artimus' tone seemed to harden at the memory of Euphrati. Thankfully, Saavedro was too caught up in grief to notice. Saavedro was also thankful that Sekhesmet's body showed no obvious signs of plague infection. "We will help bury him there. I'll have some men escort you to Southshore, so you can make your way back to Stormwind."

"Thank you."

They laid Sekhesmet in a simple coffin next to that of his daughter, Euphrati, in the great mausoleum in Brill. Scratched into the stone under the plaque with Euphrati's name were these words:

Sekhesmet lies here - priest of the Light, defender of the people. May he live in the memories of all who knew him.

"We'll put up a proper plaque when there is time," Artimus said, nodding his head towards where the priest lay. "For now, we must continue to battle the Scourge." He turned to the two men he had picked to escort Saavedro back to southern Lordaeron. "Escort the priest to Southshore."

"At once, Commander."

Two years passed.

Kel'theris Whitehair walked serenely alongside members of the surviving resistance. Lor'themar Theron, the Ranger-General after the death of Sylvanas Windrunner, had been named Regent of Quel'Thalas by Prince Kael'thas, who had gone to rejoin the Alliance remnant in Lordaeron. Kel'theris had been at Kael'thas' side during the exodus from Dalaran, but had gone to Stormwind when Kael'thas returned to the homeland. This was his first time back since before it fell.

He stepped beyond the Plaguelands...and once more stood inside Quel'Thalas.

And he was appalled.

Nothing remained the way he remembered it. The place was in a perpetual twilight. The trees were burnt...or diseased. He saw the walls of a great Scourge stronghold at the beginning of a great path of Blight, burnt forever into the soil of Quel'Thalas.

Forever.

Kel'theris fell to his knees. "My beloved Quel'Thalas..." Grief-stricken and enraged, the Whitehair patriarch let out an ear-splitting scream. Some later said that this could be heard as far away as Dalaran...

=Under Construction!=