Random Post #2

Credits go to 'Alice' from the Blueserver forum.
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Prologue Part I: The Scourge awakens.

The wind’s chilling breath howled across the desolate and permanently frozen tundra of Northrend, the northern continent covered with white and inhospitable plains and mountains of ice and snow. This place was home to only the strongest of creatures, from the tough white-furred Magnataurs, to the simple but resilient frost hare.

The most recognizable landmark was Icecrown Glacier, a tall and unnatural spire which appeared shortly after an inter-planar invasion of orcs. The snow-covered ground here gave way to the creeping corruption of blight, the first sign of the undead, their plague was so vile, it could make the very earth they touch wither and die. Numerous ziggurats were scattered around the perimeter of the blighted land, at their peaks, sat large crystals storing helpless souls to be used as a defence against any who dared wander close to the undeads’ crypts. At the top of the treacherous spiral pathway of the Icecrown Glacier, exhaling breaths of cold from all over sat their master. The Lich King.

Ner’Zhul, the Lich King, was once in life, an orc shaman, who made a pact with the Eredar Warlock, Kil’Jaeden. Ner’Zhul oversaw the orc invasion of Azeroth which ended in failure. Kil’Jaeden was unhappy to say the least. Ner’Zhul was powerless as he watched his body being ripped apart by demonic entities, as Kil’Jaeden left his soul intact to torture the fallen orc further. In the end, Ner’Zhul was given another chance, his soul was encased in armour and imprisoned in what will become known as the Frozen Throne, he was sent back to Azeroth, where he used his new found powers of telepathy and necromancy to recruit and create the Undead Scourge.

With this new power, came ambition, Ner’Zhul manipulated events and minions to saved himself from Eredar control and imminent destruction, and became his own master once again. The power and will of Ner’Zhul flowed from his physical avatar, and chosen champion and saviour, the self-proclaimed King Arthas Menethil. Wearing a silver iron helmet and armour decorated with the faces of skulls and frozen from the cold, the intimidating sight and aura of the Lich King would have rendered even the most courageous of men to succumb to fear.

Azeroth was ripe for the taking, all Ner’Zhul needed was absolute power. From his memories as the Eredar’s thrall, he knew just the place to acquire such power. The Well of Eternity.

Ner’Zhul had summoned his numerous legions of the living dead for this purpose, to travel to Kalimdor and seek out the magical properties of the Well hidden underneath the World Tree at Mount Hyjal. Resistance will be strong from the Night Elves and the other races, but Ner’Zhul will have his prize one way or another. Than he will welcome them all to the tranquillity of death’s embrace.

Nerubians unburied themselves from their numerous underground resting chambers, swarms of insects crawled, flew, dug and scurried their way out of the many caverns of their subterranean empire. The once thriving and proud race of insect warriors appeared out of nowhere to heed the call. Kel’Thuzad, one of Ner’Zhul’s most trusted liches, gathered the acolytes of the Cult of the Damned and began raising the undead legions of ghouls, skeletons and all manner of abominations from the fallen human kingdom of Lordaeron. Kel’Thuzad’s own elite beast-like flesh constructs poured out from the Necropolis Naxxramas to join the growing army.

From all corners of Ner’Zhul’s realm came many newly acquired and powerful allies. The Scourge reawakened to once again engulf all in its path. Their mission was not only to capture the Well of Eternity, but to send a statement to all by exterminating life in Kalimdor.

These words rang in the hollow heads of the undead as they moved to devour Kalimdor.

“For Ner’Zhul.”
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Prologue Part II: The Sentinel Gather

Somewhere in the vast forest of Ashenvale, a lone figure awaken from his deep slumber, he had witnessed many events in the mesmerizing realm of emerald dreams but none could match the graveness of the one of Northrend. The figure began the task of delivering these dark tidings to all he could find. Casting a simple teleportation spell, he began to spread his news to all who would hear it.

Malfurion “Furion” Stormrage’s return was surprising to the Kalimdorian people, and so were his warnings. Furion brought his dark tidings of a possible Scourge invasion to all he could find, urging them to stand united to combat this great foe. But like many times before, a prophet’s wild premonitions and words would often fall on deaf ears. The other races including the Humans and the Orcs were sceptical. Time will tell whether they would come to his beckons.

The Night Elves however, immediately took up arms behind their near-omnipotent druidic prophet. The Sentinels gathered their forces in their forest-metropolises and readied their arsenal of glaives, bows and spells. The forest itself began mustering forces of its own; the trees uprooted themselves, humongous woody Protectors accompanied by their smaller counterparts, the Ents and the many Kalimdorian woodland creatures, marched to pre-marked staging areas.

Situated at the centre of the Sentinel’s base of operations was Mount Hyjal, the tallest mountain in Azeroth, and one of the most sacred sites for the Night Elves, as it is home to Nordrassil, the World Tree. Underneath the great tree’s roots is the second Well of Eternity, the source of all magic in this world, created after the dark ages of the Great Sundering by the Betrayer, Illidan Stormrage. Malfurion’s brother.

On top of a cliff which gave a magnificent scenic view of the sun rising on the horizon behind the Mt Hyjal and the World Tree, stood that betrayers brother, Malfurion. The dawn sun casts down warm orange lights on to his long majestic antlers and natural purple Night Elf skin. His eyes glowed with power and wisdom, his body was riddled with visible signs of magical potency as he surveyed the war preparations.

Standing next to him, was a Dryad. Creatures of the forest, Dryads have taken half animalistic forms and in this case, the dryad’s lower body was replaced by the body of a doe. She looked at Malfurion, and thought how much he looked more and more like her father nowadays. A small wisp floated playfully in front of her and snapped her out of her reminiscing.

“Do you think we can beat them off, Furion? Their forces are vast and we are so few.” The Dryad spoke almost lazily while twirling her makeshift spear.

“The Night Elves have faced worse odds before, we must stand as a bulwark against the Scourge until our allies realize the threat and join us; it is my hope that Thrall and Jaina can rally their people our aid, than maybe more will…” Malfurion stopped when he noticed the dryad skipping away and vanishing into the forest with the mystical wisps.

“She never had a good attention span.” Malfurion smiled realizing that he was thinking out loud. His smile disappeared when he heard the sound of galloping cat’s paws coming up the path cliff. His face intensified when he heard the message the riders had.

“The Scourge have landed at Darkshore!”