Tyrande knew that she'd let herself get much too emotional at the end of her conversation with the Sunstrider Prince. And she knew exactly what it was about Kael'thas that had rubbed her the wrong way as well.
It wasn't just that he and his kin reminded her vaguely of the Highborne, albeit a pale imitation of what his ancestor Dath'Remar Sunstrider and his followers had been. It was a common enough misconception, even among some of her own people, but Arcane Magic had NOT in fact been immediately outlawed following the destruction of the original Well of Eternity and the Sundering.
Some might have thought it should have been considering that the War of the Ancients had only happened in the first place because of Azshara and her courtiers, but the fact was… not all Highborne had sided with the vain, power-hungry Queen. And while the chaotic potential of the Well of Eternity was what had drawn the Legion to their world in the first place, Tyrande knew Arcane Magic in and of itself was not evil in the same way Fel Magic was.
But even still… the Highborne who had sided against Azshara and with the rest of the Night Elves in the War of the Ancients had still set themselves apart from the rest of their people. They had maintained a haughty indifference and a marked distance from those they deemed the 'common folk'. And ultimately they had finally gone too far, their experimentation with the second Well of Eternity hidden beneath Nordrassil resulting in a massive Arcane Storm that covered the length of Ashenvale Forest for days.
It was then that they had been exiled. And while Tyrande had not been the sole voice to make that decision, she had still supported it. And when the High Priestess of Elune supported something, it tended to happen.
Did she regret it now? Did she wonder what could have been? They'd been so afraid of drawing the Legion back to Azeroth for so long, and Tyrande had not been immune to that fear. Yet… in the end, despite all their precautions, despite their best efforts, despite locking up Illidan for ten thousand years and exiling the Highborne across the sea… the Legion had still returned.
Yes, Tyrande Whisperwind had regrets. But that wasn't the sole reason that she had become rather short and snappish with Kael'thas Sunstrider.
The fact was… from the very beginning, the way that he'd treated their orcish allies had rankled Tyrande something fierce. From what she knew and from Rognak's own words, the Sunstrider Prince and his Blood Elves had legitimate grievances against the orcs due to the actions of the Old Horde. But everything Rognak and his kin had done since coming to Kalimdor had been, to put it bluntly, good.
The orcs, as far as she and her people were concerned, were a noble and proud race. Savage? Perhaps. But that mattered little. From the moment they'd set foot on Kalimdor's shores, the Horde had proved themselves to be just as honorable as Broxigar the Red, the one example of their kind that Tyrande had had for the past ten thousand years.
Not to mention… well, the Warsong Chieftain was her daughter's lover. So yes, Tyrande was well aware that she was quite biased when it came to both Rognak and his orcs, and Prince Sunstrider and his Blood Elves. She was also self-aware enough to be somewhat embarrassed by her bias.
As such, for the past few days since Kael'thas and his forces had joined the expedition, Tyrande had been keeping her distance from both him and the Warsong Chieftain. Still, that wasn't a state of being that she could maintain forever. Now, as they got closer and closer to the Frozen Throne, they all had no choice but to move as one cohesive unit.
The Nerubian ambush had been eye-opening and a learning experience for all of them. They've crept along at a snail's pace ever since, so it's not really a surprise when the warning comes much in advance this time.
"ENEMIES ON THE RIDGE!"
What is surprising, however, is the absence of an attack after that shouted warning. Even as everyone around her readies their weapons and looks to the ridge, Tyrande does the same. She immediately sees them. A fresh force of Nerubians crawl all over the ridge directly ahead of them. By all rights, the Frozen Throne is just a few short hours past this ridge. If they can win this next battle, they might be able to deal with the Lich King before the day's end.
Perhaps that is why the Scourge do not immediately charge. Perhaps that is why they do not immediately go on the offensive. Maybe they're scared. Afraid that the living might have a feint in place, one that would allow them to strike from behind and cut off the head of the snake if the Scourge dared to over-extend.
They don't to be clear. The idea had been raised, but ultimately deemed unfeasible. The Lich King's personal power was somewhat unknown, but expected to still be massive, despite the death of his Champion and the destruction of the Runeblade known as Frostmourne. It was decided that they would all reach the Frozen Throne together or not at all, to give them the best shot of ending the Scourge's Master once and for all.
But first and foremost… they had one final battle to win.
"Uunak-hisss tik-k-k-k-k-k! Little fleshlings, come to waste themselves against the Master's Walls."
Tyrande stiffens as a truly massive Nerubian, perhaps the biggest she's ever seen, looms over the side of the ridge at all of them. Flaring his insect-like wings, the Nerubian does what must be their equivalent of a laugh. Malevolent and evil, the sound washes over the area.
"I am Anub'arak, Last King of Azjol-Nerub, Majordomo to the Lich King… Crypt Lord. You, all of you, will die here as we did. The Might of the Nerubian Empire could not stand up against my Master's Power. What chance do you all have?"
Tyrande's eyes narrow as her hands tighten around her bow. A small feeling of pity cuts through her disgust and hatred for the undead monstrosity in front of her. What he speaks of… she imagines for an instant the Nerubians as a proud if isolated people. An Empire much like her own people's Ancient Empire. And yet... much like Queen Azshara betrayed the Night Elves to the Legion and brought their people's empire low in the process, Tyrande suspects this so-called Nerubian King is much the same.
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It was likely not by choice that he served the Lich King, but she did not doubt that once he fell, he aided the Scourge's Master in turning more of his kin into monstrous undead just like him. The Nerubian Empire fell because the Scourge were relentless and unyielding. But… they had a weak link, nevertheless.
Straightening up, Tyrande calls out to the Crypt Lord, her voice carrying to the ridge with a little help from her Goddess.
"Let us pass and we shall find out, Crypt Lord! Does no part of you yearn for freedom? For revenge? Do you Nerubians have no pride in death? We know that your Master is weakened. We know that he is dying! Let us through, let us test our mettle against his directly. He hides behind you now because he knows he cannot face us with what little power he still clings to!"
Silence falls at her words, even among her own people. Tyrande feels the back of her neck heat up a little bit as she feels incredulous eyes from numerous members of the expedition fall upon her. As if they cannot believe she has the guts to try and convince these creatures to step aside. But Tyrande keeps her head high and does not let an ounce of weakness, hesitation, or fear show on her face.
She is afraid of course. Terrified, even. But… her fear does not control her. And she will do anything to get to the Lich King. Anything at all.
In the end, it's not the Crypt Lord that speaks. Anub'arak stays silent for a moment too long it would seem, prompting another up on the ridge to laugh and float forward. Tyrande's eyes narrow at the sight of a bonafide Lich much like the one she'd seen fighting at the Battle of Mount Hyjal. But this is not Rage Winterchill. Whether or not he is still locked away by the Shadow Hunter's magic that she'd witnessed from afar, this is a different Lich entirely.
From nearby, she hears Kael'thas hiss at the sight of him and whisper a name loud enough for her to hear.
"Kel'thuzad…"
Spreading his boney hands wide, the Lich chuckles darkly.
"Ah. Quite the orator, High Priestess. Alas, the Nerubians are loyal to their Master… as are all the Scourge. These lands are not for you. I am afraid you will find nothing but death and damnation here."
Alongside him, another of those damnable dreadlords also makes his presence known.
"Greetings, mortals. Forgive my companions. They are… shall we say, hungry for living flesh. But as you can see, I am not a part of the Scourge. No, I stand above them… I serve a higher master. I am Balnazzar of the Burning Legion and I come to you with glad tidings… a chance to save yourselves!"
Before Tyrande can speak, there's a scoff from Cenarius' direction. The Lord of the Forest seems to take particular insult with Balnazzar's presence and his attitude.
"You would not be the first of your kind that we have killed, Demon. In fact, I find I have been beset by those like you in recent times. Like gnats buzzing about my head. First the one called Tichondrius. And then the one called Detheroc. Both of them found themselves altogether outmatched in the end."
Tyrande finds herself stiffening at the mention of the dreadlord Tichondrius. Malfurion's killer, the one who had been in charge of the Scourge who found her beloved's Barrow Den.
Balnazzar also stiffens at Cenarius' words, his smile becoming a bit more wooden as he chuckles softly.
"Ah yes. My inept and incompetent kin. It does not surprise me to hear that Detheroc so utterly failed in his task. After all, if he had succeeded, we would not be here, speaking under these circumstances. As for Tichondrius… well, he always was so sure that he was better than me and my brothers. It pleases me to hear that he died screaming."
Tyrande blinks at that. She'd known that the Burning Legion were monsters one and all, but to hear them speak of their own like that was… well, it shouldn't have been surprising, she supposed.
"Still! My Master bids that I extend you this offer. You have seen the Might of the Nerubians first hand once before. That was a small taste of what they are capable of. Indeed, if you decide to do battle with us here and now I assure you… you will all die, each and every one of you. However… my Master is merciful. He-!"
"I care not for your Master's mercy, Demon! The Lich King will pay for his crimes against Quel'Thalas! And if you stand in our way, you shall pay right alongside him."
The Demon Lord looks irate at being interrupted by Kael'thas, but quickly smooths over, letting out another boisterous laugh.
"Ah… but as I already said, my Master is not the Lich King, little elven prince. My Master is Kil'Jaedan himself, the right-hand of Sargeras, Master of the Burning Legion. He offers all of you the chance to live. Turn over the shards of Frostmourne and you might leave here with your lives intact. As for you, Prince of Quel'Thalas… my Master has seen your people's plight and believes he might have a solution for your little… mana problem. Your people can still be saved, you know."
Tyrande watches out of the corner of her eye as the Blood Elf Prince's eyes widen and he stiffens at the dreadlord's words. For a moment, she fears he might be tempted. But before he has time to ruminate on the dreadlord's words can, Rognak finally steps forward.
"A tainted offer to help is no offer at all, dreadlord. Your Master is called the Deceiver for a reason. Kil'Jaeden worked his wiles upon my people once… and look what it cost us. Our culture. Our homes. Our world. Unfortunately for you, Prince Kael'thas and his Blood Elves are smarter than my predecessors were. They would never fall for you or your Master's lies."
Blinking, Tyrande can't help but be a little taken aback by Rognak's surprising underhandedness. The best part is, he's not even being particularly subtle about it. EVERYONE there, Kael'thas and his soldiers included, know exactly what Rognak is doing. But that's just it… it doesn't matter if they know he's being manipulative. After all, his manipulation is only in response to Balnazzar's manipulation.
As the Sunstrider Prince and his people all swell with pride, nodding to themselves and finding, much to their shock, that they're agreeing with an orc of all people… Balnazzar notes this and notes the general defiance present in all of the forces of the living arrayed before him. Dropping his smile, the dreadlord sniffs haughtily.
"Very well then. So be it. Die like the dogs you are and let the maggots feast upon you. Your secrets will be ripped from your corpses and torn from your souls once the battle is through."
With that, the dreadlord turns and steps back from the ridge, moving out of sight. Meanwhile, Kel'thuzad cackles and lifts his boney hands up into the air.
"Attack! Kill them all!"
Beside him, Anub'arak flares his wings again, saying something in Nerubian that echoes across the entire battlefield. Like the surging swarm they are, the Nerubian forces arrayed on top of the ridge come spilling over and down the slope, heading straight for the expedition. But this is a surprise to no one, and Tyrande is proud to see that others' arrows begin to fly true even before she manages to fire off her first.
Everyone is ready for this fight. Both those they came here with and the unexpected allies they'd made along the way. As she fires radiant arrow after radiant arrow from her bow, Tyrande watches out of the corner of her eye as Prince Kael'thas mounts his dragonhawk and leads his fellow fliers into battle. Alongside him is Rognak, the Warsong Chieftain transforming into a massive Wind Serpent that would honestly have taken her breath away if not for their current circumstances. As it is, they would likely need every ounce of power he could bring to bear in this coming fight.
As they take to the sky, quickly establishing air superiority, Tyrande focuses her attention on the ground, Cenarius by her side as they coordinate their forces to prepare to weather the battle ahead. If they won here, the Lich King was mere hours away. So really, there was no choice. For the sake of her vengeance… they WOULD carry the day.