While Varrus was restoring the Sunwell, multiple significant events around Azeroth were occurring.

Within the ruins of Dalaran, city-state of the Human mages, and the Eastern Kingdoms most coveted center of learning, Illidan Stormrage, Night Elf Hero and exile had arrived.

Slaughtering his way within the Scourge infested, derelict city, he was aided by the Naga, a serpentine race of humanoids that slithered instead of walked, and lived within the depths of the ocean. Formerly High Elves, they had made a dark bargain to survive the Sundering when the Well of Eternity exploded 10,000 years ago, and split the world.

“Do you have it, Lord Illidan?” Vashj, a female Naga Hero questioned from the side. Her voice hissed, and a forked snake's tongue flickered out of her mouth.

“Yes, yes, this is the Book of Medivh. The man was mad, but a genius!” Illidan stroked the cover of the book lovingly.

Green runes lit up, and Illidan flipped through the pages until he found what he wanted.

“I will begin the ritual. You and your Naga stand guard, there must be no interruptions.” Illidan commanded.

“But of course.” Lady Vashj inclined her head, and spread out her forces.

“Finally, I have the knowledge necessary to defeat the Legion.” Illidan softly muttered to himself as he dragged a clawed hand over the pages.

His brother was too weak, too soft to understand the sacrifices he had made. The leathery wings, the tail, the great horns sprouting from his forehead. None of which was in pursuit of power for powers sake. It was all to acquire the knowledge he so desired.

Now, by using the Eye of Sargeras as a power source, and the Book of Medivh for the spell, Illidan would be able to destroy the Lich King, and gain Kil'jaeden's trust.

Once he had been accepted as a lieutenant of the Legion, Illidan would be free to pursue the knowledge he so coveted without being under such intense scrutiny. Then, with the truth unveiled, he would use that knowledge to usurp Sargeras himself!

Beginning the words to the spell, Illidan felt the world shake as he targeted the region of Ice Crown, where the Lich King was shackled.

His ritual continued unmolested, and the world shook!

“You are a slave, the same as me. Know that by freeing you, I will have freed us all.” Illidan seriously intoned as he watched the tower of the Lich King crumble and collapse via a scrying spell.

Watching the scene unfold, Illidan felt a sense of triumph as he witnessed the Frozen Throne crumble, and the Helm of Domination buckle and twist under his power.

“There must always be a Lich King.” The spirit within the helmet reached out to Illidan psychically.

It transmitted images of war, devastation and rampant plague. That without a guiding hand, the world would be doomed to perpetual, mindless undeath.

“Such a weak mindset from a lesser being. As if the spirit of some Orc warlock has any right to dictate his will upon the realm of Azeroth.” Illidan dismissed.

He then continued with his spell, and reached a crescendo in the ritual.

‘Break for me!’ Illidan thought to himself as he strained his body to the limit by casting such a monumental spell.

The Helm of Domination shrieked, and finally imploded in on itself with an incredible explosion.

Most of Ice Crown broke apart, and melted as a result of the epic spell. As a result, water flooded outward in a great stream.

Illidan took a knee, and was panting greatly from the exertion.

He had succeeded!

“Brother! What have you done!” The stern shout of a familiar voice broke him out of his fugue.

Standing on a broken building, Malfurion Stormrage, first of the druids, and co-leader of the Night Elves looked down at Illidan in a fury.

The corpses of many a Naga littered the ground, and Vashj was nowhere to be seen.

Standing beside him, his jailer, Maiev Shadowsong, and the woman he had once loved, Tyrande Whisperwind gave him nothing but scorn.

“I did what was necessary. With the death of the Lich King, the Undead will be disorganized, and easily dealt with. I have saved this world again, no thanks to you.” Illidan bitterly intoned.

At the same time, he subtly began to prepare himself a portal for escape, as completing the ritual had been incredibly draining.

“Necessary? Necessary! You have torn a hole in the realm of Northrend! The very foundations of Azeroth were shaken! Who knows what untold horrors have been awakened, or even freed from their prisons! Have you only regard for the temporary?! Can you not see the long lasting impact of your ‘heroics?’” Malfurion harshly rebuked.

“The Old Gods will be next, you can rest easy, brother. I will accomplish that which you were too afraid to do. Can’t you see? You too, Tyrande, it was all to create a safe world, surely you of all people can understand.” Illidan entreated.

“I…I cannot. The way you have gone about this is wrong. There must be some other way. I am sorry Illidan, but I cannot justify your actions.” Tyrande shook her head.

“End of the line traitor. I will enjoy visiting upon you ten times the pain my sisters suffered while pursuing you.” Maiev hissed.

“Even you, Tyrande. So be it. If I must walk alone to save this world, then that is my path.” Illidan clenched his hands into fists, and activated the runes on the ground.

A portal sprang up behind him at that moment.

When he was about to fall backward into it, the runes on the ground were suddenly scuffed, breaking the spell. Seconds later, his portal sputtered out of existence.

Illidan turned his head in all directions searching for the culprit.

“Who-!”

“Shh shh, honey, no need for any more words out of you.” A sultry, high-class voice whispered in his ear.

At the same time, a stiletto ripped itself across his throat, and repeatedly stabbed into his heart.

The last thing Illidan saw before his demise was a black lipsticked grin.

~~~~~~~~~~

All around Azeroth, wherever there were Undead, they had their shackles broken from the iron grip of the Lich King.

For the majority of the Undead, this meant that they instantaneously transformed into slobbering, incoherent messes bent on the pursuit of destruction and flesh.

Ghouls, zombies, abominations and gargoyles all went into a frenzy, and sought out any living being they could.

Heroes and Elites largely escaped this frenzy, as their wills were strong enough to resist such urges.

After regaining their freedom, many of these leaders of the dead pressed their own wills upon the shambling Undead, calming them down.

On Northrend, an all out war was taking place as the Undead frenzied. Trolls, Vrykul, Nerubians and many other plagued races went on an uncontrollable rampage as they scoured the continent for flesh and blood.

Chaos and anarchy reigned supreme on the northern most continent as there were more Undead stationed in Northrend than any other location.

All at once, hundreds of pockets sprang up where Heroes and Elites tried to make sense of their freedom. Some went mad, and killed themselves, others became depressed with apathy, and some took up arms.

For many, they took this as an opportunity to grab power.

A hundred warlords sprouted up all around the Plaguelands as former peasants or lesser nobility tried to realize ambitions that were only dreams when they were living. To a lesser extent, some of these warlords once more took up the tabard of Lordaeron in an effort to find some sanity in this mad world.

Amongst all these tiny sub groups within the Plaguelands, 3 major factions had emerged amongst the Undead.

One group, headed by Kel'thuzad represented the Scourge faction. Those people who had willingly signed up with the Cult of the Damned, or were enthralled by the Lich's superior necromantic powers followed him.

The second faction consisted of Dawnbringer, and Sylvanas. For the last few months, Dawnbringer and some Darkfallen Rangers had been using the enchanted instrument supplied by Faedra to secretly free people from the Lich King's control. Their numbers were the smallest, but they had real, thinking combatants in their ranks.

Dawnbringer's well intentioned, genuine faith in the Light had swayed many to their cause. At the same time, Sylvanas's cries for revenge had acted as a rallying cry for the dark emotions that so often suffused the Undead.

The last group was led by the three Dreadlord brothers: Detheroc, Balnazzar, and Varimathras.

Standing in the burned out remains of a town, the Dreadlords had gathered.

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“Why did no one warn us of this?” Balnazzar raged.

“Indeed, brother, I too wonder what games are being played behind our backs. My spies informed me of Illidan's arrival in Dalaran, but there was no word from the Legion of their glory, from our leader Kil'jaeden.” Varimathras clenched one clawed hand into a fist, and spat.

“We are alone, brothers. We must see to our own safety now.” Detheroc seriously intoned.

“True. The sighting of the Stormrage brothers is confirmation enough of Lord Archimonde's failure.” Balnazzar nodded.

“Then what are we to do? Our mission was to hand the Scourge over to the Legion. Perhaps we should return to the Twisting Nether.” Varimathras suggested.

“Cautious as ever, Varimathras. No, we will stay and fight. Who knows, a victory here might be just what we need to supplant Tichondrius as leader of the Nathrezim.” Detheroc deeply chuckled.

“To your good fortune, brother.” Balnazzar inclined his head.

“Then what shall be our first target? The Lich, or the Elf?” Varimathras questioned.

“Neither. I have a different foe in mind.” Detheroc grinned.

In the palm of his hand, the image of Garithos, Grand Marshal of the Alliance was depicted.

“Hrm, more bodies to add to the army, and it is a lesser foe. Let the Elf and the Lich tire one another while we await in the wings. A brilliant plan, brother.” Balnazzar applauded.

“But what of Quel'Thalas? I cannot scry upon their land, should we not be wary of their malfeasance?” Varimathras cautioned.

“A non-factor. Without their precious Sunwell, there is nothing to fear from them. Your caution is begging to stink of cowardice, Varimathras.” Balnazzar taunted.

“Prudence, brother. Prudence. I am weaker than you two, so I must use my wits to survive where others can rely upon brute force.” Varimathras replied in an uninterested tone.

“Why you-”

“Enough. This petty squabbling will get us nowhere. We march for Garithos.” Detheroc commanded, then ported away.

Balnazzar scoffed at Varimathras, then he too ported away.

“You underestimate our foes, my dear brothers.” Varimathras said to himself, then he too ported out to join his army.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gathered at the fortified town of Hearthglen, the Alliance forces had rallied behind Garithos.

Tens of thousands of refugees crammed into the town, pushing it to capacity. Over 300,000 people were occupying the town, greatly exceeding the normal population of about 60,000.

When people were stacked so close to one another, tempers were sure to flare.

Within the keep, and seat of government, a heated debate was ongoing between the Heroes and other influential Elites.

A great table was set in the middle of the room, and at the head chair sat Garithos.

The man was a pale, middle aged man with a great brown mustache. Dressed in adamantium plate, he was a genuine Hero possessing substantial martial abilities.

“We have gathered as many people as possible, Hearthglen and the surrounding hamlets cannot take any more people! The food can only last so long!” One man slammed his hand on the meeting table.

“Nonsense, we must save every life we can! If space is an issue, we should fight, and reclaim our lands!” A priest loudly replied.

On and on the people argued with one another, but a consensus was never reached.

When no one could come to a decision, they eventually, reluctantly, looked to Garithos for his opinion.

“Perhaps our pointy eared friend has something he'd like to say? We are appreciative of the food and weapons, but is that all Quel'Thalas is to provide?” Garithos condescendingly spoke down to the Elven representative within the room.

Helios barely withheld any bitterness from showing on his face as the idiot monkey the Humans called a leader opened his mouth.

If he thought he disliked the elder Vandercross, then he hadn't truly loathed someone until he had the distinct displeasure of making Garithos's acquaintance.

However, Helios replied to the Grand Marshal with a genuine smile.

He had felt the restoration of the Sunwell some hours ago, and knew that Vandercross’s promise had been true.

Any animosity or anger towards the youth had been washed away once he had his faith in Quel'Thalas restored.

His only regret was that he couldn't have been there to bury his wife. But perhaps that was a thorn best pruned by another.

In any case, he had a buffoon to entertain.

“Yes, Grand Marshal, the weapons and food are gifts. However, you will be receiving reinforcements within the month, you can be rest assured. Quel'Thalas's commitment to the people of Lordaeron is stronger than ever.” Helios smiled, and inclined his head.

“Empty platitudes, Elf, I think your people are holding out on us. Do you think we are so foolish to believe that iron weapons are the best you can supply?” Garithos arrogantly disdained.

Over half the room muttered their discontent along with him.

However, the other half actively booed these naysayers, and whispered criticisms of Garithos's leadership.

Helios maintained a laid back, easy going demeanor at the accusation. He had bribed several leaders in attendance with extra food, and enchanted items. He was unafraid of the upjumped minor noble.

When he was preparing for a retort, a scout came bursting into the room.

“Scourge, Scourge are advancing on the walls! I thought you should know!” The scout huffed and puffed as he fell to his knees clearly exhausted.

Helios hurriedly pulled out his scrying orb, and saw multiple messages from the Rangers he had taken with him for this mission.

He then used the orb to scan the fields in front of Hearthglen.

As far as he could see, there were tens of thousands of Undead taking formation.

Suddenly, the renewal of the Sunwell wasn't quite the soothing balm he thought it would be.

“Stand tall, men of the Alliance! We shall prevail!” A man violently thrust the doors to the chamber open, and declared.

“Ashbringer.” Many people muttered in awe.

The paladin entering the room had a massive buster sword strapped to his back, had thick red hair, a manly beard, and was decked out in blue mithril plate armor.

“I thought you were on a quest to Stratholme, to save your son, what craven behavior is this, Mograine?” Garithos spat.

Alexandros nodded to Helios as he entered.

The Elf raised a goblet. It was thanks to the Highlord's warning that Mograine was here and not ambushed in a treacherous plot.

“The only craven is you, Garithos. Whilst you and your cronies bicker over the distribution of food and weapons, the people are suffering. I came here to gather all the true men of the Alliance, and to make for the walls.” Mograine crossed his arms, and looked every person present in the eyes.

His stern look and countenance had people either meet his gaze with pride and hope, or avert their eyes to the ground in shame.

“I am the Grand Marshal, Commander. The men will move out at my command. I will dispatch them where they are needed.” Garithos icily replied.

“I am needed on the walls, as is the Grand Marshal and leader of this fortress.” Mograine shook his head at Garithos in pity, then turned around to leave the meeting room.

“Guards, arrest Commander Mograine for dereliction of duty and deserting his post!” Garithos spat.

Yet none moved forward to do anything of the sort, and in fact, many of the guards began to follow in Mograine's wake.

Some of the officers and other leaders within the hall glanced between Garithos's rage fueled face, and Mograine's back repeatedly, unsure what to do.

Leaving his spot, Helios went to join Mograine.

Like a flood breaking a dam, dozens more joined Helios and Mograine.

Before long, a few thousand Elite professional soldiers, and tens of thousands of inexperienced peasants had been inspired, and moved to reinforce the walls.

Helios looked out into the sea of Undead, and urgently messaged the Highlord.

Even if he had a legendary Human warrior by his side, Helios wasn't confident that they could last more than a week.

~~~~~~~~

Creaking along on the open ocean, a fleet of derelict and damaged boats sailed onward in the misty morning fog.

The silence of the fleet was eerie as it approached the capital city of Kul Tiras, the port town of Boralus.

“Your Majesty, Lord Admiral, a fleet bearing Kul Tiran colors is signaling for permission to land!” An armored sergeant slammed on a magnificent door.

“It must be Daelin, returned from Kalimdor with Jaina. Grant them permission.” Lady Katherine Proudmoore declared.

Preparing her outfit for her family reunion, Katherine looked out the window, only to see a dagger break out of invisibility in the corner of her eye.

Thinking fast, she leaned forward, dodging the swipe of the dagger, she then drew her rapier, and decapitated her opponent in one swift motion.

Examining the corpse of her foe, she discovered he had been long dead.

This sudden assassination attempt was no coincidence! She had to mobilize the troops!

“Sergeant, sound the bells, we are under attack!” Katherine yelled as she opened the door to the hall.

However, what she saw paused her in her tracks.

The entire hallway was a charnel house, and dozens of guards lay on the ground deceased.

At the same time, she felt…Cold. Cold like she had never felt before spread towards her as icy tendrils of frost suffused the room.

The sound of a sword being dragged along the ground resounded in her ears.

Standing across from her was a death knight clad in black. His long white hair covered his face, but Katherine could make out the tell tale sign of a mad grin between the mess.

“What have you done to Daelin?” Katherine demanded as she moved forward, and clashed blades with the man.

“His heart was broken by the same woman who took mine.” The man madly laughed.

Katherine exchanged several high speed attacks back and forth. She began to push him back, but she got a sense that he was toying with her.

Frowning to herself, she heard the sound of explosions and screams coming from outside the window.

Taking a quick peak between combat, she saw that Boralus was alight with flame, and her people were being massacred.

“Monster!” Katherine declared, and began to come at the man with an increased fury.

The enchantments on her blade unleashed arcs of mana that were so powerful, they threatened the foundations of the keep. However, each and every strike was countered again and again.

When she finally thought she was going to get through, and stabbed her sword at his neck, the hand of one of her deceased guards unexpectedly moved, and tripped her leg.

Falling to her back, she tried to get back up, but the ice that had slowly been creeping up the hallway pinned her in place.

From her position, she finally got a good look at her assailant.

It couldn't be!

“Jaina loved you so much. Why, why would you do this?” Katherine said in confusion, a tear trailing down her cheek.

“You do not have the right to speak her name. Not to me.” The death knight coldly stabbed his rune sword deep into her heart.

Katherine tried to parry his attack, but found herself paralyzed.

Holding up her hand, she tried to touch him, to say something, anything at all. But all that came out was his name.

“Arthas.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: Read up to chapter 167 at: