It has begun.

“Speak, Orc, I have things to attend.” Sylvanas glared down at the green-skinned creature kneeling at the base of the pedestal in her royal quarters.  He shifted uncomfortably, staring directly at the ground between the Dark Lady’s feet.  “Why are you here?” She asked again, her voice noticeably more irritated since the first command.

“Lady,” the orc grunted, hesitantly. “I am Rignar, a member of the Kor’kron elite.  We are warriors handpicked by the Warchief himself.  He has sent us to help defend you, your city and your people after the recent…” Rignar paused, as if formulating the proper word. “…events.”

The Banshee Queen studied him a moment, attempting to decide whether to feel offended or warmed by the Warchief’s gesture.  It was true that she lacked the proper defenses since Varimathras and Putress attempted to lay claim to her city; but she was no stranger to building an army, and she was determined never to let the Undercity fall again.

“Very well.” She waved her hand at him, signaling him to stand, he obeyed. “The Alliance dogs have been barking at the bit since the attack at Wrathgate, especially their temperamental, weak King. The extra support is welcomed.  Express my gratitude to Thrall.” Rigmar grunted and nodded as he slammed his fist against his armored chest.  “Mortimer!” She snapped curtly, turning her eyes to a Forsaken guard standing near the door. 

A man clambered forward and knelt before her next to the Kor’kron. “My lady.” His head hung low for a moment before he returned to a standing position and crossed his arms in a salute. “What do you wish of me?”

“Take this warrior and his men and station them throughout the city.  See to it that they have lodgings and are well fed. Now go.”  She watched as both the Orc and the Forsaken bowed to her once more and exited down the long hallway out into the bustling city.  She remained alone, save for three others: two Blood elf ambassadors who were talking quietly to themselves and her last trusted Master Apothocary, Faranell.

As she descended down the stairs of her pedestal she called to him. “What do you make of this?”  The Forsaken stepped out of the shadows and bowed his head slightly before he spoke.

“I think the Warchief’s intentions are pure, but it’s unsettling to have another man’s army guarding our home.”  The queen simply nodded as she stared down the empty hallway where the Orc had left. “However,” the apothecary continued, “After the blow Putress has struck, it is hard to determine which of our people we can trust.  There are whispers, my lady, the people are worried.”

“They should be.  Things are changing, Faranell. I can feel it.  Arthas’ icy reach grows wider every day, and our willpower will be tested.  I feel soon I will need to head north, and strike revenge. But for now…” she drifted off mid-thought, her eyes narrowing at the elves across the room. “Come.” She commanded. “We must speak privately.  We have an army to build, and I’d rather the rest of the Horde find out at a time which I set.”

Lament of the Highborne

By the light, by the light of the sun
Children of the blood
Our enemies are breaking through
Children of the blood
By the light
Failing children of the blood
They are breaking through
O’ children of the blood
By the light of the sun
Failing children of the blood
They are breaking through
O’ children of the blood
By the light of the sun
The sun