Wrath of the Light

Chapter Eleven: The Shores of Northrend

A blue sky still hung over Lordaeron. The dead were burned these days, and the paladins went back and forth seeking undead to slay. The town guard had become more vigilant so that operations had become very difficult. Several of the Cult of the Damned had been caught and interrogated. Many more had paid the price for their faithlessness. They had been hung in gallows outside the town.

And all the while the piles of burning corpses rose higher and higher, by order of the Prince. In a little hovel, on the outskirts of Anderhol, cultists met with their leader. They were fearful, terrified that the paladins might discover them.

'Is everything proceeding according to the Lich King's will, Rivendare?' asked one.

Rivendare was a gaunt man, and he wore black armor and bore a Runeblade at his side. He was a skilled warrior. Yet it had been Kel'thuzad's will that he not involve himself in the battles with the Silver Hand until now. Instead, it had fallen to him to ensure the cultists remained disciplined. 'Of course,' said Rivendare, 'the light has only triumphed because the Lich King allows it to triumph. The stain of demon worship must be purged from the cult before his true champion can take his place. Only then can Kel'thuzad be returned to life.'

'Yet... we have taken so many casualties.' said one. 'Are we sure even the Lich King's champion can defeat the paladins?'

'Have faith, brother.' said Rivendare. 'All things are possible with the Lich King. For now, we are to disband. We shall go into hiding amongst the populace, assuming our old names and identities. And we shall await his coming, when the time is right.'

'Yes, Baron Rivendare.'

They dispersed, and would not meet again until Lordaeron was shattered.

One month later, along the icy coast of the Daggercap Bay, the Fleet of Lordaeron anchored off shore. It was a rocky and freezing land they put to shore at. The air was cold, and as Arthas stepped off the longboat, followed by his men he could see his breath in front of his face. The heavy fur cloak around his body flowed about him in a chill wind. It did not disguise the cold much, only prevented it from becoming lethal. Yet he paid it no heed. Instead, he made his way up to the top of a nearby hill to look into the forlorn peaks around him, as his men were unloaded.

'This is a light forsaken land, isn't it?' asked Falric. 'You can barely even see the sun. This howling wind cuts to the bone, and you're not even shaking.' He paused. 'Milord, are you alright?'

Arthas looked back. 'I'm fine. Are all our forces accounted for?'

'Nearly,' said Falric, 'there are only a few ships that ran aground on the rocks.'

'Very well,' said Arthas, 'send some of the ships to scour for survivors. I don't want any unnecessary deaths. Our first priority is to set up a base camp with proper defenses. Assign Marwynn to secure the ships here. I'm taking the forces we have now inland.

'There's no telling whats waiting for us out there in the shadows.'

'As you wish milord.' said Falric.

It took less than an hour for them to set out, and then they made their way into the bleak and frozen landscape. There were trees here, but they were without leaves, and their boughs were brittle from the cold. The snow fell lightly around them, coating the land in white.

Half an hour from the shore, there came a howl from the clifftops. Looking up they saw many giant wolves with white pelts leaping down the cliffs towards them. Arthas stepped forward as one rushed him, and brought round his hammer to cave its skull and send it flying. Falric caught another on his shield and threw it down before running it through. A man had his throat torn out by the creatures, moments before his comrades could aid him. Finally, the wolves turned and fled, wounded and whimpering.