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Alexander A. Nastasi
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War Begins





“At long last.”
    An eagle screeched as it soared above the green uplands, a pair of demonic eyes watching its elegant movements.
    “Everything is ready, as you ordered, Great One.”

    The eredar turned, his red skin and hellish wings standing out against the blue sky. “The illusion spell has been successful, I presume.”
    “Of course, Lord Kil’jaeden.” The dreadlord bowed. “No one has sensed our presence.”

    “But they will now.” Kil’jaeden flashed a smile. “Have your inquiries been fruitful?”
    “Yes...yes. Both factions are substantially weaker, though they are still well capable of resisting us. The Scourge is but a fraction of what it once was. It will not stand against you, my lord, as Mal’ganis has already told you. The Forsaken on the other hand...”

    Kil’jaeden glared. “The elven queen has reigned long enough. Her city will be the first to fall.”
    “As you command, my lord.”

    “What about Kalimdor?”
    “Gorgonnash and the satyr are both eager to slay the Legion’s enemies. The pitlord has amassed an imposing army, while Xavius has garnered...precious information.”

    His piercing eyes shifted towards the dreadlord.
    “The Betrayer has returned.”

    The news pleased him. “Stormrage. I’ll make sure he pays for what he’s done.”
    “What shall we do about the naga queen, my lord? Her servants and the gods she serve may—”

    “Do not be fooled by what you see. She will not thwart our plans.” He strode forward, his hooves burning anything they stepped on.
    “What are your orders, my lord?” The dreadlord asked as his master stopped and stared at a massive crater in the distance.

    “I will not repeat Archimonde’s mistake. Burn, slay, destroy everything and everyone you see. Then and only then shall we claim the ancient powers of this world.”
    “As you command, my lord.” The dreadlord went his way.

    “Do not think I’ve forgotten about the failures of your kin, Mephistroth. I will not be as forgiving as in the past. Pray that you and Mal’ganis are successful.”
    “Yes, my lord.”

    “Undo the illusion spell. It is time.” And with that said Mephistroth left while Kil’jaeden breathed deeply. “This world has defied us for far too long.” He extended his hands and concentric rings formed around him. He muttered a spell in the demons’ language and runes formed in the dirt and grass. Then he opened his hand and a green flame slowly enveloped his hand. As it crackled he slapped the ground and the concentric circles became alive, their runes glowed brightly, and the sky exploded. At the same time the dreadlord dispelled the illusion spell and an endless demonic army began marching across the scorched uplands.
    “The invasion begins.”

Warcraft: Return of the Lich King - Chapter IX
This is a piece of fanfiction set in the Warcraft universe. No copyright infringement intended.

If you spot any mistake or inconsistency let me know.


- If you spot any mistake or inconsistency let me know.

- The chapter is short and is only meant to give you a glimpse of what's happening outside Northrend and who is leading the Legion's armies on Azeroth.

- It takes place a few moments before both Mal'ganis and Bolvar see the infernals raining down.

- I wanted it to give off a Warcraft III vibe.

- This is also on

Her mind has become a tangle of webs.

Her memories fight against each other as she tries to recall her wedding dress.

Words mix and mingle as her grandchildren tell her about their day.

Past and present blur as her loved ones dance beside the lake.

She weeps and she frowns as she realises that she's not well.

She smiles as she bids her daughter farewell.






“All fear Galakrond. All flee or hide...or die.”



The wind picked up.
    Arno squeezed the hilt of his weapon as he faced the mountains in the south. “First an earthquake, now the wind.” Corp’rethar shuddered, the burning fists of an infernal pounding on the gate. “I dearly hope you know what you’re doing,” he said quietly before turning towards the enemy.
    “Ready the army,” a skeleton clad in iron said.

    “Huh?” Snow, dust and small rocks began rolling as the wind grew stronger. Arno couldn’t help but stare at the ground before replying. “Ready the army? How are we supp—”
    A sound, a feeling, an intensifying unease, and all of Icecrown gazed at the mountains beyond the citadel.

    Bolvar stood alone on the tallest peak, nothing but clouds and snow surrounding him. A mountain slowly rose behind him, increasing in size with every second that passed, dwarfing him and everything around it. Hurricane winds blew the snow off stone and ice, clouds sped away and a great shadow covered the land as two fireballs appeared in the sky.
    And a moment later it became clear that it was no mere mountain that they were seeing. Arno’s mouth opened wide, Mal’ganis pursed his lips and took a step back as Galakrond appeared in the sky.

    “By the Light.” Arno found his faith.
    Bolvar climbed on top of the Father of Dragons and took flight. The massive proto-drake flew over the Lich King’s army and roared, stirring the hearts of his people. All the undead under his control let out a battle cry in unison, and all of their eyes lost their cold glow and became a fiery orange. Arno felt the sudden surge of adrenaline but he held back the urge to scream. Smiling, he strode forward. “I can’t believe I’m saying this.” He raised his weapon. “For the Lich King!”

    “For the Lich King!”
    Thus they charged, the ground trembling more than ever, the rattle of bone and the clinking of metal filling the air.

    Bolvar heard the gate burst asunder. He returned his gaze to the enemy, to the countless corpses advancing on the citadel, and as he saw the barrels containing the Forsaken’s plague rage welled up in him. “Burn,” he said.
    Galakrond roared, folded his blazing wings, and hurtled downwards. As the sky appeared to be falling warm light bathed the landscape and warm air washed over it after Galakrond spread his wings to slow the descent. His massive jaws opened and a storm of fire engulfed everything below him, leaving ash and vapour in his wake. Rivers of ice turned into rivers of fire and scalding water, structures of the old nerubian empire that had been hidden by the glacier revealed themselves for the first time and for some their re-emergence spelt their end, the plague barrels exploded and their foul green gas burnt away, the enemy numbers thinned, and all of Icecrown underwent irreversible changes.

    Stop meddling with the dreadlord’s pets,
Ner’zhul said as Galakrond turned before swooping down again. Find him and end this once and for all!
    Bolvar’s eyes darted about the place, fire and ice wherever he looked. It was then that he met Mal’ganis’ spiteful gaze.

    Galakrond devoured an enemy frost wyrm and descended. He crushed an infernal as he landed, the ground shaking, and as Bolvar jumped down the great dragon took to the skies and attacked anything that could threaten the Lich King.
    When he took a step forward mist swooshed from the enemy army and settled between him and the dreadlord. Hundreds of kvaldir appeared, the same he had seen on the frozen sea north of Icecrown. Ahead of them stood Hrothgar, the ornate spear in his hand.

    They rushed forward, the mist following them, concealing their bodies and muffling their footsteps. Firemaw heated up as they came. An axe cut through the mist and shattered into myriads of smouldering pieces after Firemaw rose to meet it. From the corner of his eye he saw a spearhead flying towards him. He stepped back and the weapon pierced the eye of another kvaldir who shrieked and dissolved. Hrothgar then appeared and thrust his spear, missing. Bolvar reached out but Hrothgar vanished and his fingers instead grasped the face of another warrior with a braided beard. He slammed him to the ground and left a charred corpse behind him.
    Hrothgar attacked again and turned into mist as Firemaw almost beheaded him. Bolvar’s blazing eyes fixed themselves on the air swirling away and just as he cut down another kvaldir he stamped his foot, burning ten of the rotting sea vrykul all at once. His blade sang again, slicing, burning, destroying whoever challenged him.

    Though the mist greatly reduced visibility, the remains of the dead kvaldir were easily spotted. Seaweed and whatever had stuck to their bodies were no common sight this far inland. The air stirred behind his back and Bolvar stamped his foot again. Hrothgar brought down its spear on him and fire and steam enveloped him. Bolvar seized the weapon, pierced the Hrothgar’s chest, pinned him down, turned and threw it, impaling two, three, four other kvaldir.
    Mal’ganis waited, his pale ears hearing all sorts of sounds coming from the white cloud. When the shouts, grunts and clanks finished, the mist stirred again and what had been a silhouette just a moment earlier proved to be the Lich King himself, striding out of the cloud, his sword gleaming.

    A jormungar burst out of the ice and bellowed, acid dripping from its mouth. Bolvar studied its every movement: the quivering mandibles, the slithering muscular body, the almost imperceptible movements of the tail.
    The beast spat a huge glob of acid and Bolvar rolled away. It spat again, melting both rock and ice. Bolvar leapt forward, dodged another glob, and as he got close enough the ice beneath him gave in and he found himself wrestling with the jaws of another jormungar, acid gurgling in its throat.

    The jormungar’s jaws snapped shut as he let go before the fluid could be ejected and shrieked as Firemaw lodged itself in its head. Bolvar shifted his weight and the jormungar moved in the same direction, slamming against its kin and sheltering the Lich King from another greenish glob. As the jormungar fell lifeless and the other one attacked Bolvar threw himself and cut the beast from throat to belly, the wound glowing with fire.
    He landed on the ice, his knees bent, and as he took a step forward the ice rattled. A gigantic jormungar appeared, much bigger than the ones he had slain.

    And as it started moving Galakrond seized it and flew away, roaring after he had devoured it. The unbelievably strong winds died down after the Father of Dragons was gone. Bolvar and Mal’ganis stood opposite each other.
    “History repeats itself,” the dreadlord broke the silence, his green eyes full of malice. “But you will fall, king, and you will serve the Burning Legion, just as you serve the shaman.”

    “I serve no one.”
    The demon laughed. “Ahh, blind, aren’t we? Do you not see that the only reason you’re here is because of him?” He glanced at the Helm of Domination. “Blind, indeed. He deceived the spirits, and so has he deceived you.”

    “There must always be...a Lich King.”
Bolvar dismissed the memory. “I’ve had enough of this.” He stepped forward, Firemaw shining red light on the ice and snow.
    Mal’ganis opened his wings, making him look twice his size. “As have I, false king, as have I.” He flexed his fingers and darkness gathered about him.

    A wave of dark and fel magic surged towards the Lich King. Bolvar gripped Firemaw with both of his hand and swung it, its tip cutting the ice and leaving a steaming fissure behind. A wall of fire blocked the dreadlord’s spell and dissipated a moment before Bolvar ran over the fractured ice and reached his foe.
    He thrust, but all his weapon did was pass through a swarm of bats. They flew away from him and coalesced into Mal’ganis who cast a spell as he was once again whole. Bolvar went after him, dodging bolts of shadow and other foul incantations, and brought down his sword as his opponent was within range.

    Mal’ganis flapped his wings and blew snow in his face. Firemaw followed him but then his body transformed into myriads of bats and returned to normal elsewhere. Bolvar pursued him, demonic magic always in his path, and as Mal’ganis relished the thought of fooling him a third time, he slowed down, sliding, lifted his blade and struck the ice behind him. Fire snaked towards the dreadlord’s new position with lightning speed. Mal’ganis grunted as he almost burnt alive, flicked his fingers and spikes of pure darkness almost impaled Bolvar. Thus the games began anew.
    Just as the two moved the sky exploded. They raised their heads, countless green fireballs streaking downwards.

    “It begins,” Mal’ganis said.
    The meteorites hurtled into mountains, ice, snow, dirt, into Icecrown’s walls, towers, gates and into the very citadel. Bolvar heard a booming sound and saw part of the spire thundering down.

    Icecrown is no more.

    “My master has come.” The dreadlord smiled. “It is too late to save your people.”

    Bolvar gritted his teeth, turned and rushed forward. After a mere step he came to a stop, a black blade embedded in his thigh.
    Firemaw fell from his grasp, a blackness spreading from the wound. His fingers clawed the ice as he screamed in pain, the glow in his eyes dimmed by the second while everything around him became distorted and unclear, the crystal in the Helm of Domination flickered wildly, his ears heard much and nothing and whether the sounds came from within or without his head he couldn’t tell.

    Mal’ganis conjured another black blade and approached him, speaking in demonic. Every time he muttered the same sentence the pain grew and the blackness spread faster.

Ner’zhul boomed. FIGHT IT, FORDRAGON. DO NOT...LET...
    The shaman’s voice became ever more distant, his words unintelligible. His mind felt light-headed, numb, and he lost track of all the undead under his control. Black veins ran across his leg, sending jolts of pain whenever they advanced and quenching the fire within him.

    “Bolvar, Bolvar, Bolvar, Bolvar.”

    He hit the ice, every part of himself fuming.

    “Bolvar, Bolvar, Bolvar, Bolvar.”

    The voice echoed as he lifted his head.

    “Bolvar, Bolvar, Bolvar, Bolvar.”

    Bolvar Fordragon roared and everything around him ignited. Molten lines criss-crossed the frozen landscape and flames rose high into the sky. Mal’ganis, caught by surprise, flapped his wings and backed off. He peered into the fiery chaos inches from him, furious.

    In the blink of an eye Bolvar burst out of the flames, his muscles tense, his veins thicker, his arm steaming. His fist struck the dreadlord’s jaw, the demon’s skin rippling, fracturing his canine, cracking bone, and sending him flying away from him. As Mal’ganis drew himself up Bolvar appeared again and the dreadlord spun around on the brink of shifting forms. Firemaw cut from wing to wing and soon after Mal’ganis cursed and grimaced as dark blood poured down his back.

    Finish him.

    Bolvar dashed forward. Mal’ganis scrambled to his feet and entered a portal, leaving a bloody trail in his wake.

    Do not—

    A raven cawed as he followed the dreadlord into another world. He found himself running across a grey wasteland, the sound of his footsteps muffled by soft dust, grey as well. Mal’ganis glanced back as he opened another portal. The chase continued on a land of fire and ash, rivers of lava everywhere Bolvar looked. He spun to avoid a jet of vapour, leapt over a chasm, and waved his hand. Mal’ganis shifted forms as rock split apart and flames poured out.
    The next portal took him to a place far more unfamiliar, floating islands moving in random directions. He bounded off floating boulders, landed on an island, flung himself forward and dashed across a spinning flat surface and pursued the dreadlord through a swamp, queer creatures fleeing at the sight of them, their skin matching the environment. The murky water sizzled whenever Bolvar splashed into it, puffs of steam escaping skywards. Then he was in a white valley, thousands of frozen puddles and lakes around him. Then above his head was a black sky, rain pattering against decrepit structures. Then the sky became red and orange, a distant sun hovering near the horizon, huge stones and reddish grass as far as the eye could see.

    Mal’ganis turned and grinned before disappearing in another portal that closed itself as Bolvar reached it and soon after the one that had been behind him also closed.

    You fool! You’ve got us stranded who knows where!

    Bolvar heard rumbling. Warily, he made his way down a slope, a stone wall to his left, and stepped into a vast plain.

    Far into the distance a horned figure sat on a throne enclosed by cliffs, a broken sword beside him. The light of the sun didn’t reach him, but it mattered not, for the being bore a fiery mane that shone as bright as a bonfire and a black armour with molten runes that glowed softly. He shifted his burning eyes towards Bolvar and uttered words in a language that neither he nor Ner’zhul had ever heard. As he didn’t reply the being seized his weapon and rose, speaking in a different language that reminded Bolvar of the demons’ tongue.
    “Hmm.” The hellish figure smiled. “Come to take revenge on me?”

    Bolvar backed off as the demon-like being drew his head back, confused, and studied him, bobbing his head left and right and then looking in other directions.
    Millions of blades of grass were whirled aloft as he beat his wings. “Hmm.” He faced the Lich King. “Azeroth, I take it?”

    Both Bolvar and Ner’zhul sensed unimaginable power radiating from him.
    “Did he take you here?” He sniffed the air. “ A Nathrezim brought you here.” The land shuddered whenever he moved. “Why, I wonder? Hmm.”

    Bolvar’s heartbeat quickened as he came closer.
    “There is darkness in you.” Those burning eyes of his peered deep into his soul. “But there is also good.” He stroked his chin. “You are the eredar’s failed creation, aren’t you?”


    “Do you know who I am, king of the dead?”


    “Your silence is vexing. Speak at once!” he boomed, rocks tumbling down the nearby cliffs.

. Bolvar gripped Firemaw tightly.
    The mountain-sized being slammed his foot and released a monstrous wave of fire, burning everything in its path. Bolvar stood his ground and the fire washed over him.

    The broken sword burst into flames. “You dare defy me?”
    As the being charged, Ner’zhul voice became deafening. Run, Fordragon! Run like you’ve never run before!

    Bolvar broke into a sprint, the earth heaving and shaking. He vaulted over a boulder, the heat and rumbling increasing after every earthquake. Far away the broken sword sliced the land with explosive force. A fissure and a firestorm sped towards him, filling the sky with rocks and cinders. The destruction propelled him away, yet after he rolled across the ground and rose he realised that the titanic being was much closer than he expected.


    A portal hovered above the ground, dust swirling around it, the energy distorting the cold plains of Icecrown.

    Fast, Fordragon, fast!

    Bolvar almost lost his balance and the rock beneath his feet jerked upwards. He jumped, slid under an arch and as the rock plummeted he jumped again. The wind shifted as the broken sword rose into the air and arced back down. Bolvar rushed forward and leapt towards the portal.
 He spun around, held Firemaw before him, and the massive broken sword only scratched its blade as it swept past him. As the wind howled and blew snow against his body, the portal shrank, and Bolvar saw a burning eye fixed on him just before it closed.
    You blithering idiot.

Mal’ganis staggered across the ice, black blood dripping from his wounds. He attempted to control Bolvar’s forces but something prevented him from doing so, something or someone had sealed off their minds. Galakrond roared above the citadel, wreaking havoc on everything that moved, enemy and friend alike. Then the dreadlord gaped as he looked backwards and Firemaw pierced his chest.
    Mal’ganis fell on his back, Bolvar above him. He spat out blood and cursed. “I...will...return.”

    “Not this time.”
    Bolvar twisted Firemaw and a torrent of fire erupted from beneath them. The flames did nothing to him, though the same could not be said about the dreadlord. He screamed as his skin peeled off and turned into ash, as his whole body was burning away.

    The Lich King’s lips curled into a smile. Mal’ganis was no more.

    But he had no time to feel relieved. All of the undead had fallen under his control, all but one.

    The great dragon roared as he fought against Bolvar’s will. He slammed into the citadel, damaging it even further, and took off, breathing fire in random directions. He turned and flew towards the Dragonblight, then turned again, shaking his head. Growling, he came hurtling towards Bolvar, and crashed into the ice, thrashing wildly. Bolvar approached him and Galakrond roared, a gust of warm air flowing out of his mouth. He roared again and shook his head repeatedly until Bolvar placed his palm on his skull and silence fell. The battle had come to an end.
    But the war had not.

    He inhaled deeply and exhaled a long white stream. Then he marched towards the citadel, fire, ice, steam and bodies anywhere he looked. His army, bolstered by Mal’ganis’ forces, did not budge as he strode through the ranks.
    “Highlord Fordragon,” Arno joined him, his face covered in soot. “I’m glad to see you again. That dragon almost burnt my arse.”

    Anarak came soon after, one of his limbs dangling in the wind. “Victory, sire.” The three gazed at the rest of Icecrown from atop the steps in front of the door to the citadel. “What are your orders?”

    You defeated the dreadlord, assimilated his forces, survived the Lord of the Burning Legion himself and raised the infamous Galakrond, but our work is not finished yet. Rally the Scourge, and set sail for the Eastern Kingdoms.

    The undead began gathering in the courtyard, Arno and Anarak overseeing the whole operation, but Bolvar’s mind was somewhere else.
    “Is it true then?”

    Speak plainly.

    “You deceived the spirits.”

    Come on now, Fordragon. Did you honestly believe that Terenas spoke the truth?

    The world melted away and suddenly Bolvar and Ner’zhul stood opposite each other on the platform around the Frozen Throne. The shaman looked like the orc he used to be.

    Bolvar ran towards him. “You deceiving bastard,” he said in his old voice.
    The orc tumbled backwards.

    “You fooled them!” Bolvar punched him. “You fooled me!” He punched him again.
    “Ahh, mortals.” Ner’zhul smiled. “Always blaming others for their mistakes.”

    Bolvar struck him. “I will kill you!”
    “Forgetting something? I am forever bound to the Helm of Domination.” His laughter echoed loudly.

    “You damned us all!”
    Ner’zhul grunted and flung him away. “You, Fordragon, damned yourself when you laid siege to the Wrathgate, do not forget that. It is not I that should be the focus of your anger. The dragon woman did this to you, but perhaps,” Ner’zhul continued after rising from the icy
floor, “you should be grateful. Arthas would have turned you into his puppet.”
    Bolvar leered at him.

Ner’zhul waved his hand and before the Frozen Throne a vision manifested. Black magic swirled around Arthas’ hand as he raised Bolvar into a death knight.

    Then what really happened coalesced before them. The battle at the Wrathgate, the flames of Alexstrasza, the first time Bolvar opened his eyes after he had died.
    “It was you who chose to don the Helm of Domination.” Bolvar saw Frostmourne shattering and the Helm fall. “It was you who spared the paladin from this fate.” The moment Tirion lifted the helm replayed itself. “Tirion!” “The only one who deserves blame, my dear Fordragon, is you.”

    Bolvar charged and raised his fist. He thrust but a chain forced him to stay put. He was held high above the Frozen Throne where Arthas sat, awaiting the armies of the Alliance and the Horde. “I will break you.” A second later he found himself back on the platform.
    “You are choosing to oppose me. I could take your place. You could be the old Bolvar Fordragon that you always dream of.”

    A wave of his hand and Bolvar had flesh again. He had the same clothes he usually had worn in Stormwind’s court. “Come, Lord Fordragon,” Lady Prestor said as she extended her hand, “the king awaits.”
    “Why?” Bolvar asked and the images disappeared. “Why are you doing this?”

    “Fordragon, Fordragon, Fordragon. Do I have to repeat myself every time?” He closed his hand.
    The sky burst into flames. Dozens of green boulders rained down. Armies of demons marched past Bolvar, the land around them scorched and lifeless. Cities crumbled to pieces at the hands of the Eredar, forests withered and burnt, skies darkened and seas blackened. Then the scene changed. An orc stood before a red eredar, but before Bolvar could get a clear view he was ushered back to the Frozen Throne.

    Ner’zhul no longer smiled as he began walking in a circle. “Everything I have done,” he said and Frostmourne hovered before Arthas, “everything I have ever done,” he carried on and Bolvar saw Arthas slaying his father, the rise of the undead, the moment the Prince of Lordaeron donned the Helm of Domination, “was to thwart the Burning Legion’s plans.” Bolvar took a step back as he witnessed the chaos and fear that Arthas as the Lich King had unleashed. “The prince was promising.” Arthas appeared grinning. “But he was stubborn, proud, arrogant...and doubtful. I was forced to lie low and wait for his inevitable fall.” The siege of Icecrown, the final fight, the spirits rebelling against Arthas, the last moment he shared with his father. “No king rules forever, my son.”

    “The living quarrel too much.” Ner’zhul stared at Bolvar, still walking in a circle. “They wage war against each other for futile reasons, they see evil where there is none, they proclaim themselves pure and good when they are far from that.”
    Bolvar, strangely, found himself agreeing.

    “That is why I tricked the spirits,” he said and first Uther appeared in what looked like a hall somewhere in the citadel, then Terenas, his voice loud and earnest. “There must always be...a Lich King.”
    “You will never surrender, and neither will I. We are in this together, Fordragon, and we have to make do with what we have and what we are, though we may not like it.”

    Bolvar’s body was once again warped by the dragons’ flames. “You’ve slaughtered countless lives.”
    Ner'zhul came to a stop. “The sacrifices that were made and, yes, the mistakes that I made, Fordragon, were for naught but the safety of my people.” As the words sank in the dream-like reality began falling apart. “We’ve been here long enough,” he said and vanished in a puff of smoke. “Choose wisely.”

    Bolvar stood silent, the army gathered before him.

Warcraft: Return of the Lich King - Chapter VIII
This is a piece of fanfiction set in the Warcraft universe. No copyright infringement intended.

If you spot any mistake or inconsistency let me know.


- I hope you like the pacing in this chapter. It seemed perfect while I was writing it but I felt a little less certain about it while I was editing it (I gave it a quick read so maybe that's why)

- I also hope you like the cameo of a, let's say, fairly important character in the Warcraft universe.

- I hope (I say "I hope" too often) that there's not too much repetition. I dislike repetition.

- I don't know when I'll post the next chapter (IX), as I am working on my second novella (which should be published very, very soon) and life in general is keeping me busy.

- If you spot any mistake or inconsistency let me know.

The Great Storm will come,
the sky will be black
and the wind will strike hard.

It will howl and shriek,
those who have defied us will weep
and before us they will kneel.

The trees will sigh,
the leaves will take flight.
We will greet the wind with our battle cries.

Can you hear the rumbling clouds? They come at last
to free our beautiful land
from those who wish us harm.

O Storm, listen,
dampen their spirits.
We will fight by your side.

Sweep them off their feet,
destroy their hopes and dreams,
tear apart their homes.

Rise, Windrunners, rise,
today is not the day we die.
The wind is at our backs.
The Great Storm - Bard Song
Another song. It's not found in the first book of The Dragon's Roar but it might end up in the second or the third. © All Rights Reserved.

The Windrunners are a people who worship the wind. Windrunners are known for their ability to heal the injured by channelling the wind itself through their hands. The name 'Windrunner' initially denoted someone who practised such art, though over time this changed and is now no longer the case (any person who lives in Windrunner territory, whether capable of performing the ancient art or not, is now known as a Windrunner). This process was greatly accelerated after the Windrunners' lands were annexed by the Kingdom of Endrel.
Windrunner territory comprises five forts and the capital, Skyfall.


- The Great Storm is the Windrunners' version of Doomsday, though storms aren't always seen as bad omens or harbingers of death. Some Windrunners believe they appear to protect their lands and to strike down any enemy who dares attack them.
- Sudden shifts of the wind are viewed as bad omens.
- Windrunners were known to dragons as 'Inaree', or Wind Warriors in the common tongue. To this day no one understands the meaning behind such name, seeing that their powers can't harm anyone.
- Windrunners are loosely based on the Irish and the Scots.

If you liked this song, you may want to give the book a look. You can find it here:…

This is the Amazon UK link, but you can also find it on Amazon US, etc.

May the wind be at your back! (Windrunner blessing)


The Siege of Icecrown




    Arrows were loosed, boulders were tossed and spells were cast as Arno roared. They all found their mark, but for every undead that fell two more appeared behind it. Another flurry of arrows and more foul blood tainted the snow and whenever the archers missed the catapults finished what they started.
    A huge eerie teal stone rained down on Mal’ganis. He shifted forms and all the stone did was pass through a storm of bats. Meanwhile his forces crossed the smouldering ground that had been ice and snow just moments earlier, limbs splashing in puddles and streams of water, and as the walls and gate towered over them they charged headlong.

    Bolvar’s skeletal archers fired again, their arrows embedding themselves in decaying organs or pale flesh or whizzing through empty eye sockets and out of the back of skulls. Those that fell were far fewer than those that lingered on and soon hundreds of undead slammed against the gate and the walls. Boom cackled as he could finally throw his beloved bombs while the gargoyles began picking their targets, soaring up high and sending them to their deaths or tearing them to shreds. One frost wyrm swooped down and froze everything in its wake.
    But hundreds more corpses ran past the icy statues and renewed their attack against the gate. Bolvar saw some of them trying to climb the wall, using their claws and weapons to succeed. Saronite was no common metal though. It was sharp, resilient and resistant to most kinds of spells. Yet not indestructible.

    The army marching into the Dragonblight caught his attention for a second, then Arno shouted.
    “Take cover!”

    Enemy meat wagons peppered the whole area with the dreadlord’s own warriors. They hurtled over their heads and slammed into a mix of dirt and ice. Even if they broke their limbs they moved on, unrelenting. They attacked the Lich King’s catapults and the few cultists there defended themselves, their hands weaving dark spells that slew Mal’ganis’ servants. More corpses flew into Icecrown and most, if not all, rose back up again as they touched the ground. A cultist gladly met his end, sure that he’d receive the Lich King’s blessing, another commanded his pet to do his work but then perished when another score of corpses crashed against him and the catapult behind him.

    And in the meantime the Crystalsong Forest faced its greatest challenge yet. Plants wilted, leaves fell, and the air grew thick as the dreadlord’s other army swarmed the forest. The crystallised flora reacted to the invaders, singing, humming, releasing an ancient magic that destroyed many ghouls as if they were glass.
    But Mal’ganis had expected this, and had prepared accordingly, as the forest was crucial for his plan. If he wanted to lay siege to Icecrown on all fronts, the crystal paradise had to be his.

    Golems came to the forest’s aid as the enemy delved further into the forest but ultimately could do nothing against the forsaken’s plague, the might of the towering infernals and the dreadlord’s servants’ dark magic.

    He’s come prepared.

    “Frost wyrms!”
    Bolvar ordered more of his warriors to take care of the undead that had made it into Icecrown and then faced the great flying beasts. Their glowing eyes were visible even from where he stood and as they came closer they roared.

    “Attack! Attack them!” Arno pointed.
    The archers lifted their bows and loosed their arrows. The frost wyrms swooped down, snapping at the gargoyles that attempted to slow them down. Bolvar’s own wyrm joined the fight after many gargoyles fell, followed by four smaller dragons.

    Then Bolvar leaned over the parapet, only to see hundreds, thousands of undead trying to clamber up the wall but to no avail. The gate instead grated but still held strong. He shifted his eyes to one of the enemy wyrms that had just slain a dragon and then targeted the Lich King himself.

    “The dragons’ flames sealed my fate.”

    As the dragon opened its jaws Bolvar thrust out his hand. A torrent of fire struck the beast and the cold glow of its body began fighting against bright red flames. It shrieked as it slammed against the ramparts, taking Bolvar and a few archers with it as it flew further into Icecrown.
    “Fordragon!” a distance voice called him.

    The dragon clawed and Bolvar dodged, crawling his way to the head. He gripped the vertebrae as the beast rolled and hit rocky spikes and cliffs, losing altitude as the flames kept on burning. Then it spun and flew at great speed back towards the wall.
    Both came down not too far from the battlefield as Firemaw embedded itself into the wyrm’s thick skull. The blue glow vanished and the dragon moved no more.

    A cracking sound, and Bolvar saw boulders decimating the army on the ramparts. He pulled his sword out of the skull and rushed forward. Mal’ganis’ pets soon caught sight of him.
    Firemaw severed limbs and heads, cutting through bone as if it were butter. Rotten skin sizzled at the mere touch of the blade as he cut his way through the undead, running faster and faster as the gate shook violently. He let his warriors take care of the other ghouls in pursuit and dashed up the stairs onto the ramparts.

    Arno exchanged a nod with him and saved Boom from another boulder. Bolvar then looked down, mindless corpses climbing over each other and using the massive craters in the walls to their own advantage.
    “Look out!”

    Bolvar took cover and then saw that the dreadlord wasn’t just using boulders. Beside him lay a head made of stone, its right eye cracked and part of its chin missing. A glimpse into the past and he soon realised that it belonged to a titanic watcher. He rose and placed a hand on the saronite as he gazed into the distance, singeing the corrupted metal. A massive magnataur bolted towards the gate, just like the one the shade had seen in Warsong Hold. Bolvar lifted Firemaw again, but then both he and Mal’ganis jerked their heads to the south.
    Between the Borean Tundra and the Dragonblight the earth groaned and suddenly a fissure zigzagged its way northwards, devouring everything and everyone it came across. The undead poured down into the darkness like a waterfall until those that remained halted, unable to cross. The creatures closest to the border with the Howling Fjord beheld a similar scene. The land caved in under the undead’s feet and the river they had intended to cross began filling the chasm with water.

    Mal’ganis pursed his lips as Bolvar faced him.

    The Dragonblight may have earned a moment of respite, but Icecrown is far from safe.
Bolvar’s colossal skeletal construct stood watch before Mord’rethar, swaying and grinding its teeth, wielding a sword that matched its size. Its bones creaked as it spotted the enemy. The battle has just begun.
    “Defend the gate!” Arno flung fire. “Damn it!” He set alight a ghoul that had managed to clamber up the damaged wall.     “They’re scaling the wall! Don’t let them climb!”
    A frostbolt shattered to pieces a ghoul that had just leapt towards the wall but the same mage that had cast the spell found itself crushed by a boulder. Boom bombarded anything moving below and then concentrated his efforts on the magnataur. Once again Firemaw gathered energy and once again Bolvar was interrupted. Arno beheaded another undead and gaped at the creature behind the attack. “What in the world is that?”

    A being of obsidian soared above them. It attacked them with dark magic, hurled by the two batons in its stony hands, both sizzling with energy.

    Obsidian destroyers,
Ner’zhul said. Do not underestimate them.
    Bolvar dodged another dark bolt and as his frost wyrms took care of the obsidian destroyer he noticed that Mal’ganis’ army was making way for something. Then he incinerated the undead climbing up and bathed the magnataur in flames, yet the latter only bellowed and convulsed and soon demonic runes appeared on its body. It grew in size, its eyes became the home of two green flames, it developed demonic features and surrounded itself with an aura of fel fire.
    The gate bent.

    “Boom!” The gnome was giddy with excitement. “Boom, boom!”He jumped down, two bombs in each hand and countless more glued to his body.
    “Wait!” Arno reached out his hand but didn’t catch him. “Bloody hell.”

    A rain of bones, saronite and green cinders followed the explosion. The gate was still intact, but its metal was all twisted.
    “This is madness,” Arno said as he glanced at the enemy undead within and outside Icecrown.

    Another obsidian destroyer came after the first one fell, but this time Firemaw obliterated it. “Stand back,” Bolvar said.
    “What are yo—”

    He plunged his sword into the saronite. Cracks in the wall glowed as Firemaw’s energy coursed downwards until flames erupted out of the ground beneath all of the dreadlord’s servants that were laying siege. Bolvar channelled more energy, feeling the saronite’s unwillingness to let Firemaw’s energy pass, and a molten vein ran down the wall and towards the undead within Icecrown, burning them as soon as it reached them. He exhaled deeply as he rose.

    Do not squander the power you wield. Even with Firemaw you still aren’t close to full strength.

    He cast his eyes down. The saronite beneath his feet had blackened.
    “They’re pushing something!” Arno pointed and more ghouls flew into Icecrown.

    Bolvar located the strange contraption plowing through the snow. It resembled nothing a human, dwarf or gnome would produce. Then the barely intact face of the titanic watcher popped in his head. “It’s a siege weapon. Do not let them activate it!”
    The catapults still functioning redirected their aim to their new target while a frost wyrm darted in the same direction to freeze the machine before it got too close. Boulders took to the skies, smoke and cold air washing over them, and soon after came falling down. The first one crushed a whole row of undead, the second whizzed past the machine, a third and a fourth missed their mark and rolled across the white desert.

    As Bolvar skewered two ghouls and they flared up, his frost wyrm roared, clawed an enemy gargoyle and inhaled deeply. A swarm of bats blinded it whilst it dived and then an abomination hooked it and pulled it to the ground.
    “Fire again!” Bolvar incinerated more and more corpses, his molten heart beating like a war drum. Acrid fumes reminded him of the construct guarding Mord’rethar, now sweeping his sword against waves of undead crashing against it.

    The machine slowed down and Bolvar lifted his hand. As he bent his fingers flames enveloped the boulder above his head and channels of lava appeared in the stone. It flew past the wall, over thousands of heads and mounds of snow, through arrows, spells and bolts, and then the machine fired.


    A land of fire and a cracked jewel, a shattered blade and a storm of cinders.

    Bolvar found himself spinning through the air. Amidst the stone, bone, ice and metal that had become airborne he saw his warriors, some still whole and some missing body parts, all of them careering away from the blast. He thought he caught glimpse of another explosion far into the distance, right where the machine was supposed to be.
    He tightened his grip on Firemaw as he tumbled down into the snow. He bounced and rolled until his blade buried itself in the ice, slowing him down. Then he leapt aside as debris bombarded the area and threw himself again as the saronite gate fell and screeched. Jagged pieces of ice and metal impaled many of his undead and sometimes even sliced them in half. He destroyed a lump of saronite bound to hit him and turned towards the enemy army that marched over the smouldering ruins of the wall and into the Lich King’s domain.

    A curse caught his attention. Arno lay under a blanket of snow, pummelling a pair of ghouls that sought to rip him apart. The soldier of the Ashen Verdict broke the neck of the first, freed himself and slew the second with a mix of fire and steel.
    The construct in charge of defending Mord’rethar had also failed to protect Icecrown. The Forsaken’s plague had turned it into pulp.

    It won’t be long before Aldur’thar falls
, Ner’zhul said and just as he spoke Bolvar sensed a new presence in the north-east.     Through the eyes of a gargoyle he observed the mountain range between Icecrown and the Storm Peaks. Holes appeared at the foot of the mountain and undead jormungar slithered out of them. Glowing eyes hovered in the darkness of the tunnels and as more holes appeared another army streamed into Icecrown.
    Bolvar’s eyes darted everywhere, his chest rising and falling.

    The wind swirled around him and more of his soldiers met their end at the hands of the dreadlord’s forces.

    “Highlord Fordragon!”
    A tiger pounced. Bolvar ducked and slashed upwards, cutting and searing its belly. “Retreat!” he yelled.

    Arno waved at the cultists still alive. “Back to the citadel, now!” He faced Bolvar. “We’ve got to destroy the bridge that leads to Corp’rethar before it’s too late.”
    Bolvar nodded. His thoughts echoed in the heads of the skeletons guarding the bridge. They sprang into action and lit four fuses. The rest of his army dashed past him and then he too began running. “What were those images I saw earlier?”

    They were all part of a vision.

    He sliced a putrid orc in his path. “A vision? What was it showing me?”

    Ner’zhul’s words were cold and flat. Your death.
    Bolvar slew another mindless beast and shoved his shoulder against a ghoul. He glanced backwards as the bridge leading to Corp’rethar collapsed and noticed that the enemy undead had come to a halt. Aldur’thar soon burst open and at last all of Mal’ganis armies gathered in the valley. Before turning around he saw a cloud of bats swirling in front of the sea of corpses.

    The gate closed behind him. Anarak bowed and the vrykul knelt as he joined his army.
    “What now?” Arno said quietly. “Our numbers can’t stand against them.” He nodded towards the gate. “Even the archers up there won’t do much, no matter how true their aim is.”

    Thoughts and memories engulfed his mind. He stared at his hand, wondering the extent of his power. The cracks in his skin glowed while snowflakes cascaded down, hissing whenever they touched him. The verse of an elven song he could barely remember echoed in his head.


An Karanir Thanagor


    He closed his fist, smoke escaping from between his fingers, and a frost wyrm landed next to him. “Protect Icecrown while I’m gone,” he said as he mounted and before Arno could utter a word he vanished beyond the citadel.


     This is no mere dragon. If you lose control…all of Northrend will burn.
    Bolvar flew past the Wrathgate and into the Dragonblight. As his frost wyrm stooped down, the remains of the beast of old became visible. Enormous ribs protruded out of the snow and its spine stretched as far as the eye could see.

    At his command the wyrm left him right at the centre of the boneyard and headed back to Icecrown. He switched Firemaw to his left hand, took a few steps forward and went down on one knee. He swept the snow away and gently placed his fist on the surface. Slowly but steadily the air blurred and whirled around his arm. Then he slammed the ground with all his strength and molten cracks branched off from the point of impact, fissures running in all directions. The land began to quake as he stood and from below came a roar, the loudest he had ever heard. Eyes bigger than Bolvar himself emerged, red fireballs burning within bony eye sockets. A dragon more terrifying than anything the world had ever seen rose behind him.
    Galakrond was alive.

Warcraft: Return of the Lich King - Chapter VII
This is a piece of fanfiction set in the Warcraft universe. No copyright infringement intended.

If you spot any mistake or inconsistency let me know.


- I hope it's not too short for you and I dearly hope you like what I've written so far.


- Obsidian Destroyers are undead units present in Warcraft III

- "An Karanir Thanagor" is the verse of the song called O Thanagor (the WoW OST "Arthas, my son" and "Invincible" feature the same song)

Suggested Music:

Audiomachine - Army of Kings
Audiomachine - Breath and Life
Audiomachine - Path to Freedom
World of Warcraft OST - Arthas, my son
World of Warcraft OST - Invincible
Craig Armstrong - Escape

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