Chapter 2

For many weeks he traveled the cold land with naught but lowly servants paid for by his wealth, of whom slowly one by one died from exhaustion and the subzero temperatures. And as the days passed into weeks he discovered the ancient ruins of Ajol'Nerub, an intricate and fascinating ancient city created by some kind of long lost race, and witnessed the full glory of the Caller's armies, the undead beings so perfectly reanimated patrolling the ruins of the city and land with utter efficiency.

The day finally arrived, after what seemed like an eternity of ice and inky dark skies, that he arrived upon the spot that the power had culled him too. A great spire of ice, arising out of the glacial desolate that was the land. And upon the spire shot forth a brilliant blue light of unparalleled magic that reflected something of what was inside.

As he approached, the great voice called out to him again and proclaimed itself to him. It displayed its power through magic and through might. Through both the beasts of the north whom he had enslaved with his mind and how he directed them to battle as his armies.

The Lich King…that was the name of his new master. The Lich King told him of his plans, to spread the great wave of blackness across the world. Kel'thuzad's heart yearned for a position in the new order that this great Lich King told him, and for the power already shown and promised to him.

And so it was he was charged with the task of paving the way for the grand ascension of his Lich King; he was to gather a group of servants, loyal only to the Lich King.

And so Kel'thuzad returned to the lands of Lordaeron and spread across the land the gospel of the Lich King. Forming this religion of the damned as he was commanded by the Lich King, Kel'thuzad came here to Caer Darrow to prepare for this war, the coming of his Lord. It was the Cult of the Damned that would first pave the path for the undead forces which would soon advance over this land.

Kel'thuzad sported sunken eyes, not from hunger or malnutrition, but from the feedback of his newfound power. His weathered, lined face was sported with a great white beard, and he was garbed in the black robes of the Bishop of the Cult.

Caer Darrow…a place of supreme magic; a battle site of the old Second War against the orcish Horde, once home to the brusque and enigmatic High Elves of Quel'thalas. It was from here that he would base himself, and from here that the Cult of the Damned would spread to more and more of the northern provinces of this land, as it was already doing.

The Cult had its agents in nearly every major city in Lordaeron, and their numbers grew daily. Above the secret labyrinth, the noble family of Barov had taken the aisle for their own, creating a new thriving town of humans. It would be they who were the first victims of the dread Plague of Undeath created by Kel'thuzad's master.

But they could not be discovered by the authorities, lest they are taken into custody before the plans had come to fruition. If all went according to plan, if all went smoothly, quietly, the grand armies of his master would wash away the life from this world.

"Lord, the third Cauldron is sealed and prepared for transportation across this land" a voice cut through the thick air.

To his right stood in the dim light of the stone room his second, Erpwold Dietrich, the so-called Grand Inquisitor of the Cult of the Damned and a masterful necromancer.

Kel'thuzad lifted his bony hands from the pale parchment that lay on an ancient oak-wood table before him. Already they had an overabundance of warriors on the ruins of the old battlefields of the wars that had taken place scant years ago, yet now, this Plague the Lich King had devised would create an even greater thing; something unstoppable, something that no Alliance, nor Horde could stop.

It would consist of tens of thousands, nay hundreds of thousands of walking dead, chained spirits, and terrible beasts from beyond the world itself, their force growing every time one of their enemies fell.

"Very well my Vassal. It has been foreseen that our great crusade shall begin in the north of this land. We must move quickly, yet silently to plant the seeds of our enemy's destruction now that we are firmly based"

Kel'thuzad rasped explaining to his Vassal the plan laid before him

"The first target is here" he then said, pulling out an old piece of parchment that sported a crude map of the northern Kingdom of Lordaeron.

He pointed to a medium-sized hamlet deep in the densely forested lands beyond a small range of mountains. Beneath the mapping of the town was sketched a name, Andorhol.

"This town is the main supplier of grain in the land. From its rich fields, we shall sow the Plague, which will spread across the land and consume it, for us…" Kel'thuzad ended, dark eyes glowing in anticipation. Soon, the scourging of the land would begin, and the seeds of the future plant.