Chapter 7

Capitol, Lordaeron

King Terenas felt irked. The debate had gone on endlessly, words ebbing and flowing from and to his mind, reflecting so many other matters that had been called upon of late, and in the past years of recorded history. But it was his responsibility, his duty, his love for the people of Lordaeron that chained him to this uncomfortable chair and position, that kept him restrained with the job of having to solve the problems of millions of other men and women.

The rotund Royal Court was by far the most elegant in all the human nations. A floor of pure marble and precious inset stones, it sported the great golden L rune of Lordaeron, surrounded by smaller scribings, the Seals of Andron, and the texts of the Principles of the Holy Light. Golden sunlight bathed the room, giving it an aura of magnificence, as it reflected off the polished floor, lighting the audience chambers above.

Outside, it was a beautiful day as the sun shone upon Lordegarde, the capital of the Kingdom, the great spires jutting out of the land, the pristine halls of the churches dedicated to the Holy Light, the domes of the theaters and bazaars, and the dwellings of peasants and the middle-class bourgeoisie.

"We have received reports that the Orcs are on the move again" a voice cut through the light, clear air of the newly brought about spring.

"Certainly the attacks against the internment camps are evidence enough" the Civil Liege of the Southern Provinces spoke out in clear anger, trying to get his case heard for the past few days.

"Agreed, the Horde is on the move" another voice agreed, echoing within the great hall.

"This is absurd! My people shall not stand by and watch as the Horde masses on our very doorstep!" the ambassador from Stromgarde, garbed in its traditionally elegant silver and red robe exclaimed.

Though Stromgarde had pulled out of the Alliance nearly a decade ago, she still her king still held great influence among the Alliance High Command, the nation proving pivotal in the Second War.

As he sat quietly, absorbing the comments thrown back and forth at each other, one elbow resting on the side of his throne, one cradling his forehead, Terenas had heard enough of this.

Already he had sent Uther the Lightbringer, his own son, and a large contingent of men, nay, an entire army to deal with the threat, but it seemed not enough to these foolish aids and his fellow Kings.

The taxes imposed on the peoples all over the continent in order to rebuild the shattered Kingdom of Stormwind, hold the remaining orcs in the internment camps, and pay for the far off garrisons in places many people had never even heard of were bad enough as it was, the backbreaking tariffs nearly as infuriating as open war itself. Not to mention all the damned issues that were cropping up now.

Suddenly, a new voice, this one as slick as oil slicks on the Northern Coast's ice broke out, seemingly cooling the heated tensions between the ambassadors and aids. "The orcs are NOT our primary concern here. How many times must I repeat myself? King Terenas, you must heed my warning. This plague that has gripped the northlands could have dire ramifications!"

King Terenas glanced up to the second stage gallery to see the patience thinning on the ambassador from the magical magocracy of Dalaran.

"Plague? You wizards are just being paranoid!" someone shot.

Protests and jeers came from the rest of the galleries, each of the officials strongly disagreeing with the Kirin Tor wizard. Somewhere in the background, Terenas could even hear laughter.

From the open window at the top of the room, many meters above him, Terenas saw a swift shadow, a black raven, descend upon the room. The magnificent bird perched itself contently upon the floor, catching Terenas's eye for a moment until suddenly, the ever so quiet representative of the noble Barov family, which held much power and esteem among the Court of Nobles and the Parliaments of Justice, stood, bellowed out into the Throne Room

"Let's keep all this in perspective. Even if this 'plague' does pose a threat to us, what do you propose we do?"

"It is simple" the wizard replied haughtily "As I have said before, the Kirin Tor is ready to place strict quarantine over the infected villages"; the comment only gaining more anger and shouts for the mage to be ejected from the meeting.

The pent up rage of days of meaningless talks and the insult to the pride of Lordaeron finally aroused the King.

He nearly leaped out of his throne, pointed to the wizard, not noticing his golden breastplate's clinking, "I will not institute quarantine without proof of your claims, Ambassador!" the hall fell silent, his deep voice echoing for a moment before continuing "The people of Lordaeron have suffered enough without becoming prisoners in their own land"

Yet, just as he finished his own sentence, the raven, seemingly oblivious to the talks, let out a strange noise, and a green light burst from its breast, and then eyes.

The thing grew, and seemed to morph, turning into something completely different. Soon enough, the light was so bright that Terenas had to shield his eyes with his arm, and was dumbfounded when he looked back to where the raven was before, seeing nothing but an old man garbed in tatters, with a single amulet holding in place his cape of crimson and pauldrons of bird feathers upon his slouched shoulders and a large wooden staff in his hand.

His entire face, save his mouth and small goatee were covered by his hood, which was the same ember red color as the rest of his outfit.

"Yet" the newcomer began, with what seemed a tired smile "prisoners they are, good King"

Narrowing his eyes, Terenas gazed at the newcomer, feeling blazing anger at the interruption of things and the stranger's sudden coming.

"What is the meaning of this? Who are you!" he said, biting the words off as he spoke.

Instead of answering his question, the man straightened, and replied passionately, waving his arms in a desperate wave

"Humanity is in peril! The tides of darkness have returned and the whole world is poised upon the brink of war!"

From the galleries, the Dalaran wizard shouted out

"Enough of this! Guards, remove this madman!" he beckoned for the Royal Guard, who quickly rushed up to the stranger, and clasped his shoulders, pulling the frail old man away. Yet the old man fought back.

"Hear me!" he shouted out, struggling to remain resolute in his stand

"The only chance for your people is to travel west…to the forgotten lands of Kalimdor"

"Travel west? Are you mad!" along with laughs and estranged faces showered down from the galleries that made up the High Command of the Alliance.

Again the old man began to struggle as if to say something. The old fellow was certainly mad…powerful, but mad.

"Hold Ambassador" he shouted out, his voice silencing the room, and setting the guards to stand up straight

"I don't know who you are or what you believe in, but this is not the time for rambling prophets! Our lands are beset by conflict, but it shall be we who decide how best to protect our people, now, begone!"

At once the seeming prophet's shoulders slumped, his head dunked, and he uttered to himself, slowly building up into a stronger voice

"I have failed humanity once before…and I shall not do so again. If you cannot take up this cup, then I shall find another who will!"

And with that, he whirled around, and quietly walked out of the Throne Room, seemingly ethereal.

Once he left, the shouting and arguing began once again inside the grand hall. As the clear sunlight beat down on his hood, the Prophet said to himself, not caring if the guards lined at the walls heard

"The warning has been given…their fate is now their own".

And to the north, unknown to almost everyone in the Alliance, the Plague slowly spread across the land, forbearing the dark days to come.