A ship from the far lands

A slow, wicked smile spread across Wi'thas's face. "It means, my dear Norimar, that the game is about to become far more interesting." He stepped closer to the balcony's edge, peering into the abyss with an expression of almost reverent anticipation. "The pieces are moving into place. The Bande de Serpents make their move in the human lands, stirring up chaos and drawing attention. Meanwhile, we gather our strength here, in the shadows."

Norimar nodded slowly, his expression grim. "And Angus?"

Wi'thas shrugged, a graceful motion that belied the tension in his frame. "He'll turn up when he's needed, I'm sure. Probably covered in blood and babbling about cosmic revelations."

As if summoned by their conversation, a cold wind suddenly whipped through the chamber, extinguishing several of the ethereal lights that illuminated the ruins. Both Norimar and Wi'thas stood motionless, as a figure materialized from the darkness.