World of Warcraft Classic In-Game Lore Books

Timeline

Chapter I: Mythos
Mythology of the Titans The Kaldorei and the Well of The World Tree and the
Sargeras and the Betrayal Eternity Emerald Dream
The Old Gods and the Ordering Empires' Fall Exile of the High Elves
of Azeroth The War of the Ancients The Sentinels and the Long Vigil
Charge of the Dragonflights The Sundering of the World Wrath of Soulflayer
The Twin Empires Mount Hyjal and Illidan's Gift

Chapter II: The New World

The Founding of Quel'Thalas Ironforge - the Awakening of Aegwynn and the Dragon Hunt
Arathor and the Troll Wars the Dwarves War of the Three Hammers
The Guardians of Tirisfal The Seven Kingdoms The Last Guardian

Chapter III: The Doom of Draenor

Kil'jaeden and the Shadow Pact Rise of the Horde

Chapter IV: Alliance and Horde

The Dark Portal and the Fall of The Invasion of Draenor The New Horde
Stormwind The Birth of the Lich King War of the Spider
The Alliance of Lordaeron Icecrown and the Frozen Throne Kel'Thuzad and the Forming of
Aftermath of the Second War The Battle of Grim Batol the Scourge
Beyond the Dark Portal Lethargy of the Orcs The Alliance Splinters

Chapter V: Return of the Burning Legion

The Scourge of Lordaeron The Battle of Mount Hyjal The Lich King Triumphant
Sunwell - The Fall of Quel'Thalas The Betrayer Ascendant Old Hatreds - The Colonization
Archimonde's Return and the Rise of the Blood Elves of Kalimdor
Flight to Kalimdor Civil War in the Plaguelands

Chapter VI: The New Age

In-Game Character Select & The War Effort A Treatise on Military Ranks
Intro Cinematic Road to Damnation Military Ranks of the Horde &
The War of the Shifting Sands The Green Hills of Stranglethorn Alliance

Tauren Mythology
Mists of Dawn The White Stag and the Moon Hatred of the Centaur
Sorrow of the Earthmother Forestlord and the First Druids
 Timeline
~-10,000 to 27

Date Event(s)
-10,000 War of the Ancients Trilogy (novels by Richard A. Knaak)
The Well of Eternity, The Demon Soul, The Sundering
-9,000 The World Tree and the Emerald Dream
-7,300 Exile of the High Elves
-6,800 The Founding of Quel'Thalas
-2,800 Arathor and the Troll Wars
-2,700 The Guardians of Tirisfal
-2,500 Ironforge - the Awakening of the Dwarves
-1,200 The Seven Kingdoms
-823 Aegwynn and the Dragon Hunt
-230 War of the Three Hammers
-45 The Last Guardian
— Kil'jaeden and the Shadow Pact
— Rise of the Horde
-1 Rise of the Horde (novel by Christie Golden)
0 Warcraft: Orcs & Humans (PC game)
— The Last Guardian (novel by Jeff Grubb)
6 Warcraft 2: Tides of Darkness (PC game)
8 Warcraft 2X: Beyond the Dark Portal (PC game)
10 Day of the Dragon (novel by Richard A. Knaak)
18 Lord of the Clans (novel by Christie Golden)
19 Of Blood and Honor (novel by Chris Metzen)
20 Warcraft 3: Reign of Chaos (PC game)
21 Warcraft 3X: The Frozen Throne (PC game)
23 The Sunwell Trilogy (manga by Richard A. Knaak & Jae-Hwan Kim)
Dragon Hunt, Shadows of Ice, Ghostlands
24 Cycle of Hatred (novel by Keith R. A. DeCandido)
25 World of Warcraft (PC game)
26 World of Warcraft: The Burning Crusade (PC game)
27 World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King (PC game)
Chapter I: Mythos
 Mythology of the Titans
(The Titans and the Shaping of the Universe)
~-10,001+

Scarlet Monastery (quest item)

No one knows exactly how the universe began. Some theorize that a catastrophic cosmic explosion sent the infinite
worlds spinning out into the vastness of the Great Dark - worlds that would one day bear life-forms of wondrous and
terrible diversity. Others believe that the universe, as it exists, was created as a whole by a singular, all-powerful entity.
Though the exact origins of the chaotic universe remain unclear, it is clear that a race of powerful beings arose to bring
order to the various worlds and ensure a safe future for the beings that would follow in their footsteps.

The Titans, colossal, metallic-skinned gods from the far reaches of the cosmos, came forward and set to work on the
worlds they encountered. They shaped the form of their worlds by raising mighty mountains and dredging out vast seas.
They breathed skies and raging atmospheres into being - all part of their unfathomable, far-sighted plan to create order
out of chaos. They even empowered primitive races to tend to their works and maintain the integrity of their respective
worlds.

The Titans, ruled by an elite sect known as the Pantheon, brought order to a hundred million worlds scattered
throughout the Great Dark Beyond during the first ages of creation. The benevolent Pantheon, seeking to safeguard
their structured worlds, was ever vigilant against the threat of attack from the vile, extra-dimensional entities of the
Twisting Nether. The Nether, an ethereal dimension of chaotic magics that connected the myriad worlds of the universe
together, was home to an infinite number of malefic, demonic beings, who sought only to destroy life and devour the
energies of the living universe.
 Sargeras and the Betrayal
~-10,001+

The Barrens, Arathi Highlands, Scholomance, Ashenvale

Over time, demonic entities made their way into the Titans' worlds from the Twisting Nether, and the Pantheon elected its greatest
warrior, Sargeras, to act as its first line of defense. A noble giant of molten bronze, Sargeras carried out his duties for countless millennia,
seeking out and destroying these demons wherever he could find them. Over the eons, Sargeras encountered two powerful demonic races,
both of which were bent on gaining power and dominance over the physical universe.

The eredar, an insidious race of devilish sorcerers, used their warlock magics to invade and enslave a number of worlds. The indigenous
races of those worlds were mutated by the eredar's malevolent powers and turned into demons themselves. Though Sargeras' nearly
limitless powers were more than enough to defeat the vile eredar, he was greatly troubled by the creatures' corruption and all-consuming
evil. Incapable of fathoming such depravity, the great Titan began to slip into a brooding depression. Despite his growing unease, Sargeras
rid the universe of the warlocks by trapping them within a corner of the Twisting Nether.

While his confusion and misery deepened, Sargeras was forced to contend with another group intent on disrupting the Titans' order: the
Nathrezim. This dark race of vampiric demons (also known as dreadlords) conquered a number of populated worlds by possessing their
inhabitants and turning them to the shadow. The nefarious, scheming dreadlords turned whole nations against one another by
manipulating them into unthinking hatred and mistrust. Sargeras defeated the Nathrezim easily, but their corruption affected him deeply.

As doubt and despair overwhelmed Sargeras' senses, he lost all faith not only in his mission, but also in the Titans' vision of an ordered
universe. Eventually he came to believe that the concept of order itself was folly, and that chaos and depravity were the only absolutes
within the dark, lonely universe. His fellow Titans tried to persuade him of his error and calm his raging emotions, but he disregarded their
more optimistic beliefs as self-serving delusions. Storming from their ranks forever, Sargeras set out to find his own place in the universe.
Although the Pantheon was sorrowful at his departure, the Titans could never have predicted just how far their lost brother would go.

By the time Sargeras' madness had consumed the last vestiges of his valiant spirit, he believed that the Titans themselves were responsible
for creation's failure. Deciding, at last, to undo their works throughout the universe, he resolved to form an unstoppable army that would
set the physical universe aflame.

Even Sargeras' titanic form became distorted from the corruption that plagued his once-noble heart. His eyes, hair, and beard erupted in
fire, and his metallic bronze skin split open to reveal an endless furnace of blistering hate.

In his fury, Sargeras shattered the prisons of the eredar and the Nathrezim and set the loathsome demons free. These cunning creatures
bowed before the dark Titan's vast rage and offered to serve him in whatever malicious ways they could. From the ranks of the powerful
Eredar, Sargeras picked two champions to command his demonic army of destruction. Kil'jaeden the Deceiver was chosen to seek out the
darkest races in the universe and recruit them into Sargeras' ranks. The second champion, Archimonde the Defiler, was chosen to lead
Sargeras' vast armies into battle against any who might resist the Titan's will.

Kil'jaeden's first move was to enslave the vampiric dreadlords under his terrible power. The dreadlords served as his personal agents
throughout the universe, and they took pleasure in locating primitive races for their master to corrupt and bring into the fold. First amongst
the dreadlords was Tichondrius the Darkener. Tichondrius served Kil'jaeden as the perfect soldier and agreed to bring Sargeras' burning will
to all the dark corners of the universe.

The mighty Archimonde also empowered agents of his own. Calling upon the malefic pit lords and their barbarous leader, Mannoroth the
Destructor, Archimonde hoped to establish a fighting elite that would scour creation of all life.

Once Sargeras saw that his armies were amassed and ready to follow his every command, he launched his raging forces into the vastness of
the Great Dark. He referred to his growing army as the Burning Legion. To this date, it is still unclear how many worlds they consumed and
burned on their unholy Burning Crusade across the universe.
 The Old Gods and the Ordering of Azeroth
~-10,001+

Ironforge, Wetlands, Scholomance, Blackrock Depths, Undercity, Darnassus

Unaware of Sargeras' mission to undo their countless works, the Titans continued to move from world to world, shaping
and ordering each planet as they saw fit. Along their journey they happened upon a small world that its inhabitants
would later name Azeroth. As the Titans made their way across the primordial landscape, they encountered a number of
hostile elemental beings. These elementals, who worshipped a race of unfathomably evil beings known only as the Old
Gods, vowed to drive the Titans back and keep their world inviolate from the invaders' metallic touch.

The Pantheon, disturbed by the Old Gods' penchant for evil, waged war upon the elementals and their dark masters. The
Old Gods' armies were led by the most powerful elemental lieutenants: Ragnaros the Firelord, Therazane the
Stonemother, Al'Akir the Windlord, and Neptulon the Tidehunter. Their chaotic forces raged across the face of the world
and clashed with the colossal Titans. Though the elementals were powerful beyond mortal comprehension, their
combined forces could not stop the mighty Titans. One by one, the elemental lords fell, and their forces dispersed.

The Pantheon shattered the Old Gods' citadels and chained the five evil gods far beneath the surface of the world.
Without the Old Gods' power to keep their raging spirits bound to the physical world, the elementals were banished to
an abyssal plane, where they would contend with one another for all eternity. With the elementals' departure, nature
calmed, and the world settled into a peaceful harmony. The Titans saw that the threat was contained and set to work.

The Titans empowered a number of races to help them fashion the world. To help them carve out the fathomless
caverns beneath the earth, the Titans created the dwarf-like earthen from magical, living stone. To help them dredge
out the seas and lift the land from the sea floor, the Titans created the immense but gentle sea giants. For many ages
the Titans moved and shaped the earth, until at last there remained one perfect continent. At the continent's center, the
Titans crafted a lake of scintillating energies. The lake, which they named the Well of Eternity, was to be the fount of life
for the world. Its potent energies would nurture the bones of the world and empower life to take root in the land's rich
soil. Over time, plants, trees, monsters, and creatures of every kind began to thrive on the primordial continent. As
twilight fell on the final day of their labors, the Titans named the continent Kalimdor: "land of eternal starlight".
 Charge of the Dragonflights
~-10,001+

Ironforge, Wetlands, The Barrens, Tirisfal Glades, Ashenvale

Satisfied that the small world had been ordered and that their work was done, the Titans prepared to leave Azeroth.
However, before they departed, they charged the greatest species of the world with the task of watching over Kalimdor,
lest any force should threaten its perfect tranquility. In that age, there were many dragonflights. Yet there were five
flights that held dominion over their brethren. It was these five flights that the Titans chose to shepherd the budding
world. The greatest members of the Pantheon imbued a portion of their power upon each of the flights' leaders. These
majestic dragons (as listed below) became known as the Great Aspects, or the Dragon Aspects.

Aman'Thul, the Highfather of the Pantheon, bestowed a portion of his cosmic power upon the massive bronze dragon,
Nozdormu. The Highfather empowered Nozdormu to guard time itself and police the ever-spinning pathways of fate and
destiny. The stoic, honorable Nozdormu became known as the Timeless One.

Eonar, the Titan patron of all life, gave a portion of her power to the red leviathan, Alexstrasza. Ever after, Alexstrasza
would be known as the Life-Binder, and she would work to safeguard all living creatures within the world. Due to her
supreme wisdom and limitless compassion for all living things, Alexstrasza was crowned the Dragonqueen and given
dominion over her kind.

Eonar also blessed Alexstrasza's younger sister, the lithe green dragon Ysera, with a portion of nature's influence. Ysera
fell into an eternal trance, bound to the waking Dream of Creation. Known as the Dreamer, she would watch over the
growing wilds of the world from her verdant realm, the Emerald Dream.

Norgannon, the Titan lore keeper and master-magician, granted the blue dragon, Malygos, a portion of his vast power.
From then on, Malygos would be known as the Spell-Weaver, the guardian of magic and hidden arcanum.

Khaz'goroth, the Titan shaper and forger of the world, bestowed some of his vast power upon the mighty black wyrm,
Neltharion. The great-hearted Neltharion, known afterwards as the Earth-Warder, was given dominion over the earth
and the deep places of the world. He embodied the strength of the world and served as Alexstrasza's greatest supporter.

Thus empowered, the Five Aspects were charged with the world's defense in the Titans' absence. With the dragons
prepared to safeguard their creation, the Titans left Azeroth behind forever. Unfortunately it was only a matter of time
before Sargeras learned of the newborn world's existence....
 The Twin Empires
~-10,001+

Stranglethorn Vale, Tanaris

About 16,000 years ago (long before the night elves foolishly called down the wrath of the Burning Legion), trolls lorded
over much of Kalimdor (then a single continent). There were twin troll empires -- the Gurubashi Empire of the
southeastern jungles -- and the Amani Empire of the middle forestlands. There were smaller tribes that lived far to the
north (in the region now known as Northrend). These tribes founded a small nation known as Gundrak, but never
achieved the size or prosperity of the southern empires. The Gurubashi and Amani empires had little love for one
another, but rarely warred against each other.

At the time, their greatest common enemy was a third empire -- the civilization of Azj'Aqir. The aqir were intelligent
insectoids who ruled the lands of the far west. These clever insectoids were greatly expansionistic and incredibly evil.
The aqir were obsessed with eradicating all non-insect life from the fields of Kalimdor. The trolls fought them for many
thousands of years, but never succeeded in winning a true victory over the aqir. Eventually, due to the troll's
persistence, the aqiri kingdom split in half as its citizens fled to separate colonies in the far northern and southern
regions of the continent. Two aqiri city-states emerged -- Azjol-Nerub in the northern wastes, and Ahn'Qiraj in the
southern desert.

Though the trolls suspected that there were other aqiri colonies beneath Kalimdor, their existence was never verified.
With the insectoids driven into exile, the twin troll empires returned to business as usual. Despite their great victory,
neither civilization expanded much farther than their original boundaries. However, ancient texts speak of a small
faction of trolls that broke off from the Amani Empire and founded their own colony in the heart of the dark continent.
There, these brave pioneers discovered the cosmic Well of Eternity which transformed them into beings of immense
power. Some legends suggest that these adventurous trolls were the first night elves, though this theory has never been
proven.
 The Kaldorei and the Well of Eternity
(The Waking World and the Well of Eternity)
~-10,001+

Stormwind City, Wetlands

Ten thousand years before the orcs and humans clashed in their First War, the world of Azeroth cradled only one massive continent
surrounded by the infinite, raging seas. That land mass, known as Kalimdor, was home to a number of disparate races and creatures, all
vying for survival amongst the savage elements of the waking world. At the dark continent's center was a mysterious lake of incandescent
energies. The lake, which would later be called the Well of Eternity, was the true heart of the world's magic and natural power. Drawing its
energies from the infinite Great Dark beyond the world, the Well acted as a mystical fount, sending its potent energies out across the world
to nourish life in all its wondrous forms.

In time, a primitive tribe of nocturnal humanoids cautiously made their way to the edges of the mesmerizing, enchanted lake. The feral,
nomadic humanoids, drawn by the Well's strange energies, built crude homes upon its tranquil shores. Over time, the Well's cosmic power
affected the strange tribe, making them strong, wise and virtually immortal. The tribe adopted the name Kaldorei, which meant -children of
the stars- in their native tongue. To celebrate their budding society, they constructed great structures and temples around the lake's
periphery.

The Kaldorei, or night elves as they would later be known, worshipped the moon goddess, Elune, and believed that she slept within the
Well's shimmering depths during the daylight hours. The early night elf priests and seers studied the Well with an insatiable curiosity,
driven to plumb its untold secrets and power. As their society grew, the night elves explored the breadth of Kalimdor and encountered its
myriad denizens. The only creatures that gave them pause were the ancient and powerful dragons. Though the great serpentine beasts
were often reclusive, they did much to safeguard the known lands from potential threats. The night elves believed that the dragons held
themselves to be the protectors of the world, and that they and their secrets were best left alone.

In time, the night elves' curiosity led them to meet and befriend a number of powerful entities, not the least of which was Cenarius, a
mighty demi-god of the primordial forestlands. The great-hearted Cenarius grew fond of the inquisitive night elves and spent a great deal of
time teaching them about the natural world. The tranquil Kaldorei developed a strong empathy for the living forests of Kalimdor and
reveled in the harmonious balance of nature.

Yet, as the seemingly endless ages passed, the night elves' civilization expanded both territorially and culturally. Their temples, roads, and
dwelling places stretched across the breadth of the dark continent. Azshara, the night elves' beautiful and gifted Queen, built an immense,
wondrous palace on the Well's shore that housed her favored servitors within its bejeweled halls. Her servitors, whom she called the
Quel'dorei or -high-borne,- doted on her every command and believed themselves to be greater than the rest of their lower-caste brethren.
Though Queen Azshara was loved equally by all of her people, the high-borne were secretly hated by the jealous masses.

Sharing the priests' curiosity towards the Well of Eternity, Azshara ordered the educated high-borne to plumb its secrets and reveal its true
purpose in the world. The high-borne buried themselves in their work and studied the Well ceaselessly. In time they developed the ability
to manipulate and control the Well's cosmic energies. As their reckless experiments progressed, the high-borne found that they could use
their newfound powers to either create or destroy at their leisure. The hapless high-borne had stumbled upon primitive magic and were
now resolved to devote themselves to its mastery. Although they agreed that magic was inherently dangerous if handled irresponsibly,
Azshara and her highborne began to practice their spellcraft with reckless abandon. Cenarius and many of the wizened night elf scholars
warned that only calamity would result from toying with the clearly volatile arts of magic. But, Azshara and her followers stubbornly
continued to expand their burgeoning powers.

As their powers grew, a distinct change came over Azshara and the high-borne. The haughty, aloof upper class became increasingly callous
and cruel towards their fellow night elves. A dark, brooding pall veiled Azshara's once entrancing beauty. She began to withdraw from her
loving subjects and refused to interact with any but her trusted high-borne priests.

A young, brazen scholar named Furion Stormrage, who had spent much of his time studying the Well's effects, began to suspect that a
terrible power was corrupting the high-borne and his beloved Queen. Though he could not conceive the evil that was to come, he knew
that the night elves' lives would soon be changed forever....
 Empires' Fall
~-10,001+

Stranglethorn Vale, Tanaris

Aside from their shadowy origins, it is clear that the night elves came to power soon after their discovery of the Well of
Eternity. Despite the trolls' attempts to keep them from expanding their territories, the night elves built up a mighty
empire that expanded rapidly across primordial Kalimdor. Wielding fierce magics never before imagined by the
superstitious trolls, the night elves had little trouble doing what the evil aqir could never do: topple the two greatest
empires in the world. The night elves systematically dismantled the troll's defenses and supply chains. The trolls, unable
to counter the elves' destructive magics, buckled under the onslaught. The night elves proved to every bit as cunning
and bloodthirsty as the savage trolls -- incurring the latter race's eternal hatred and disdain.

The Gurubashi and Amani empires fragmented within only a few short years. Eventually, the night elves were burned by
the arcane fires they had sought to control. Their reckless use of magic had lured the demonic Burning Legion to the
world. The demons crushed much of the night elves' civilization. Though there are no records to indicate that the Legion
attacked either troll civilization, it is likely that battles took place across the breadth of the continent. At the end of this
terrible conflict -- known as the War of the Ancients -- the Well of Eternity imploded. The resulting shockwave shattered
the greater landmass of Kalimdor. The center of the continent was blasted beneath the sea, leaving only a small group of
broken, single continents.

Thus, great chunks of both the Amani and Gurubashi Empires still exist in the present day lands of Quel'Thalas and
Stranglethorn (respectively). The Azj'Aqir kingdoms of Azjol-Nerub and Ahn'Qiraj have also survived in present day
Northrend and Tanaris (respectively). Both troll civilizations recoiled from the vast destruction of the primordial world
they had known. The dauntless trolls rebuilt their ravaged cities and set about to reclaim some of their former power.
 The War of the Ancients
-10000

Stormwind City, Scarlet Monastery, Darnassus

The Highborne's reckless use of magic sent ripples of energy spiraling out from the Well of Eternity and into the Great
Dark Beyond. The streaming ripples of energy were felt by terrible alien minds. Sargeras - the Great Enemy of all life, the
Destroyer of Worlds - felt the potent ripples and was drawn to their distant point of origin. Spying the primordial world
of Azeroth and sensing the limitless energies of the Well of Eternity, Sargeras was consumed by an insatiable hunger.
The great dark god of the Nameless Void resolved to destroy the fledgling world and claim its energies as his own.

Sargeras gathered his vast Burning Legion and made his way towards the unsuspecting world of Azeroth. The Legion was
comprised of a million screaming demons, all ripped from the far corners of the universe, and the demons hungered for
conquest. Sargeras' lieutenants, Archimonde the Defiler and Mannoroth the Destructor, prepared their infernal minions
to strike.

Queen Azshara, overwhelmed by the terrible ecstasy of her magic, fell victim to Sargeras' undeniable power and agreed
to grant him entrance to her world. Even her Highborne servitors gave themselves over to magic's inevitable corruption
and began to worship Sargeras as their god. To show their allegiance to the Legion, the Highborne aided their queen in
opening a vast, swirling portal within the depths of the Well of Eternity.

Once all his preparations had been made, Sargeras began his catastrophic invasion of Azeroth. The warrior-demons of
the Burning Legion stormed into the world through the Well of Eternity and laid siege to the night elves' sleeping cities.
Led by Archimonde and Mannoroth, the Legion swarmed over the lands of Kalimdor, leaving only ash and sorrow in its
wake. The demon warlocks called down searing infernals that crashed like hellish meteors into the graceful spires of
Kalimdor's temples. A band of burning, bloodletting killers known as the Doomguard marched across Kalimdor's fields,
slaughtering everyone in their path. Packs of wild, demonic felhounds ravaged the countryside unopposed. Though the
brave Kaldorei warriors rushed to defend their ancient homeland, they were forced to give ground, inch by inch, before
the fury of the Legion's onslaught.

It fell to Malfurion Stormrage to find help for his beleaguered people. Stormrage, whose own brother, Illidan, practiced
the Highborne's magics, was incensed by the growing corruption amongst the upper class. Convincing Illidan to forsake
his dangerous obsession, Malfurion set out to find Cenarius and muster a resistance force. The beautiful young priestess,
Tyrande, agreed to accompany the brothers in the name of Elune. Though Malfurion and Illidan shared a love for the
idealistic priestess, Tyrande's heart belonged to Malfurion alone. Illidan resented his brother's budding romance with
Tyrande, but knew that his heartache was nothing compared to the pain of his magical addiction.

Illidan, who had grown dependent on magic's empowering energies, struggled to keep control of his nearly
overwhelming hunger to tap the Well's energies once again. However, with Tyrande's patient support, he was able to
restrain himself and help his brother find the reclusive demigod, Cenarius. Cenarius, who dwelt within the sacred
Moonglades of the distant Mount Hyjal, agreed to help the night elves by finding the ancient dragons and enlisting their
aid. The dragons, led by the great red leviathan, Alexstrasza, agreed to send their mighty flights to engage the demons
and their infernal masters.

Cenarius, calling on the spirits of the enchanted forests, rallied an army of ancient tree-men and led them against the
Legion in a daring ground assault. As the night elves' allies converged upon Azshara's temple and the Well of Eternity,
all-out warfare erupted. Despite the strength of their newfound allies, Malfurion and his colleagues realized that the
Legion could not be defeated by martial strength alone.
As the titanic battle raged around Azshara's capital city, the delusional queen waited in anticipation for Sargeras' arrival.
The lord of the Legion was preparing to pass through the Well of Eternity and enter the ravaged world. As his impossibly
huge shadow drew ever closer to the Well's surface, Azshara gathered the most powerful of her Highborne followers.
Only by linking their magics together in one focused spell would they be able to create a gateway large enough for
Sargeras to enter.

As the battle raged across the burning fields of Kalimdor, a terrible turn of events unfolded. The details of the event
have been lost to time, but it is known that Neltharion, the Dragon Aspect of the Earth, went mad during a critical
engagement against the Burning Legion. He began to split apart as flame and rage erupted from his dark hide. Renaming
himself Deathwing, the burning dragon turned on his brethren and drove the five dragonflights from the field of battle.

Deathwing's sudden betrayal was so destructive that the five dragonflights never truly recovered. Wounded and
shocked, Alexstrasza and the other noble dragons were forced to abandon their mortal allies. Malfurion and his
companions, now hopelessly outnumbered, barely survived the ensuing onslaught.

Malfurion, convinced that the Well of Eternity was the demons' umbilical link to the physical world, insisted that it
should be destroyed. His companions, knowing that the Well was the source of their immortality and powers, were
horrified by the rash notion. Yet Tyrande saw the wisdom of Malfurion's theory, so she convinced Cenarius and their
comrades to storm Azshara's temple and find a way to shut the Well down for good.
 The Sundering of the World
~-10,000 to -9,001

"History of Warcraft"

Knowing that the Well's destruction would prevent him from ever wielding magic again, Illidan selfishly abandoned the group
and set out to warn the Highborne of Malfurion's plan. Due to the insanity brought on by his addiction and the stinging
resentment towards his brother's affair with Tyrande, Illidan felt no remorse at betraying Malfurion and siding with Azshara
and her ilk. Above all else, Illidan vowed to protect the Well's power by any means necessary.

Heartbroken by his brother's departure, Malfurion led his companions into the heart of Azshara's temple. Yet as they stormed
into the main audience chamber, they found the Highborne in the midst of their final dark incantation. The communal spell
created an unstable vortex of power within the Well's turbulent depths. As Sargeras' ominous shadow drew ever closer to the
surface, Malfurion and his allies rushed to attack.

Azshara, having received Illidan's warning, was more than prepared for them. Nearly all of Malfurion's followers fell before the
mad queen's powers. Tyrande, attempting to attack Azshara from behind, was caught off-guard by the queen's Highborne
guardsmen. Though she vanquished the guardsmen, Tyrande suffered grievous wounds at their hands. When Malfurion saw
his love fall, he went into a murderous rage and resolved to end Azshara's life.

As the battle raged inside and outside of the temple, Illidan appeared from the shadows near the shores of the great Well.
Producing a set of specially crafted vials, Illidan knelt and filled each with the Well's shimmering waters. Convinced that the
demons would crush the night elves' civilization, he planned to steal the sacred waters and keep their energies for himself.

The ensuing battle between Malfurion and Azshara threw the Highborne's carefully crafted spellwork into chaos. The unstable
vortex within the Well's depths exploded and ignited a catastrophic chain of events that would sunder the world forever. The
massive explosion rocked the temple to its foundations and sent massive quakes ripping through the tortured earth. As the
horrific battle between the Legion and the night elves' allies raged around and above the ruined capital city, the surging Well
of Eternity buckled in upon itself and collapsed.

The resultant catastrophic explosion shattered the earth and blotted out the skies.

As the aftershocks from the Well's implosion rattled the bones of the world, the seas rushed in to fill the gaping wound left in
the earth. Nearly eighty percent of Kalimdor's landmass had been blasted apart, leaving only a handful of separate continents
surrounding the new, raging sea. At the center of the new sea, where the Well of Eternity once stood, was a tumultuous storm
of tidal fury and chaotic energies. This terrible scar, known as the Maelstrom, would never cease its furious spinning. It would
remain a constant reminder of the terrible catastrophe... and the utopian era that had been lost forever.

Somehow, against all odds, Queen Azshara and her Highborne elite managed to survive the ordeal. Tortured and twisted by
the powers they had released, Azshara and her followers were dragged down beneath the raging sea by the Well's implosion.
Cursed - transformed - they took on new shapes and became the hateful serpentine naga. Azshara herself expanded with hate
and rage, becoming a massive monstrosity, reflecting the wickedness and malice that had always hidden within her core.

There, at the bottom of the Maelstrom, the naga built for themselves a new city, Nazjatar, from which they would rebuild
their power. It would take over ten thousand years before the naga would reveal their existence to the surface world.
 Mount Hyjal and Illidan's Gift
~-10,000 to -9,001

Duskwood, Stormwind City, The Barrens, Darkshore

The few night elves that survived the horrific explosion rallied together on crudely made rafts and slowly made their way
to the only landmass in sight. Somehow, by the grace of Elune, Malfurion, Tyrande, and Cenarius had survived the Great
Sundering. The weary heroes agreed to lead their fellow survivors and establish a new home for their people. As they
journeyed in silence, they surveyed the wreckage of their world and realized that their passions had wrought the
destruction all around them. Though Sargeras and his Legion had been ripped from the world by the Well's destruction,
Malfurion and his companions were left to ponder the terrible cost of victory.

There were many Highborne who did survive the cataclysm unscathed. They made their way to the shores of the new
land along with the other night elves. Though Malfurion mistrusted the Highborne's motivations, he was satisfied that
they could cause no real mischief without the Well's energies.

As the weary mass of night elves landed upon the shores of the new land, they found that the holy mountain, Hyjal, had
survived the catastrophe. Seeking to establish a new home for themselves, Malfurion and the night elves climbed the
slopes of Hyjal and reached its windswept summit. As they descended into the wooded bowl, nestled between the
mountain's enormous peaks, they found a small, tranquil lake. To their horror, they found that the lake's waters had
been fouled by magic.

Illidan, having survived the Sundering as well, had reached Hyjal summit long before Malfurion and the night elves. In his
mad bid to maintain the flows of magic in the world, Illidan had poured his vials, which contained the precious waters
from the Well of Eternity, into the mountain lake. The Well's potent energies quickly ignited and coalesced into a new
Well of Eternity. The exultant Illidan, believing that the new Well was a gift to future generations, was shocked when
Malfurion hunted him down. Malfurion explained to his brother that magic was innately chaotic and that its use would
inevitably lead to widespread corruption and strife. Still, Illidan refused to relinquish his magical powers.

Knowing full well where Illidan's ruthless schemes would eventually lead, Malfurion decided to deal with his power-
crazed brother once and for all. With Cenarius' help, Malfurion sealed Illidan within a vast underground barrow prison,
where he would remain chained and powerless until the end of time. To ensure his brother's containment, Malfurion
empowered the young warden, Maiev Shadowsong, to be Illidan's personal jailor.

Concerned that destroying the new Well might bring about an even greater catastrophe, the night elves resolved to
leave it be. However, Malfurion declared that they would never practice the arts of magic again. Under Cenarius'
watchful eye, they began to study the ancient arts of druidism that would enable them to heal the ravaged earth and re-
grow their beloved forests at the base of Mount Hyjal.
 The World Tree and the Emerald Dream
-9000

Stormwind City, Scarlet Monastery, Darnassus

For many years, the night elves worked tirelessly to rebuild what they could of their ancient homeland. Leaving their
broken temples and roads to be overgrown, they constructed their new homes amidst the verdant trees and shadowed
hills at Hyjal's base. In time, the dragons that had survived the great Sundering came forth from their secret abodes.

Alexstrasza the red, Ysera the green, and Nozdormu the bronze descended upon the druids' tranquil glades and
surveyed the fruits of the night elves' labors. Malfurion, who had become an arch-druid of immense power, greeted the
mighty dragons and told them about the creation of the new Well of Eternity. The great dragons were alarmed to hear
the dark news and speculated that as long as the Well remained, the Legion might one day return and assault the world
once again. Malfurion and the three dragons made a pact to keep the Well safe and ensure that the agents of the
Burning Legion would never find their way back into the world.

Alexstrasza, the Lifebinder, placed a single, enchanted acorn within the heart of the Well of Eternity. The acorn,
activated by the potent, magical waters, sprung to life as a colossal tree. The mighty tree's roots grew from the Well's
waters, and its verdant canopy seemed to scrape the roof of the sky. The immense tree would be an everlasting symbol
of the night elves' bond with nature, and its life-giving energies would extend out to heal the rest of the world over time.
The night elves' gave their World Tree the new name Nordrassil, which meant "crown of the heavens" in their native
tongue.

Nozdormu, the Timeless, placed an enchantment upon the World Tree to ensure that as long as the colossal tree stood,
the night elves would never age or fall prey to sickness or disease.

Ysera, the Dreamer, also placed an enchantment upon the World Tree by linking it to her own realm, the ethereal
dimension known as the Emerald Dream. The Emerald Dream, a vast, ever-changing spirit world, existed outside the
boundaries of the physical world. From the Dream, Ysera regulated the ebb and flow of nature and the evolutionary
path of the world itself. The night elf druids, including Malfurion himself, were bound to the Dream through the World
Tree. As part of the mystical pact, the druids agreed to sleep for centuries at a time so that their spirits could roam the
infinite paths of Ysera's Dreamways. Though the druids were grieved at the prospect of losing so many years of their
lives to hibernation, they selflessly agreed to uphold their bargain with Ysera.
 Exile of the High Elves
-7300

The Barrens, Scholomance, Undercity, Darnassus

As the centuries passed, the night elves' new society grew strong and expanded throughout the budding forest that they
came to call Ashenvale. Many of the creatures and species that were abundant before the Great Sundering, such as
furbolgs and quilboars, reappeared and flourished in the land. Under the druids' benevolent leadership, the night elves
enjoyed an era of unprecedented peace and tranquility under the stars.

However, many of the original Highborne survivors grew restless. Like Illidan before them, they fell victim to the
withdrawal that came from the loss of their coveted magics. They were tempted to tap the energies of the Well of
Eternity and exult in their magical practices. Dath'Remar, the brash, outspoken leader of the Highborne, began to mock
the druids publicly, calling them cowards for refusing to wield the magic that he said was theirs by right. Malfurion and
the druids dismissed Dath'Remar's arguments and warned the Highborne that any use of magic would be punishable by
death. In an insolent and ill-fated attempt to convince the druids to rescind their law, Dath'Remar and his followers
unleashed a terrible magical storm upon Ashenvale.

The druids could not bring themselves to put so many of their kin to death, so they decided to exile the reckless
Highborne from their lands. Dath'Remar and his followers, glad to be rid of their conservative cousins at last, boarded a
number of specially crafted ships and set sail upon the seas. Though none of them knew what awaited them beyond the
waters of the raging Maelstrom, they were eager to establish their own homeland, where they could practice their
coveted magics with impunity. The Highborne, or Quel'dorei, as Azshara had named them in ages past, would eventually
set shore upon the eastern land men would call Lordaeron. They planned to build their own magical kingdom,
Quel'Thalas, and reject the night elves' precepts of moon worship and nocturnal activity. Forever after, they would
embrace the sun and be known only as the high elves.
 The Sentinels and the Long Vigil
~-7,300 to -6,801

Stranglethorn Vale, Feralas

With the departure of their wayward cousins, the night elves turned their attention back to the safekeeping of their
enchanted homeland. The druids, sensing that their time of hibernation was drawing near, prepared to sleep and leave
their loved ones and families behind. Tyrande, who had become the High Priestess of Elune, asked her love, Malfurion,
not to leave her for Ysera's Emerald Dream. But Malfurion, honor bound to enter the changing Dreamways, bid the
priestess farewell and swore that they would never be apart so long as they held true to their love.

Left alone to protect Kalimdor from the dangers of the new world, Tyrande assembled a powerful fighting force from
amongst her night elf sisters. The fearless, highly trained warrior women who pledged themselves to Kalimdor's defense
became known as the Sentinels. Though they preferred to patrol the shadowy forests of Ashenvale on their own, they
had many allies upon which they could call in times of urgency.

The demigod Cenarius remained nearby in the Moonglades of Mount Hyjal. His sons, known as the Keepers of the
Grove, kept close watch on the night elves and regularly helped the Sentinels maintain peace in the land. Even Cenarius'
shy daughters, the dryads, appeared in the open with increasing frequency.

The task of policing Ashenvale kept Tyrande busy, but without Malfurion at her side, she knew little joy. As the long
centuries passed while the druids slept, her fears of a second demonic invasion grew. She could not shake the unnerving
feeling that the Burning Legion might still be out there, beyond the Great Dark of the sky, plotting its revenge upon the
night elves and the world of Azeroth.
 Wrath of Soulflayer
~-7,300 to -6,801

Stranglethorn Vale, Tanaris

The long centuries following the Great Sundering of the world were difficult ones for the troll race. Famine and terror
were commonplace within the broken kingdoms. The Gurubashi trolls, driven to desperate ends, sought aid from
ancient, mystical forces. Though both of the troll kingdoms shared a central belief in a great pantheon of primitive gods,
the Gurubashi fell under the sway of the darkest one.

Hakkar the Soulflayer, a vile, bloodthirsty spirit, heard the trolls' call and decided to aid them. Hakkar gave his secrets of
blood to the Gurubashi and helped them extend their civilization across most of Stranglethorn Vale and certain islands
of the South Seas. Though he brought them great power, Hakkar wanted more and more for his efforts. The bloodthirsty
god demanded souls be sacrificed to him daily. He dreamed of gaining access to the physical world so he could devour
the blood of all mortal creatures.

In time the Gurubashi realized what kind of creature they had courted with -- and turned against him. The strongest
tribes rose up against Hakkar and his loyal priests -- the Atal'ai. The terrible war that ensued between Hakkar's followers
and the rest of the Gurubashi tribes is spoken of only in whispers. The budding empire was shattered by the magic
unleashed between the angry god and his rebel children. Just as the battle seemed most hopeless, the trolls succeeded
in destroying Hakkar's avatar and banishing him from the world. Even his Atal'ai priests were eventually driven from the
capital of Zul'Gurub and forced to survive in the uncharted swamplands to the north. Within those shadowy fens they
built a great temple to their fallen god -- Atal'Hakkar -- where they could continue to do their master's work...

The rest of the Gurubashi tribes went their separate ways after the great civil war had left their lands in ruins. The
Skullsplitter, Bloodscalp and Darkspear tribes set off to claim their own lands withtin the vast jungles of Stranglethorn.
Though a fragile peace had settled over the broken empire, some spoke of a prophecy that Hakkar would one day be
reborn into the world -- and on that day -- he would consume it whole.
Chapter II: The New World
 The Founding of Quel'Thalas
-6800

Duskwood, Scholomance, Darkshore

The high elves, led by Dath'Remar, left Kalimdor behind them and challenged the storms of the Maelstrom. Their fleets wandered
the wreckage of the world for many long years, and they discovered mysteries and lost kingdoms along their sojourn. Dath'Remar,
who had taken the name Sunstrider (or "he who walks the day"), sought out places of considerable ley power upon which to build a
new homeland for his people.

His fleet finally landed on the beaches of the kingdom men would later call Lordaeron. Forging inland, the high elves founded a
settlement within the tranquil Tirisfal Glades. After a few years, many of them began to go mad. It was theorized that something evil
slept beneath that particular part of the world, but the rumors were never proven to be true. The high elves packed up their
encampment and moved northward towards another land rich with ley energies.

As the high elves crossed the rugged, mountainous lands of Lordaeron, their journey became more perilous. Since they were
effectively cut off from the life-giving energies of the Well of Eternity, many of them fell ill from the frigid climate or died from
starvation. The most disconcerting change, however, was the fact that they were no longer immortal or immune to the elements.
They also shrank somewhat in height, and their skin lost its characteristic violet hue. Despite their hardships, they encountered
many wondrous creatures that had never been seen in Kalimdor. They also found tribes of primitive humans who hunted
throughout the ancient forestlands. However, the direst threat they encountered were the voracious and cunning forest trolls of
Zul'Aman.

These moss-skinned trolls could regenerate lost limbs and heal grievous physical injuries, but they proved to be a barbaric, evil race.
The Amani empire stretched across most of northern Lordaeron, and the trolls fought hard to keep unwanted strangers from their
borders. The elves developed a deep loathing for the vicious trolls and killed them on sight whenever they were encountered.

After many long years, the high elves finally found a land which was reminiscent of Kalimdor. Deep within the northern forests of the
continent, they founded the kingdom of Quel'Thalas and vowed to create a mighty empire which would dwarf that of their Kaldorei
cousins. Unfortunately they soon learned that Quel'Thalas was founded upon an ancient troll city that the trolls still held to be
sacred. Almost immediately, the trolls began to attack the elven settlements en masse.

The stubborn elves, unwilling to give up their new land, utilized the magics which they had gleaned from the Well of Eternity and
kept the savage trolls at bay. Under Dath'Remar's leadership, they were able to defeat the Amani warbands that outnumbered them
ten to one. Some elves, wary of the Kaldorei's ancient warnings, felt that their use of magic might possibly draw the attention of the
banished Burning Legion. Therefore, they decided to mask their lands within a protective barrier which would still allow them to
work their enchantments. They constructed a series of monolithic Runestones at various points around Quel'Thalas which marked
the boundaries of the magic barrier. The Runestones not only masked the elves' magic from extra-dimensional threats, but helped to
frighten away the superstitious troll warbands as well.

As time wore on, Quel'Thalas became a shining monument to the high elves' efforts and magical prowess. Its beauteous palaces
were crafted in the same architectural style as the ancient halls of Kalimdor, yet they were interwoven with the natural topography
of the land. Quel'Thalas had become the shining jewel that the elves had longed to create. The Convocation of Silvermoon was
founded as the ruling power over Quel'Thalas, though the Sunstrider Dynasty maintained a modicum of political power. Comprised
of seven of the greatest high elf lords, the Convocation worked to secure the safety of the elven lands and people. Surrounded by
their protective barrier, the high elves remained unmoved by the old warnings of the Kaldorei and continued to use magic flagrantly
in almost all aspects of their lives.

For nearly four thousand years the high elves lived peacefully within the secluded safety of their kingdom. Nevertheless, the
vindictive trolls were not so easily defeated. They plotted and schemed in the depths of the forests and waited for the numbers of
their warbands to grow. Finally, a mighty troll army charged out from the shadowy forests and once again laid siege to the shining
spires of Quel'Thalas.
 Arathor and the Troll Wars
-2800

Hillsbrad Foothills (2), Ironforge, Scarlet Monastery

As the high elves fought for their lives against the trolls' fierce onslaught, the scattered, nomadic humans of Lordaeron
fought to consolidate their own tribal lands. The tribes of early humanity raided each other's settlements with little heed
for racial unification or honor. Yet one tribe, known as the Arathi, saw that the trolls were becoming too great a threat
to ignore. The Arathi wished to bring all of the tribes under its rule so that they could provide a unified front against the
troll warbands.

Over the course of six years, the cunning Arathi outmaneuvered and outfought the rival tribes. After every victory, the
Arathi offered peace and equality to the conquered people; thus, they won the loyalty of those they had beaten.
Eventually the Arathi tribe came to include many disparate tribes, and the ranks of its army grew vast. Confident that
they could hold their own against the troll warbands or even the reclusive elves if need be, the Arathi warlords decided
to construct a mighty fortress city in the southern regions of Lordaeron. The city-state, named Strom, became the capital
of the Arathi nation, Arathor. As Arathor prospered, humans from all over the vast continent traveled south to the
protection and safety of Strom.

United under one banner, the human tribes developed a strong, optimistic culture. Thoradin, the king of Arathor, knew
that the mysterious elves in the northlands were under constant siege by the trolls, but refused to risk the safety of his
people in defense of reclusive strangers. Many months passed as rumors of the elves' supposed defeat trickled down
from the north. It was only when weary ambassadors from Quel'Thalas reached Strom that Thoradin realized how great
the troll threat truly was.

The elves informed Thoradin that the troll armies were vast and that once the trolls had destroyed Quel'Thalas, they
would move on to attack the southlands. The desperate elves, in dire need of military aid, hastily agreed to teach certain
select humans to wield magic in exchange for their help against the warbands. Thoradin, distrustful of any magic, agreed
to aid the elves out of necessity. Almost immediately, elven sorcerers arrived in Arathor and began to instruct a group of
humans in the ways of magic.

The elves found that although humans were innately clumsy in their handling of magic, they possessed a startling
natural affinity for it. One hundred men were taught the very basics of the elves' magical secrets: no more than was
absolutely necessary to combat the trolls. Convinced that their human students were ready to aid in the struggle, the
elves left Strom and traveled north alongside the mighty armies of King Thoradin.

The united elf and human armies clashed against the overwhelming troll warbands at the foot of the Alterac Mountains.
The battle lasted for many days, but the unflagging armies of Arathor never tired or gave an inch of ground before the
troll onslaught. The elven lords deemed that the time had come to release the powers of their magic upon the enemy.
The hundred human magi and a multitude of elven sorcerers called down the fury of the heavens and set the troll
armies ablaze. The elemental fires prevented the trolls from regenerating their wounds and burned their tortured forms
from the inside out.

As the troll armies broke and attempted to flee, Thoradin's armies ran them down and slaughtered every last one of
their soldiers. The trolls would never fully recover from their defeat, and history would never see the trolls rise as one
nation again. Assured that Quel'Thalas was saved from destruction, the elves made a pledge of loyalty and friendship to
the nation of Arathor and to the bloodline of its king, Thoradin. Humans and elves would nurture peaceful relations for
ages to come.
 The Guardians of Tirisfal
-2700

Stormwind City

With the absence of trolls in the northlands, the elves of Quel'Thalas bent their efforts towards rebuilding their glorious
homeland. The victorious armies of Arathor returned home to southlands of Strom. The human society of Arathor grew
and prospered, yet Thoradin, fearful that his kingdom would splinter apart if it overextended itself, maintained that
Strom was the center of the Arathorian empire. After many peaceful years of growth and commerce, mighty Thoradin
died of old age, leaving Arathor's younger generation free to expand the empire beyond the lands of Strom.

The original hundred magi, who were tutored in the ways of magic by the elves, expanded their powers and studied the
mystic disciplines of spell-weaving in much greater detail. These magi, initially chosen for their strong wills and noble
spirits, had always practiced their magic with care and responsibility; however, they passed their secrets and powers
onto a newer generation that had no concept of the rigors of war or the necessity for self-restraint. These younger
magicians began to practice magic for personal gain rather than out of any responsibility towards their fellows.

As the empire grew and expanded into new lands, the young magicians also spread out into the southlands. Wielding
their mystical powers, the magicians protected their brethren from the wild creatures of the land and made it possible
for new city-states to be constructed in the wilderness. Yet, as their powers grew, the magicians became ever more
conceited and isolated from the rest of society.

The second Arathorian city-state of Dalaran was founded in the lands north of Strom. Many fledgling wizards left the
restraining confines of Strom behind and traveled to Dalaran, where they hoped to use their new powers with greater
freedom. These magicians used their skills to build up the enchanted spires of Dalaran and reveled in the pursuit of their
studies. The citizens of Dalaran tolerated the magicians' endeavors and built up a bustling economy under the protection
of their magic-using defenders. Yet, as more and more magicians practiced their arts, the fabric of reality around Dalaran
began to weaken and tear.

The sinister agents of the Burning Legion, who had been banished when the Well of Eternity collapsed, were lured back
into the world by the heedless spellcasting of the magicians of Dalaran. Though these relatively weak demons did not
appear in force, they did sew considerable confusion and chaos within the streets of Dalaran. Most of these demonic
encounters were isolated events, and the ruling Magocrats did what they could to keep such events hidden from the
public. The most powerful magicians were sent to capture the elusive demons, but they often found themselves
hopelessly outmatched by the lone agents of the mighty Legion.

After a few months the superstitious peasantry began to suspect that their sorcerous rulers were hiding something
terrible from them. Rumors of revolution began to sweep through the streets of Dalaran as the paranoid citizenry
questioned the motives and practices of the magicians they had once admired. The Magocrats, fearing that the peasants
would revolt and that Strom would take action against them, turned to the only group they felt would understand their
particular problem: the elves.

Upon hearing the Magocrats' news of demonic activity in Dalaran, the elves quickly dispatched their mightiest wizards to
the human lands. The elven wizards studied the energy currents in Dalaran and made detailed reports of all demonic
activity that they beheld. They concluded that although there were only a few demons loose in the world, the Legion
itself would remain a dire threat so long as humans continued to wield the forces of magic.
The Council of Silvermoon, which ruled over the elves of Quel'Thalas, entered into a secret pact with the Magocrat lords
of Dalaran. The elves told the Magocrats about the history of ancient Kalimdor and of the Burning Legion, a history
which still threatened the world. They informed the humans that so long as they used magic, they would need to protect
their citizenry from the malicious agents of the Legion. The Magocrats proposed the notion of empowering a single
mortal champion who would utilize their powers in order to fight a never-ending secret war against the Legion. It was
stressed that the majority of mankind could never know about the Guardians or the threat of the Legion for fear that
they would riot in fear and paranoia. The elves agreed to the proposal and founded a secret society that would watch
over the selection of the Guardian and help to stem the rise of chaos in the world.

The society held its secret meetings in the shadowed Tirisfal Glades, where the high elves had first settled in Lordaeron.
Thus, they named the secret sect the Guardians of Tirisfal. The mortal champions who were chosen to be Guardians
were imbued with incredible powers of both elven and human magic. Though there would only ever be one Guardian at
a time, they held such vast power that they could single-handedly fight back the Legion's agents wherever they were
found in the world. The Guardian power was so great that only the Council of Tirisfal was allowed to choose potential
successors to the mantle of Guardianship. Whenever a Guardian grew too old, or wearied of the secret war against
chaos, the Council chose a new champion, and under controlled conditions, formally channeled the Guardian power into
its new agent.

As the generations passed, Guardians defended the masses of humanity from the invisible threat of the Burning Legion
throughout the lands of Arathor and Quel'Thalas. Arathor grew and prospered while the use of magic spread throughout
the empire. Meanwhile, the Guardians kept careful watch for signs of demonic activity.
 Ironforge - the Awakening of the Dwarves
-2500

Tanaris, Loch Modan, Ironforge, The Barrens, Mulgore, Blackrock Depths

In the ancient times, after the Titans departed Azeroth, their children, known as the earthen, continued to shape and
guard the deep recesses of the world. The earthen were largely unconcerned with the affairs of the surface-dwelling
races and longed only to plumb the dark depths of the earth.

When the world was sundered by the Well of Eternity's implosion, the earthen were deeply affected. Reeling with the
pain of the earth itself, the earthen lost much of their identity and sealed themselves within the stone chambers where
they were first created. Uldaman, Uldum, Ulduar... these were the names of the ancient Titan cities where the earthen
first took shape and form. Buried deep beneath the world, the earthen rested in peace for nearly eight thousand years.

Though it is unclear what awakened them, the earthen sealed within Uldaman eventually arose from their self-imposed
slumber. These earthen found that they had changed significantly during their hibernation. Their rocky hides had
softened and become smooth skin, and their powers over stone and earth had waned. They had become mortal
creatures.

Calling themselves dwarves, the last of the earthen left the halls of Uldaman and ventured out into the waking world.
Still lulled by the safety and wonders of the deep places, they founded a vast kingdom under the highest mountain in the
land. They named their land Khaz Modan, or "Mountain of Khaz", in honor of the Titan shaper, Khaz'goroth.
Constructing an altar for their Titan father, the dwarves crafted a mighty forge within the heart of the mountain. Thus,
the city that grew around the forge would be called Ironforge ever after.

The dwarves, by nature fascinated with shaping gems and stone, set out to mine the surrounding mountains for riches
and precious minerals. Content with their labors under the world, the dwarves remained isolated from the affairs of
their surface-dwelling neighbors.
 The Seven Kingdoms
-1200

Scholomance, Stratholme

Strom continued to act as the central hub of Arathor, but as with Dalaran, many new city-states arose across the
continent of Lordaeron. Gilneas, Alterac, and Kul Tiras were the first city-states to arise, and although they each had
their own customs and commercial workings, they all held to the unifying authority of Strom.

Under the vigilant watch of the Order of Tirisfal, Dalaran became the chief center of learning for magicians throughout
the land. The Magocrats who ruled Dalaran founded the Kirin Tor, a specialized sect that was charged with cataloguing
and researching every spell, artifact, and magic item known to mankind at the time.

Gilneas and Alterac became strong supporters of Strom and developed mighty armies that explored the mountainous
southern lands of Khaz Modan. It was during this period that humans first met the ancient race of dwarves and traveled
to their cavernous subterranean city of Ironforge. The humans and dwarves shared many secrets of metal-smithing and
engineering and discovered a common love for battle and storytelling.

The city-state of Kul Tiras, founded upon a large island south of Lordaeron, developed a prosperous economy based on
fishing and shipping. Over time, Kul Tiras built up a mighty fleet of merchant vessels that sailed throughout the known
lands in search of exotic goods to trade and sell. Yet even as the economy of Arathor flourished, its strongest elements
began to disintegrate.

In time, the lords of Strom sought to move their estates to the lush northlands of Lordaeron and leave the arid lands of
the south. The heirs of King Thoradin, the last descendants of the Arathi bloodline, argued that Strom should not be
abandoned and thus incurred the displeasure of the greater citizenry, who were likewise eager to leave. The lords of
Strom, seeking to find purity and enlightenment in the untamed north, decided to leave their ancient city behind. Far to
the north of Dalaran, the lords of Strom built a new city-state which they named Lordaeron. The entire continent would
take its name from this city-state. Lordaeron became a mecca for religious travelers and all those who sought inner
peace and security.

The descendents of the Arathi, left within the crumbling walls of ancient Strom, decided to travel south past the rocky
mountains of Khaz Modan. Their journey finally ended after many long seasons, and they settled in the northern region
of the continent they would name Azeroth. In a fertile valley they founded the kingdom of Stormwind, which quickly
became a self-sufficient power in its own right.

The few warriors still left in Strom decided to remain and guard the ancient walls of their city. Strom was no longer the
center of the empire, but it developed into a new nation known as Stromgarde. Though each of the city-states became
prosperous in its own right, the empire of Arathor had effectively disintegrated. As each nation developed its own
customs and beliefs, they became increasingly segregated from one another. King Thoradin's vision of a unified
humanity had faded at last.
 Aegwynn and the Dragon Hunt
-823

Westfall, Scarlet Monastery, Tirisfal Glades

As the politics and rivalries of the seven human nations waxed and waned, the line of Guardians kept its constant vigil
against chaos. There were many Guardians over the years, but only one ever held the magical powers of Tirisfal at any
given time. One of the last Guardians of the age distinguished herself as a mighty warrior against the shadow. Aegwynn,
a fiery human girl, won the approbation of the Order and was given the mantle of Guardianship. Aegwynn vigorously
worked to hunt down and eradicate demons wherever she found them, but she often questioned the authority of the
male-dominated Council of Tirisfal. She believed that the ancient elves and the elderly men who presided over the
council were too rigid in their thinking and not farsighted enough to put a decisive end to the conflict against chaos.
Impatient with lengthy discussion and debate, she yearned to prove herself worthy to her peers and superiors, and as a
result frequently chose valor over wisdom in crucial situations.

As her mastery over the cosmic power of Tirisfal grew, Aegwynn became aware of a number of powerful demons that
stalked the icy northern continent of Northrend. Traveling to the distant north, Aegwynn tracked the demons into the
mountains. There, she found that the demons were hunting one of the last surviving dragonflights and draining the
ancient creatures of their innate magic. The mighty dragons, who had fled from the ever-advancing march of mortal
societies, found themselves too evenly matched against the dark magics of the Legion. Aegwynn confronted the
demons, and with help from the noble dragons, eradicated them. Yet, as the last demon was banished from the mortal
world, a great storm erupted throughout the north. An enormous dark visage appeared in the sky above Northrend.
Sargeras, the demon king and lord of the Burning Legion, appeared before Aegwynn and bristled with hellish energy. He
informed the young Guardian that the time of Tirisfal was about to come to an end and that the world would soon bow
before the onslaught of the Legion.

The proud Aegwynn, believing herself to be a match for the menacing god, unleashed her powers against Sargeras'
avatar. With disconcerting ease, Aegwynn battered the demonlord with her powers and succeeded in killing his physical
shell. Fearing that Sargeras' spirit would linger on, the na? Aegwynn locked the ruined husk of his body within one of the
ancient halls of Kalimdor that had been blasted to the bottom of the sea when the Well of Eternity collapsed. Aegwynn
would never know that she had done exactly as Sargeras had planned. She had inadvertently sealed the fate of the
mortal world, for Sargeras, at the time of his corporeal death, had transferred his spirit into Aegwynn's weakened body.
Unbeknownst to the young Guardian, Sargeras would remain cloaked within the darkest recesses of her soul for many
long years.
 War of the Three Hammers
-230

Redridge Mountains, Stormwind City, Ironforge, The Barrens, Mulgore, Scarlet Monastery,
The Hinterlands, Blackrock Depths

The dwarves of Ironforge Mountain lived in peace for many long centuries. However, their society grew too large within
the confines of their mountain cities. Though the mighty High King, Modimus Anvilmar, ruled over all dwarves with
justice and wisdom, three powerful factions had arisen amongst the dwarven society.

The Bronzebeard clan, ruled by Thane Madoran Bronzebeard, held close ties to the High King and stood as the
traditional defenders of Ironforge Mountain. The Wildhammer clan, ruled by Thane Khardros Wildhammer, inhabited
the foothills and crags around the base of the mountain and sought to gain more control within the city. The third
faction, the Dark Iron clan, was ruled by the sorcerer-thane Thaurissan. The Dark Irons hid within the deepest shadows
under the mountain and plotted against both their Bronzebeard and the Wildhammer cousins.

For a time the three factions kept a tenuous peace, but tensions erupted when High King Anvilmar passed away from old
age. The three ruling clans went to war for control of Ironforge itself. The dwarf civil war raged under the earth for many
years. Eventually the Bronzebeards, who had the largest standing army, banished the Dark Irons and Wildhammers from
under the mountain.

Khardros and his Wildhammer warriors traveled north through the barrier gates of Dun Algaz, and they founded their
own kingdom within the distant peak of Grim Batol. There, the Wildhammers thrived and rebuilt their stores of treasure.
Thaurissan and his Dark Irons did not fare as well. Humiliated and enraged by their defeat, they vowed revenge against
Ironforge. Leading his people far to the south, Thaurissan founded a city (which he named after himself) within the
beautiful Redridge Mountains. Prosperity and the passing of years did little to ease the Dark Iron's rancor toward their
cousins. Thaurissan and his sorceress wife, Modgud, launched a two-pronged assault against both Ironforge and Grim
Batol. The Dark Irons were intent on claiming all of Khaz Modan for their own.

The Dark Iron armies smashed against their cousins' strongholds and very nearly took both kingdoms. However,
Madoran Bronzebeard ultimately led his clan to a decisive victory over Thaurissan's sorcerous army. Thaurissan and his
servants fled back to the safety of their city, unaware of the events transpiring at Grim Batol, where Modgud's army
would fare no better against Khardros and his Wildhammer warriors.

As she confronted the enemy warriors, Modgud used her powers to strike fear into their hearts. Shadows moved at her
command, and dark things crawled up from the depths of the earth to stalk the Wildhammers in their own halls.
Eventually Modgud broke through the gates and laid siege to the fortress itself. The Wildhammers fought desperately,
Khardros himself wading through the roiling masses to slay the sorceress queen. With their queen lost, the Dark Irons
fled before the fury of the Wildhammers. They raced south toward their king's stronghold, only to meet the armies of
Ironforge, which had come to aid Grim Batol. Crushed between two armies, the remaining Dark Iron forces were utterly
destroyed.

The combined armies of Ironforge and Grim Batol then turned south, intent on destroying Thaurissan and his Dark Irons
once and for all. They had not gone far when Thaurissan's fury resulted in a spell of cataclysmic proportions. Seeking to
summon a supernatural minion that would ensure his victory, Thaurissan called upon the ancient powers sleeping
beneath the world. To his shock, and ultimately his doom, the creature that emerged was more terrible than any
nightmare he could have imagined.
Ragnaros the Firelord, immortal lord of all fire elementals, had been banished by the Titans when the world was young.
Now, freed by Thaurissan's call, Ragnaros erupted into being once again. Ragnaros' apocalyptic rebirth into Azeroth
shattered the Redridge Mountains and created a raging volcano at the center of the devastation. The volcano, known as
Blackrock Mountain, was bordered by the Searing Gorge to the north and the Burning Steppes to the south. Though
Thaurissan was killed by the forces he had unleashed, his surviving brethren were ultimately enslaved by Ragnaros and
his elementals. They remain within the depths of Blackrock to this day.

Witnessing the horrific devastation and the fires spreading across the southern mountains, King Madoran and King
Khardros halted their armies and hastily turned back towards their kingdoms, unwilling to face the awesome wrath of
Ragnaros.

The Bronzebeards returned to Ironforge and rebuilt their glorious city. The Wildhammers also returned home to Grim
Batol. However, the death of the Modgud had left an evil stain on the mountain fortress, and the Wildhammers found it
uninhabitable. They were bitter in their hearts over the loss of their beloved home. King Bronzebeard offered the
Wildhammers a place to live within the borders of Ironforge, but the Wildhammers steadfastly refused. Khardros took
his people north towards the lands of Lordaeron. Settling within the lush forests of the Hinterlands, the Wildhammers
crafted the city of Aerie Peak, where the Wildhammers grew closer to nature and even bonded with the mighty
gryphons of the area.

Seeking to retain relations and trade with their cousins, the dwarves of Ironforge constructed two massive arches, the
Thandol Span, to bridge the gap between Khaz Modan and Lordaeron. Bolstered by mutual trade, the two kingdoms
prospered. After the deaths of Madoran and Khardros, their sons jointly commissioned two great statues in honor of
their fathers. The two statues would stand guard over the pass into the southlands, which had become volcanic in the
wake of Ragnaros' scorching presence. They served as both a warning to all who would attack the dwarven kingdoms,
and as a reminder of what price the Dark Irons paid for their crimes.

The two kingdoms retained close ties for some years, but the Wildhammers were much changed by the horrors they
witnessed at Grim Batol. They took to living above ground on the slopes of Aerie Peak, instead of carving a vast kingdom
within the mountain. The ideological differences between the two remaining dwarven clans eventually led to their
parting of ways.
 The Last Guardian
-45

Westfall, Loch Modan

The Guardian Aegwynn grew powerful over the years and used the Tirisfal energies to greatly extend her life. Foolishly
believing that she had defeated Sargeras for good, she continued to safeguard the world from the demon king's minions
for nearly nine hundred years. However, the Council of Tirisfal finally decreed that her stewardship had come to an end.
The Council ordered Aegwynn to return to Dalaran so that they could choose a new successor for the Guardian power.
Yet Aegwynn, ever distrustful of the Council, decided to choose a successor on her own.

The proud Aegwynn planned to give birth to a son whom she would divest her power to. She had no intention of
allowing the Order of Tirisfal to manipulate her successor as they had tried to manipulate her. Traveling to the southern
nation of Azeroth, Aegwynn found the perfect man to father her son: a skilled human magician known as Nielas Aran.
Aran was the court conjuror and advisor for Azeroth's king. Aegwynn seduced the magician and conceived a son by him.
Nielas' natural affinity for magic would run deep within the unborn child and define the tragic steps the child would later
take. The power of Tirisfal was also implanted in the child, yet it wasn't to awaken until he reached physical maturity.

Time passed, and Aegwynn gave birth to her son in a secluded grove. Naming the boy Medivh, which means "keeper of
secrets" in the high elven tongue, Aegwynn believed that the boy would mature to become the next Guardian.
Unfortunately the malignant spirit of Sargeras, which had been hiding inside her, had possessed the defenseless child
while it was still in her womb. Aegwynn had no idea that the world's newest Guardian was already possessed by its
greatest nemesis.

Certain that her baby was healthy and sound, Aegwynn delivered young Medivh to the court of Azeroth and left him
there to be raised by his mortal father and his people. She then wandered into the wilderness and prepared to pass into
whatever afterlife awaited her. Medivh grew to become a strong boy and had no idea of the potential power of his
Tirisfalin birthright.

Sargeras bided his time until the youth's power manifested itself. By the time Medivh had reached his teenage years, he
had become very popular in Azeroth for his magical prowess and often went off on adventures with his two friends:
Llane, the prince of Azeroth, and Anduin Lothar, one of the last descendents of the Arathi bloodline. The three boys
constantly caused mischief around the kingdom, but they were well liked by the general citizenry.

When Medivh reached the age of fourteen, the cosmic power inside him awakened and clashed with the pervasive spirit
of Sargeras that lurked within his soul. Medivh fell into a catatonic state which lasted for many years. When he
awakened from his coma, he found that he had grown to adulthood, and his friends Llane and Anduin had become the
regents of Azeroth. Though he wished to use his incredible newfound powers to protect the land he called home, the
dark spirit of Sargeras twisted his thoughts and emotions towards an insidious end.

Sargeras reveled within the darkening heart of Medivh, for he knew that his plans for the second invasion of the world
were nearing completion, and that the world's last Guardian would bring them all to fruition.
Chapter III: The Doom of Draenor
 Kil'jaeden and the Shadow Pact
~-45 to -2

Duskwood, Scholomance, Stratholme

Around the time of Medivh's birth on Azeroth, Kil'jaeden the Deceiver sat and brooded amongst his followers within the
Twisting Nether. The cunning demonlord, under orders of his master, Sargeras, was plotting the Burning Legion's second
invasion of Azeroth. This time he would not allow any mistakes. Kil'jaeden surmised that he needed a new force to
weaken Azeroth's defenses before the Legion even set foot upon the world. If the mortal races, such as the night elves
and dragons, were forced to contend with a new threat, they would be too weak to pose any real resistance when the
Legion's true invasion arrived.

It was at this time that Kil'jaeden discovered the lush world of Draenor floating peacefully within the Great Dark Beyond.
Home to the shamanistic, clan-based orcs and the peaceful draenei, Draenor was as idyllic as it was vast. The noble orc
clans roamed the open prairies and hunted for sport, while the inquisitive draenei built crude cities within the world's
towering cliffs and peaks. Kil'jaeden knew that Draenor's denizens had great potential to serve the Burning Legion if they
could be cultivated properly.

Of the two races, Kil'jaeden saw that the warrior orcs were more susceptible to the Legion's corruption. He enthralled
the elder orc shaman, Ner'zhul, in much the same way that Sargeras brought Queen Azshara under his control in ages
past. Using the cunning shaman as his conduit, the demon spread battle lust and savagery throughout the orc clans.
Before long, the spiritual race was transformed into a bloodthirsty people. Kil'jaeden then urged Ner'zhul and his people
to take the last step: to give themselves over entirely to the pursuit of death and war. Yet the old shaman, sensing that
his people would be enslaved to hatred forever, somehow resisted the demon's command.

Frustrated by Ner'zhul's resistance, Kil'jaeden searched for another orc who would deliver his people into the Legion's
hands. The clever demonlord finally found the willing disciple he sought - Ner'zhul's ambitious apprentice, Gul'dan.
Kil'jaeden promised Gul'dan untold power in exchange for his utter obedience. The young orc became an avid student of
demonic magic and developed into the most powerful mortal warlock in history. He taught other young orcs the arcane
arts and strove to eradicate the orcs' shamanistic traditions. Gul'dan showed a new brand of magic to his brethren, a
terrible new power that reeked of doom.

Kil'jaeden, seeking to tighten his hold over the orcs, helped Gul'dan found the Shadow Council, a secretive sect that
manipulated the clans and spread the use of warlock magics throughout Draenor. As more and more orcs began to wield
warlock magics, the gentle fields and streams of Draenor began to blacken and fade. Over time, the vast prairies the orcs
had called home for generations withered away, leaving only red barren soil. The demon energies were slowly killing the
world.
 Rise of the Horde
-1

Swamp of Sorrows, Ironforge, Durotar

The orcs became increasingly aggressive under the secret control of Gul'dan and his Shadow Council. They constructed
massive arenas where the orcs honed their warrior skills in trials of combat and death. During this period, a few clan
chieftains spoke out against the growing depravity in their race. One such chieftain, Durotan of the Frostwolf clan,
warned against the orcs' losing themselves to hate and fury. His words fell on deaf ears, however, as stronger chieftains
such as Grom Hellscream of the Warsong clan stepped forward to champion the new age of warfare and dominance.

Kil'jaeden knew that the orc clans were almost ready, but he needed to be certain of their ultimate loyalty. In secret, he
had the Shadow Council summon Mannoroth the Destructor, the living vessel of destruction and rage. Gul'dan called the
clan chieftains together and convinced them that drinking Mannoroth's raging blood would make them utterly
invincible. Led by Grom Hellscream, all the clan chiefs except Durotan drank and thereby sealed their fates as slaves to
the Burning Legion. Empowered by Mannoroth's rage, the chieftains unwittingly extended this subjugation to their
unsuspecting brethren.

Consumed with the curse of this new bloodlust, the orcs sought to unleash their fury on any who stood before them.
Sensing that the time had come, Gul'dan united the warring clans into a single unstoppable Horde. However, knowing
that the various chieftains like Hellscream and Orgrim Doomhammer would vie for overall supremacy, Gul'dan set up a
puppet warchief to rule over this new Horde. Blackhand the Destroyer, a particularly depraved and vicious orc warlord,
was chosen to be Gul'dan's puppet.

Under Blackhand's command, the Horde set out to test itself against the simple draenei. Over the course of a few
months, the Horde eradicated nearly every draenei living on Draenor. Only a scattered handful of survivors managed to
evade the orcs' awesome wrath. Flushed with victory, Gul'dan reveled in the Horde's power and might. Still, he knew
that without any enemies to fight, the Horde would consume itself with endless infighting in its unstoppable appetite for
glorious slaughter.

Kil'jaeden knew that the Horde was finally prepared. The orcs had become the Burning Legion's greatest weapon. The
cunning demon shared his knowledge with his waiting master, and Sargeras agreed that the time of his revenge had
finally come.
Chapter IV: Alliance and Horde
 The Dark Portal and the Fall of Stormwind
0

Blasted Lands, Swamp of Sorrows, Redridge Mountains, Stormwind City, Scholomance

As Kil'jaeden prepared the Horde for its invasion of Azeroth, Medivh continued to fight for his soul against Sargeras. King
Llane, the noble monarch of Stormwind, grew wary of the darkness which seemed to taint the spirit of his former friend.
King Llane shared his concerns with Anduin Lothar, the last descendent of the Arathi bloodline, whom he named his
lieutenant-at-arms. Even so, neither man could have imagined that Medivh's slow descent into madness would bring
about the horrors that were to come.

As a final incentive, Sargeras promised to bestow great power upon Gul'dan if he agreed to lead the Horde to Azeroth.
Through Medivh, Sargeras told the warlock that he could become a living god if he found the undersea tomb where the
Guardian Aegwynn had placed Sargeras' crippled body nearly a thousand years before. Gul'dan agreed and decided that
once the denizens of Azeroth were beaten, he would find the legendary tomb and claim his reward. Assured that the
Horde would serve his purposes, Sargeras ordered the invasion to begin.

Through a joint effort, Medivh and the warlocks of the Shadow Council opened the dimensional gateway known as the
Dark Portal. This portal bridged the distance between Azeroth and Draenor, and it was large enough that armies might
pass through it. Gul'dan dispatched orc scouts through the portal to survey the lands which they would conquer. The
returning scouts assured the Shadow Council that the world of Azeroth was ripe for the taking.

Still convinced that Gul'dan's corruption would destroy his people, Durotan spoke out against the warlocks once more.
The brave warrior claimed that warlocks were destroying the purity of the orcish spirit and that this reckless invasion
would be their doom. Gul'dan, unable to risk killing such a popular hero, was forced to exile Durotan and his Frostwolf
Clan into the far reaches of this new world.

After the exiled Frostwolves charged through the portal, only a few orc clans followed. These orcs quickly set up a base
of operations within the Black Morass, a dark and swampy area far to the east of the kingdom of Stormwind. As the orcs
began to branch out and explore the new lands, they came into immediate conflict with the human defenders of
Stormwind. Though these skirmishes usually ended quickly, they did much to illustrate the weaknesses and strengths of
both rival species. Llane and Lothar were never able to gather accurate data of the orcs' numbers and could only guess
at how great a force they would have to contend with. After a few years the majority of the orcish Horde had crossed
into Azeroth, and Gul'dan deemed that the time for the primary strike against humanity had come. The Horde launched
its full might against the unsuspecting kingdom of Stormwind.

As the forces of Azeroth and the Horde clashed across the kingdom, internal conflicts began to take their toll on both
armies. King Llane, who believed the bestial orcs to be incapable of conquering Azeroth, contemptuously held his
position at his capital of Stormwind. However, Sir Lothar became convinced that the battle should be taken directly to
the enemy, and he was forced to choose between his convictions and his loyalty to the king. Choosing to follow his
instincts, Lothar stormed Medivh's tower-fortress of Karazhan with the help of the wizard's young apprentice, Khadgar.
Khadgar and Lothar succeeded in vanquishing the possessed Guardian, whom they confirmed to be the source of the
conflict. By killing Medivh's body, Lothar and the young apprentice inadvertently banished the spirit of Sargeras to the
abyss. As a consequence, the pure, virtuous spirit of Medivh was also allowed to live on... and wander the astral plane
for many years to come.

Although Medivh had been defeated, the Horde continued to dominate the defenders of Stormwind. As the Horde's
victory drew nearer, Orgrim Doomhammer, one of the greatest orc chieftains, began to see the depraved corruption
that had spread throughout the clans since their time in Draenor. His old comrade, Durotan, returned from exile and
warned him yet again of Gul'dan's treachery. In speedy retribution, Gul'dan's assassins murdered Durotan and his family,
leaving only his infant son alive. Unknown to Doomhammer was the fact that Durotan's infant son was found by the
human officer, Aedelas Blackmoore, and taken as a slave.

That infant orc would one day rise to become the greatest leader his people would ever know.

Incensed by Durotan's death, Orgrim set out to free the Horde from demonic corruption and ultimately assumed the
role of warchief of the Horde by killing Gul'dan's corrupt puppet, Blackhand. Under his decisive leadership the relentless
Horde finally laid siege to Stormwind Keep. King Llane had severely underestimated the might of the Horde, and he
watched helplessly as his kingdom fell to the green-skinned invaders. Ultimately King Llane was assassinated by one of
the Shadow Council's finest killers: the half-orc, Garona.

Lothar and his warriors, returning home from Karazhan, hoped to stem the loss of life and save their once-glorious
homeland. Instead, they returned too late and found their beloved kingdom in smoking ruins. The orcish Horde
continued to ravage the countryside and claimed the surrounding lands for its own. Forced into hiding, Lothar and his
companions swore a grim oath to reclaim their homeland at any cost.
 The Alliance of Lordaeron
6

Duskwood, Stormwind City, Dun Morogh, Ironforge, Hillsbrad Foothills

Lord Lothar rallied the remnants of Azeroth's armies after their defeat at Stormwind Keep, and then launched a massive
exodus across the sea to the northern kingdom of Lordaeron. Convinced that the Horde would overcome all of humanity
if left unchecked, the leaders of the seven human nations met and agreed to unite in what would become known as the
Alliance of Lordaeron. For the first time in nearly three thousand years, the disparate nations of Arathor were once again
united under a common banner. Appointed as Supreme Commander of the Alliance forces, Lord Lothar prepared his
armies for the coming of the Horde.

Aided by his lieutenants, Uther the Lightbringer, Admiral Daelin Proudmoore, and Turalyon, Lothar was able to convince
Lordaeron's demi-human races of the impending threat as well. The Alliance succeeded in gaining the support of the
stoic dwarves of Ironforge and a small number of high elves of Quel'Thalas. The elves, led at that time by Anasterian
Sunstrider, were largely uninterested in the coming conflict. However, they were duty-bound to aid Lothar because he
was the last descendent of the Arathi bloodline, which had aided the elves in ages past.

The Horde, now led by Warchief Doomhammer, brought in ogres from its homeworld of Draenor and conscripted the
disenfranchised Amani forest trolls into its fold. Setting out on a massive campaign to overrun the dwarf kingdom of
Khaz Modan and the southern reaches of Lordaeron, the Horde effortlessly decimated all opposition.

The epic battles of the Second War ranged from large-scale naval skirmishes to massive aerial dogfights. Somehow the
Horde had unearthed a powerful artifact known as the Demon Soul and used it to enslave the ancient Dragonqueen,
Alexstrasza. Threatening to destroy her precious eggs, the Horde forced Alexstrasza to send her grown children to war.
The noble red dragons were forced to fight for the Horde, and fight they did.

The war raged across the continents of Khaz Modan, Lordaeron, and Azeroth itself. As part of its northern campaign, the
Horde succeeded in burning down the borderlands of Quel'Thalas, thereby ensuring the elves' final commitment to the
Alliance's cause. The greater cities and townships of Lordaeron were razed and devastated by the conflict. Despite the
absence of reinforcements and overwhelming odds, Lothar and his allies succeeded in holding their enemies at bay.

However, during the final days of the Second War, as the Horde's victory over the Alliance seemed almost assured, a
terrible feud erupted between the two most powerful orcs on Azeroth. As Doomhammer prepared his final assault
against the Capital City of Lordaeron - an assault that would have crushed the last remnants of the Alliance - Gul'dan and
his followers abandoned their posts and set out to sea. The bewildered Doomhammer, having lost nearly half of his
standing forces to Gul'dan's treachery, was forced to pull back and forsake his greatest chance at victory over the
Alliance.

The power-hungry Gul'dan, obsessed with obtaining godhood itself, set out on a desperate search for the undersea
Tomb of Sargeras that he believed held the secrets of ultimate power. Having already doomed his fellow orcs to become
the slaves of the Burning Legion, Gul'dan thought nothing of his supposed duty to Doomhammer. Backed by the
Stormreaver and Twilight's Hammer clans, Gul'dan succeeded in raising the Tomb of Sargeras from the sea floor.
However, when he opened the ancient, flooded vault, he found only crazed demons awaiting him.

Seeking to punish the wayward orcs for their costly betrayal, Doomhammer sent his forces to kill Gul'dan and bring the
renegades back into the fold. For his recklessness, Gul'dan was torn apart by the maddened demons he had set loose.
With their leader dead, the renegade clans quickly fell before Doomhammer's enraged legions. Though the rebellion had
been quelled, the Horde was unable to recoup the terrible losses it had suffered. Gul'dan's betrayal had afforded the
Alliance not only hope, but also time to regroup and retaliate.

Lord Lothar, seeing that the Horde was fracturing from within, gathered the last of his forces and pushed Doomhammer
south, back into the shattered heartland of Stormwind. There, the Alliance forces trapped the retreating Horde within
the volcanic fortress of Blackrock Spire. Though Lord Lothar fell in battle at the Spire's base, his lieutenant, Turalyon,
rallied the Alliance forces at the eleventh hour and drove the Horde back into the abysmal Swamp of Sorrows. Turalyon's
forces succeeded in destroying the Dark Portal, the mystical gateway that connected the orcs to their homeworld of
Draenor. Cut off from its reinforcements and fractured by infighting, the Horde finally buckled in upon itself and fell
before the might of the Alliance.

The scattered orc clans were quickly rounded up and placed within guarded internment camps. Though it seemed that
the Horde had been defeated for good, some remained highly skeptical that peace would last. Khadgar, now an
Archmage of some renown, convinced the Alliance high command to build the fortress of Nethergarde that would watch
over the ruins of the Dark Portal and ensure that there would be no further invasions from Draenor.
 Aftermath of the Second War
~6-7

Blasted Lands, Stormwind City, Scarlet Monastery, Darnassus

The devastating Second War against the orcish horde left the Alliance of Lordaeron in a state of shock and disarray. The
bloodthirsty orcs, led by the mighty warchief, Orgrim Doomhammer, not only smashed their way through the dwarf-
held lands of Khaz Modan, but had razed many of Lordaeron's central provinces as well. The unrelenting orcs even
succeeded in ravaging the elves' remote kingdom of Quel'Thalas before their rampage was finally stopped. The Alliance
armies led by Sir Anduin Lothar, Uther the Lightbringer, and Admiral Daelin Proudmoore pushed the orcs south into the
shattered land of Azeroth - the first kingdom to fall before the orcs' ruthless onslaught.

The Alliance forces under Sir Lothar managed to push Doomhammer's clans out of Lordaeron and back into the orc-
controlled lands of Azeroth. Lothar's forces surrounded the orcs' volcanic citadel of Blackrock Spire and laid siege to their
defenses. In a last-ditch effort, Doomhammer and his lieutenants staged a daring charge from the Spire and clashed with
Lothar's paladins in the center of the Burning Steppes. Doomhammer and Lothar squared off in a titanic battle that left
both mighty combatants battered and drained. Though Doomhammer narrowly succeeded in vanquishing Lothar, the
great hero's death did not have the effect the warchief had hoped for. Turalyon, Lothar's most trusted lieutenant, took
up Lothar's bloodstained shield and rallied his grief-stricken brethren for a vicious counterattack. Under the ragged
standards of both Lordaeron and Azeroth, Turalyon's troops slaughtered the bulk of Doomhammer's remaining forces in
a glorious, but terrible rout. There was nothing left for the ragged, scattered orc survivors but to flee to the last standing
bastion of orcish power - the dark portal.

Turalyon and his warriors chased the remaining orcs through the festering Swamp of Sorrows and into the corrupted
Blasted Lands where the dark portal stood. There, at the foot of the colossal portal, the broken horde and the rugged
Alliance clashed in what would be the last, bloodiest battle of the Second War. Outnumbered and driven mad by the
curse of their bloodlust, the orcs inevitably fell before the wrath of the Alliance. Doomhammer was taken prisoner and
escorted to Lordaeron while his broken clans were rounded up and hauled north - back to Lordaeron.
 Beyond the Dark Portal
~6-7

Stranglethorn Vale, Blasted Lands, Stormwind City, Scarlet Monastery

Only a few months after Nethergarde's completion, the energies of the dark portal coalesced and opened up a new
gateway to Draenor. The remaining orc clans, under the leadership of the elder shaman, Ner'zhul, charged forth into
Azeroth once again. Intent on stealing a number of magical artifacts that would increase Ner'zhul's power, the orcs
planned to open up new portals in Draenor that would allow them to escape their doomed red world forever. Convinced
that Ner'zhul was planning a new offensive against the Alliance, King Terenas of Lordaeron sent his armies into Draenor
to end the orcish threat once and for all.

Led by Khadgar and General Turalyon, the Alliance forces clashed with the orcs across the burning landscape. Even with
the aid of the elven Ranger Alleria, the dwarf Kurdran and the veteran soldier Danath, Khadgar was unable to prevent
Ner'zhul from opening his portals to other worlds. The tremendous magical storms caused by the portals' converging
energies began to tear the ravaged world apart. Ner'zhul, followed only by his most trusted servants, managed to
escape through one of the portals as Khadgar fought desperately to return his comrades to Azeroth.

Realizing that they would be trapped on the dying world, Khadgar and his companions selflessly decided to destroy the
dark portal so that Azeroth would not be harmed by Draenor's violent destruction. By all accounts, the heroes were
successful in destroying the portal and saving Azeroth - but whether or not they escaped the death throes of Draenor
remains to be seen.
 The Invasion of Draenor
8

Scholomance

As the fires of the Second War died down, the Alliance took aggressive steps to contain the orcish threat. A number of
large internment camps, meant to house the captive orcs, were constructed in southern Lordaeron. Guarded by both
the paladins and the veteran soldiers of the Alliance, the camps proved to be a great success. Though the captive orcs
were tense and anxious to do battle once more, the various camp wardens, based at the old prison-fortress of
Durnholde, kept the peace and maintained a strong semblance of order.

However, on the hellish world of Draenor, a new orcish army prepared to strike at the unsuspecting Alliance. Ner'zhul,
the former mentor of Gul'dan, rallied the remaining orc clans under his dark banner. Aided by the Shadowmoon clan,
the old shaman planned to open a number of portals on Draenor that would lead the Horde to new, unspoiled worlds.
To power his new portals, he needed a number of enchanted artifacts from Azeroth. To procure them, Ner'zhul
reopened the Dark Portal and sent his ravenous servants charging through it.

The new Horde, led by veteran chieftains such as Grom Hellscream and Kilrogg Deadeye (of the Bleeding Hollow clan),
surprised the Alliance defense forces and rampaged through the countryside. Under Ner'zhul's surgical command, the
orcs quickly rounded up the artifacts that they needed and fled back to the safety of Draenor.

King Terenas of Lordaeron, convinced that the orcs were preparing a new invasion of Azeroth, assembled his most
trusted lieutenants. He ordered General Turalyon and the archmage, Khadgar, to lead an expedition through the Dark
Portal to put an end to the orcish threat once and for all. Turalyon and Khadgar's forces marched into Draenor and
repeatedly clashed with Ner'zhul's clans upon the ravaged Hellfire Peninsula. Even with the aid of the high elf Alleria
Windrunner, the dwarf Kurdran Wildhammer, and the veteran soldier Danath Trollbane, Khadgar was unable to prevent
Ner'zhul from opening his portals to other worlds.

Ner'zhul finally opened his portals to other worlds, but he did not foresee the terrible price he would pay. The portals'
tremendous energies began to tear the very fabric of Draenor apart. As Turalyon's forces fought desperately to return
home to Azeroth, the world of Draenor began to buckle in upon itself. Grom Hellscream and Kilrogg Deadeye, realizing
that Ner'zhul's mad plans would doom their entire race, rallied the remaining orcs and escaped back to the relative
safety of Azeroth.

On Draenor, Turalyon and Khadgar agreed to make the ultimate sacrifice by destroying the Dark Portal from their side.
Though it would cost their lives, and the lives of their companions, they knew that it was the only way to ensure
Azeroth's survival. Even as Hellscream and Deadeye hacked their way through the human ranks in a desperate bid for
freedom, the Dark Portal exploded behind them. For them, and the remaining orcs on Azeroth, there would be no going
back.

Ner'zhul and his loyal Shadowmoon clan passed through the largest of the newly created portals, as massive volcanic
eruptions began to break Draenor's continents apart. The burning seas rose up and roiled the shattered landscape as the
tortured world was finally consumed in a massive, apocalyptic explosion.
 The Birth of the Lich King
~8-19

Duskwood, Hillsbrad Foothills, Scholomance, Stratholme

Ner'zhul and his followers entered the Twisting Nether, the ethereal plane that connects all of the worlds scattered
throughout the Great Dark Beyond. Unfortunately Kil'jaeden and his demonic minions were waiting for them. Kil'jaeden,
who had sworn to take vengeance on Ner'zhul for his prideful defiance, slowly tore the old shaman's body apart, piece
by piece. Kil'jaeden kept the shaman's spirit alive and intact, thus leaving Ner'zhul painfully aware of his body's gross
dismemberment. Though Ner'zhul pleaded with the demon to release his spirit and grant him death, the demon grimly
replied that the Blood Pact they had made long ago was still binding, and that Ner'zhul still had a purpose to serve.

The orcs' failure to conquer the world for the Burning Legion forced Kil'jaeden to create a new army to sew chaos
throughout the kingdoms of the Azeroth. This new army could not be allowed to fall prey to the same petty rivalries and
infighting that had plagued the Horde. It would have to be merciless and single-minded in its mission. This time,
Kil'jaeden could not afford to fail.

Holding Ner'zhul's spirit helpless in stasis, Kil'jaeden gave him one last chance to serve the Legion or suffer eternal
torment. Once again, Ner'zhul recklessly agreed to the demon's pact. Ner'zhul's spirit was placed within a specially
crafted block of diamond-hard ice gathered from the far reaches of the Twisting Nether. Encased within the frozen cask,
Ner'zhul felt his consciousness expand ten thousand-fold. Warped by the demon's chaotic powers, Ner'zhul became a
spectral being of unfathomable power. At that moment, the orc known as Ner'zhul was shattered forever, and the Lich
King was born.

Ner'zhul's loyal death knights and Shadowmoon followers were also transformed by the demon's chaotic energies. The
wicked spellcasters were ripped apart and remade as skeletal liches. The demons had ensured that even in death,
Ner'zhul's followers would serve him unquestioningly.

When the time was right, Kil'jaeden explained the mission for which he had created the Lich King. Ner'zhul was to
spread a plague of death and terror across Azeroth that would snuff out human civilization forever. All those who died
from the dreaded plague would arise as the undead, and their spirits would be bound to Ner'zhul's iron will forever.
Kil'jaeden promised that if Ner'zhul accomplished his dark mission of scouring humanity from the world, he would be
freed from his curse and granted a new, healthy body to inhabit.

Though Ner'zhul was agreeable and seemingly anxious to play his part, Kil'jaeden remained skeptical of his pawn's
loyalties. Keeping the Lich King bodiless and trapped within the crystal cask assured his good conduct for the short term,
but the demon knew that he would need to keep a watchful eye on him. To this end, Kil'jaeden called upon his elite
demon guard, the vampiric dreadlords, to police Ner'zhul and ensure that he accomplished his dread task. Tichondrius,
the most powerful and cunning of the dreadlords, warmed to the challenge; he was fascinated by the plague's severity
and the Lich King's unbridled potential for genocide.
 Icecrown and the Frozen Throne
~8-19

Elwynn Forest, Scarlet Monastery, Scholomance, Undercity, Stratholme

Kil'jaeden cast Ner'zhul's icy cask back into the world of Azeroth. The hardened crystal streaked across the night sky and
smashed into the desolate arctic continent of Northrend, burying itself deep within the Icecrown glacier. The frozen
crystal, warped and scarred by its violent descent, came to resemble a throne, and Ner'zhul's vengeful spirit soon stirred
within it.

From the confines of the Frozen Throne, Ner'zhul began to reach out his vast consciousness and touch the minds of
Northrend's native inhabitants. With little effort, he enslaved the minds of many indigenous creatures, including ice
trolls and fierce wendigo, and he drew their evil brethren into his growing shadow. His psychic powers proved to be
almost limitless, and he used them to create a small army that he housed within Icecrown's twisting labyrinths. As the
Lich King mastered his growing abilities under the dreadlords' persistent vigil, he discovered a remote human settlement
on the fringe of the vast Dragonblight. On a whim, Ner'zhul decided to test his powers on the unsuspecting humans.

Ner'zhul cast a plague of undeath - which had originated from deep within the Frozen Throne, out into the arctic
wasteland. Controlling the plague with his will alone, he drove it straight into the human village. Within three days,
everyone in the settlement was dead, but shortly thereafter, the dead villagers began to rise as zombified corpses.
Ner'zhul could feel their individual spirits and thoughts as if they were his own. The raging cacophony in his mind caused
Ner'zhul to grow even more powerful, as if their spirits provided him with much-needed nourishment. He found it was
child's play to control the zombies' actions and steer them to whatever end he wished.

Over the following months, Ner'zhul continued to experiment with his plague of undeath by subjugating every human
inhabitant of Northrend. With his army of undead growing daily, he knew that the time for his true test was nearing.
 The Battle of Grim Batol
~8-19

Stormwind City, Ironforge, Wetlands, Mulgore

Meanwhile, in the war-torn lands of the south, the scattered remnants of the Horde fought for their very survival.
Though Grom Hellscream and his Warsong clan managed to evade capture, Deadeye and his Bleeding Hollow clan were
rounded up and placed in the internment camps in Lordaeron. Notwithstanding these costly uprisings, the camps'
wardens soon re-established control over their brutish charges.

However, unknown to the Alliance, a large force of orcs still roamed free in the northern wastes of Khaz Modan. The
Dragonmaw clan, led by the infamous warlock Nekros, was using an ancient artifact known as the Demon Soul to control
the Dragonqueen, Alexstrasza, and her dragonflight. With the Dragonqueen as his hostage, Nekros built up a secret
army within the abandoned - some say cursed - Wildhammer stronghold of Grim Batol. Planning to unleash his forces
and the mighty red dragons on the Alliance, Nekros hoped to reunite the Horde and continue its conquest of Azeroth.
His vision did not come to pass: a small group of resistance fighters, led by the human mage Rhonin managed to destroy
the Demon Soul and free the Dragonqueen from Nekros' command.

In their fury, Alexstrasza's dragons tore Grim Batol apart and incinerated the greater bulk of the Dragonmaw clan.
Nekros' grand schemes of reunification came crashing down as the Alliance troops rounded up the remaining orc
survivors and threw them into the waiting internment camps. The Dragonmaw clan's defeat signaled the end of the
Horde, and the end of the orcs' furious bloodlust.
 Lethargy of the Orcs
~8-19

Elwynn Forest, The Barrens

Months passed, and more orc prisoners were rounded up and placed within the internment camps. As the camps began
to overflow, the Alliance was forced to construct new camps in the plains south of the Alterac Mountains. To properly
maintain and supply the growing number of camps, King Terenas levied a new tax on the Alliance nations. This tax, along
with increased political tensions over border disputes, created widespread unrest. It seemed that the fragile pact that
had forged the human nations together in their darkest hour would break at any given moment.

Amidst the political turmoil, many of the camp wardens began to notice an unsettling change come over their orc
captives. The orcs' efforts to escape from the camps or even fight amongst themselves had greatly decreased in
frequency over time. The orcs were becoming increasingly aloof and lethargic. Though it was difficult to believe, the orcs
- once held as the most aggressive race ever seen on Azeroth - had completely lost their will to fight. The strange
lethargy confounded the Alliance leaders and continued to take its toll on the rapidly weakening orcs.

Some speculated that some strange disease, contractible only by orcs, brought about the baffling lethargy. But
Archmage Antonidas of Dalaran posed a different hypothesis. Researching what little he could find of orcish history,
Antonidas learned that the orcs had been under the crippling influence of demonic power for generations. He
speculated that the orcs had been corrupted by these powers even before their first invasion of Azeroth. Clearly,
demons had spiked the orcs' blood, and in turn the brutes had been granted unnaturally heightened strength,
endurance, and aggression.

Antonidas theorized that the orcs' communal lethargy was not actually a disease, but a consequence of racial
withdrawal from the volatile warlock magics that had made them fearsome, bloodlusted warriors. Though the
symptoms were clear, Antonidas was unable to find a cure for the orcs' present condition. Then too, many of his fellow
mages, as well as a few notable Alliance leaders, argued that finding a cure for the orcs would be an imprudent venture.
Left to ponder the orcs' mysterious condition, Antonidas' conclusion was that the orcs' cure would have to be a spiritual
one.
 The New Horde
~8-19

Swamp of Sorrows, Stormwind City, The Barrens

The chief warden of the internment camps, Aedelas Blackmoore, watched over the captive orcs from his prison-stronghold,
Durnholde. One orc in particular had always held his interest: the orphaned infant he had found nearly eighteen years before.
Blackmoore had raised the young male as a favored slave and named him Thrall. Blackmoore taught the orc about tactics,
philosophy, and combat. Thrall was even trained as a gladiator. All the while, the corrupt warden sought to mold the orc into a
weapon.

Despite his harsh upbringing, young Thrall grew into a strong, quick-witted orc, and he knew in his heart that a slave's life was
not for him. As he grew to maturity, he learned about his people, the orcs, whom he had never met: after their defeat, most
of them had been placed in internment camps. Rumor had it that Doomhammer, the orc leader, had escaped from Lordaeron
and gone into hiding. Only one rogue clan still operated in secret, trying to evade the watchful eyes of the Alliance.

The resourceful yet inexperienced Thrall decided to escape from Blackmoore's fortress and set off to find others of his kind.
During his journeys Thrall visited the internment camps and found his once-mighty race to be strangely cowed and lethargic.
Having not found the proud warriors he hoped to discover, Thrall set out to find the last undefeated orc chieftain, Grom
Hellscream.

Constantly hunted by the humans, Hellscream nevertheless held onto the Horde's unquenchable will to fight. Aided only by
his own devoted Warsong clan, Hellscream continued to wage an underground war against the oppression of his beleaguered
people. Unfortunately, Hellscream could never find a way to rouse the captured orcs from their stupor. The impressionable
Thrall, inspired by Hellscream's idealism, developed a strong empathy for the Horde and its warrior traditions.

Seeking the truth of his own origins, Thrall traveled north to find the legendary Frostwolf clan. Thrall learned that Gul'dan had
exiled the Frostwolves during the early days of the First War. He also discovered that he was the son and heir of the orc hero
Durotan, the true chieftain of the Frostwolves who had been murdered in the wilds nearly twenty years before.

Under the tutelage of the venerable shaman Drek'Thar, Thrall studied his people's ancient shamanistic culture, which had
been forgotten under Gul'dan's evil rule. Over time, Thrall became a powerful shaman and took his rightful place as chieftain
of the exiled Frostwolves. Empowered by the elements themselves and driven to find his destiny, Thrall set off to free the
captive clans and heal his race of demonic corruption.

During his travels, Thrall found the aged warchief, Orgrim Doomhammer, who had been living as a hermit for many years.
Doomhammer, who had been a close friend of Thrall's father, decided to follow the young, visionary orc and help him free the
captive clans. Supported by many of the veteran chieftains, Thrall ultimately succeeded in revitalizing the Horde and giving his
people a new spiritual identity.

To symbolize his people's rebirth, Thrall returned to Blackmoore's fortress of Durnholde and put a decisive end to his former
master's plans by laying siege to the internment camps. This victory was not without its price: during the liberation of one
camp, Doomhammer fell in battle.

Thrall took up Doomhammer's legendary warhammer and donned his black plate-armor to become the new warchief of the
Horde. During the following months, Thrall's small but volatile Horde laid waste to the internment camps and stymied the
Alliance's best efforts to counter his clever strategies. Encouraged by his best friend and mentor, Grom Hellscream, Thrall
worked to ensure that his people would never be slaves again.
 War of the Spider
~8-19

Stormwind City, Scholomance, Scarlet Monastery, Stratholme

While Thrall was liberating his brethren in Lordaeron, Ner'zhul continued to build up his power base in Northrend. A
great citadel was erected above the Icecrown Glacier and manned by the growing legions of the dead. Yet as the Lich
King extended his influence over the land, one shadowy empire stood against his power. The ancient subterranean
kingdom of Azjol-Nerub, which had been founded by a race of sinister humanoid spiders, sent their elite warrior-guard
to attack Icecrown and end the Lich King's mad bid for dominance. Much to his frustration, Ner'zhul found that the evil
nerubians were immune not only to the plague, but to his telepathic domination as well.

The nerubian spider-lords commanded vast forces and had an underground network that stretched nearly half the
breadth of Northrend. Their hit-and-run tactics on the Lich King's strongholds stymied his efforts to root them out time
after time. Ultimately Ner'zhul's war against the nerubians was won by attrition. With the aid of the sinister dreadlords
and innumerable undead warriors, the Lich King invaded Azjol-Nerub and brought its subterranean temples crashing
down upon the spider lords' heads.

Though the nerubians were immune to his plague, Ner'zhul's growing necromantic powers allowed him to raise the
spider-warriors' corpses and bend them to his will. As a testament to their tenacity and fearlessness, Ner'zhul adopted
the nerubians' distinctive architectural style for his own fortresses and structures. Left to rule his kingdom unopposed,
the Lich King began preparing for his true mission in the world. Reaching out into the human lands with his vast
consciousness, the Lich King called out to any dark soul that would listen....
 Kel'Thuzad and the Forming of the Scourge
~8-19

Hillsbrad Foothills, Scarlet Monastery, Scholomance, Undercity, Stratholme

There were a handful of powerful individuals scattered throughout the world who heard the Lich King's mental summons from
Northrend. Most notable of them was the archmage of Dalaran, Kel'Thuzad, who was one of senior members of the Kirin Tor,
Dalaran's ruling council. He had been considered a maverick for years due to his insistence on studying the forbidden arts of
necromancy. Driven to learn all he could of the magical world and its shadowy wonders, he was frustrated by what he saw as his
peers' outmoded and unimaginative precepts. Upon hearing the powerful summons from Northrend, the archmage bent all of his
considerable will to communing with the mysterious voice. Convinced that the Kirin Tor was too squeamish to seize the power and
knowledge inherent in the dark arts, he resigned himself to learn what he could from the immensely powerful Lich King.

Leaving behind his fortune and prestigious political standing, Kel'Thuzad abandoned the ways of the Kirin Tor and left Dalaran
forever. Prodded by the Lich King's persistent voice in his mind, he sold his vast holdings and stored away his fortunes. Traveling
alone over many leagues of both land and sea, he finally reached the frozen shores of Northrend. Intent on reaching Icecrown and
offering his services to the Lich King, the archmage passed through the ravaged, war-torn ruins of Azjol-Nerub. Kel'Thuzad saw
firsthand the scope and ferocity of Ner'zhul's power. He began to realize that allying himself with the mysterious Lich King might be
both wise and potentially fruitful.

After long months of trekking through the harsh arctic wastelands, Kel'Thuzad finally reached the dark glacier of Icecrown. He boldly
approached Ner'zhul's dark citadel and was shocked when the undead guardsmen silently let him pass as though he was expected.
Kel'Thuzad descended deep into the cold earth and found his way down to the bottom of the glacier. There, in the endless cavern of
ice and shadows, he prostrated himself before the Frozen Throne and offered his soul to the dark lord of the dead.

The Lich King was pleased with his latest conscript. He promised Kel'Thuzad immortality and great power in exchange for his loyalty
and obedience. Eager for dark knowledge and power, Kel'Thuzad accepted his first great mission: to go into the world of men and
found a new religion that would worship the Lich King as a god.

To help the archmage accomplish his mission, Ner'zhul left Kel'Thuzad's humanity intact. The aged yet still charismatic wizard was
charged with using his powers of illusion and persuasion to lull the downtrodden, disenfranchised masses of Lordaeron into a state
of trust and belief. Then, once he had their attention, he would offer them a new vision of what society could be - and a new
figurehead to call their king.

Kel'Thuzad returned to Lordaeron in disguise, and over the span of three years, he used his fortune and intellect to gather a
clandestine brotherhood of like-minded men and women. The brotherhood, which he called the Cult of the Damned, promised its
acolytes social equality and eternal life on Azeroth in exchange for their service and obedience to Ner'zhul. As the months passed,
Kel'Thuzad found many eager volunteers for his new cult amongst the tired, overburdened laborers of Lordaeron. It was surprisingly
easy for Kel'Thuzad to achieve his goal: namely, to transfer the citizens' faith in the Holy Light into belief in Ner'zhul's dark shadow.
As the Cult of the Damned grew in size and influence, Kel'Thuzad made sure to hide its workings from the authorities of Lordaeron.

With Kel'Thuzad's success in Lordaeron, the Lich King made the final preparations for his assault against human civilization. Placing
his plague-energies into a number of portable artifacts called plague-cauldrons, Ner'zhul ordered Kel'Thuzad to transport the
cauldrons to Lordaeron, where they would be hidden within various cult-controlled villages. The cauldrons, protected by the loyal
cultists, would then act as plague-generators, sending the plague seeping out across the unsuspecting farmlands and cities of
northern Lordaeron.

The Lich King's plan worked perfectly. Many of Lordaeron's northern villages were contaminated almost immediately. Just as in
Northrend, the citizens who contracted the plague died and arose as the Lich King's willing slaves. The cultists under Kel'Thuzad
were eager to die and be raised again in their dark lord's service. They exulted in the prospect of immortality through undeath. As
the plague spread, more and more feral zombies arose in the northlands. Kel'Thuzad looked upon the Lich King's growing army and
named it the Scourge, for soon it would march upon the gates of Lordaeron and scour humanity from the face of the world.
 The Alliance Splinters
~8-19

"History of Warcraft"

Unaware of the death cults forming in their lands, the leaders of the Alliance nations began to bicker and argue over
territorial holdings and decreasing political influence. King Terenas of Lordaeron began to suspect that the fragile pact
they had forged during their darkest hour would not last for much longer. Terenas had convinced the Alliance leaders to
lend money and laborers to help rebuild the southern kingdom of Stormwind, which had been destroyed during the
orcish occupation of Azeroth. The higher taxes that resulted, along with the high expense of maintaining and operating
the numerous orc internment camps, led many leaders - Genn Greymane of Gilneas in particular - to believe that their
kingdoms would be better off seceding from the Alliance.

To make matters worse, the high elves of Silvermoon brusquely rescinded their allegiance to the Alliance, stating that
the humans' poor leadership had led to the burning of their forests during the Second War. Terenas fought back his
impatience and quietly reminded the elves that nothing of Quel'Thalas would have remained if not for the hundreds of
valiant humans who'd given their lives to defend it. Nonetheless, the elves stubbornly decided to go their own way. In
the wake of the elves' departure, Gilneas and Stromgarde seceded as well.

Though the Alliance was falling apart, King Terenas still had allies that he could count on. Both Admiral Proudmoore of
Kul Tiras and the young king, Varian Wrynn of Azeroth, remained committed to the Alliance. Furthermore, the wizards of
the Kirin Tor, led by the Archmage Antonidas, pledged Dalaran's steadfast support to Terenas' rule. Perhaps most
reassuring of all was the pledge of the mighty dwarven king, Magni Bronzebeard, who vowed that the dwarves of
Ironforge would forever owe a debt of honor to the Alliance for liberating Khaz Modan from the Horde's control.
Chapter V: Return of the Burning Legion
 The Scourge of Lordaeron
20

Stranglethorn Vale, Westfall, Scholomance, Scarlet Monastery, Ashenvale, Stratholme

After preparing for many long months, Kel'Thuzad and his Cult of the Damned finally struck the first blow by releasing
the plague of undeath upon Lordaeron. Uther and his fellow paladins investigated the infected regions in the hope of
finding a way to stop the plague. Despite their efforts, the plague continued to spread and threatened to tear the
Alliance apart.

As the ranks of the undead swept across Lordaeron, Terenas' only son, Prince Arthas, took up the fight against the
Scourge. Arthas succeeded in killing Kel'Thuzad, but even so, the undead ranks swelled with every soldier that fell
defending the land. Frustrated and stymied by the seemingly unstoppable enemy, Arthas took increasingly extreme
steps to conquer them. Finally Arthas' comrades warned him that he was losing his hold on his humanity.

Arthas' fear and resolve proved to be his ultimate undoing. He tracked the plague's source to Northrend, intending to
end its threat forever. Instead, Prince Arthas eventually fell prey to the Lich King's tremendous power. Believing that it
would save his people, Arthas took up the cursed runeblade, Frostmourne. Though the sword did grant him
unfathomable power, it also stole his soul and transformed him into the greatest of the Lich King's death knights. With
his soul cast aside and his sanity shattered, Arthas led the Scourge against his own kingdom. Ultimately, Arthas
murdered his own father, King Terenas, and crushed Lordaeron under the Lich King's iron heel.
 Sunwell - The Fall of Quel'Thalas
20

Stranglethorn Vale, Ashenvale

Though he had defeated all of the people he now saw as his enemies, Arthas was still haunted by the ghost of
Kel'Thuzad. The ghost told Arthas that he needed to be revived for the next phase of the Lich King's plan. To revive him,
Arthas needed to bring Kel'Thuzad's remains to the mystical Sunwell, hidden within the high elves' eternal kingdom of
Quel'Thalas.

Arthas and his Scourge invaded Quel'Thalas and laid siege to the elves' crumbling defenses. Sylvanas Windrunner, the
Ranger-General of Silvermoon, put up a valiant fight, but Arthas eventually eradicated the high elf army and battled
through to the Sunwell. In a cruel gesture of his dominance, he even raised Sylvanas' defeated body as a banshee,
cursed to endless undeath in the service of Quel'Thalas' conqueror.

Ultimately, Arthas submerged Kel'Thuzad's remains within the holy waters of the Sunwell. Although the potent waters of
Eternity were fouled by this act, Kel'Thuzad was reborn as a sorcerous lich. Resurrected as a far more powerful being,
Kel'Thuzad explained the next phase of the Lich King's plan. By the time Arthas and his army of the dead turned
southward, not one living elf remained in Quel'Thalas. The glorious homeland of the high elves, which had stood for
more than nine thousand years, was no more.
 Archimonde's Return and the Flight to Kalimdor
20

Stormwind City, The Barrens, Desolace, Scarlet Monastery

Once Kel'Thuzad was whole again, Arthas led the Scourge south to Dalaran. There the lich would obtain the powerful
spellbook of Medivh, and use it to summon Archimonde back into the world. From that point on, Archimonde himself
would begin the Legion's final invasion. Not even the wizards of the Kirin Tor could stop Arthas' forces from stealing
Medivh's book, and soon Kel'Thuzad had all he needed to perform his spell. After ten thousand years, the mighty demon
Archimonde and his host emerged once again upon the world of Azeroth. Yet Dalaran was not their final destination.
Under orders from Kil'jaeden himself, Archimonde and his demons followed the undead Scourge to Kalimdor, bent on
destroying Nordrassil, the World Tree.

In the midst of this chaos, a lone, mysterious prophet appeared to lend the mortal races guidance. This prophet proved
to be none other than Medivh, the last Guardian, miraculously returned from the Beyond to redeem himself for past
sins. Medivh told the Horde and the Alliance of the dangers they faced and urged them to band together. Jaded by
generations of hate, the orcs and humans would have none of it. Medivh was forced to deal with each race separately,
using prophecy and trickery to guide them across the sea to the legendary land of Kalimdor. The orcs and humans soon
encountered the long-hidden civilization of the Kaldorei.

The orcs, led by Thrall, suffered a series of setbacks on their journey across Kalimdor's Barrens. Though they befriended
Cairne Bloodhoof and his mighty tauren warriors, many orcs began to succumb to the demonic bloodlust that had
plagued them for years. Thrall's greatest lieutenant, Grom Hellscream, even betrayed the Horde by giving himself over
to his baser instincts. As Hellscream and his loyal Warsong warriors stalked through the forests of Ashenvale, they
clashed with the ancient night elf Sentinels. Certain that the orcs had returned to their warlike ways, the demigod
Cenarius came forth to drive Hellscream and his orcs back. Yet Hellscream and his orcs, overcome with supernatural
hate and rage, managed to kill Cenarius and corrupt the ancient forestlands. Ultimately, Hellscream redeemed his honor
by helping Thrall defeat Mannoroth, the demon lord who first cursed the orcs with his bloodline of hate and rage. With
Mannoroth's death, the orcs' blood-curse was finally brought to an end.

While Medivh worked to convince the orcs and humans of the need for an alliance, the night elves fought the Legion in
their own secretive ways. Tyrande Whisperwind, the immortal High Priestess of the night elf Sentinels, battled
desperately to keep the demons and undead from overrunning the forests of Ashenvale. Tyrande realized that she
needed help, so she set out to awaken the night elf druids from their thousand-year slumber. Calling upon her ancient
love, Malfurion Stormrage, Tyrande succeeded in galvanizing her defenses and driving the Legion back. With Malfurion's
help, nature herself rose up to vanquish the Legion and its Scourge allies.

While searching for more of the hibernating druids, Malfurion found the ancient barrow prison in which he had chained
his brother, Illidan. Convinced that Illidan would aid them against the Legion, Tyrande set him free. Though Illidan did aid
them for a time, he eventually fled to pursue his own interests.

The night elves braced themselves and fought the Burning Legion with grim determination. The Legion had never ceased
in its desire for the Well of Eternity, long the source of strength for the World Tree and itself the heart of the night elf
kingdom. If their planned assault on the Tree was successful, the demons would literally tear the world apart.
 The Battle of Mount Hyjal
20

"History of Warcraft"

Under Medivh's guidance, Thrall and Jaina Proudmoore - the leader of the human forces in Kalimdor - realized that they
had to put aside their differences. Similarly, the night elves, led by Malfurion and Tyrande, agreed that they must unite if
they hoped to defend the World Tree. Unified in purpose, the races of Azeroth worked together to fortify the World
Tree's energies to their utmost. Empowered by the very strength of the world, Malfurion succeeded in unleashing
Nordrassil's primal fury, utterly destroying Archimonde and severing the Legion's anchor to the Well of Eternity. The
final battle shook the continent of Kalimdor to its roots. Unable to draw power from the Well itself, the Burning Legion
crumbled under the combined might of the mortal armies.
 The Betrayer Ascendant
21

Darnassus

During the Legion's invasion of Ashenvale, Illidan was released from his barrow prison after ten thousand years of
captivity. Though he sought to appease his comrades, he soon reverted to true form and consumed the energies of a
powerful warlock artifact known as the Skull of Gul'dan. By doing so, Illidan developed demonic features and vastly
magnified power. He also gained some of Gul'dan's old memories - especially those of the Tomb of Sargeras, the island
dungeon rumored to hold the remains of the Dark Titan, Sargeras.

Bristling with power and free to roam the world once more, Illidan set out to find his own place in the great scheme of
things. However, Kil'jaeden confronted Illidan and made him an offer he could not refuse. Kil'jaeden was angered by
Archimonde's defeat at Mount Hyjal, but he had greater concerns than vengeance. Sensing that his creation, the Lich
King, was growing too powerful to control, Kil'jaeden ordered Illidan to destroy Ner'zhul and put an end to the undead
Scourge once and for all. In exchange, Illidan would receive untold power and a true place amongst the remaining lords
of the Burning Legion.

Illidan agreed and immediately set out to destroy the Frozen Throne, the icy crystal cask in which the Lich King's spirit
resided. Illidan knew that he would need a mighty artifact to destroy the Frozen Throne. Using the knowledge he had
gained from Gul'dan's memories, Illidan decided to seek out the Tomb of Sargeras and claim the Dark Titan's remains.
He called in some old Highborne debts and lured the serpentine naga from their dark undersea lairs. Led by the cunning
witch Lady Vashj the naga helped Illidan reach the Broken Isles, where Sargeras' Tomb was rumored to be located.

As Illidan set out with the naga, Warden Maiev Shadowsong began to hunt him. Maiev had been Illidan's jailor for ten
thousand years and relished the prospect of recapturing him. However, Illidan outsmarted Maiev and her Watchers and
succeeded in claiming the Eye of Sargeras despite their efforts. With the powerful Eye in his possession, Illidan traveled
to the former wizard-city of Dalaran. Strengthened by the city's ley power lines, Illidan used the Eye to cast a destructive
spell against the Lich King's citadel of Icecrown in distant Northrend. Illidan's attack shattered the Lich King's defenses
and ruptured the very roof of the world. At the final moment, Illidan's destructive spell was stopped when his brother
Malfurion and the Priestess Tyrande arrived to aid Maiev.

Knowing that Kil'jaeden would not be pleased with his failure to destroy the Frozen Throne, Illidan fled to the barren
dimension known as Outland: the last remnants of Draenor, the orcs' former homeworld. There he planned to evade
Kil'jaeden's wrath and plan his next moves. After they succeeded in stopping Illidan, Malfurion and Tyrande returned
home to Ashenvale Forest to watch over their people. Maiev, however, would not quit so easily, and followed Illidan to
Outland, determined to bring him to justice.
 Rise of the Blood Elves
~21-24

Elwynn Forest, Arathi Highlands, Scholomance, Darnassus

At this time, the undead Scourge had essentially transformed Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas into the toxic Plaguelands.
There were only a few pockets of Alliance resistance forces left. One such group, consisting primarily of high elves, was
led by the last of the Sunstrider dynasty: Prince Kael'thas. Kael, an accomplished wizard himself, grew wary of the failing
Alliance. The high elves grieved for the loss of their homeland and decided to call themselves blood elves in honor of
their fallen people. Yet as they worked to keep the Scourge at bay, they suffered greatly at being cut off from the
Sunwell that had empowered them. Desperate to find a cure for his people's racial addiction to magic, Kael did the
unthinkable: he embraced his people's Highborne ancestry and joined with Illidan and his naga in hopes of finding a new
magical power source upon which to feed. The remaining Alliance commanders condemned the blood elves as traitors
and cast them out for good.

With no place left to go, Kael and his blood elves followed Lady Vashj to Outland to help contest the warden, Maiev,
who had recaptured Illidan. With the combined naga and blood elf forces, they managed to defeat Maiev and free Illidan
from her grasp. Based in Outland, Illidan gathered his forces for a second strike against the Lich King and his fortress of
Icecrown.
 Civil War in the Plaguelands
~21-24

Elwynn Forest, Stormwind City, Ironforge, Hillsbrad Foothills, Scarlet Monastery,

Undercity, Stratholme

Ner'zhul, the Lich King, knew that his time was short. Imprisoned within the Frozen Throne, he suspected that Kil'jaeden
would send his agents to destroy him. The damage caused by Illidan's spell had ruptured the Frozen Throne; thus, the
Lich King was losing his power daily. Desperate to save himself, he called his greatest mortal servant to his side: the
death knight Prince Arthas.

Though his powers were drained by the Lich King's weakness, Arthas had been involved in a civil war in Lordaeron. Half
of the standing undead forces, led by the banshee Sylvanas Windrunner, staged a coup for control over the undead
empire. Arthas, called by the Lich King, was forced to leave the Scourge in the hands of his lieutenant, Kel'Thuzad, as the
war escalated throughout the Plaguelands.

Ultimately, Sylvanas and her rebel undead (known as the Forsaken) claimed the ruined capital city of Lordaeron as their
own. Constructing their own bastion beneath the wrecked city, the Forsaken vowed to defeat the Scourge and drive
Kel'Thuzad and his minions from the land.

Weakened, but determined to save his master, Arthas reached Northrend only to find Illidan's naga and blood elves
waiting for him. He and his nerubian allies raced against Illidan's forces to reach the Icecrown Glacier and defend the
Frozen Throne.
 The Lich King Triumphant
~21-24

Scholomance, Stratholme

Even weakened as he was, Arthas ultimately outmaneuvered Illidan and reached the Frozen Throne first. Using his
runeblade, Frostmourne, Arthas shattered the Lich King's icy prison and thereby released Ner'zhul's enchanted helm and
breastplate. Arthas placed the unimaginably powerful helm on his head and became the new Lich King. Ner'zhul and
Arthas' spirits fused into a single mighty being, just as Ner'zhul had always planned. Illidan and his troops were forced to
flee back to Outland in disgrace, while Arthas became one of the most powerful entities the world had ever known.

Currently Arthas, the new and immortal Lich King, resides in Northrend; he is rumored to be rebuilding the citadel of
Icecrown. His trusted lieutenant, Kel'Thuzad, commands the Scourge in the Plaguelands. Sylvanas and her rebel
Forsaken hold only the Tirisfal Glades, a small portion of the war-torn kingdom.
 Old Hatreds - The Colonization of Kalimdor
~21-24

Tanaris, Scholomance

Though victory was theirs, the mortal races found themselves in a world shattered by war. The Scourge and the Burning
Legion had all but destroyed the civilizations of Lordaeron, and had almost finished the job in Kalimdor. There were
forests to heal, grudges to bury, and homelands to settle. The war had wounded each race deeply, but they had
selflessly banded together to attempt a new beginning, starting with the uneasy truce between the Alliance and Horde.

Thrall led the orcs to the continent of Kalimdor, where they founded a new homeland with the help of their tauren
brethren. Naming their new land Durotar after Thrall's murdered father, the orcs settled down to rebuild their once-
glorious society. Now that the demon curse was ended, the Horde changed from a warlike juggernaut into more of a
loose coalition, dedicated to survival and prosperity rather than conquest. Aided by the noble tauren and the cunning
trolls of the Darkspear tribe, Thrall and his orcs looked forward to a new era of peace in their own land.

The remaining Alliance forces under Jaina Proudmoore settled in southern Kalimdor. Off the eastern coast of
Dustwallow Marsh, they built the rugged port city of Theramore. There, the humans and their dwarven allies worked to
survive in a land that would always be hostile to them. Though the defenders of Durotar and Theramore kept the
tentative truce with one another, the fragile colonial serenity was not meant to last.

The peace between the orcs and humans was shattered by the arrival of a massive Alliance fleet in Kalimdor. The mighty
fleet, under the command of Grand Admiral Daelin Proudmoore (Jaina's father), had left Lordaeron before Arthas had
destroyed the kingdom. Having sailed for many grueling months, Admiral Proudmoore was searching for any Alliance
survivors he could find.

Proudmoore's armada posed a serious threat to the stability of the region. As a renowned hero of the Second War,
Jaina's father was a staunch enemy of the Horde, and he was determined to destroy Durotar before the orcs could gain a
foothold in the land.

The Grand Admiral forced Jaina to make a terrible decision: support him in battle against the orcs and betray her
newfound allies, or fight her own father to maintain the fragile peace that the Alliance and the Horde had finally
attained. After much soul-searching, Jaina chose the latter and helped Thrall defeat her crazed father. Unfortunately
Admiral Proudmoore died in battle before Jaina could reconcile with him or prove that orcs were no longer bloodthirsty
monsters. For her loyalty, the orcs allowed Jaina's forces to return home safely to Theramore.
Chapter VI: The New Age
25

Four years have passed since the mortal races banded

together and stood united against the might of the
Burning Legion. Though Azeroth was saved, the tenuous
pact between the Horde and the Alliance has all but
evaporated. The drums of war thunder once again.

Intrepid adventurers first discovered the depths of

Maraudon, a dungeon that revealed much of the
mystery behind the marauding centaur clans. Denizens
of Azeroth also celebrated the Feast of Winter Veil.
Trading gifts, munching on cookies and eggnog, and
chatting with Greatfather Winter kept both Alliance and
Horde in high spirits throughout the holiday.

Built long ago by Queen Azshara's followers, the

ancient, magical city of Eldre'Thalas was the center for
the highborne's arcane research. Thousands of years
have passed since the destruction of the Well of
Eternity, and the broken city's three wings have been
overrun by ghostly Highborne, satyr, and ogres. Now
known as the Dire Maul, only the most daring party of
adventurers can enter this dungeon and face the
ancient evils within.

There was no help for it; the seasoned troops on both

the Horde and Alliance were becoming beleaguered.
The fierce light of battle was fading from their eyes.
Leaders feared retaliation by their enemy, assured that
they would strike any day. Something had to be done to
rekindle that fire to return vigor to their valiant soldiers.
The cities of Azeroth now grant ranks to their fighters,
and the craftsmen of both sides have been working
feverishly to provide their armies with new items for
use in the war effort. Fight on, brave and noble
adventurers, and achieve glory!
 The troops again lusting for battle, all eyes now turn to
two prime spots in Azeroth. In the formerly pristine
Alterac Valley, the Stormpike dwarves and the Frostwolf
clan of orcs fight over the rights to the strategic piece of
land. Huge armies clash upon the slopes of the snowy
vale. Over in Kalimdor, the Silverwing Sentinels of
Ashenvale and the Warsong orcs battle for the forest -
the night elves to save their ancestral land, the orcs to
chop it down for valuable war supplies. Both battles
require the most stalwart of soldiers; it is time to fight
for lord and land!

Lord Victor Nefarius has long taunted the defenders of

the land during their adventures in Blackrock Spire –
now, at last, his lair lies open, awaiting those daring
enough to set foot within. Do battle against the black
dragonflight and face off against Nefarian himself within
the treacherous Blackwing Lair.
For those less inclined to do battle with dragons, the
mysterious, mischievous Darkmoon Faire has been
sighted around the areas of Elwynn Forest and the
plains of Mulgore. Indulge in less-than-healthy faire
food, enjoy the strange and wonderful games, get your
fortune told by a gnoll, and imbibe cheap booze. Who
could ask for more?

Venture into Zul'Gurub, ancient city of the Gurubashi

trolls, and do battle against the minions of the Blood
God Hakkar. Aid the Zandalar tribe in restoring the
proper order to the world, for they will reward your
efforts with both knowledge and armor to help you in
your quest.
In the Arathi Highlands, a resource-rich vale lies nestled
within the mountains. There, the League of Arathor
fights against the undead Defilers to gather these vital
supplies for their armies. Join the battle in the name of
the Horde or Alliance and take control over the Basin!

The Great Trees of the world have been shaken to their

roots; a new menace has come from the portals to the
Emerald Dream. Four green dragons, once proud
lieutenants of Ysera now corrupted by the Emerald
Nightmare, have appeared in Azeroth to destroy the life
they once dearly protected. Adventurers must ride forth
and defend the land from this new threat. . .
Meanwhile in Silithus, the Cenarion Circle gathers at its
Hold to research the strange goings-on both above and
underneath the shifting sands. Something dangerous is
stirring beyond the Scarab Wall. The Twilight's Hammer
are extremely active in the area, working to uncover
some unnamed evil. Can you uncover the mysteries
therein?
The Gates of Ahn'Qiraj will house two massive, unique
dungeons - the Ruins of Ahn'Qiraj, a 20-man raid
dungeon, and the Temple of Ahn'Qiraj, a 40-man raid
dungeon. As players delve deeper into the mysteries of
Ahn'Qiraj, they will discover revelations of the Silithid
infestation and their shadowy masters, the Qiraji.
Players will have to complete a world event of massive
proportions before they can open the Gates of
Ahn'Qiraj on their realm.

Weather has at last arrived across the continents of the

land. Priests' abilities have been further tuned, and
many high-level raid instances have undergone
significant changes, with adjustments to difficulty,
rewards, and the number of players allowed to venture
together into the depths of the darkest, most
dangerous places of Azeroth. Prepare yourselves for the
coming storm!

Floating above the Plaguelands, the necropolis known

as Naxxramas serves as the seat of one of the Lich King's
most powerful officers, the dreaded lich Kel'Thuzad.
Horrors of the past and new terrors yet to be unleashed
are gathering inside the necropolis as the Lich King's
servants prepare their assault. The Scourge marches
again... Naxxramas is the new 40-man raid dungeon
that will present even the most experienced and
powerful players with an epic challenge.

For the first time in the history of World of Warcraft,

you can take on players from other realms in the
battlegrounds. Replenish your mana, sharpen your
blades, and get ready for some brand-new challengers!
Also, this patch introduces world PvP objectives to
Silithus and the Eastern Plaguelands. The stage is set for
intense, objective-based land battles as Horde and
Alliance vie for control over important strategic
positions and resources around Azeroth.
 In-Game Character Select & Intro Cinematic

ALLIANCE

 The alliance consists of four races: the noble humans, the adventurous dwarves, the enigmatic night elves, and
the ingenious gnomes. Bound by a loathing for all things demonic, they fight to restore order in this war-torn
world.

Human

 Humans are a young race, and thus highly versatile, mastering the arts of combat, craftsmanship, and magic
with stunning efficiency. The humans' valor and optimism have let them to build some of the world's greatest
kingdoms. In this troubled era, after generations of conflict, humanity seeks to rekindle its former glory and
forge a shining new future.
 The noble humans of Stormwind are a proud, tenacious race. Though the recent invasion of the demonic
Burning Legion decimated their sister kingdom of Lordaeron, the defenders of Stormwind stand vigilant against
any who would threaten the sanctity of their lands. Nestled in the foothills of Elwynn Forest, Stormwind City is
one of the last bastions of human power in the world. Ruled by the child king, Anduin Wrynn, the people of
Stormwind remain steadfast in their commitment to the Grand Alliance. Backed by their stalwart allies, the
armies of Stormwind have been called away to fight the savage Horde on distant battlefields. With the armies
gone, the defensive Stormwind now falls to its proud citizens. You must defend the kingdom against the foul
mongrels that encroach upon it and hunt down the subversive traitors who seek to destroy it from within. Now
is the time for humans. Now humanity's greatest chapter can be told.

Dwarf

 In ages past the dwarves cared only for riches taken from the earth's depths. Then records surfaced of a god-like
race said to have given the dwarves life…. And enchanted birthright. Driven to learn more, the dwarves devoted
themselves to the pursuit of lost artifacts and ancient knowledge. Today dwarven archaeologist are scattered
throughout the globe.
 The stoic dwarves of Ironforge spent countless generations mining treasures from deep within the earth. Hidden
within their impregnable stronghold of Ironforge Mountain, they rarely ventured beyond the wintry peaks of
Dun Morogh. Recently however, the dwarves unearthed a series of ruins that held secrets to their ancient
heritage. Driven to discover the truth about his people’s fabled origins, the great King Magni Bronzebeard
ordered that the dwarves shift their industry from mining to archaeology. As part of the Grand Alliance, the
stoneward dwarven armies have been called away to battle the merciless Horde in faraway lands. In these
perilous times, the defense of the mountain kingdom falls to brave dwarves like you. The spirits of the ancient
kings watch over you, and the very mountains are your strength. The future of your people is in your hands.

Night Elf

 Ten thousand years ago, the night elves founded a vast empire, but their reckless use of primal magic brought
them to ruin. In grief, they withdrew to the forests and remained isolated there until the return of their ancient
enemy, the Burning Legion. With no other choice, the night elves emerged at last from their seclusion to fight
for their place in the new world.
  For ten thousand years, the immortal night elves cultivated a druidic society within the shadowed recesses of
Ashenvale Forest. Yet recently, the catastrophic invasion of the Burning Legion shattered the tranquility of their
ancient civilization. Led by the Arch-Druid Malfurion Stormrage and the Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind, the
mighty night elves rose to challenge the demonic onslaught. Though victorious, the night elves were forced to
sacrifice their cherished immortality and watch their beloved forests burn. Seeking to regain their immortality, a
number of wayward druids conspired to plant a special tree that would reestablish a link between their spirits
and the eternal world. Despite Malfurion's warning that nature would never bless such a selfish act. The druids
planted the great tree, Teldrassil, off the stormy coasts of northern Kalimdor. Among the twilight boughs of the
colossal tree, the wondrous city of Darnassus took root. However, the great tree was not consecrated with
nature's blessing and soon fell prey to the corruption of the Burning Legion. Now the wildlife and even the limbs
of the great tree itself are tainted by a growing darkness. It is your sworn duty to defend Darnassus and the wild
children of nature against the Legion’s encroaching corruption.

Gnome

 Though small in stature, the gnomes of Khaz Modan have used their great intellect to secure a place in history.
Indeed, their subterranean kingdom, Gnomeregan, was once a marvel of steam-driven technology. Even so, due
to a massive trogg invasion, the city was lost. Now its builders are vagabonds in the dwarven lands, aiding their
allies as best they can.
 The eccentric, often brilliant gnomes are held as one of the most peculiar races of the world. With their
obsession for developing radical new technologies and constructing marvels of mind-bending engineering, it’s a
wonder that any gnomes have survived to proliferate. Over the years, the gnomes have contributed ingenious
weapons to aid the Grand Alliance in its fierce battles against the Horde. Thriving in the wondrous techno-city of
Gnomeregan, the gnomes shared the resources of the forested peaks of Dun Morogh with their dwarven
cousins for generations. Yet recently, a barbaric menace rose up from the bowels of the earth and invaded
Gnomeregan. Aided by their dwarven allies, the gnomes fought a valiant battle to save their beloved city.
Nevertheless, Gnomeregan was irrelevantly lost. The surviving gnomes flew to the safety of the dwarf
stronghold of Ironforge. There they remained; devising strategies to retake their city. As a gnome of proud
stand, it falls to you to answer the challenge and lead your curious people to a brighter future.

HORDE

 Four races comprise the horde: the brutal orcs, the shadowy undead, the spiritual tauren, and the quick-witted
trolls. Beset by enemies on all sides, these outcasts have forged a union they hope will ensure their mutual
survival.

Orc

 The orc race originated on the planet Draenor. A peaceful people with shamanic beliefs, they were enslaved by
the Burning Legion and forced into war with the humans of Azeroth. Although it took many years, the orcs finally
escaped the demons' corruption and won their freedom. To this day they fight for honor in an alien world that
hates and reviles them.
 Long ago, the orcish horde was corrupted by the Burning Legion and lured to the world of Azeroth. For
generations, the orcs made war upon the human kingdoms of Stormwind and Lordaeron. Though the Horde was
ultimately defeated, a visionary young warchief named Thrall rose to lead his people in their darkest hour.
Under Thrall's rule, the orcs freed themselves from the chains of demonic corruption and embraced their
shamanistic heritage. After years of wandering, the orcs founded their own kingdom in the harsh wastelands of
 Durotar. Based in the warrior city of Orgrimmar, they stand ready to destroy all who would challenge their
supremacy. As a proud defender of Durotar, it is your duty to crush the enemies, both seen and unseen, for the
nefarious agents of the Burning Legion still wander the land.

Undead

 Free of the Lich King's grasp, the Forsaken seek to overthrow his rule. Led by the banshee Sylvanas, they hunger
for vengeance against the Scourge. Humans, too, have become the enemy, relentless in their drive to purge all
undead from the land. The Forsaken care little even for their allies; to them the Horde is merely a tool that may
further their dark schemes.
 Bound to the iron will of the tyrant Lich King, the vast undead armies of the Scourge seek to eradicate all life on
Azeroth. Led by the banshee Sylvanas Windrunner, a group of renegades broke away from the Scourge, and
freed themselves of the Lich King's domination. Known by some as the Forsaken, this group fights a constant
battle not only to retain their freedom from the Scourge, but also to slaughter those who would hunt them as
monsters. With Sylvanas as their banshee queen, the Forsaken have built a dark stronghold beneath the ruins of
Lordaeron’s former capital city. This hidden 'Undercity' forms a sprawling labyrinth that stretches beneath the
haunted woods of the Tirisfal Glades. Though the very land is cursed, the zealous humans of the Scarlet Crusade
still cling to their scattered holdings, obsessed with eradicating the undead and retaking their homeland.
Convinced that the primitive races of the Horde can help them achieve victory over their enemies, the Forsaken
have entered an alliance of convenience. Harboring no true loyalty for their new allies, they will go to any
lengths to ensure their dark plans come to fruition. As one of the Forsaken, you must eliminate any who pose a
threat to the new order – human, undead, or otherwise.

Tauren

 Always the tauren strive to preserve the balance of nature and heed the will of their goddess, the Earth Mother.
Recently attacked by murderous centaur, the tauren would have been wiped out, save for a chance encounter
with the orcs, who helped defeat the interlopers. To honor this blood-debt, the tauren joined the Horde,
solidifying the two races' friendship.
 Once a nomadic people, the tauren roamed the endless plains of the Barrens, hunting the mighty kodo.
Scattered across the land, the wandering tribes were united only by their common hatred for their sworn
enemy, the marauding centaur. Seeking aid against the centaur, the great chieftain, Cairne Bloodhoof,
befriended the savage orcs, who had recently journeyed to Kalimdor. With the orcs’ help, Cairne and his tribe
were able to drive back the centaur and claim the grasslands of Mulgore for their own. Upon the windswept
mesa of Thunder Bluff, Cairne built a refuge for his people. Over time, the scattered tribes united under a single
banner. Though the noble tauren are peaceful in nature, the rites of the Great Hunt are venerated as the heart
of their spiritual culture. As a tribesman of Mulgore, you must test your skills in the wild and prove yourself in
the Great Hunt.

Troll

 Once at home in the jungles of Stranglethorn Vale, the fierce trolls of the Darkspear tribe were pushed out by
warring factions. Eventually the trolls befriended the orcish Horde, and Thrall, the orcs' young warchief,
convinced the trolls to travel with him to Kalimdor. Through they cling to their shadowy heritage, the Darkspear
trolls hold a place of honor in the Horde.
 The viscous trolls that populate the numerous jungle isles of the South Seas, are renowned for their cruelty and
dark mysticism. Barbarous and superstitious, they carry a seething hatred for all other races. Long since exiled
 from their ancestral homeland in Stranglethorn Vale, the Darkspear tribe was nearly destroyed by rampaging
murlocs. Rescued by the young Warchief Thrall and his orcish warriors, the Darkspear tribe swore an allegiance
to the Horde. Led by the cunning Shadow Hunter, Vol'jin, the Darkspears now make their home in Durotar along
with their orcish allies. As one of the only surviving Darkspears, it falls to you to reclaim the glory of your tribe.

Druids live in a state of unparalleled union with nature. Tightly bound to the plant and animal kingdoms, they
are natural shapeshifters, and so they know firsthand the abuse visited on their wild brethren. In
Druid
consequence, despite their numbers, druids tend to be wary, reclusive, and difficult to spot. Few outsiders
have plumbed the depths of their secrets.
Hunters know the uncharted places of the world. Gifted with a deep empathy for al life, they have an
uncanny knock for befriending wild animals and taming them as pets. In addition, hunters can use their finely
Hunter
honed senses to become master trackers. Wherever hunters go, they fight back the ravages of sickness,
exploitation, and industrialization.

Magi are wizards of immense knowledge and skill. Their obvious physical frailty is deceptive, for they can call
Mage upon the cosmic energies of the Twisting Neither. Rarely do magi engage in melee combat. Instead, they
prefer to attack from a distance, hurling powerful bolts of frost and flame at their unsuspecting enemies.

Paladins do battle to protect the world from the forces of shadow. Powerful warriors in their own right, they
can also call upon the Light to heal wounds, create shields of force, and incinerate evil creatures. Although
Paladin
paladins were once exclusively human, a number of stout-hearted dwarves have recently been welcomed
into the Order of the Silver Hand.
Priests guide the spiritual destiny of their people. Through their unique insight into the mind, they are able to
shape an individual's beliefs, weather to inspire or terrify, sooth or dominate, heal or harm. Just as the heart
Priest
can hold both darkness and light, priests wield powers of creation and devastation by channeling the potent
forces underlying faith.
Rogues are most successful when their deeds never come to light. Fond of poisons and silent projectile
weapons, rogues rely on a blend of stealth and minor mysticism. Usually in the employ of rich nobles or local
Rogue
governments, the rogue redistributes wealth or eliminates designated targets. A rogue's allegiance lasts only
as long as the latest contract.
Shaman commune directly with the elements. Their combination of wisdom and resilience makes them ideal
as tribal advisors and leaders. In battle the shaman use totems and spells to manipulate the elements and
Shaman
provoke other fighters to untold heights of rage and might. Shaman exemplify the primal bond between the
savage races and their environment.
Warlocks are the bane of all life. Empowered by demonic blood, they can inflict great torment upon their
foes. To replenish the dreadful energy their spells expend, warlocks drain vitality from their victims. The
Warlock
warlock can also summon and control terrifying demonic entities. Still, warlocks are feared above all else for
their singular wickedness and cruelty.
Warriors train constantly and strive for perfection in armed combat. Though they come from all walks of life,
they are united by their singular commitment to engage in glorious battle. Many warriors serve as mercenary
Warrior
soldiers, while others become adventurers and danger-seeking fortune hunters. A typical warrior is strong,
tough, and exceptionally violent.
 The War of the Shifting Sands
By Micky Neilson

The midday sun fixed its unflinching gaze upon the sands of Silithus, bearing mute witness to the multitudes forming ranks outside
the Scarab Wall.

It continued its passage, though to the masses gathered below, it seemed as though the orb had stopped to cast down unrelenting
waves of heat until the vast armies simply collapsed from exposure.

Amid the restless formations a lone night elf stood in quiet contemplation. Her companions eyed her with admiration; some, almost
reverence. The others who were gathered--an assortment of representatives from every race in every land in the known world--
viewed her with their own racial prejudices. After all, the blood feud between night elves and the likes of trolls and tauren dated
back centuries.

No matter their affiliations, however, all who had come to battle that day shared one sentiment for the night elf: respect. Shiromar
was like the sun above--impassive, unwavering, and unflinching. These qualities had served her well in the recent months, providing
her with the strength to continue when all seemed lost; when the quest seemed neverending; and when her companions had simply
given up.

There had been the watcher, and the Caverns of Time; there was the bronze dragon and the Broodlord and the squirming insect
hives; then there were the shards and their keepers, the ancient dragons, none of whom would give up their charge easily. Coercion,
ingenuity, and sometimes outright violence, all were employed to accomplish the task.

And all of this for one item, the item gripped in Shiromar’s hands even now: the Scepter of the Shifting Sands, reformed at last after
a thousand years.

In the end, all roads had led here, to Silithus, and to the gates of the Scarab Wall. Here, where the Scepter was shattered.
Shiromar looked up at the sky and remembered a time when the sun had been eclipsed by dragons; when the Qiraji and silithid
flooded over the legions of night elves in seemingly eternal waves; when hope seemed but a shadow. It seemed as if none would
survive those terrible months; yet here she was, standing before the sacred barrier that saved their lives all those years ago, during
the War of the Shifting Sands…

Fandral Staghelm led the charge, his son Valstann at his side. They had chosen the gorge so that their flanks would be protected
against the unending flow of silithid. Shiromar was close behind the front line, casting spells as quickly as her energies would allow.

They had fought their way to the mouth of the gorge, Fandral and Valstann accompanied by the most battle-hardened sentinels,
keepers and priestesses, with the druids healing and casting exhaustively. It seemed that for every massive cluster of silithid that
was destroyed hundreds more would take their place. So it had been for the past few days, since word of the silithid incursion had
first arrived and Fandral had sounded the call to arms.

The priestess Shiromar and her companions had all regained enough energy to call upon the grace of Elune simultaneously; they
now watched as a blinding column of light obliterated the swarm blocking the gorge’s terminus.

Then, a low buzzing sound filled the air. One by one, flying insect creatures--the winged Qiraji, flew over the lip of the gorge and
down, striking at the druids in the supporting positions.

Fandral led the front lines from the gorge into the open sands, stepping over the corpse-mounds of the silithid. The air was alive
with the thrumming of the Qiraji as they swooped down and slashed with clawed appendages. Fandral pressed forward to allow the
supporting ranks room to spread out.

As she looked to a ridge in the distance, Shiromar witnessed swarms of land-bound Qiraji pouring over the crest like ants swarming
from a hill. A towering monstrosity lumbered into view, swinging clawed limbs, looming over all, shouting commands to the insect
soldiers.

Among the chattering and droning of the swarms, one sound seemed to repeat in the presence of the commanding warrior: Rajaxx,
Rajaxx… though Shiromar did not understand the Qiraji’s communications, she wondered if that might not be the creature’s name.

As the next wave of Qiraji drew near, a great horn sounded: from the east and west, multitudes of night elves charged onto the field.
With a blood-curdling cry Fandral and Valstann pressed straight into the heart of the oncoming swarm; the two sides clashed and
melted into each other as the newly arrived forces crushed in on both flanks.

Shiromar felt for sure that they had won out; but as the shadows grew long and day proceeded into night, the battle continued. In
the center of the fray, Fandral, Valstann, and the Qiraji general clashed in a desperate struggle.

As Shiromar narrowly avoided several attacks from the winged Qiraji, she glanced to where the general battled father and son. The
numbers of the Qiraji were dwindling, and the general seemed to sense this, for with a mighty leap he bounded away, back to the
ridge where Fandral had first spotted him. From there he disappeared and the few remaining insect-creatures were quickly
eradicated.

That evening watches were set as the night elf forces rested. Fandral knew that the Qiraji threat had not fully been quelled, and he
expected the battle to begin anew the following morning. Throughout the night Shiromar slept only in brief increments, the din of
battle still ringing in her ears, though the surrounding desert remained quiet.

With morning, as the troops reformed and pushed on to the ridge they were greeted by an eerie stillness. Shiromar scanned the
horizon but the Qiraji and silithid were nowhere to be seen. As Fandral prepared to press on, a messenger arrived with dire news:
the town of Southwind Village was under attack.

Fandral considered pulling the troops back to defend the village, but he sensed that such an action would only leave an open door to
invasion from the remaining Qiraji. They still had no idea of just how many the insects numbered, or even if they had seen all that
this new race had to throw at them.
Valstann correctly guessed his father’s thoughts and offered to lead a detachment to the village so that Fandral could stay and
provide containment.

Standing close by, Shiromar heard the rest of their conversation play out:

“It could be a ruse.” Fandral said.

“Surely we can’t take that chance father.” Valstann answered. “I’ll go. I will defend the city and I will return victorious, upholding the
honor of your name.”

Reluctantly, Fandral nodded. “Just return alive and I will be more than satisfied.”

Valstann gathered a detachment and Fandral watched his son depart. Shiromar worried that their forces were divided, but she
understood the necessity of the action.

For the next few days Shiromar and the others battled wave after wave of silithid streaming from the hives scattered throughout the
land. Still, the Qiraji remained unseen. A feeling of dread began working its way under Shiromar’s skin; she felt it a bad omen that
the silithid’s masters had not appeared for so long. She worried over the fate of Valstann, and at several points throughout each day,
during lulls in the continuous butchering she spied Fandral quietly looking back over the horizon, anxiously anticipating his son’s
return.

On the third day as the noon-day sun reached its zenith, the Qiraji appeared, their numbers reinforced. Once again the buzz of insect
wings stirred the air; once again interminable multitudes crested the rim of the horizon. They spread out before Fandral and the
others like the shadow cast by a giant cloud obscuring the sun… and stopped.

And waited.

Fandral formed his lines and stood at the forefront of the ranks as Stormcrows circled overhead and Druids in bear form clawed the
dirt in anticipation, all watching intently. Moments later the ocean of insects parted, and the hulking form of the Qiraji general
approached, carrying a wounded figure in its clawed appendage. It proceeded to the front of the Qiraji lines and held Valstann
Staghelm aloft for all to see.

Gasps spread throughout the ranks. Shiromar felt her heart sink. Fandral stood mute, knowing that Southwind had fallen, and
fearing that his son may already be dead. He cursed himself for allowing the boy to leave and stood, frozen by a mixture of fear,
anger and despair.

Within the general’s claw, Valstann stirred and spoke to the general, though he was too far away to be heard.

At once the spell that had fallen over Fandral broke and he bolted forward, followed by the night elf forces, but the distance was
great… and even before the Qiraji general acted, Shiromar knew they could not reach Valstann in time.

The Qiraji general fixed his second claw onto Valstann’s bloodied form, and with both he squeezed… and pulled apart, separating the
young night elf’s body at the waist.

Fandral slowed, faltered, and fell to his knees, the onrushing night elves parting around him. As the two forces finally clashed, a
sandstorm rushed in from the east, blocking out all light; choking, stifling. Shiromar felt the winds force her movements nearly to a
halt. She blocked her eyes as best she could, the howling wind buffeting her ears, drowning out the sounds of battle and the screams
of her dying comrades.

Through the chaos she glimpsed the murky, behemoth shadow of the Qiraji general not far away, slashing and reaping through rows
of night elves like a harvester shearing wheat. Then she heard Fandral, his voice ghostly through the storm, calling for the armies to
fall back.
Much of what followed seemed to happen rather quickly, although in fact it took days: Fandral led his forces out of Silithus, through
the mountain passes and into the bowl of Un’Goro Crater, the silithid and Qiraji legions never far behind, consuming those who fell
just beyond the protection of the primary force.

Once inside Un’Goro however a strange thing happened: word spread throughout the ranks that the Qiraji had fallen back, just as
the forces had passed the edge of the crater. The Arch-Druid gathered the remaining troops in the bowl’s center and gave the order
to stand fast. Finally, a lull had come in the fighting, fleeing and dying. But the night elves had suffered a bitter defeat, and Fandral
Staghelm’s demeanor had changed irrevocably.

Shiromar watched as Fandral stood guard, looking out from Fire Plume Ridge, the steam of the volcanic vents rising behind him, the
orange lava glow illuminating his face, a mask that concealed the deepest anguish--a sorrow known only to parents who have
outlived their children.

The sudden retreat of the Qiraji puzzled Shiromar. The more she thought on the subject, the more she remembered the legends
surrounding the Crater, rumors that it had been built in the primordial age by the gods themselves. Perhaps they watched over the
land. Perhaps their blessings still anointed this place. One thing however was for certain: if a plan was not devised to stem the tide of
the insect race…

Kalimdor would be lost forever.

The War of the Shifting Sands continued for long, agonizing months. Shiromar managed to survive battle after battle, but always the
night elves were on the defensive, always outnumbered, always being driven back.

Out of desperation Fandral sought the aid of the elusive bronze dragonflight. Their initial refusal to interfere was reversed when the
brazen Qiraji attacked the Caverns of Time, home and province of Nozdormu the Timeless One.

Nozdormu’s heir, Anachronos, agreed to enlist the bronze dragonflight against the marauding Qiraji. Every able-bodied night elf
joined the cause, and together they forged a campaign to retake Silithus.

Even with the might of the dragons backing them, however, the sheer numbers of the Qiraji and silithid proved overwhelming. And
so Anachronos called upon the progeny of the remaining flights: Merithra, child of Ysera of the green flight; Caelestrasz, child of
Alexstrasza from the red, and Arygos, child of Malygos from the blue.

The dragons and winged Qiraji clashed in the cloudless sky above Silithus as the whole of the Kalimdorian night elf forces streamed
in across the sands. Even so, it seemed that the numbers of Qiraji and silithid were never-ending.

Shiromar later heard whispers that the dragons flying above the ancient city from which the Qiraji emerged saw something
distressing there; something that hinted at a more ancient, terrifying presence behind the onslaught of the insect race.

Perhaps it was this revelation that spurred the dragons and Fandral to hatch their final, desperate plan: to contain the Qiraji within
the city, to erect a barrier that would confine them until a more hopeful stratagem could be devised.

With the aid of the four dragonflights, the final push to the city began. Shiromar marched behind Fandral as the corpses of the
winged Qiraji fell from the sky. High above, the dragons were making short work of the insect soldiers. As one the night elves and
dragons formed a moving wall which pressed the Qiraji back toward the city of Ahn’Qiraj.

But near the city gates, the tide turned, and it was all the combined forces could do to hold the line. To push any further would be
impossible. Merithra, Caelestrasz and Arygos decided to push into the city and hold the Qiraji back long enough for Anachronos,
Fandral, and the remaining druids and priestesses to create the magical barrier.

And so the three dragons and their companions flew headlong into the Qiraji legions, into the city where they hoped their sacrifice
would not be in vain.
Outside the gates Fandral called upon the druids to focus their energies as Anachronos summoned the enchanted barricade. Beyond
the gates, the three dragon progeny succumbed to the overwhelming forces as the Qiraji surged forth.

Shiromar concentrated her energies and called upon the blessing of Elune as the barrier erected itself before their eyes, rock and
stone and roots from beneath the sands emerging to create an impenetrable wall. Even the winged soldiers who attempted to fly
over the barrier met with an invisible obstruction that they could not pass.

The Qiraji who remained outside the wall were quickly slain. The corpses of Qiraji, night elves and dragons littered the bloody sands.

Anachronos motioned to a scarab scuttling below his feet. As Shiromar watched the creature froze, then flattened out, transforming
into a metallic gong. Stones shifted into place near the wall, creating a dais where the gong was finally placed.

The great dragon then proceeded to the severed limb of one of his fallen companions. He held the appendage and after a series of
incantations, the limb morphed into the shape of a scepter.

The dragon told Fandral that should any mortal ever wish to pass the magical barrier and access the ancient city, they need only
strike the scepter against the gong and the gates would open. He then handed the scepter to the Arch-Druid.

Fandral looked down, his face twisting in contempt. “I want nothing to do with Silithus, the Qiraji and least of all, any damned
dragons!” With that Fandral swung the enchanted object into the magical gates--where it splintered in a shower of fragments--and
walked away.

“Would you shatter our bond for the sake of pride?” the dragon asked.

Fandral turned. “My son’s soul will find no comfort in this hollow victory, dragon. I will have him back. Though it takes millennia, I
will have my son back!” Fandral then strode past Shiromar…

… who could see him in her mind even now, as if it were only yesterday and not a thousand years past.

One by one, the gathered forces of Kalimdor looked to her, waiting. She struck out toward the dais, passing humans and tauren,
gnomes and dwarves and even trolls, races whom her kind had fought against, who were now united to end the threat of the Qiraji
once and for all.

Shiromar stood at the base of the steps and took a deep breath. She climbed to the top of the dais and hesitated only for a second.
Then, with one mighty swing, she smashed the scepter into the ancient gong.
 The War Effort

With a whoop, Saegan yanked on his fishing rod. The fish went sailing over his head, scales
glittering in the afternoon sun, and landed neatly on the huge piscine pile behind him.
Whistling through his beard, the dwarf ambled over to his catch, removed the hook, and
tied the net around the lot. With calloused, experienced hands, he broke down his pole
and line, placing it back in his pack with care. Saegan then swung the full net over his
shoulder and limped his way down the dock.

The Menethil gryphon master frowned dubiously at the load on his back as he approached. The gryphons themselves, however,
perked up at the smell of fresh fish so close. Saegan smiled and winked. "I'll give a tip to th' gryphon that flies me back home to
Ironforge an' keeps this cargo safe." Within minutes he was in the saddle, soaring above the mountains, with a content gryphon
clutching the net in its claws.

The fisherman looked down upon Dun Morogh as it came into view. Armies were practicing and mobilizing. Adventurers and scouts
left the city via gryphon or mount, riding hard to get to their destination. All around, the tension of impending war grew in the air. As
Saegan's gryphon flew through the gate of Ironforge and into the city, the usual bustling sound assaulted his ears, but with an edge.
The clangs from the forge were nearly overpowering. The sharp orders of military groups moving out were unmistakable. Ironforge
was the center of the Alliance world as it prepared for war.

He dismounted as soon as he landed and gave the fleet gryphon one last fish from his haul.
"No more now," he chuckled as the greedy creature clacked its beak toward his net, "this is
for th' war." Hefting the load once more, Saegan limped around the Great Forge toward the
Bronze Kettle. As he did, he glanced over to the anvil with his good eye. Smiths of all races
and creeds toiled over their creations, working as fast as they dared to supply the war
effort. He shook his grizzled head as he entered his destination.

Daryl looked up and grinned as Saegan threw the pile of fish on the table. "Some haul," he
remarked. "Throwin' a party?"

"You know I'm not," Saegan replied. "Help me clean and gut this lot. I would have done it there, but Menethil's just a hop over the
mountains, and besides, I needed a bit of company." He took out a knife and grabbed one of the fish, starting on the business.

For hours, as they prepared and cooked the fish, they spoke about the latest developments.
The silithid threat was growing greater with each passing day. Strong adventurers sought
the answer to the riddle surrounding the Scarab Gate. The young and the crippled,
however, were not idle in the war effort. Supplies were needed on the front lines in
Kalimdor: food, metals, herbs, all manner of materials. Orders came in every day, calling for
more to be sent across the ocean. Saegan wasn't young, not by any stretch of the
imagination; his leg had been badly broken in a skirmish with Tauren some years ago, and
he could no longer keep up with the younger, stronger fighters. With reluctance, he'd
retired his sword and began fishing in order to supply the fighters with food every night. It
wasn't precisely a glorious job, but a necessary one.

At last the rations were made and packed. Daryl helped Saegan wrap and pack them in a crate. "Sure you don't need any help, there,
lad?" Daryl asked as the fisherman limped out the door.

"Nah," Saegan called over his shoulder. "I have to do somethin' to help against those damned bugs; this much, at least, I can do on
my own." Hefting the fragrant crate, the dwarf slowly made his way to the Military Ward; Huntress Swiftriver would have plenty of
food to provide for the soldiers today.
 Road to Damnation
By Evelyn Fredericksen

“This continual harassment grows tiresome. I was in the midst of important studies, delicate magic that requires weeks of
preparation and ritual.” Kel’Thuzad had been forced to wait for hours, fuming at the insult, before he was permitted the bare
courtesy of confronting his accusers. The group’s apparent spokespersons, Drenden and Modera, had long been two of his most
vocal critics. Nonetheless, they would not have launched this latest inquisition without support from Antonidas, who had yet to
show himself. What was the old man up to?

Drenden snorted. “That’s the first time I’ve heard your sort of magic called ‘delicate.’”

“An ignorant opinion from an ignorant man,” said Kel’Thuzad with cold precision.

A distant voice spoke to him then, the voice of a friend. By now its remarks had grown so familiar that they felt like his own
thoughts. They fear and envy you. After all, thanks to this new course of study, you are continuing to gain in knowledge and power.

There was a sudden flash of light, and a scowling gray-haired archmage appeared in the hall. A small wooden chest was tucked
under his arm. “I would not have believed it if I had not seen it myself. You have abused our patience for the last time, Kel’Thuzad.”

“The venerable Antonidas graces us with his presence at last. I began to think you had fallen ill.”

“Age frightens you, doesn’t it?” Antonidas snapped. “You realize there’s only one alternative.”

Let him think so, if that comforts him.

Calming somewhat, Antonidas said, “As for my health, you need not have concerned yourself. I was merely busy elsewhere.”

“Searching my chambers for evidence of forbidden magic? You should know better.”
“True, your chambers bore no such evidence. The warehouses you own in the northlands, on the other hand…" Antonidas gave him
a disgusted look.

Damn the man for being a self-righteous snoop. “You had no right--”

Antonidas tapped his staff to the floor, silencing him, and turned to the other magi. “He has turned the buildings into laboratories
for a series of foul experiments. See for yourself, colleagues. Behold the fruit of his labors.” He opened the chest and tilted it so that
all could see.

The decaying remains of several rats. Two were still scrabbling clumsily at the sides of the chest in a vain attempt to escape. Several
magi bolted to their feet, and there was a hubbub of dismay. Even the golden-haired high elf who had been sitting in the back of the
room seemed startled, though Prince Kael’thas was a man whose age made that feat nearly impossible.

Turning back to the captive rats, Kel’Thuzad saw that they had collapsed and stopped moving. Another set of failures, apparently. No
matter. Someday he would create a stable undead specimen. His hard work would be vindicated. It was only a matter of time.

There are loose threads in the spell that silences you. Shall I show you how to unravel it?

Time, and his unknown ally, whose enigmatic voice occasionally helped him to move one step closer to his goal. Show me, he
thought.

A young woman arrived in another flash of light. As she went to stand by Antonidas, the high elf’s gaze followed her with troubled,
brooding intensity. But Jaina Proudmoore took no notice; she was utterly focused on her duties. The handsome prince didn’t stand a
chance.

Her vivid blue eyes spared Kel’Thuzad a curious glance. She took the box from Antonidas, who explained, “My apprentice will see to
it that the chest and its contents are incinerated.”

The woman inclined her head and teleported from the room. Across the room, the high elf frowned at the spot she had vacated.
Under other circumstances, Kel’Thuzad might have found the silent drama amusing. However, left unchallenged, Antonidas was
continuing his tirade. Mutely seething, Kel’Thuzad resumed his efforts to free himself.

“We have permitted this state of affairs long enough. Rapped his knuckles occasionally for his more questionable pursuits. Tried to
guide him. Now we find he has been practicing evil magic. The name of the Kirin Tor is fast becoming a curse on the lips of the local
villagers.”

“You lie!” Kel’Thuzad burst out, and a few of the magi were his again, waiting for him to offer an explanation. “Peasants remember
the Second War just as well as we do. Say what you like about the orcs; their warlocks wielded great power. Power against which we
had precious little defense. We have an obligation: we must learn to wield and counter these magics ourselves.”

“To form an army of dead rats, their unnatural existence measured in hours?” Antonidas asked dryly. “Yes, my boy, I found your
journals, too. You kept quite detailed records regarding this abominable enterprise. You cannot mean to use these pathetic
creatures against orcs. Assuming, of course, that the orcs should ever emerge from their current lethargy, escape the internment
camps, and somehow manage to become a threat again.”

“Being younger than you hardly qualifies me for boyhood,” retorted Kel’Thuzad. “As for the rats, they are the gauge by which I
measure my progress. It is a standard experimental technique.”

A sigh. “I am aware that you spend most of your time in the north these days. Your increasingly lengthy absences were what caught
my attention in the first place. Yet even you must have heard that the king’s new tax has given rise to civil unrest. Your selfish
pursuit of power could incite the peasantry to revolt. Lordaeron would be engulfed in civil war.”

He hadn’t known about the tax. Antonidas must be exaggerating. Besides, true magi would focus on matters of greater substance. “I
will be more discreet,” he offered, gritting his teeth.
“No amount of discretion could possibly hide a secret of this magnitude,” said Drenden.

Modera added, “You know that we have always walked a fine line in order to protect our people without becoming a danger
ourselves. We dare not sacrifice our humanity--not in appearance, and certainly not in truth. At best, your methods would see us
condemned as heretics.”

It was too much. “We’ve been called heretics for centuries. The church has never been fond of our methods. Such sentiments
notwithstanding, we are still here.”

She nodded. “Because we avoid dark magic, which leads to corruption and catastrophe.”

“Because we are necessary!”

“Enough.” Antonidas sounded weary. To Modera and Drenden, he added, “If words alone could have reached him, they would have
done so before now.”

“I have heard your words,” Kel’Thuzad said in exasperation. “Merciful gods, I have heard them until I am sick of them! It is you who
will not hear mine, and put aside your antiquated fea--”

“You mistake our purpose here today,” interrupted Antonidas. “This is not a debate. At this moment, your properties are being
thoroughly searched. All items tainted by dark magic will be confiscated and, once identified to our satisfaction, destroyed.”

His nameless ally had warned him this might happen, but Kel’Thuzad had not believed. Strange. He felt almost relieved that events
had come to this pass. The need for secrecy had limited the scope of his work, hindered his advancement.

“In light of the evidence,” Antonidas said heavily, “King Terenas has agreed with our judgment. If you do not abandon this madness,
you will be stripped of your rank and holdings, and you will be exiled from Dalaran--indeed, from all of Lordaeron.”

His mind racing, Kel’Thuzad bowed and left the hall. Doubtless the Kirin Tor were keeping his so-called disgrace quiet, fearing
repercussions should his actions become public knowledge. For once, their cowardice would work in his favor. His wealth would
never line the king’s coffers.

***

A pack of wolves stalked Kel’Thuzad for miles, just out of spell range, before they fell behind. Glancing warily over his shoulder, he
saw them snarl and flatten their ears before darting away. Thankfully the arctic winds were dying out as well. In the distance he
could make out the summit, a bleak mountaintop, the sight of which gave him a sense of triumph and foreboding. The very peak of
Icecrown. Few explorers had ventured onto the glacier, and even fewer had survived to tell the tale. But he, Kel’Thuzad, would scale
its heights alone and look down on the rest of the world.

Unfortunately almost no maps existed of the frigid continent of Northrend, and he found them woefully inadequate, like the
supplies he’d proudly packed for this journey. Uncertain of the path ahead and his ultimate destination, he could not teleport. Not
sparing himself, he staggered onward. He had lost track of how long he’d been walking. Despite his fur-lined cloak, he was shivering
uncontrollably. His legs felt like pillars of stone: awkward and numb. His body was beginning to shut down. If he didn’t find shelter
soon, he was going to die out here.

Eventually a glint of light drew his gaze: a stone obelisk carved with magical symbols, with a citadel beyond it. At last! He hurried
past the obelisk and crossed a bridge of what looked like pure energy. The citadel’s doors opened at his approach, but he stopped
short.

The entryway was guarded by two grotesque creatures that resembled giant spiders from the waist down. Six narrow legs supported
each creature’s weight; the other two limbs were attached like arms to a vaguely humanoid torso. More fascinating than the
creatures themselves, though, was their current state. Their bodies showed an assortment of open wounds, the worst of which had
been roughly bandaged. One guard’s arms were bent at improbable angles. Ichor oozed from the other’s fanged maw, but the guard
made no effort to wipe it away.

Despite the familiar stink of undeath, the guards showed no sign of confusion, unlike Kel’Thuzad’s rats. The spider-like creatures
must also have retained most of their original strength and coordination. Otherwise, they would have made poor guards. Their
creator was clearly a skilled necromancer.

To his surprise, they moved aside to let him pass. Unwilling to question his good fortune, he gladly entered the citadel, which was
significantly warmer. In the hallway ahead was a battered statue of one of the half-spider creatures. The building itself was of recent
construction, but the statue was quite old. Come to think of it, he’d seen similar statues in the ancient ruins he’d passed through on
his way north. The cold was slowing his wits.

At a guess, the necromancer had conquered a kingdom of these spider-like beings, successfully converted them into undeath, and
taken their treasures as the spoils of war. Exultation filled him. He would surely learn great things here.

At the end of the hall, a gigantic creature lumbered into view: a grotesque mixture of beetle and spider. It approached him at a
deliberate pace, and Kel’Thuzad observed that its towering body sported an even greater number of wounds and bandages. Like the
guards, it was undead, but its sheer bulk made him feel more frightened than impressed. He doubted he had sufficient skill to
vanquish such a monster, much less raise it from the dead.

The creature greeted him in a deep bass voice that reverberated within its ponderous body. Although it spoke perfectly
understandable Common, the sound chilled him. Strange buzzing and clicking underlaid its words. “The master has been expecting
you, archmage. I am Anub’arak.”

It had both the intelligence and motor skills for speech--astonishing! “Yes. I wish to become his apprentice.”

The huge creature simply looked down at him. Possibly it was debating whether he would make a tasty snack.

He cleared his throat nervously. “May I see him?”

“In due time,” Anub’arak rumbled. “Thus far, you have devoted your life to the pursuit of knowledge. An admirable goal. Still, your
experiences as a mage cannot have prepared you for serving the master.”

What could have inspired such a speech? Did the majordomo consider Kel’Thuzad a rival? That was a misconception to dispel as
soon as possible. “As a former member of the Kirin Tor, I have more magic at my command than you could probably imagine. I am
more than prepared for whatever tasks the master gives me." "We shall see.”

Anub’arak led him through a number of tunnels that took them far beneath the earth. At last Kel’Thuzad and his guide emerged into
a vast ziggurat whose name, so Anub’arak said, was Naxxramas. From its architecture, the building was another product of the half-
spider creatures. Indeed, the first chambers Anub’arak showed him were populated by the undead things, which swiftly lost their
novelty. Actual spiders also skittered here and there among the undead, busily spinning cobwebs and laying eggs.

Kel’Thuzad hid his distaste. He wouldn’t give the enormous majordomo the satisfaction. Indicating one of the undead spider-things,
he said, “You bear them some resemblance. Are you all derived from the same race?”

“The nerubian race, yes. Then the master came. As his influence spread, we made war upon him, foolishly believing we stood a
chance. Many of us were slain and raised into undeath. In life I was a king. Today I am a crypt lord.”

“In return for immortality, you agreed to serve him,” Kel’Thuzad mused aloud. Remarkable.

“‘Agreed’ implies choice.”

Which meant that the necromancer could compel obedience from the undead. Kel’Thuzad might be the first living being to come
here of his own free will. Faintly disquieted, he changed the subject. “This place is full of your people. I take it you rule here?”
“After my death, I led my brethren in conquering this ziggurat for our new master. I also oversaw the process of altering it to serve
his design. However, Naxxramas does not fall under my authority. Nor are my people its only occupants. This is but one wing out of
four.”

“In that case, lead on, crypt lord. Show me the rest.”

***

The second wing was everything Kel’Thuzad could have hoped. Magical artifacts, laboratory equipment, and other supplies that put
his old laboratories to shame. Huge rooms that could hold a veritable army of assistants. Undead beasts that had been cleverly sewn
together from a hodgepodge of animals and reanimated. Even a few undead humanoids composed of body parts from assorted
humans. The human body parts bore no wounds: unlike the nerubians, the humans had not fought their fate. The necromancer
must have acquired the bodies from a local graveyard. Wise to avoid drawing notice. The Kirin Tor would have taken immediate
action.

Unfortunately the third wing proved less interesting. Anub’arak showed him an armory and an area for combat training. Next the
crypt lord led him through chambers filled with hundreds--no, thousands--of sealed barrels and shipping crates. Why would
Naxxramas need so much in the way of supplies? Well, the pyramid was well stocked in the unlikely event that it was besieged.

At last he and Anub’arak reached the last wing. Giant mushrooms grew in a garden area and gave off noxious fumes that made
Kel’Thuzad feel ill. The soil beneath each mushroom seemed unhealthy, possibly diseased. Going closer to inspect it, he stepped on
something that squished: a fist-sized creature that resembled a maggot.

He shuddered and hastily moved on. The next room had a number of small cauldrons filled with a bubbling greenish liquid. Curious
despite the substance’s revolting odor, Kel’Thuzad took a step forward, but a massive claw abruptly blocked his way.

“The master wishes you to remain among the living. Your time has not yet come.”

His breath caught in his throat. “It would have killed me?”

“There are many who will not serve the master in life. The fluid resolves that difficulty.” At Kel’Thuzad’s blank look, the crypt lord
said, “Come. I will show you.”

Anub’arak took him to a cell that held two prisoners. Villagers, by their homespun clothing. The man was cradling the woman in his
arms; she was ghastly pale and soaked in sweat. Alive, both of them, though the woman was clearly ill. Kel’Thuzad glanced at the
crypt lord uneasily.

Her desperate glassy eyes found Kel’Thuzad and brightened. “Mercy, my lord! My body fails. I have seen what will happen next. One
bolt of flame, I beg of you. Let me rest in peace.”

She was afraid of becoming the necromancer’s thrall. According to Anub’arak, she would have no choice. Kel’Thuzad looked away
queasily. After all, she couldn’t live much longer anyway.

She struggled out of the man’s arms and clung to the cell bars. “For pity’s sake! If you will not aid me, at least take my husband to
safety!” And she wept hopelessly.

“Hush, sweetheart,” the man murmured behind her. “I will not leave you.”

“Make her be quiet!” Kel’Thuzad whispered fiercely at Anub’arak.

“The noise distresses you?” With one lightning-quick motion, Anub’arak shot one claw through the bars and speared the woman
through the heart. Then the crypt lord casually shook the corpse off onto the floor.

Her husband howled with anguish. Guiltily relieved, Kel’Thuzad began to turn away, but froze when the corpse started thrashing and
arching against the stone floor. The male villager gaped in shock and fell silent.
The dead woman’s skin was changing color: shifting to a faintly greenish gray. Gradually the spasms died off, and she scrambled
unsteadily to her feet. She rolled her head to one side, then shivered as she spotted her husband. “Guards, get this man out of
here.” she rasped.

The guards didn’t move. With a groan, she raked her fingers through her tangled brown hair, and Kel’Thuzad got a good look at her
face. Blood vessels were darkening under the skin, and her eyes seemed feral, crazed.

Her husband asked doubtfully, “My love? Are you all right?”

A bitter laugh escaped her and twisted into a snarl when he took a hesitant step toward her. “Don’t come any closer.”

The man ignored her protest and went toward her, but she shoved him away with enough force to send him flying. He hit the cell
bars and slid down, stunned.

“Stay back.” Her speech was becoming more guttural. “Hurt you.” She wrapped her arms around herself, backed up until she
bumped against the opposite side of the cell. “Hurt you, hurt you,” she whined, and something began to be wrong with the way she
said it.

Uncomprehending, Kel’Thuzad watched her slowly, jerkily lift a hand to the hole in her chest. She hissed, grimaced, and brought her
fingers to her mouth. Licked them. Sucked at them. Then in a blur of movement, she was leaping at her husband, lashing out, baring
her teeth--

The man screamed, and blood spurted onto the cell floor. Kel’Thuzad flinched away. Closing his eyes didn’t help; he could still hear
unspeakable sounds. Ripping, shredding. Chewing. A soft, wretched mewling that he very much feared meant the undead woman
was aware of her actions on some level, but unable to stop herself.

Sickened and horrified, he teleported out of Naxxramas altogether, staggered a little distance away, and threw up. Finding a patch of
unsullied snow, he scooped up handfuls and scrubbed viciously at his mouth and face. It felt as if he would never be clean again.
What had he gotten himself involved in?

One by one, his scattered thoughts fell into place. The necromancer was no simple academic, interested in studying a widely
condemned field of magic. Nor did he plan to stop at fortifying his home against attack. He was mass-producing a fluid that
converted people into zombies. Naxxramas also had an enormous stockpile of supplies, weapons, armor, training grounds….

These weren’t defensive measures. They were preparations for war.

A sudden wind buffeted him with an unearthly shriek, and a group of cold wraiths coalesced in front of his eyes. He had read of
them years ago in the Violet Citadel. The vague description of their cloudy, translucent forms had mentioned nothing of the frigid
malice in their glowing eyes.

One of the wraiths drifted closer and asked, “Second thoughts? As you see, your little trick will not avail you. You cannot escape the
master. At any rate, what could you hope to accomplish? Where would you go? More to the point, who would believe you?”

Fight or flight: those would have been the heroic choices. Heroic, but pointless. His death would serve nothing. By agreeing to
become the necromancer’s apprentice, Kel’Thuzad bought himself time in which to bolster his own skills. With enough training, he
could surpass the necromancer or catch the man off guard.

He nodded to the wraith. “Very well. Take me to him.”

The wraiths teleported him back to the citadel and escorted him downward through a series of halls and rooms that Kel’Thuzad
knew he wouldn’t be able to remember later. At last, deep beneath the earth, he and the wraiths entered a huge cavern whose dank
chill sank into his bones. In the center of the cavern was a dizzyingly tall spire of rock. Blanketed in snow, a set of stairs spiraled up
the sides of the spire.
He and the wraiths began the ascent. His heart pounded with excitement and dread. When he realized that his steps were slowing,
he sped up again. His resolution didn’t last long, however. It felt as if a weight was pulling at him. Evidently the long journey across
Northrend had tired him more than he’d thought.

Far above him, at the top of the spire, he could barely make out a large chunk of crystal. Untouched by snow, it had a faint bluish
gleam. There was no sign of the necromancer.

One of the wraiths used a frigid gust of wind to give him a push. His pace had been lagging again. Irritably he tugged his cloak closer
and forced himself to keep climbing, though he was breathing hard.

Time passed, and a blast of sleet brought him back to full awareness. He had stopped in the middle of the stairs to lean on his staff.
The air was foul and suffocating; he was panting by now. “Give me a moment,” he managed.

A wraith behind him said, “We cannot rest. Why should you?”

Grimly Kel’Thuzad resumed the climb and hunched his shoulders against the growing exhaustion. He raised his head with an effort
and saw that the glimmering crystal was drawing close. At this distance, it looked like a jagged throne with hazy dark shapes inside
it. There was a palpable aura of menace about the thing.

The wraiths brushed against him and startled him into crying out. Echoes of the sound reverberated throughout the cavern. He
clutched at his fur cloak with clammy, trembling hands. His breath rattled in the back of his throat, and he had the sudden terrible
urge to turn around and start running. “Where is the master?” he asked, and his voice was high and quavering.

No answer, just a storm of hail that lashed at him cruelly. He stumbled and recovered his footing. With each step, the throne
looming above him felt more oppressive, pushing his head down, bending his spine. He could barely walk upright. Before long, he
fell to his hands and knees.

The necromancer spoke directly to Kel’Thuzad then in a voice that was no longer even remotely kind. Let this be your first lesson. I
have no love for you or your people. On the contrary, I intend to scour humanity from this planet, and make no mistake: I have the
power to do it.

Relentless, the wraiths did not permit him to stop. Beyond humiliation, he abandoned his staff and began to crawl. The
necromancer’s malevolence beat down upon him and pressed him deeper into the snow. Kel’Thuzad was shaking and whimpering,
and o gods, he’d been wrong--stupidly, colossally wrong. This wasn’t fatigue. It was stark terror.

You will never catch me unaware, for I do not sleep, and as you should have already guessed, I can read your thoughts as easily as
you might read a book. Nor can you hope to defeat me. Your puny mind is incapable of handling the energies I manipulate on a
whim.

Kel’Thuzad had long since torn his robes, and his leggings were useless against the icy rock of the rough-hewn stairs. His hands and
knees left bloody tracks behind him as he struggled up the last spiral. The throne radiated bone-chilling cold, and mist surrounded it.
A throne not of crystal, but of ice.

Immortality can be a great boon. It can also be agony the likes of which you have not yet begun to fathom. Defy me, and I will teach
you what I have learned of pain. You will beg for death.

He came within a few feet of the throne and could go no farther, pinned helplessly beneath the thing’s overwhelming aura of
inhuman might and hatred. An unseen force bore down on him and ground the side of his face into the unyielding stone. “Please,”
he found himself sobbing. “Please!” Further words escaped him.

Finally the pressure eased. The wraiths flitted away, but he knew better than to rise. Doubted, in any case, that he could. His eyes,
however, unwillingly sought out his tormentor.
A set of plate armor was seated within the throne, rather than upon it. Kel’Thuzad might have thought the armor merely black, but,
blinking hard, he saw that no light at all was reflected from its surface. In fact, the longer he looked, the more it seemed to devour
all light, hope, and sanity.

The ornate spiked helm obviously doubled as a crown. It was set with a single blue gem and, like the rest of the armor, appeared
empty. In one gauntlet, the figure clasped a massive sword whose blade had been etched with runes. Here was power. Here was
despair.

As my lieutenant, you will gain knowledge and magic to surpass your most ambitious dreams. But in return, living or dead, you will
serve me for the rest of your days. If you betray me, I shall make you into one of my mindless ones, and you will serve me still.

Serving this spectral being--this Lich King, as Kel’Thuzad was beginning to think of him--would assuredly bring Kel’Thuzad great
power… and damn him for all eternity. But that knowledge came far too late. Besides, damnation had little meaning without the
prospect of true death.

“I am yours. I swear it,” he said hoarsely.

In response, the Lich King sent him a vision of Naxxramas. Small black-robed figures stood in a broad circle outside on the glacier.
Their arms, visibly wreathed in dark magic, rose and fell in time with a droning chant that eluded Kel’Thuzad’s understanding.
Tremors shook the earth beneath their feet, but they kept casting.

You will go forth and bear witness to my power. You will be my ambassador to the living, and assemble a group of like-minded
people to further my plans. Through illusion, persuasion, sickness, and force of arms, you will establish my hold upon Azeroth.

To Kel’Thuzad’s astonishment, the ice shifted and cracked, and the top of a ziggurat pierced the frozen ground. A building was being
pulled up out of the soil. While the robed figures redoubled their efforts, the vast pyramid continued its impossible emergence.
Chunks of dirt and ice flew outward with explosive force. Soon the entire structure had broken free of the earth’s embrace. Slowly
but surely, Naxxramas rose into the air.

And this will be your vessel.

 The Green Hills of Stranglethorn
25

Stranglethorn Vale (30 pages scattered)

THE GREEN HILLS OF STRANGLETHORN by Hemet Nesingwary.

Our first day went as well as one can expect first days to go. Most of our time was preoccupied with making the
necessary arrangements to establish a base camp. I located an ideal setting by a freshwater river inlet. Judging by the
old, abandoned docks nearby, this site was inhabited sometime ago. As for the original inhabitants, only time can tell
that tale. For this expedition I have assembled Ajeck Rouack and Sir S. J Erlgadin, along with my trusted servant, Barnil
Stonepot. I fought alongside Ajeck's father's side in many battles in defense of the Alliance. Seeing her grown is quite
special. Her father schooled her well in the ways of weaponry. Her skills with a bow make me wonder if there is elven
blood running through those veins. Sir S. J. Erlgadin comes from human aristocracy. His father, Count Erlgadin, was
renowned for his generosity. It was the Count who lobbied for improved working conditions for the Stonemasons' Guild
during the restoration of Stormwind after the Second Great War. In the years that followed, after Stormwind betrayed
the Stonemasons' Guild, Sir Erlgadin grew bitter about the role of the nobles within the Kingdom. He no longer wished
to uphold the position that his father's bloodline had earned for him in the House of Nobles.But I digress.

The purpose of this story is not to act as a political treatise or a biography. This is the account of my experiences hunting
big game in the green hills of Stranglethorn....We rose with the sun. Barnil began to prepare the morning meal. I noticed
Ajeck's attention was somewhat distracted. The day's trek would be long and our hunt would bring us close to danger. A
lack of focus could easily lead to an errant mishap. Yet Ajeck seemed unable to divert her gaze from Barnil who stood by
the edge of the river rinsing out his mess kit. Just as I was about to question Ajeck's lack of interest in the day's hunting
strategy, she reached for her quiver, drew an arrow and unleashed a shot right towards poor Barnil. But it was not Barnil
that Ajeck was shooting at. For when Barnil stepped aside, mouth agape, a large river crocilisk floated to the surface
with Ajeck's arrow perfectly placed between his two large eyes. We set out toward the west, through the thick
overgrowth of the tangled jungle. Moving with slow, deliberate steps we paced through thick foliage in search of prey.
The morning passed in frustrated silence. Nothing was stirring in the Vale, not even a breeze. By the afternoon, the
expedition had grown restless. Barnil no longer strode with the cautious steps of a predator tracking prey. Rather he
clumsily clomped along the path often stepping noisily on dried leaves or fallen branches.
During one such misstep, Erlgadin laid a heavy hand on Barnil's shoulder. Ajeck and I gave a casual glance, assuming the
man was simply giving Barnil a much-needed scolding for his carelessness. Erlgadin, however, gestured slowly with his
head toward a nearby fallen tree. Gazing back at us were two piercing black eyes just above a mouthful of razor sharp
fangs. The beast was a male Stranglethorn Tiger. Before I could cock my rifle, Erlgadin raised his crossbow and fired upon
the beast. The bolt missed its mark and caught the beast heavily in the left flank. The tiger made a futile attempt to flee
but its wound was too grave. The beast stumbled for a few tragic seconds until Barnil finished the kill with a thrown axe.
The kill brought about a festive mood amongst the expedition. Barnil poured mead for all to enjoy. But our festivities
were short-lived. As we were preparing the corpse for transport back to base camp we were all caught off guard by a
horrendous growl. In all my years I have never heard anything so blood curdling. On a rocky precipice above, silhouetted
by the setting sun, I could make out the largest cat of prey I have ever laid eyes upon. I was able to loose one clumsy
volley with my rifle, but the cat held his ground. He growled once again, this time louder than the first, and vanished.We
gathered our belongings and headed solemnly back to camp. I had promised the expedition that we would spend the
next day hunting panthers, as their furs are in high demand throughout Azeroth. It only makes sense that such demand
should exist with all of the able-bodied hunters, trappers and fur-traders off giving their lives so valiantly in the name of
the Alliance.

Ajeck and Sir Erlgadin were anxious to learn how to hunt effectively with a Dwarven Rifle. I had the two humans leave
their primitive range weapons at base camp. Barnil and I outfitted them with some of Ironforge's finest firearms. On this
day we ventured to the south, following some fresh panther tracks. Soon we reached a ravine spanned by a tremendous
rope bridge. I could not help but to think of Brann's descriptive writings of this region when I saw the engineering
marvel. So often it was assumed that the native Trolls were a primitive and uneducated race yet as I gazed upon the
master craftsmanship of the bridge I was able to recognize the skill with which the Troll builders overcame the seemingly
impossible feat. Before long, Ajeck tracked the panther to the southwest. We walked quietly, guns at the ready, in
anticipation of our prey. A snapping of twigs from a nearby copse of trees drew our attention immediately. Something
was in there. One stern glance at Barnil was enough to convey my thoughts. Barnil slowly lowered his rifle. This kill was
not for us; it was for our Human companions. Countless panthers had lost their lives in front of our smoking barrels. This
kill would be for the Humans. Both Ajeck and Sir Erlgadin stood poised, guns leveled at the bristling overgrowth at the
base of the swaying trees. The midday sun beat heavily upon us. A slow trickle of perspiration trailed down from
Elrgadin's temple as he pulled the pin back. Upon the sound of the click, the thick flora parted and a large black panther -
- a beautiful specimen -- darted out onto the plain. The Humans trained their sights on the panther as it ran along the
edge of the tree line. The barrels of their guns moved in perfect parallel tandem.

Barnil gave me an urging glance but I shook my head no. This hunt was for the Humans, not Barnil or me. Erlgadin fired a
booming shot, missing the panther altogether. Apparently he was unprepared for the violent kickback of the rifle blast.
His gun tossed back violently in his arms. The barrel swooped sideways and came up beneath Ajeck's rifle. Ajeck had
chosen that exact moment to pull her trigger. The rifle, the aim now knocked clumsily toward the tree line, went off with
a distinct boom. A flock of birds screamed out of the canopy, scattering in every direction. A plume of smoke rose from
the tree. We watched in awe as a tremendous branch fell squarely on the fleeing panther, breaking its back. As the
weeks passed our stockpile of panther and tiger skins grew immense. I decided it was time for the expedition to shift our
focus to a new challenge: Raptors.The Humans, while appreciative of the training Barnil and I offered, decided to refrain
from hunting with firearms. Ajeck was much more comfortable with a finely strung bow and Sir Erlgadin never left camp
without his sturdy crossbow.

We set out at first light, heading south past the Tkashi Ruins. Barnil voiced concern that we might encounter members of
the Bloodscalp Tribe. I reminded Barnil that the Bloodscalps were more concerned with destroying their tribal enemy,
the Skullsplitters. Needless to say, Barnil was not comforted in the least. I, however, had a loaded rifle, a satchel full of
gunpowder and three deadly hunters with me to ease any concerns of an unfriendly ambush. I've stood before a
towering Infernal on the battlefield, the army of the Burning Legion advancing from all directions. An unruly band of
Trolls seems as harmless as a jackrabbit in the hills of Dun Morogh.We passed the Tkashi Ruins without event, much to
Barnil's relief. The party proceeded to head westward, toward the Great Sea, skirting the Ruins of Zul'Kunda just to the
south. As we ascended the high sea bluffs we spotted our first Raptor. The beast never so much as detected our
presence. In fact, the only greeting he received from the expedition was a bullet between the eyes.Sir Erlgadin let out a
hearty *hurrah* as Ajeck nodded toward me with keen approval. I sifted through my pack in search of my pipe, hoping
to enjoy a celebratory smoke. Barnil began to scurry up the hillside to retrieve the Raptor's corpse. I stared at the fallen
beast with the satisfaction that accompanies every big kill. But I could not bask in the glory of the kill for long. For when I
turned my eyes toward the horizon, several silhouettes appeared cresting the hill, just above poor Barnil.*Flee, Barnil!* I
shouted.

Ajeck, Sir Erlgadin and myself loosed a volley of bullets, arrows and bolts over Barnil and toward the pursuing raptors.
One of us landed a kill amidst the confusion. Our hastily aimed shots were enough to buy Barnil's escape. Barnil
clamored back down the hill and rejoined the party. We scurried off into the jungle; a pack of ferocious Lashtail Raptors
stalking our every move. The hunters were now the hunted. I led the party toward the sea, hoping the shoreline would
provide refuge from the Raptors. In our haste we had drifted too far north, to a precariously high elevation. The mistake
was made. The fault was mine. We stopped just short of a sheer cliff, the Raptors just a few paces behind. I stepped
slowly forward, gun raised. I had led these brave hunters to their death. I would die defending them. Lashtail Raptors are
particularly fierce, known for their unrelenting blood-thirst. They far outnumbered us. But I would be damned if I let
them kill me and my comrades without shedding some of their own blood first. Ajeck and Sir Erlgadin readied their
weapons, flanking me on either side, our backs to the sea. Barnil let out a defeated sigh and drew his axe.

The Lashtails were almost upon us. Their steady stride had slowed. They were stalking their prey now for they knew they
had us trapped. And then something miraculous happened. From off to our side we heard the distinct and terrifying roar
of the great white tiger. Despite their numbers, the Raptors turned and scattered in all directions. We saw but a brief
white flash as the tiger darted past us and pounced on one of the Raptors. No command needed to be given. All four
members of our party knew it was time to run. We sprinted all the way back to base camp, never slowing. Later that
night we sat quietly around the campfire, knowing our lives had been saved by a bizarre twist of fate. Such are the risks
of the big game hunter. We toy with fate by delivering it. Yet each of us, at some point, will face fate's razor sharp teeth.
This Dwarf is just glad that moment did not come upon the green hills of Stranglethorn.

--The End--
 A Treatise on Military Ranks
25

Stormwind City (Champions' Hall)

A TREATISE ON MILITARY RANKS

What follows are the military ranks of the Alliance, proceeded by such information as is known
for the races of the Horde. Each is presented in two sections, the officers and then the enlisted,
with the ranks of each listed in descending order from highest to lowest. Long live the Alliance!

OFFICER RANKS OF THE ALLIANCE OFFICER RANKS OF THE HORDE

Grand Marshal High Warlord

Field Marshal Warlord

Marshal General

Commander Lieutenant General

Lieutenant Commander Champion

Knight-Champion Centurion

Knight-Captain Legionnaire

Knight-Lieutenant Blood Guard

Knight Stone Guard

ENLISTED RANKS OF THE ALLIANCE ENLISTED RANKS OF THE HORDE

Sergeant Major First Sergeant

Master Sergeant Senior Sergeant

Sergeant Sergeant

Corporal Grunt

Private Scout
 Military Ranks of the Horde & Alliance
25

Orgrimmar (Hall of Legends)

MILITARY RANKS OF THE HORDE & ALLIANCE

Throm'ka! In this book you will find many listings of the military ranks of the Horde and the puny
Alliance. First will come the Horde, then the Alliance, each with listings of officers and enlisted
ranks. As is fitting, the strongest are listed at the top, with the weaker listed below them.

OFFICER RANKS OF THE HORDE OFFICER RANKS OF THE ALLIANCE

High Warlord Grand Marshal

Warlord Field Marshal

General Marshal

Lieutenant General Commander

Champion Lieutenant Commander

Centurion Knight-Champion

Legionnaire Knight-Captain

Blood Guard Knight-Lieutenant

Stone Guard Knight

ENLISTED RANKS OF THE HORDE ENLISTED RANKS OF THE ALLIANCE

First Sergeant Sergeant Major

Senior Sergeant Master Sergeant

Sergeant Sergeant

Grunt Corporal

Scout Private
 Tauren Mythology
Thunder Bluff

Mists of Dawn
Before the Age of Memory, the gentle Earthmother breathed upon the golden mists of dawn. Where the amber clouds came to rest,
there were endless fields of flowing wheat and barley. This was the basin of her works - the great basket of life and hope. The
Earthmother's eyes shone down upon the lands she had breathed into creation. Her right eye, An'she (the sun), gave warmth and
light to the land. Her left eye, Mu'sha (the moon), gave peace and sleep to the stirring creatures of the dawning. Such was the power
of her gaze that the Earthmother closed one dreaming eye for every turning of the sky. Thus, her loving gaze turned day into night
for the first dawning of the world. While the right eye shone down upon the golden dawn, the Earthmother's gentle hands spread
out across the golden plains. Wherever the shadow of her arms passed, a noble people arose from the rich soil. The Shu'halo (the
tauren) arose to give thanks and prayer to their loving mother. There, in the endless fields of dawn, the children of the earth swore
themselves to her grace and vowed to bless her name until the final darkening of the world.

Sorrow of the Earthmother

As the children of the earth roamed the fields of dawn, they harkened to dark whispers from deep beneath the world. The whispers
told the children of the arts of war and deceit. Many of the Shu'halo fell under the shadow's sway and embraced the ways of malice
and wickedness. They turned upon their pure brethren and left their innocence to drift upon the plains. The Earthmother, her heart
heavy with her children's plight, could not bear to watch them fall from grace. In her grief, she tore out her eyes and set them
spinning across the endless, starry skies. An'she and Mu'sha, seeking to ease the other's sorrow, could only chase each other's faint
glow across the sky. The twins still chase one another with every turning of the world. Though sightless, the Earthmother could not
long stray from the world of her heart. She kept her ear to the winds and listened to all that transpired across the fields of the dawn.
Her great heart was always with her children - and her loving wisdom never fled from them.
 The White Stag and the Moon

Into the brave hearts of her pure children, the Earthmother placed the love of the hunt. For the creatures of the first
dawn were savage and fierce. They hid from the Earthmother, finding solace in the shadows and the wild places of the
land. The Shu'halo hunted these beasts wherever they could be found and tamed them with the Earthmother's blessing.
One great spirit eluded them, however. Apa'ro (known as Malorne to the night elves), was a proud stag of snow white
fur. His antlers scraped the roof of the heavens and his mighty hooves stamped out the deep places of the world. The
Shu'halo hunted Apa'ro to the corners of the dawning world - and closed in to snare the proud stag. Seeking to escape,
the great stag leapt into the sky. Yet, as his escape seemed assured, his mighty antlers tangled in the stars which held
him fast. Though he kicked and struggled, Apa'ro could not loose himself from the heavens. It was then that Mu'sha
found him as she chased her brother, An'she, towards the dawn. Mu'sha saw the mighty stag as he struggled and fell in
love with him immediately. The clever moon made a bargain with the great stag - she would set him free from the snare
of the stars if he would love her and end her loneliness.

Mu'sha loved Apa'ro and conceived a child by him. The child, a demigod some would claim, was born in the shadowed
forests of the night. He would be called Cenarius, and walk the starry path between the waking world and the kingdom
of the heavens.

Forestlord and the First Druids

In time, the child, Cenarius, grew to the stature of his proud father. A brother to both the trees and the stars, the great
hunter roamed the far places of the world, singing the harmonious songs of the dawning. All creatures bowed before his
grace and beauty - there were none so cunning as the son of the moon and the white stag. Eventually, Cenarius
befriended the Shu'halo and spoke to them of the turning world. The children of the earth knew him as brother and
swore to help him care for the fields of life and the favored creatures of their great Earthmother. Cenarius taught the
children of the earth to speak to the trees and plants. The Shu'halo became druids and worked great deeds of magic to
nurse the land to health. For many generations the Shu'halo hunted with Cenarius and kept the world safe from the
shadows that stirred beneath it.

Hatred of the Centaur

As the mists of dawn faded and the Age of Memory advanced, the demigod, Cenarius, went his own way through the
fields of the world. The Shu'halo (tauren) were sorrowful at his passing and forgot much of the druidism he had taught
them. As the generations passed, they forgot how to speak with the trees and the wild things of the land. The dark
whispers from the deeps of the world drifted up to their ears once again. Though the children of the earth closed out the
evil whisperings, a terrible curse befell their roaming tribes. Out of the black lands of the west came a horde of
murderous creatures - the centaur. Cannibals and ravagers, the centaur fell upon the Shu'halo like a plague. Though the
braves and hunters fought with the Earthmother's blessing in their hearts, the centaur could not be defeated. The
Shu'halo were forced to leave their ancestral holdings behind, and roam the endless plains as nomads forever after. It
was held that one day hope would return - and the scattered tribes of the Shu'halo would find a new home under the
loving arms of the Earthmother.