World of Warcraft Chronicle Volume 3

by Blizzard Entertainment

  The cult’s headquarters were established in the catacombs beneath an ancient human fortress called Scholomance. There, Kel’Thuzad tutored his most loyal cultists in necromancy. The dark sorcerers quickly honed their craft. They conducted gruesome experiments, animating the skeletons dug up from beneath the fortress. Some necromancers hacked apart the unearthed corpses and used the pieces to create mindless undead giants called abominations.

  While this work progressed, Kel’Thuzad occupied himself with the most important experiment. He had brought samples of the Lich King’s plague of undeath from Northrend to Scholomance. He worked feverishly to create a strain of the disease that was both effective and subtle. He planned to spread the plague through Lordaeron’s grain supplies, and he wanted its incubation period to be long enough that the humans would consume the tainted food before any symptoms surfaced, thus maximizing the number of victims.

  After many long months, he succeeded.

  KEL’THUZAD ARRIVES AT THE FROZEN THRONE

  South of Scholomance, the Alliance of Lordaeron continued funneling resources into its network of internment camps. Leadership over the prisons fell to a human noble named Aedelas Blackmoore, a distinguished veteran of the Second War.

  Privately, Aedelas considered his position as warden of the internment camps to be an insult from the Alliance leadership. His father, Aedelyn Blackmoore, had become a pariah for committing treason against Lordaeron years earlier. Aedelas believed that the leaders still saw him as “the son of a traitor” and had burdened him with a thankless job that held no glory.

  But Aedelas, like his father, was a clever military strategist. He had a secret weapon in his possession that he believed could restore his rightful position within the Alliance…

  Just before the First War ended, Aedelas Blackmoore had stumbled across something astonishing. He had found a baby orc, alone and abandoned, lying in the snow next to his dead parents and some of the assassins who had killed them. Aedelas had resisted his instinct to slay the creature right then and there, instead deciding to raise the orc.

  He named the orc “Thrall” and trained him to be a gladiator. Once Aedelas had determined that the orc would not simply be a dumb brute, he began to teach him strategy, philosophy, and the finer points of leading others into battle. He often put Thrall to the test, throwing him into fights against numerous opponents. Fighting pits were a common feature in the internment camps, and the guards would force the orc prisoners to face each other in bloody combat. Aedelas subjected Thrall to these gladiatorial arenas not just to improve his fighting skills; the man was a drunkard who liked to gamble on the outcomes of the matches. Thrall learned that his master was volatile, cruel, and occasionally brilliant.

  Aedelas Blackmoore’s strategic thinking was complex, bold, yet fatally flawed from drink. He saw the imprisoned orcs as a potential army, and he intended for Thrall to become their leader—while remaining loyal to his human master, of course. Aedelas planned to upend the Alliance and rule it himself, remaking the human kingdoms in his image. But his cruelty undermined any connection he might have had with the young orc. Thrall saw him not as a surrogate father but as an arrogant, brutal master who would never let him know freedom.

  The one friend Thrall had during his enslavement was a human named Taretha Foxton, who regarded him as a younger brother. She secretly maintained correspondence with the orc, and when Thrall was on the verge of succumbing to despair, she helped him escape the internment camp.

  Thrall evaded Aedelas Blackmoore’s guards and found his way into the nearby wilderness, chasing rumors that a clan of orcs was still living there. He first encountered Grommash Hellscream and the remnants of the Warsongs, who recognized that this orphan was of the Frostwolf clan. They told him to travel to the Alterac Mountains, where the Frostwolves were known to roam.

  When Thrall arrived, he found the Frostwolves and learned the truth about his parents, Durotan and Draka. They had stubbornly resisted the demonic corruption of the Horde, and they had paid for their defiance with their lives.

  He also learned that he had little in common with the Frostwolves or the rest of the orcs on Azeroth. Free or imprisoned, they had lived their lives as orcs. Thrall had been raised as something less. Not a human, not even a despised orc. He had been groomed as a tool of conquest, nothing more.

  To rejoin his people, he would need to discover who they were—and who he was.

  AEDELAS BLACKMOORE AND HIS PRIZED SLAVE, THRALL, IN DURNHOLDE KEEP

  Thrall spent time learning the basics of what it meant to be an honorable orc. Most of his race had abandoned their shamanic heritage when they embraced fel magic, but there was one among the Frostwolves who had returned to their roots. The elderly orc Drek’Thar had rekindled his connection with the elements, and he instructed Thrall in the ways of shamanism.

  Thrall also learned from Orgrim Doomhammer. Meeting Thrall dredged up painful memories for the former warchief, but it put his heart at ease. Orgrim had been close friends with Thrall’s parents, and he had believed that their son had died alongside them. His survival warmed the older orc’s spirit. Orgrim taught Thrall how orcs fought and, more importantly, how they lived.

  He might not have been raised as an orc, but Thrall’s brutal upbringing had given him exactly what the Horde needed: a love of freedom, admiration for the nobility the clans had lost, and the desire to see them all made whole again.

  Thrall’s optimism and resilience reignited Orgrim’s hopes of restoring the orcs’ pride and honor. He made the young shaman his second-in-command. They joined with Grommash Hellscream and his Warsong clan, and they launched a campaign to free the orc prisoners from their internment camps. The lethargy that made the orcs submissive began to fade before the raw energy of Thrall’s sense of purpose, and with each toppled camp, the new Horde grew bigger and stronger.

  Orgrim Doomhammer fell in battle while liberating one of those camps, and with his last breaths, he declared that Thrall should carry on as the new warchief of the Horde. Thrall took up Doomhammer’s eponymous weapon, his armor, and his responsibilities, and he sought to dismantle the entire system of internment in one fell swoop.

  The Horde marched on Aedelas Blackmoore’s fortress, Durnholde Keep. Thrall offered to parley peacefully. Aedelas responded by executing Taretha Foxton. Enraged, Thrall and the Horde stormed the keep, and in a bloody battle, Thrall personally struck down Aedelas.

  With Durnholde conquered, the administration of the internment camps ended instantly. The new Horde had little trouble liberating the rest of the smaller, more isolated camps across Lordaeron. Thrall did not use his numbers to wage war against Lordaeron itself. Instead, he took his people across the Eastern Kingdoms in search of a place they could call home.

  The destruction of the internment camps proved to be the tipping point for many among the Alliance of Lordaeron. Lady Katrana Prestor made sure of it, speaking passionately to every person of noble birth she could reach. The orcs had all escaped. The money spent to imprison them had been wasted. What was the point of this faltering Alliance?

  The high elves of Quel’Thalas were the first to leave the Alliance. The human nations of Gilneas and Stromgarde soon followed. They had always believed they were better off on their own, and the “incompetence” of Lordaeron only seemed to confirm it.

  King Genn Greymane of Gilneas had an idea to stop the Horde—and any other enemies—from threatening his kingdom ever again. His nation was on a peninsula and surrounded on most sides by water. He formally cut off all military pacts with the Alliance, and he built the massive Greymane Wall to isolate his kingdom. It was clear that he had no interest in aiding the other nations. Gilneas was self-sufficient, and it needed little in the way of food or resources from the rest of the Alliance.

  THRALL HONORS ORGRIM DOOMHAMMER AT THE FALLEN ORC’S FUNERAL PYRE />
  TIRION FORDRING AND EITRIGG

  The news that the Horde had re-formed had unexpected effects on human society. The initial reaction was fear, but those who encountered the orcs often reported that they were no longer the battle-hungry barbarians the Alliance had once fought.

  One of these voices was Tirion Fordring, a paladin of the Silver Hand. He had encountered an old orc named Eitrigg, and Tirion believed that he was sincere in his desire to live in peace. Thus, the paladin stood against the humans who sought to kill the orc. This was considered treason, and Tirion was cast out of the Silver Hand for his crime. Despite this, Tirion found he still had access to the Holy Light, and so he knew he had done the right thing.

  Eitrigg would go on to join Thrall’s new Horde. Tirion would live alone, outside of human civilization, for years.

  Several kingdoms made it known that they had no intention of letting the Alliance collapse. King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind, King Terenas Menethil II of Lordaeron, the Kirin Tor of Dalaran, Grand Admiral Daelin Proudmoore of Kul Tiras, King Magni Bronzebeard of Ironforge, and Gelbin Mekkatorque of Gnomeregan all reaffirmed their commitment to unity against whatever trials would come.

  This did not please Lady Prestor at all. She had hoped the Alliance would disintegrate.

  But if the nations would remain vigilant against external threats, Lady Prestor decided to inflame internal conflict wherever she could. Her secret meddling in the rebuilding of Stormwind City had left the nobility unsatisfied with the craftsmanship of the Stonemasons’ Guild; meanwhile, the workers were enraged that the nobility were threatening to withhold payment for honest labor.

  Lady Prestor played both sides, encouraging them to dig in their heels and never compromise, until the disagreements escalated into unrest. When the nobility announced that they would not be paying the Stonemasons’ Guild for their work, riots erupted.

  The queen of Stormwind, Tiffin Wrynn, was killed during the chaos.

  King Varian Wrynn vowed to punish those responsible, and he cracked down hard on the rioters. The stonemasons fled the city and hid in the rural areas of Westfall until the situation settled down. Most of them had to stay in hiding, for they knew Varian’s anger would never fade.

  Their anger never vanished, either. Led by a gifted mason named Edwin VanCleef, and secretly supported by nobles like Lady Katrana Prestor, they formed the Defias Brotherhood. This order of bandits would continue its armed rebellion against Stormwind for years.

  The Alliance had been diminished. Stormwind was struggling with internal conflict. The high elves and the humans of the Eastern Kingdoms no longer trusted one another.

  The nations of the world were more vulnerable than they had been in years. Kil’jaeden finally whispered into the Lich King’s ear that now was the perfect time to unleash the plague of undeath on Lordaeron.

  The Lich King was ready. So were his servants. In recent years, Kel’Thuzad and the Cult of the Damned had spread their influence throughout Lordaeron’s breadbasket, the Eastweald. The secret order held sway in many important locations, most notably in Andorhal. The city was the main agricultural distribution point in the region. Any grain that was tainted by the plague in Andorhal would eventually make its way to the far corners of the Eastweald.

  Kel’Thuzad and his necromancers infused the city’s granaries with the plague. Andorhal’s citizens knew nothing of the danger lurking in their food supplies. Even many of the cultists were unaware of exactly what had been done. The grain showed no outward appearance of corruption. Only after it was consumed would the plague activate and run its course.

  Merchants transported their lethal cargo along the usual trade routes, and innocent citizens consumed the newly arrived grain. Days passed before the first signs that something was wrong appeared in the towns and villages closest to Andorhal. There were complaints of fatigue and mild fevers, mostly from the young and the old. Then entire families became ill. Then entire villages.

  None of the victims knew the dark source of their affliction, nor did they know that it was a precursor to the Legion’s invasion.

  Yet there was someone who did know what the demons were planning. His name was Medivh, and he had died years ago. As his spirit drifted beyond the borders of reality, he watched the plague slowly creep over the Eastweald like a dark tide. Medivh wanted nothing more than to warn the world of what was coming, but he had no way of communing with the people of Lordaeron.

  There was only one person he could reach on Azeroth, someone with whom he shared a connection more powerful than magic.

  His mother, Aegwynn.

  Across the Great Sea, on Kalimdor’s eastern shores, a solitary human wandered the land. Few knew her name. Fewer still knew of her extraordinary, tragic past. She was Aegwynn, one of the greatest Guardians of Tirisfal who had ever lived.

  Long ago, Sargeras had dispatched an avatar infused with a portion of his spirit to Azeroth, hoping to draw Aegwynn into battle. She had met the challenge and faced the demon, its monstrous form wreathed in fire. In what had seemed like a momentous victory, Aegwynn had struck down her foe. The Guardian had not simply triumphed over a Legion agent. No, she had triumphed over the Legion’s ruler.

  Aegwynn never suspected Sargeras’s true plans. Just before his avatar fell, he had transferred its spirit into the Guardian. A portion of Sargeras’s own power—a portion of his very soul—now lurked within Azeroth’s greatest defender.

  When Aegwynn later gave birth to Medivh and passed on her Guardian powers to him, she also transferred Sargeras’s spirit to her son. As the years wore on, the Legion’s ruler imposed his will on the new Guardian and molded him into a weapon. He eventually used Medivh’s immense power to create the Dark Portal and bring the orcish Horde into Azeroth. The terrible war that followed claimed thousands of lives.

  Medivh was later slain, and his Guardian power was no longer a threat to Azeroth. But this thought gave Aegwynn little comfort. She blamed herself for everything Medivh had caused. The Horde’s invasion. The carnage of the First and Second Wars. And most of all, she blamed herself for robbing her son of a fulfilling life, of a chance to reach his true potential as a force of good.

  It was during these dark days that Aegwynn had a strange dream. In it, she saw Medivh dressed in a cloak lined with raven feathers. He told Aegwynn that he had a message for the world, and he pleaded for his mother to help bring him back to Azeroth. Aegwynn was initially suspicious of the dream, believing it to be the work of the Legion. But some part of her knew otherwise. She felt Medivh’s soul drifting beyond the veil of reality, and she sensed that it was free of Sargeras’s touch. This was her chance to make up for her failures, to both Azeroth and her son.

  Aegwynn called on what little magical power she had left and sought out Medivh’s spirit. Months passed without results, but she stubbornly refused to give up. She searched for magical artifacts to help her with the summoning. The quest to bring her son into the world became an obsession. The work was hard, but it was also fulfilling. For the first time in years, Aegwynn had a purpose. She felt like her old self again.

  Aegwynn finally succeeded in summoning Medivh to Azeroth. A ghostly form took shape before her. Just like in her dream, he wore a robe lined with raven feathers. The moment Aegwynn looked her son in the eyes, she knew her intuitions had been right: Medivh was free of Sargeras’s influence.

  The reunion between mother and son was a somber affair. Aegwynn apologized for everything that had happened, and Medivh was quick to forgive her. He knew they were both victims of Sargeras. He also knew that now was not the time to dwell on the past.

  Medivh told Aegwynn that while his spirit was wandering beyond the physical realm, he had witnessed many things. His vast power had allowed him to glimpse into the Twisting Nether and touch the minds of the Legion’s demons. From them, he had learned of the Lich King and the plague of undeath. He had also learned what the L
egion was planning after this affliction had weakened the world.

  In the War of the Ancients, the Legion had tried harnessing a fount of magic called the Well of Eternity to bring the demons to Azeroth. By using its energies, they had nearly created a gateway into the world for Sargeras himself. Their plans had failed, and the Well of Eternity had been destroyed. However, another fount of magic existed. This second Well of Eternity was nestled atop Mount Hyjal, protected by the enormous World Tree Nordrassil. With the fount, the Legion could finish what it had started—it could create a portal through which Sargeras and the full might of his armies could invade Azeroth.

  Aegwynn urged her son to use his Guardian powers against the Legion, but Medivh had other ideas. His corruption had taught him the dangers of relying on a single Guardian to protect the world. The possibility of that individual being turned to evil was too great. No, the age of Guardians was over. If the world’s kingdoms were to survive the coming storm, they would have to unite and protect Azeroth themselves.

  Medivh vowed to act as a catalyst for unity. He would travel the world and warn its inhabitants of the Legion’s plans, unifying them in purpose.

  Aegwynn longed to join her son’s quest, but she was in no condition to do so. The summoning spell had pushed her to the edge of death. In the moments after the spell had finished, her body had begun to age and become frail. It would take her years to recover. Even then, she would never be as youthful or as powerful as she had once been.

  Medivh was on his own, and time was against him. The plague of undeath was enveloping Lordaeron.

  In Northrend, the Lich King brooded over his enslavement. He dreamed of a day when he would make the undead his servants and turn them against the Legion. Yet the time for that was not right. The plague had only begun to take root in Lordaeron.