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| - The battle had raged back and forth for days now in the frozen valley in the Alterac mountains. Neither side being able to gain the upper hand over the other until just a few minutes ago. The Stormpikes and their alliance lapdogs had staged a massive assault on the strategic pass known as Tower Point, and gambled all upon securing the control of the pass to begin a siege at the Frostwolf village. They had failed, but just barely. Standing amidst a heap of broken bodies Bishop Abraham Tremayne eminated thin tendrils of smoke in the chill air. Smoke from the blood that covered him after the recent engagement. Blood that were not his own but soon would run as cold as it. It had taken a great deal of effort to survive the last onslaught; where three enemies had broken through to his position. One had been a Kaldorei sentinel, whose mastery of the shadows had allowed her to stealth close enough to impale him on her sword. A wound that would have killed him, had he not already been dead. Tremayne absently touched the tear in his robes where the blade had gone through, remeniscing over the events that had lead him to Alterac Mountains. Paying no heed to the dying grunts of the orcish defenders who still where bleeding their life away in the cold snow he remember the assault on Feathermoon Stronghold and the swift victory of the Horde army. Surely this provocation would drive the Kaldorei to reprisal although none had been appearant yet. Understanding the ways of the once immortals where a hard task, only their views on time alone were enough to alienate them from the rest of the sentient population of Azeroth. Then there had come an atack on Sepulchre not from Kaldorei culprits but from the Scarlet Crusade and a new enemy known only as the cult serving some obscure God-figure named Vidomi. The Deathguards had alerted them of the presence of the enemy forces yet it had been all they could do to beat back the atack. The first onslaught of the atackers had been so violent that they had been forced to retreat to the crypts to regroup in order to survive. It had taken all of his skill to mend and strengthen his comrades enough that a counteratack had been made possible. He recalled sallying forth from the crypts to the sounds of the slaughter above with just anger and finally beating the atack back. His collegues in the Iron Ring had been stupified when he had halted the atack just before annihilating the final shreds of resistance in an appearant act of mercy. They had obeyed orders and done his bidding, but other less disciplined of the forsaken present had caused the survivors to stir again and scatter and free themselves. Tremayne had his reasons for doing as he had done and neither mercy nor clemency qualified. It had been simple political shrewdness: To argue his case infront of a Horde warcouncil he would gain from appearing as the benevolant party. Also, he needed to know from where the atackers had gathered. He had indeed learned that and the realization of what that could mean was more chilling than the winds howling through the Alterac Valley. The atackers had rallied in Ambermill, which answered to Dalaran authorities. Dalaran. The jewel of magedom and a powerful member of the city states of Lordaeron of old was an enigma now. The grand city had been hit hard by the burning legion and scourge and had then sealed itself from the world by an impenetrable dome of force. The Ambermill faction where indeed hostile to the Forsaken, but Dalaran had not officially joined the new Alliance. Not yet, at least. If they would sally forth from their dome and proclaim themselves Allied to Stormwind, Darnassus and Ironforge, it would have dire ramifications. The whole balance of power in the North would drasticly change to their disadvantage and that could not be allowed. He must find out where Dalaran stood now, and if necessary act to prevent political unity behind the walls of the dome. Dalaran had always consisted of factions arguing with each other and he was on very good relations with one of them, the Violet Eye. He had pulled what strings he had that night to get the flows of information started. Knowledge was power. Thus, he had found himself in Frostwolf territory to personally inspect the strength of the orcish forces and improve relations there as they too stood threatened by Dalaran if it emerged as Alliance. He had been told about a recent increase in hostile activity and had deemed it necessary to ride out to the front himself to stem the flow. Frostwolf village must not fall. His problems did not end there. There were rumours of a dwarven contigents of sturdy fighters that where marching north from Ironforge to strengthen the garrison at Eerie Peak and in Silvermoon the Royal Council was in turmoil and the word he had was that things where dire indeed. He had dispatched Margrave von Thierhoff as an emissary to the council with strict instructions and could only hope that the Knight would arrive in time for the session. The troubles where brewing everywhere, festering like putrid pools. It could be coincidences, but he wouldn´t stake anything on it. /Tremayne
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