They all fall into place. . . They had fought —given strength at the thought of finally ridding this world of another of the Lich King’s lieutenants— within the shattered remains of an old Second War ship that had sunk below the ocean’s waves off the cliffy shores of Arathi Highlands. But the last of Epion James Striveheart’s valiant men died to the vile protector; their limbs swayed eerily in the water like ghosts, at the mercy of the slight current, dying from various gruesome and grotesque wounds, or simply dying painfully from loss of blood that most of the time lingered around the corpses of his men like rain clouds.