King & Queen

King Feanor topped another snow drenched hill. He and what remained of his people had trudged across this damned country for two months with no sign of their lost brothers and sisters. He supposed he'd bought and paid for this misery with his own complacency.

"Father, there's something up ahead!" Was this it then? Would their damnation finally be complete?

Ten thousand years ago, with the peoples of Azeroth still but infants in the arms of the universe, the demons of The Burning Legion had sought to end their history before it had fairly begun. The survivors fled the wrath of the invaders, finding refuge among the nightelves of Ashenvale. The elves prayed to nature itself for mercy. The World Tree had answered their prayers, granted them it's eternal power, and they'd used that power to defend their freedom.

With the demons driven off, the people of Azeroth returned to their homes or sought new ones, and began rebuilding their lives. The nightelves vowed to use their newly granted eternal lives to watch over the world and protect nature from future invaders, but not all wanted this responsibility. Feanor and his beloved Kira wanted no more war, no more grief, and decided to find a place to live their lives in peace and solitude.

Feanor and Kira, along with those of like heart who'd joined them, wandered for decades. They'd found their new home. They'd crossed the northern sea and found a harsh land possessed of a cold, white beauty. Here they would have peace. Here they would not be bothered with the troubles of the world. Here they would be responsible for nothing but their own happiness. They'd delved their homes deep under the ice of Northrend. And they'd had peace and happiness for ten thousand years...until the Legion returned.

The tale of the deeds of that time are told elsewhere, and Feanor's people took no part in them. They'd heard the cries of the world. They'd known that death had come on horseback, relentlessy riding across Azeroth, leaving desolation in its wake. A man had come to King Feanor in the form of a raven and told him that a new evil had arisen in their very land and that they must, at all cost, destroy it. But King Feanor and Queen Kira would have none of it. They told the prophet to take his warmongering and be gone from their realm. They'd trusted in goodness itself, in the light, to overcome. And it did. The peoples of Azeroth had united with King Feanor's ancient kin and, once again, driven the demons from their world. But the people of the hidden kingdom had been blind to the scourge the Legion had loosed upon their world.

The scourge had retreated to Northrend and began building their stronghold under the leadership of their new King. Confined to this wasteland, they'd scoured the region far and wide in search of anything to help them prepare for their coming invasion of Azeroth. They'd found signs of the hidden kingdom, pinpointed it's location, and drawn an impenetrable net of the dead around it. Only then did they strike.

The hidden kingdom was cought completely unaware. They knew instantly that there was no victory to be had. The survivors retreated to the kings chamber. He and his sorcerers began summoning a portal to escape. They knew not where it would lead, only that they would be utterly destroyed if they could not succeed in it's conjuring. The scourge and their damned king hammered the doors relentlessly. Queen Kira and her daughters used every ounce of magic and power at their disposal in holding the doors, but they'd never encountered an enemy of such single-minded ferocity. The portal was summoned. The king drove his people through to he knew not where, only away from this slaughter. He called to his queen, his wife, his beloved to come...and the doors fell.

The Lich King stood before them and, for an instant, held them rapt in his cold glory. His lips sneered in a mocking grin. His eyes glowed with an eternal madness. His sword sang with a dread of it's own. Then the spell was broken, and Feanor moved forward to his wife. Kira turned to him, her face a mask of terror. A cold, mail clad hand seized her shoulder from behind, and Arthas drove Frostmourne through her heart. The scourge poured forward with shouts of horrible glee. Arthas' insane laughter echoed through the chamber. King Feanor yelled out in dismay as his son took hold of him and dragged him, crying, through the portal. The sorcerers dropped their spell, and gave their lives to buy their kings freedom.

The King and what remained of his people found themselves in a strange land. They'd forsaken this world for ten thousand years and knew not it's ways. But the king knew what he must do. His people, his family, his love, had not merely been murdered. They'd been damned. They were now a part of the very evil that'd destroyed their happiness. His people would hide and deny their place in this world no longer. He would devour whatever passed for a heart in the chest of the thing that'd taken his wife. But first, he must save his taken people in the only way he could. He would destroy them. He would hunt them to the ends of Azeroth were that required. He would not stand by while his people became a plague upon the land.

Feanor stepped up next to his son and saw his beloved, Kira, wrapped in an icy veil of malice. "The time has come" he said,"steel yourself son, your mother is dead and we must free her soul." He turned to his people and yelled "open the portal and send word to the rest of our people, battle is upon us!"

Now he must free his people...or damn them all trying.