Revenge of the Frostspawn
The weather in Northrend was reaching the peak of cold, and the intense wind created one of the harshest blizzards the local human encampment had seen in several years. The Lich King had risen not long ago, and recently captured the encampment, which included many fugitives from the corrupted kingdom of Lordaeron and many Night Elf fugitives from the forest of Felwood that settled amongst them well. He twisted the fugitives’ minds with dark power, corrupting them with power but binding them to his will, just as he had done with Arthas Menethil. When he sat in his new throne in the encampment, deeply in thought about the recent and most sudden change of weather, when he sensed a messenger try to near his lair and be stopped by his guards. He did not know that this was the opening tone to the greatest, most terrible war humanity and the Scourge will have suffered.
The messenger hissed, and did not give up.
“Let me pass! I bring grave, grave news to the Lich King!”
“Go back to your lair, mongrel!” Grunted one of the guards, clearly keen to smash the messenger apart, but Nerzul stopped him. He felt that something terrible will be unleashed upon this coming, and he asked in his deep, evil voice:
“Why have you come to face Nerzul, weakling?”
The messenger shrunk in total fear of him, but managed to wince:
“My lord, a great evil is nearing this encampment! The Frostspawn have come for their revenge!”
“What?!” Bellowed He, suddenly enraged. “That is impossible. I have journeyed to the Frozen Throne through the ruins of Nerub and left no survivor!”
“But that is exactly why they are coming, my Lord!” Wailed the messenger, “you have awakened their ancient fury! Your guard at the Frozen Throne has sent this to ensure this message would not go unheard!”
Nerzul saw that the messenger was holding out a decoration of stone, a piece from his Frozen Throne at Icecrown. His command was for it not to be touched, and if the handle was broken apart from the Throne something evil indeed was happening at Icecrown.
Enraged, Nerzul raised his rune blade, Frostmourne, and slashed the messenger clean in half. He turned to his guards and raised a raging command:
“We must prepare these mortals for battle! Let the Frostspawn be crushed!”
Grak’Ratk, a nerubian broodlord that was busy sleeping in the past tens of thousands of years, suddenly woke when he had felt the Forgotten One stir once again. It had taken him a while to come to and even more time to stretch himself from the deep relaxing, but when he reached its lair and saw that the One was dead he forgot all that immediately. He could not stop the roar of the fury that erupted from him, and that soon awakened the rest of the kingdom:
“The Forgotten One has been murdered! The ancient threshold guardian of the kingdom is slain! Arise, my kin, and avenge this treachery!”