Chasing and Fleeing, Part One

The dead trees creaked in the wind sweeping across the plains. On the barren land, yellowed weeds drooped listlessly. Even in daylight, the sky was dim, as if veiled by gray gauze, giving everything a bleak, helpless feel. It was hard to imagine that this lifeless place had once been Quel'Thalas, a land of birdsong and blossoms where spring lasted all year.

The barren plains were filled with mindless Undead wandering aimlessly. They had once been little more than cannon fodder for the Scourge. Though they still clung to a wretched existence, they were worse off than beasts. At least beasts knew what they wanted. These Undead knew nothing.

A sudden clatter of hooves broke the silence of the wasteland. Four Death Knights rode past at a gallop on their skeletal steeds. The mindless Undead wandering nearby raised their heads at the sound, then lowered them again. They sensed no living presence, so they did not attack.

These four Death Knights, riding through Quel'Thalas, had been sent by Kel'Thuzad to seize Little Anvina. They were far more imposing than their title alone suggested, and their strength surpassed that of ordinary Death Knights. They were even a match for the three Death Knights at the Lich King's side who had once served him in life and been empowered by Frostmourne: Falric, Maiev, and Saurfang. It was no surprise, considering they had all been powerful champions in life.

The Death Knight with a sword strapped to his back, its hilt set with a gem in which a skull seemed to float, was named Alexandros Mograine. He had once been a hero of Southshore, and the sword on his back was the Ashbringer, which had once struck fear into the hearts of the Undead.

But fate was fickle. The human hero of old