The Delegation

Highlord Tirion Fordring had suffered from insomnia for several days straight. News of Lordaeron's fall had thrown the Plaguelands, which had only just regained its calm, back into tension. Large numbers of refugees flooded into Hearthglen seeking shelter. The Argent outposts established nearby were also sending urgent calls for help; they could not accommodate so many people.

Several senior members of the Argent Crusade had urged Tirion to send troops to Lordaeron and reclaim the Capital City occupied by the Undead. This time, however, they would not be facing the Scourge, but the Forsaken.

Were they more dangerous than the Scourge, or easier to deal with? Tirion had to consider that question carefully. Thus, every piece of information concerning the Forsaken had been placed on his desk.

It was already late at night, yet Tirion did not feel the slightest bit sleepy. Someone knocked on his door.

"Come in." The Highlord was in his twilight years, but his voice remained strong and vigorous. His adviser and friend, Baron Maxwell Tyrosus, pushed open the door and entered.

"I was just in need of your counsel, Maxwell." Fordring rose from his chair.

"I assume you summoned me because of the Forsaken, Highlord." The one-eyed paladin walked to the opposite side of Tirion's desk and glanced over the documents. One scroll bearing a skull insignia caught his eye. "This is from the Death Knight..."

"That is a report Darion sent over." Tirion sat back down, pressing his hands to his forehead. "He said he investigated the Forsaken and believes they are not a second Scourge. Therefore, he is not concerned about Lordaeron being taken."

"Then does his opinion hold any value for us?" Maxwell asked. He suspected Fordring had been troubled by the very same question.

Tirion sighed. "At least it allowed me