Cold winds blew, and snowflakes spiraled down from the sky, so thick they obscured all sight. The snow drifted endlessly from somewhere unknown. In the coldest place in this world, snowflakes were the most beautiful sight.
Only the snow was beautiful. Every other inch was steeped in darkness and gloom. Even the sky remained an unchanging gray-black, with swirling clouds circling overhead like an eye peering out of the darkness, silently watching everything below.
Viewed from the sky, the continent formed from a single sheet of floating ice was a sea of blood red. Those points of light were lost souls, one after another. When they were awakened from eternal death, their revulsion toward the living and this world destroyed them. Their empty husks were filled with nothing but hatred as they wandered aimlessly across this hopeless land, tearing apart any living being that dared enter it.
Flocks of Gargoyles screamed through the snowy skies. These stone statues, infused with evil souls, were the Scourge's finest air force. Over hundreds of millions of years, Icecrown Glacier had accumulated a nearly inexhaustible supply of stone, and the Lich King's tireless servants spent every second making more Gargoyles.
At the center of the wasteland, beneath that eternally dim sky, atop a half-destroyed tower cast from black fel iron, stood a peak of ice-the Frozen Throne! This was where the Lich King had landed when he was sent into this world. It was the brain of the entire Scourge, a festering sore upon this world.
But the once-indestructible ancient ice upon the throne had been broken by an unstoppable force. Its surface was covered in cracks, like a crystal ornament on the verge of shattering into countless pieces at the slightest touch.
Kil'jaeden had sealed the soul of Ner'zhul, the Orc High Warlock