The Rise of the Nekromantix
The legions were already standing in front of the beautiful gates of the city. Thousands and thousands of unnatural soldiers were blood-thirsty, waiting for the command of their general to strike. Beneath them, the dark soil began to boil, and every form of life met near end because wherever the troops passed by a dead scar was created.
All along the city walls, the artillery of the high-skilled elven archers was expecting with anxiety, for the fate of their homeland and brethren was lying in their hands. Knowing of that, the Ranger General Sylvanas Windrunner ordered full defense. She was claiming that the undead Scourge could not pass through the three sets of fortified walls of the pretty Silvermoon.
Arthas was observing the Rangers movements from the ground, smiling coldly, swinging his Frostmourne around by boredom. On his other hand, a small pot, sealed, which contents were known to few, had a shallow dark energy emanating from it. Prudent would to think that,