Chapter 6: Preparations

[Warcraft Timeline: 1]

A year later.

In the opulent palace, Arthas lounged in a private sitting room, his little legs dangling carelessly off the edge of a plush armchair.

The room was adorned with gilded furniture and rich tapestries.

Sunlight poured in through grand windows, casting a warm glow over every surface.

"Status."

[Name: Arthas Menethil]

[Age: 5]

[Race: Human]

[Base Unit: Crown Prince]

- Info:

(Potential: 10) (Level: 1) (EXP: 0/100)

- Stats:

(Health: 10) (Mana: N/A)

- Combat:

(Melee: N/A) (Range: N/A) (Armor: N/A)

- Skills: (None)

Arthas at five-years-old, had grand plans for his future.

As he gazed out at the sprawling city of Lordaeron, he knew that it was time to start making preparations.

"I've absorbed all the knowledge I can from this city," he thought to himself. "It's time to begin building my own force for the future."

But as he looked beyond the present, his thoughts turned to the dark future ahead.

The start of the Scourge, led by Kel'Thuzad and the emergence of the plague of undeath, that would later ravage Lordaeron.

Like a relentless wave, it would sweep through town after town, leaving destruction and death in its wake.

Andorhal, once a bustling hub of agriculture, would become nothing more than a shadow of its former self.

The once-prosperous city would lay in ruins, just one of many casualties in the war against the undead.

But Arthas thought of something, saw potential in the approaching apocalypse of this great city.

It would be here, in the heart of what was once Lordaeron's breadbasket, that he would build his base and cultivate his army.

For starters, it would enable him to be there to stop Andorhal from failing.

Secondly, Andorhal will be able to feed his rapidly developing army in the future because of its abundant agriculture.

Given that he was aware that the only way he could possibly withstand the approaching scourge and ultimately alter Lordaeron's destiny was by building a powerful and devoted army.

Arthas spent the next few days visiting Andorhal, scouting out the best location for his base. 

He finally settled on a large, abandoned farm on the outskirts of town.

It had a sturdy farmhouse, several barns, and plenty of land for farming and training his troops.

And a nearby river connected to one of the largest lakes in the eastern continents of Azeroth, Lordamere Lake.

With determination and purpose, Arthas sprang into action, wasting no time in executing his plans. 

He quickly sought out information about the whereabouts of his Father, interrogating the servants he encountered on his way.

One maid, a timid but obliging soul, informed him that he could be found at the imperial chamber.

Grateful for the information, Arthas thanked the servant and continued on his way.

The closer he got to the chamber, the more his heart raced with anticipation.

His mind raced with thoughts of what awaited him behind those doors.

How will he convince his Father to provide the necessary funds for his plan?

Will he just get turned away and be forced to find another alternative?

A mixture of emotions flooded through Arthas as he finally arrived at his destination.

As he approached the grand doors of the chambers, he straightened his back and took a deep breath, readying himself for what was to come.

With a determined stride, he pushed open the doors and walked through.

The imperial chambers were vast and opulent, with high ceilings adorned with intricate designs and large windows that let in natural light.

At the far end of the grand hall, Arthas's gaze is drawn to his Father seated on a raised platform, deep in conversation with two stern-looking officials. 

The exchange appears serious and he can't help but wonder what it could be about.

He patiently stands at the sidelines, straining his ears to catch snippets of their discussions.

The official from Stormwind speaks first, "King Terenas, I've been sent by King Llane himself to inform you of a dire situation unfolding in Stormwind."

Intrigued, King Terenas leans forward and beckons for the messenger to continue. "What kind of situation?"

"Green-skinned creatures wielding axes and spears have been spotted near our borders," the messenger responds, his voice filled with urgency. 

"And they are accompanied by large, dark wolves. Reports suggest that they number in the thousands and we fear for our kingdom's safety. That is why we have come to ask for your aid in defending against these monstrous invaders."

Before anyone else can speak, a nobleman from Stormwind interjects, "With all due respect, Your Majesty, this is preposterous! King Llane has gone senile and these 'creatures' are nothing more than mere rumors stirred up by the residents of Stormwind. There is no need for reinforcements."

"How dare you!" The messenger's face turns red with anger. "I assure you, Prestor, this is not a matter to be taken lightly!"

Lord Daval Prestor laughs mockingly, "Go ahead and try to prove it then."

King Terenas raises his hand to silence the bickering men, his expression stern and commanding. "Stop! I think I've heard quite enough." 

He turns toward the messenger and calmly states, "Thank you for bringing this to our attention. However, Lordaeron will not be sending any troops to Stormwind. I wish your King the best in handling his kingdom's troubles."

"But-"

"Guards, please escort these men out of the palace," King Terenas orders, his voice final and unwavering.

The Knights of Lordaeron quickly move to carry out their King's command.

Forcefully removing the messenger and noble from the imperial chambers.

As they are dragged away, a sense of tension lingers in the air.

...

Arthas witnessed the scene and understood what was going on.

Very well aware that, that the noble man from Stormwind is none another than Lord Daval Prestor!

Who is an imposter, and a very powerful one at that.

Because based on his past life's memories, Deathwing the Destroyer, formerly known as Neltharion the Earth-Warder.

Was one of the five Dragon Aspects and leader of the black dragonflight.

Ages ago, Neltharion was empowered by the Pantheon with dominion over the earth and the deep places of Azeroth.

However, driven mad by the Old Gods, he turned against the other Aspects during the War of the Ancients.

Eventually abandoning his title of Aspect of Earth in favor of being the Aspect of Death.

Becoming one of the greatest terrors of the known world, his name too became one whispered with a feeling of fear and contempt among both mortals and dragons.

The black Aspect actively involved himself in the Second War, adopting the form of the human Lord Daval Prestor in order to destroy the Alliance from within.

As a human, Prestor was said to be tall, with a slim figure, black hair and clean-shaven hawklike features that were the subject of gossip among the ladies of King Terenas' court.

He manipulates his targets very cleverly, nobody took notice or suspected him of anything.

Arthas takes note to be wary of him, not to bring attention to himself.

Until he is capable enough of protecting himself, his family and his people.

Right now his biggest priority would be to get his father's approval for his future plans.

...

Finally, King Terenas glances over at Arthas who has been patiently waiting by the side.

Their eyes meet briefly before Arthas bows respectfully, ready to confront him.

"Arthas," his father, King Terenas, said, his voice filled with surprise. "What brings you here?"

Arthas stepped forward, his gaze never leaving his father's.

"I need your permission with a plan I have in mind, Father." he said, his voice strong and unwavering.

King Terenas raised an eyebrow, a confused look crossing his face. "And what exactly are you planning to do, my son?"