"Grand Marshal Rhodes, how could those undead possibly be willing to return to this so-called 'Shadowlands'?"
"He's right, Grand Marshal—and Lord Mograine. We shouldn't trust those creatures. Granting them purification through the Light is already an act of mercy."
"Only the Light can guide our path forward!" For a moment, the Paladins and Priests present were overcome with indignation.
The concept of the Shadowlands was unheard of; they had no way to verify its truth, as no one had ever truly returned from death to tell the tale. To them, the threat of the undead was real and immediate—the natural enemy of the living. A conflict was inevitable.
"But even within the Light, there is Shadow. Are we to deny this? Among all the Priests, are there no Shadow Priests?" Highlord Mograine roared.
To be honest, he felt a twinge of disappointment toward his fellow Paladins and Priests, but in Rhodes, he felt he had found a kindred spirit. Rhodes's perspective mirrored his own. In a sense, both Holy Judgment and his own Ashbringer were weapons of the Light forged through the transformation of Shadow.
"We will not initiate conflict with them for now. Bring the messenger to me; I will handle this personally. That is, if you still consider me the Grand Marshal of the Alliance," Rhodes stated firmly.
The gathered Paladins and Priests fell silent. They had witnessed Rhodes's actions over the past few days; he was undoubtedly a qualified Grand Marshal. However, they simply could not agree with his stance on the undead.
"Grand Marshal Rhodes, your mercy is admirable, and perhaps you are right—but what about Stratholme? You promised that after retaking Lordaeron City, you would lead us to reclaim Stratholme. Are we to just surrender that city to the undead?" an Alliance Paladin asked.
When Rhodes took office, he had grandly declared his intent to reclaim both Lordaeron City and Stratholme to restore the glory of the kingdom. If Stratholme remained in the hands of the undead, how could that promise be kept?
"I will fulfill every promise I have made to you. Soon, we will retake the capital. As for Stratholme, I will negotiate with those creatures. Rest assured, I will persuade them to leave and settle in the frozen wastes of Northrend or find another home. If they refuse to move, I give you all my word: I will declare war on them, whether they possess free will or not."
Hearing this guarantee, the tension among the soldiers finally dissipated. They had feared Rhodes intended to hand the city over on a silver platter; clearly, that was not the case.
"Our people have not yet recovered their strength. After retaking the capital, we will need to regroup. Once that is done, I believe Lord Rhodes will lead us to total victory," Dathrohan said, stepping to Rhodes's side and nodding.
Having followed Rhodes to Outland, defeated demons in the Black Temple, and faced Kil'jaeden himself, Dathrohan trusted this decisive commander. He suspected the "other place" Rhodes mentioned might even be Outland; as long as they weren't living in the Eastern Kingdoms, he didn't care where they went.
"I support Lord Rhodes as well," Fairbanks added, stepping forward. Mograine remained steadfastly by Rhodes's side, convinced his choice was correct.
With the Alliance's support secured, Rhodes gave the order to summon the undead waiting at the edge of the camp.
Moments later, a tattered, grey-skinned creature with a gaunt, ghastly face was brought before them. Rhodes gestured for the guards to remove his shackles.
"Stand up, undead. Tell me your name and your purpose here," Rhodes commanded.
The creature nodded, stood up, and bowed low. "Thank you for seeing me, Grand Marshal Rhodes. My name is Sam. Before I fell, I was a sentry of Stratholme. I died at the hands of Prince Arthas and was turned into a Scourge thrall. Recently, I regained my free will. I came prepared to die once more, but your generosity surprises me. I didn't truly expect to be granted an audience."
"Since you have broken free from the Lich King's grasp, I have no reason to execute you without cause. State your business," Rhodes said.
"I come on the orders of the Banshee Queen Sylvanas and the Death Knight Highlord Straker. We, the Forsaken, wish to rejoin the Alliance."
The camp erupted in an uproar. None of them had expected the undead to have the audacity to ask for reentry into the Alliance.
"You monsters dare dream of joining the living? Are you joking?"
"You're dead! Dead men belong in graves, not occupying our cities!"
"Silence!" Rhodes barked, quieting the crowd before looking back at the messenger. "First, I sympathize with your tragedy. But in the eyes of your kin and your friends, you have passed away. I cannot allow you to join the Alliance; no member race would welcome you. Furthermore, Stratholme is Alliance land and must be returned to humanity. If you agree to these terms, we can avoid bloodshed."
"Lord Rhodes, if you reject our return to the Alliance, so be it—but would you take our only sanctuary? Stratholme was held by the Scourge; we are the ones who took it back."
"It remains Alliance soil. I may allow you to borrow it temporarily, but you must eventually move. Relay my words to your leaders," Rhodes stated.
"I understand, my Lord. I will relay your message to the Banshee Queen and the Highlord," Sam replied, nodding before turning to leave. Under Rhodes's protection, the guards allowed him to depart the camp unharmed.
As the messenger faded into the distance, Rhodes shook his head. Even with free will, the undead would never be accepted by the Alliance. Their only fate was to live far from humanity—Northrend, or perhaps a world beyond Azeroth, would be their true sanctuary.
"Grand Marshal, do you truly believe they will return Stratholme to us?"
"Whether they are willing or not, I will reclaim it. But that is a conversation for after we deal with the capital. Now, I want the latest intelligence on the city," Rhodes said.
In his mind, he considered that Stronk's floating necropolis, Shadowedge Fortress, could be modified with his magical ships to house all the Forsaken if necessary. However, Sylvanas likely wouldn't give up easily. She had surely sent an envoy to the Horde as well, and Thrall might send Orcs to help garrison Stratholme.
Mograine stepped forward. "Grand Marshal, the undead presence in Lordaeron City remains massive. However, as you predicted, they lack unified command. The forces consist mainly of low-level demons, Crypt Fiends, and mindless skeletons and zombies. We have completed the initial encirclement of the city's outskirts. Only two Dreadlords remain in control: Balnazzar and Detheroc."
(One Dreadlord had already been eliminated by the rebellious undead, which spared the Alliance some trouble.)
"Excellent." Rhodes looked around at his generals, his voice steady and powerful. "Gentlemen, in the war for Outland, we proved the courage of the Alliance and thwarted the schemes of the Burning Legion! Now, it is time to turn that strength toward saving our own home!"
Rhodes drew Holy Judgment from his hip, pointing the blade toward the horizon where the capital lay. (While commanding, Rhodes uses the blade as his personal sword; in active combat, he yields it to his High Archangel.)
"Pass down my orders! The army is to rest for one day. At dawn tomorrow, we march on Lordaeron City! We shall use Light and Steel to cleanse that desecrated city and welcome our Queen home!"
"For Lordaeron! For the Alliance!"
The roar echoed through the camp, igniting the long-suppressed fires of revenge and the resolve to reclaim their homeland.
Meanwhile, far away in Kalimdor, within the fledgling Valley of Wisdom in Orgrimmar, Warchief Thrall of the New Horde was facing a thorny problem.
An envoy from the Eastern Kingdoms—a pale, sharp-eyed Forsaken assassin—stood before him, delivering a personal letter from Sylvanas Windrunner and Highlord Stronk. The contents left the Horde leader in deep distress: they were requesting to join the Horde.
The Forsaken had sent messengers to both factions as a backup, though Sylvanas and Stronk both suspected the Horde was their only realistic shot.
"The Banshee Queen and the Death Knight Highlord... they wish to ally with the Horde?" Thrall put the letter down, eyeing the messenger. "They must know the Horde is composed of the living—Orcs, Trolls, and Tauren. And you... are undead."