"Everyone!"
Lothar's voice cut through the lingering celebratory chatter, and the assembled kings fell silent, their attention drawn to the venerable knight. As a descendant of the legendary Emperor Thoradin, Lothar commanded their respect, even after relinquishing the throne a decade prior and acknowledging the sovereignty of the seven human kingdoms.
"Sir, please speak…?" Thoras prompted, a hint of embarrassment coloring his tone. He realized his earlier discussion about succession had been somewhat insensitive, occurring within Lothar's earshot. Even if Lothar himself didn't mind, Thoras shouldn't be inadvertently reopening old wounds.
"Yes, Lothar," Llane added, a concerned furrow in his brow, "are you also troubled by Callan's future? That child is two years older than Varian, yet still unwed. He can't be as… carefree as we were in our youth." Llane chuckled, a touch of nostalgia in his voice, recalling the wilder days when he, Lothar, and Medivh had sown their oats before settling down in their late twenties. Now, Lothar was nearing seventy, and his son showed no signs of starting a family.
"No… that is not what I wished to discuss!" Lothar's expression was unreadable, a strange mixture of awe and apprehension. "I am already seeking suitable candidates for Callan's hand in marriage." He paused, his gaze distant. "My ancestor has returned…"
"Your ancestor?" Llane's disbelief was palpable. "Anduin, have you perhaps partaken in something… unusual?" The Wrynn and Lothar families shared a bond stretching back generations, and Llane himself had mourned and buried the previous Lord Lothar.
"My ancestor… the spirit of Emperor Thoradin has returned," Lothar declared, his words carrying an almost supernatural weight, silencing the remaining pockets of conversation. The area where the kings stood became eerily still amidst the surrounding revelry.
He… he beat me. He taught me and my descendants a harsh lesson for failing to properly steward the empire, Lothar thought, a phantom ache lingering in his bones. If it weren't for the undeniable bruises that still marked his body and the imposing presence of Strom'kar, the Warbreaker, the artifact left behind by his spectral ancestor, he might have dismissed the encounter as a vivid dream.
The kings exchanged uneasy glances. This was Thoradin, the figure who had once humbled their own ancestors, the object of their forefathers' unwavering loyalty. His reappearance at this critical juncture, the ascension of a new ruler in Lordaeron, felt like an omen, a sign of some unforeseen shift in the tides of fate. Their collective gaze turned back to Lord Lothar, a silent question hanging in the air.
The old knight's expression remained peculiar. "The ancestor… he left Strom'kar, the Warbreaker. He asked me to give this weapon… to Galen."
The moment the words left Lothar's lips, Thoras erupted in a booming laugh of delight. Beside him, Genn's fist clenched tightly within his sleeve, his fingernails digging into his palm.
Strom'kar, the Warbreaker, a blade forged from the sacred relics of all the human tribes. It was more than just a weapon; it was a symbol, imbued with the spirits of their ancestral clans. To betray the kingdom while wielding it was to betray the very essence of their heritage. The very name "Warbreaker" spoke of both the internal unity of the human kingdoms and their resolute determination to stand united against any external threat. It was the King's Sword, a tangible representation of human kingship. Even after millennia, the belief in Strom'kar's symbolic power held considerable sway.
"Galen…" Daelin, Llane, and the other kings without grand ambitions murmured to themselves, their minds racing, trying to decipher the significance of Thoradin's spectral intervention.
"There is one more thing!" Lothar declared, the veins on his forehead now faintly visible, betraying his inner turmoil. "The ancestor… he said he has joined an organization called the Throne of Heroes. This organization… it absorbs the souls of brave heroes after their death, and they are determined to protect Azeroth and resist evil for our world!"
He paused, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "The ancestor… he invited me to join…"
Understanding finally dawned on the assembled kings, and the reason for Lothar's strange demeanor became chillingly clear. Their ancestor was… hoping for his own death! What could they possibly say to that?
Yet, the revelation of the Throne of Heroes sparked a flicker of intrigue in some of the more courageous rulers. Perhaps they too could join this esteemed organization after their mortal coil was shed? Protecting Azeroth while simultaneously watching over their kingdoms and descendants held a certain appeal. With this new perspective, the immediate ownership of Strom'kar seemed less critical. Emperor Thoradin had clearly designated an heir, and their own ambitions were, for the moment, superseded.
As the celebration stretched into the evening, the nobles raised their glasses in countless toasts, forging new alliances and strengthening existing bonds for their families. These astute individuals had long recognized that this new iteration of the Alliance, with Stromgarde at its helm, was a departure from the self-serving dominance of old Lordaeron. Their policies promised to be more inclusive, pursuing a path of shared prosperity. The whispers of developing the vast continent of Northrend had reached their ears, and despite the knowledge that the Arctic was the Lich King's domain, they understood that crisis and opportunity were intertwined. They would not squander this chance for collective advancement.
In the midst of the swirling festivities, Galen proudly displayed Strom'kar, the Warbreaker, the ancestral blade now rightfully his. Danath, Drake, Dathrohan, and Liam gazed at the legendary sword with undisguised envy, their hands almost involuntarily reaching out to touch the symbol of human kingship. Turalyon and Varian, both possessing formidable weapons suited to their skills, watched with less overt curiosity.
Pa!
Strom'kar pulsed with an inner displeasure, small black sparks erupting from its surface, swatting away the outstretched hands.
"Shadow power?" Uther, Dathrohan, and Danath murmured in unison, a keen awareness dawning in their eyes. The energy emanating from the artifact felt… wrong.
"That is correct, shadow power mixed with the power of thunder," Turalyon explained, recalling his exploration of the Tomb of Tyr alongside Galen. "This artifact was wielded by Emperor Thoradin to slay a servant of an Old God. The corpse of such an evil being can absorb energy to regenerate, so the Emperor used this very weapon to suppress the vile remains for nearly three thousand years!"
"Oh!" A collective gasp of shock rippled through the group. This was more than a mere weapon; it was a relic of immense power and significance! A silent chorus of desire echoed in their minds.
"Gentlemen, there is no need for such envy," Galen said, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Behold my Ashbringer! Its core is forged from Titansteel, enhanced with other precious materials. And the good news is, Northrend holds vast deposits of Titansteel waiting to be mined!" Galen subtly steered the conversation towards the development of the frozen north, planting seeds of ambition in their hearts.
"Galen… you are truly infuriating!" Danath sighed, his voice a mixture of envy, jealousy, and grudging admiration.
"Yes, Galen, truly infuriating…" Liam echoed, shaking his head in mock exasperation. One legendary artifact was enough to stir their covetousness; two was simply unfair!
"Hey," Galen retorted, raising an eyebrow, "if you have the audacity to complain, then listen closely. As far as I know, our world holds many other Titan-lost divine weapons, hidden in forgotten corners. Some, I have already pinpointed their locations. Others… I even know the methods of their forging." He paused, letting his words sink in. "You should understand the implications."
"Ah ha!" Danath exclaimed, stretching out a thick arm and draping it across Galen's shoulders in a boisterous display of camaraderie. "Good brother! It was merely jest, a playful expression of admiration! My heart swelled with joy for your good fortune! Now… about those other artifacts… anything… suitable… for a humble warrior such as myself?" Danath fully embraced the noble art of knowing when to yield, demonstrating the admirable qualities of a pragmatist who understood the currents of power.