Some time during the late Dark Age.
Iron Lords Efrideet, Saladin, and Felwinter sat in a Warlock meditation chamber, around a massive oak table, in a keep on Felwinter Peak. A fire crackled in the corner out of the lips of a stone-lined hearth.A hand-written letter in messy scrawl rested atop the table.
“Warlord Shaxx accepts my challenge,” Felwinter said, summarizing its contents. “He advises us to enter from the south wall, which has been destroyed. The front door…” He picked up the paper and scrutinized it again. “Is undergoing weatherproof.”
“This is your plan?” Efrideet said, with some skepticism. “How did he get this to you?”
“His Ghost brought it.”
“Your plan is Ill-advised,” Saladin said. “And a waste of time.”
“No one’s beat Shaxx in a fight. Iron Lords or Warlords,” Efrideet continued. “Much less take territory from him.”
“Ikora has. And I believe I can,” Felwinter replied, his eyes bu... Read more