((This is where my characters Aetherius and Arthamir were the few months I was gone. So, here it is.))
It was a joint op between the Argent Crusade and the Warsong Offensive. My nephew, Arthamir, was the second-in command of the Argents, while I led the Horde forces. We were to defeat some Scourge in Borean Tundra, and had tracked them to a fallen necropolis. We rushed in, only to find it empty. Then one of the scouts wandered to the entrance, and fell backwards, covered in frost wounds. Somehow, the Scourge had outflanked us. It was a hard battle, but in the end, we were routed. Arthamir and I found ourselves with a few scouts and a couple grunts. We were driven past Warsong Hold, towards the coast. Days later, when we heard the boom of cannons and saw arrows pound into the Scourge, we thought we were saved. We were wrong. When we saw blue tabards come up from either side of the trail, supported by four steam tanks, our hearts fell. The Alliance had us. I told my Frostwolf, Snowblind, to run. The grunts and scouts were hung the next morning before Arthamir and my eyes. Arthamir was kept alive on the off-chance that he really was Argent, and not just a Blood Knight in disguise. I was kept alive oto be tortured by gnomes for my schemata. Arthamir’s fate was worse. He was handed over to ex-Scarlet priests. We were there for months, when we where finally beign transferred elsewhere overland. We were in a bit of a trench, when we heard howls. That’s when all hell broke loose. A huge pack of frostworgs came rushing down the hill. Snowblind had found a pack and come to our aid, and the Alliance were in over their heads. The smarter worgs grabbed our gear and we eventually found our way back to the Hold. And, here I am. End of story.