He started to sit up, but pain forced him to ease back down onto the bedding. His body ached from the recent battle. The battle for his kingdom, the battle he had lost.
He breathed into the discomfort and closed his eyes. Images came rushing back. A goblet clanking across a stone floor; Gilnean banners hanging proudly from a wall; his now-dead son, Liam, bleeding from his mouth and cradled in Genn’s arms.
Genn’s eyes sprung open. Before him was a night elf’s purple hand reaching out. Talar Oaktalon’s words were spoken softly, but Genn knew better than to mistake their gentility for weakness.
He was tall and adorned with ornate leather armor and robes made of silken cloth of a color Genn hadn’t ever seen before: a blue or maybe a green, he couldn’t tell which. Beautiful plumage hung in tassels from the large staff in his other hand.
Genn stared at the hand offered to him for the briefest of moments.
“This old king needs not your help or anyone else’s to leave a bed, Talar Oaktalon. Of that I am still capable.” He brought himself to his feet, embracing the wave of agony that splashed his back.
Talar noticed Genn’s wincing and tried not to show his frustration before he spoke again. “I come with more poor news, honorable king. You are needed on the deck…. Our danger persists!”
The torchlight flickered, bending shadows across the granite walls of Lordaeron’s royal guest quarters. Genn and several of the most influential Gilnean nobles had made the trip to answer King Terenas’s emergency summoning of the lords of Azeroth. Now it had only been hours since they’d learned about the orcish Horde’s conquering of Stormwind, about the dire times that might lie ahead. After a polite dinner with the various kings, Genn had retired to his quarters to consult with his fellow countrymen. It hadn’t taken long for the arguments to begin.
“These cursed green mongrels could very well be at our doorstep if we do not act, Lord Greymane. We should join this Alliance. We must do what we can before these monsters tear through the other kingdoms’ lands and into our own.” Lord Crowley was a smart man, younger than Genn, and a bit less polished in the finer points of politics, but many believed he was a noble with a bright future. He made his plea to the lords seated at the table with a fervor not often seen except from Greymane himself.