Fallen Phoenix

"And with our efforts, the phoenix may rise again."

Walter Daggerhand doubted that any of Alterac's rulers could have suspected how appropriate their nation's emblem would be one day. The golden bird in the orange background...the orange representing the destruction of their nation by the Alliance, the phoenix symbolizing its destined rebirth. The Second War was over, the Horde was defeated and now all that remained was for King Terenas's mad quest for power to crumble. As Alterac had fallen apart, so would his schemes. And looking over his like minded fellows that had joined him in his Capital City residence, he could take solace in knowing that such a day was drawing closer and closer.

"Gentlemen, you do me proud. You do Alterac proud. And though you may not live to see it, rest assured that you will be remembered long after the Alliance has crumbled into dust."

General affirmation chorused throughout the room, ranging from his closest followers to the slim, dark haired man lurking in the back. A man that Walter had doubts about, but knew that if he was a spy, it was far too late to do anything about it.

"Can we pool this off though?" asked one of his followers-Elias Oaken, one of those who'd fought for both Alterac and the Alliance in the Second War and had been screwed over by the latter after the former ceased to exist. "Terenas is a tyrant, but he's not a fool. He's not going to walk through the slums of Capital City undefended."

"True, but there's only so many guards he can take and besides, reports indicate that Princess Calia will be travelling with him," Walter said. "A lady's touch for the poor, all so downtrodden citizens of Lordaeron."

Another murmur swept through Walter's house, this time one of dissention. The Second War had exerted a horrendous cost in human life and to make matters worse, the survivors had to deal with everything from crippled veterans to new taxes, the reasons behind them ranging from rebuilding far off Stormwind to building the new internment camps. The Alliance had been forged out of necessity, to preserve the continued existence of humanity, and other less...human races. That necessity had evaporated however, and the rulers of the crumbling body had to ensure that the downtrodden were willing to support them in a rebuilding effort. Downtrodden like those living in the capital's slums like Walter was. Downtrodden that, in the case of his band of Alteracans, would be all too willing to meet Terenas's extended hands with concealed daggers.

"Are you sure we can't take anything bigger than daggers though?" Elias asked, as if reading his friend's mine. "I mean, stabbing the bastard in the gut is all well and good, but I think it would be far more symbolic to restoring Alterac if we were able to get the royals' heads on pikes. A greatsword would do the job."

Walter let out a snort as chuckles filled the room. "Indeed. But if you go through the crowd with a battlesword on you, what makes you think the footmen would let you within ten feet of their king? No, best to be subtle. We kill Terenas, his daughter, declare Alterac reborn, and run. Enough to do damage, but in too short amount of time for those armour clad fools to react." He glanced up at a mounted clock a dwarf had given him in the conflict. "Speaking of speed, it's time to go."

And so it was, at least according to everyone else in the room as they made their final vows (or, against Lordaeron and its allies, curses). It was time to go to cut off the head of the snake and watch its body die, while Alterac emerged like the phoenix of its flag. It was time to go...or it was, if the dark haired man didn't bar their way at the door.

"Going somewhere?"

Walter drew his dagger, as did everyone else. Bad enough that this stranger was baring their way, but his voice...oozing with confidence that a band of assassins on a mission such as this couldn't possibly muster...definitely a spy.

"Stand aside, spy. Only two need to die this day."

The man remained unfazed, simply staring at the dagger. "Walter Daggerhand..." he mused. "I wonder how you earned such a name..."

Instinct compelled the Alteracan to bring the blade on a course for the bastard's stomach. Instinct however, could do nothing against the...magic...that took hold of him. His body froze, the dagger was ripped out of his hand and before he could react, the dagger was sent through his hand in turn.

"Ah, that's how."

Letting out a howl of rage and pain, Walter barely heard the sound of the door of his two room house be broken, let alone the storm of knights that strode in. He could hear some of his men shouting and trying to fight against the armoured behemoths, the sound of them being disarmed at best or killed at worst. But none of that could compare to what he saw...the raven haired man...leaning down to meet his hawklike eyes with his foe's.

"You've done me a great favour you know..." he whispered. "Foiling an imbicilic plot like this, saving the king's short life...it's only served to increase my status."

"By the Light...what...are you?" Walter rasped.

"I have many names," the man chuckled. "But you can call me Davel Prestor."

A/N

Don't know if it was intentional or not, but it was from reflecting on the irony of Alterac's flag that gave rise to this. Represented by a phoenix, yet razed in the Second War...and yet over two decades later, has yet to rise from the ashes.