(The remaining thousand words haven't been edited yet, it is suggested to check back in half an hour.)
"Keep it up, Singing Wind, you can do this!"
Riding on the back of the Storm Hatchling, Arthas was fervently encouraging his mount beneath him. This was his first time riding Singing Wind soaring through the skies. Singing Wind was still at the primary stage of a young dragon, and theoretically shouldn't be able to carry a knight in combat, but to face this crisis, he had to risk everything.
While stroking the Dragon Scale, Arthas looked down below. The snowy plains surrounding Altland City were swarmed with a monstrous army that converged like a flood, besieging the city inescapably.
One wonders what kind of power could unite different races and tribes together.
Frost Trolls, wild Orcs, packs of Ice Field Wolves, Ice Elementals, Yetis, Storm Giants, all sorts of Brigands, rebel factions, and even White Dragons from the north.
