Anduin lost no time.
He only took care of the important things, looking over the new developments of Stormwind and properly introducing his new haremettes to the rest through a unifying orgy. After that, when his harem of willing sex slaves was in a climax-induced coma, he moved to Icecrown.
The roof of the world, they called it. The polar land was desolate, in more ways than one. No tree could survive in these temperatures and no life could truly flourish. There were the Vry'kul, who carved out a meagre existence, but they were by far below the true ruler of this place: the undead.
Icecrown citadel was a segmented fortress, spanning the entirety of the area. Massive saronite walls loomed rigid and black above the obsidian ground, littered in corpses whose animation was suspended by the will of their master. The Lichking, who sat atop the great tower at the end of the superstructure.
Anduin emerged right at the steps leading into the main citadel. The guards, giants of bone, directed their gazes at him for one moment. In the past, they would have immediately turned hostile, but a new Lichking governed the Scourge. Bolvar Fordragon, a great paladin, father of Taelia Fordragon -- and Anduin's warden for many years.
When Arthas had been cut down, a new Lichking had been needed to make sure the undead tides did not run rampant. Bolvar had taken that suffering upon him and since acted as jailor of the damned. A fate that Anduin could now liberate him from.
Anduin stepped past the giants and past the open gate. Many sights he would have expected. A welcoming committee of undead that would struggle against their cleansing, directed by a fragment of Bolvar's mind overcome by the crown of domination. Guides that would take him to the crown. Even dead silence would have been more expected than what he found.
An ornate priestly robe of gold, black, and white with a tall mixture of collar and hood sat neatly folded on the ground. Ornate jewelry, heavy on jewels, laid on top of the folded robe, all of them very carefully arranged, like laundry freshly made. A pair of decorated shoulder pads sat next to them. Underwear was on the other side.
More important than all of that was the person who had once worn and folded the clothes. Her forehead rested on the ground, Leaving only her carefully brushed, pale blonde hair to be seen. It was swept right side, a couple of braid adorning the left temple. All of it eventually became part os the same orderly tide. Her hands were folded under her forehead.
Her head was as low as it would get and her ass as highly raised as it could be while maintaining her kneeling position. A round ass and thick thighs were on full display. The juicy cheeks trembled softly with nervous anticipation. Enormous breasts were squished under her curving chest, spilling out under the sides of her slender torso.
She was, like all the gorgeous women Anduin called his own, slender and yet soft in all the right places. She was among the more voluptuous, for certain, slotting in with women like Jaina and Taelia. She was different, however. Her skin was as white as marble, with a tinge of blue to it. A manifestation not of the freezing environment she prostrated herself in, but of her nature. Anduin sensed no life from the woman.
"Raise your head," Anduin said, wishing to sort out of the last doubts before he continued.
"Yes, Master," she swooned and followed his demand, revealing fine features and eyes of a gorgeous silver. Her lips were of a pale pink and full. Nothing about her appearance immediately gave away her undead nature. The light pulsed within those eyes, a most unusual way to be reanimated. As a matter of fact, Anduin only knew one.
"Calia Menethil," he said, more to himself than anyone. As he approached the kneeling, naked woman, he extended the reach of his magic beyond his skin. Inner fire that had only warmed him now warmed the entire room, melting away frost that had existed longer than the building itself. "I did not expect to see you here. I heard nothing of you in recent months."
"The Light revealed to me your rising grandeur, Master," she lightforged Undead declared, her every voice a whisper. "I awaited your coming, knowing that I would have my place as yours."
The Emperor of Life stopped in front of her. He placed a hand on her cheek and that was already enough. Her belief in him was so absolute that the Shadow flowed into her from a mere touch. Pink, the energy beat in the shape of hearts in her eyes, while his mark appeared on her lower abdomen amongst orgasmic twitches.
Even Anduin was surprised by this deep devotion, but Calia only purred, nuzzling against his palm as she fully gave herself to his cause. The last Menethil, sister of the previous Lichking, and heir of Lordaeron -- the now undead realm of Sylvanas ruled from Undercity. The Emperor's surprise only lasted for a second and he instead scratched her finely swung ear.
"You trust me?"
"You are wreathed in divinity beyond that of the forces that saw fit to bring me back, Master," Calia answered with a strained voice. Every second his warm hand sat on her skin, she experienced her orgasm prolonging. The mark above her womb pulsed with a heat her deathless body had long forgotten. Pleasures of the flesh re-asserted themselves.
Ba-dump.
