Ice Crown was a sight to behold, its enormous spires many hundreds of metres high, towered above all, its structure an ominous warning to all those who wished to take on the might of the Scourge. Surrounding it, many abominations and undead guarded the fortress from all sides turning on all things living that came too close. An aura seemingly leaking from every pore, sucking the very warmth out of everything and everyone.
Reynnawulf shivered as she beckoned her Netherwing Dragon to turn towards the Citadel. Even the dragon, a twisted creature, brood of Deathwing but infused with the Nether Energies of Outland was hesitant to listen to his masters' command, but with a gentle pat from Reynnawulf proceeded to glide toward the spire.
