The Scarlet Crusade was losing. The death knights of Acherus overcame their every defense, pushing them back. Lora fought with all her might against the undead hordes, but it was no use. Everything was on fire and the air stank of blood and death. One could hardly make out the red flame on the paladin's tabard through all the blood. As Lora battled with a geist, she did not notice that – in an attempt to slash her throat in which the creature barely missed – the monster tore off her necklace. She was far too lost in her battle frenzy and fanatical devotion to the Crusade. She would fight to the death, if ordered to, but luckily for her, Abbendis acknowledged their defeat in New Hearthglen, and ordered a retreat. Reluctantly, the few Scarlets that remained fled the area. Some would move to Northrend, but Lora was among those who moved to Tyr's Hand, and eventually, as far West as Tirisfal, where she settled into place at the Monastery.
A man with pointed ears walked alone in the barren, burnt wasteland left behind at what was once New Hearthglen. The Scourge had been driven out, the Crusade had nothing to reclaim, and the newly-freed Knights of the Ebon Blade did not want the territory. So it remained abandoned below Acherus. The half-elf wandered aimlessly through the ruins, the wind whispering to him as the ground crunched under his feet. Something glinted, and he stopped, moving his head slightly to try to find an angle from which the shine would return. Again, the thing in the distance sparkled, and the man walked over to it. He knelt and picked up the shiny object. It was a necklace! Two tiny, elegantly wrought swords crossed behind a small shield, with the symbol of Lordaeron engraved in it and painted blood red. The whole thing was polished bronze and no more than an inch long, not counting the delicate chain that had been snapped in the back.
The half-elf turned it over. Under the two swords, on the back of the shield, there was a name engraved: Lora Northwind.