In the frozen wastes of Northrend, the Lich King reigns with an icy grip, his armor forged from the souls of the fallen. Amidst the swirling storms, his eyes burn with an otherworldly blue, reflecting the dark power that courses through his veins. Skeletal minions kneel before him, a macabre army ready to execute his chilling commands. The air is thick with an aura of death as the Lich King stands tall, a spectral crown atop his helm, casting an ominous shadow that stretches across the desolate landscape. This is the dominion of the Lich King, where frostbite meets fear, and the living tremble in the face of eternal cold.

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