"The Council of Six is now in session." Echoed in the dimly lit chambers of The Violet Citadel, the voice belonging to Jaina Proudmoore whom was the latest addition to the Council after the untimely passing of Rhonin in the Destruction of Theramore. An event which had changed the youngest Archmage in human history to the core.

Khadgar had not participated personally in Alliance-Horde War which had come to an end with a truce treaty agreed on after the Siege of Orgrimmar. However, he knew of the terror which was wrought and its consequences. Dalaran, once the capital of a magocratic nation was hovering the skies as it besieged the Horde Capital from the North while the main push was conducted by the Horde Revolutionaries and Alliance Forces from the South.

Medivh's former apprentice ran his fingers through his pale grey hair and his stale elderly complexion. The scar which he bore for life ever since the First War where his master, in truth possessed by Sargeras had cursed him with fraility and age. Despite this, he was today considered the most accomplished among the living wizards on Azeroth.

He served in The Second War as one of General Turalyon's Lieutenants and destroyed the original Dark Portal. He later participated in the Alliance Expedition otherwise known as the Sons of Lothar to the orcish homeworld of Draenor itself to end the imposing threat from The Horde. The Old Horde, Khadgar was quick to correct himself there. The New Horde was different, founded by Thrall as he freed his people from the internment camps for his kind in Lordaeron, lead them across the sea to Kalimdor where the orc clans had aligned themselves with the exiled jungle trolls known as the Darkspear Clan and the native race known as Taurens.

The Horde which he once fought wasn't the same Horde which existed now, a fact which he continuously reminded himself. He was stuck on Outland, what remained of Draenor for two decades after they destroyed The Dark Portal from their side to prevent it to influence their own world of Azeroth.

He still remembers how day in and day out, the Sons of Lothar had stood firm against what remained of the Horde on Draenor whom had fallen under the sovereignty of Magtheridon, a pit lord who was quick to conquer Outland for his own. They weren't there but they knew of Magtheridon's fall by the hands of the Demon Hunter known as Illidan and what followed being the war of control for Outland between the Illidari and the Burning Legion.

That was around the time which he reached out to the void and found a light in the darkness, the Naaru and despite all odds, they managed to create a sanctuary in the ruins of Shattrath City. There they held their ground until the Dark Portal opened once more as the Burning Legion hoped to stage an assault on Azeroth once more. It quickly backfired with the counteroffensive by both The Alliance and Thrall's New Horde. Despite the trying times, they did manage to stop The Burning Crusade upon Outland and Kil'jaedans plot to enter Azeroth through the Sunwell. The Alliance and Horde had set aside their differences to face a common foe. It was an era which he wouldn't forget. An era which he hoped would come again. The Alliance-Horde War was won, it was now about to win the Peace.

"Now, to our next point of the agenda. Following the Peace Treaty between the Alliance…" Jaina voiced, grasping his attention. "… and the Horde. Regent-Lord Lot'thermar Theron demands that we release the Sunreavers from the Violet Hold." She continued, making no effort to hide her disgusted voice. She was against the truce treaty after all and had urged, Varian Wrynn the High King of the Alliance (de facto Military Leader) to dismantle the Horde followed Garrosh's defeat and the Siege of Orgrimmar's end. However, the King of Stormwind decided otherwise and offered a truce between the Alliance and Horde, solely on that Vol'jin lead a revolution against Garrosh's Tyranny. However he decreed that should the Horde fail to uphold honor as Garrosh did, The Alliance would come back and end them.

"It would be a good gesture of good faith from our part, it would certainly improve relations between us and the Sin'dorei. Which in turn could increase our previous neutral stance." Voiced Archmage Modera, one of the longest-standing members in the council of six who was sadden that the Kirin Tor couldn't have been above the war.

"Absolutely not, they betrayed our trust and had the Divine Bell enter the vicious hands of Hellscream!" Lady Proudmoore spoke in protest, it was loud and clear. Despite he himself had nominated Lady Proudmoore to lead the Kirin Tor in Rhonin's state, he didn't agree with how she conducted herself politically nowadays.

"Lady Proudmoore, may I remind you that the war is won and well over. It's time to make our objective to win the peace. What better way is there than to release the prisoners of war?" Khadgar voiced as he rose from his seat, his body supported by his firm grip on Atiesh, his master's old staff. Clad in his violet robes with the Kirin Tor insignia on his tabard along with the short cut hair of his and not to forget mentioning his reputation, he made a good impression which got the message conveyed to Jaina. They were in the ruling body of their order as well and it did appeal to the peacekeeper which she once were.

"Fine, all in favor for releasing the prisoners of war?" She spoke in contempt where all nodded their agreement, the motion passed. "Very well, we shall notify the Regent-Lord that his people will be released and returned to Quel'thalas with due haste. Now on the next point of the agenda…"

So it went on with the council session, it was all politics these days. Something which Khadgar personally despised and vowed to someday see completely removed from the Kirin Tor so they should focus on their quest of increased knowledge of the magical arts. The recent escape of Garrosh Hellscream following his trial in Pandaria didn't bode well either…

Across the reweaved timelines, Thirty Five years ago in the ancestral summit in the Tanaan Jungle, on the pinnacle where the approach was littered with orcs holding banners of their clan and torches lit up like the starts on the night sky.

Grommash Hellscream the undisputed Chieftain of the Warsong Clan held Gorehowl, his axe firmly in his right hand as he approached the hooded orc and the stone bowl-filled fountain of green horrid liquid. Gul'dan filled the bone chalice with the green glowing liquid which had an unnatural feel to it. Grommash lashed out and grasped the bone chalice as he snapped forth with a faint growl before ripping it from the orc's grip.

"Drink, Hellscream. Claim your destiny." Gul'dan urged the warsong warlord with his raspy and worn voice. Grommash glanced down into the chalice as he glanced over his shoulder, noticing the orc in the corner of his eyes, wearing a torch and a cowl which covered his facial features. He recognized as nod as Gul'dan continued to speak. "You'll be all conquerors."

The warsong warlord looked like if he was about to drink from the chalice as he closed his eyes but instead gave a frown while lowering the cup. "And what Gul'dan, must we give in return?" he growled forth to the frail orc who pulled back his cowl, revealing how his skin had changed from brown in color to a nightmarish green and the lit crimson eyes which burned like embers. "Everything."

Hellscream distanced the chalice from his lips and poured the liquid back into the fountain, Gul'dan watched as he clenched his fists bare in anger, gritting his teeth at the sight of averted change of course which unknowing to them where to change their future altogether.

Then it came, an omnious presence and coarse and booming voice which in all account would send fear into the spines of mortals. The owner was laughing coarsely like stone scraping the surface of more stone. "You, would reject this gift?" the owner said with another laugh. Hellscream turned with Gorehowl in hand as he came face to face with a being which shared a resemblance to Genesaurs, a race of colossal size which were revered as demigods by the lesser primal races, the Botani. This being had four legs by his lower body but that's where the resemblance ended. He had a tail, slithering and thick along with wings upon his torso and two arms holding a gigantic polearm. Two horns seemed to have growned out from his jawlines shaped like sickles. But the most menacing was the scent of brimstone and the fire burning across from the top of his head and along his spinal cord. This was the demon which the mysterious stranger had told him about, Mannaroth.

"And did you bring these mongrels here. Just to watch you die?" Mannaroth spoke rather amused like a predator had caught up with his prey as his polearm's tip pointed towards the lone orc who was grinning as the skies lit up as fiery-coated stones were launched from catapults. Gul'dan looked up in horror as it collided with the altar, the fire shred and littered the area.

Behind him, the mysterious stranger had waved his torch to signal to the clan to fire the catapult. They had been ready as the orc turned towards the two orcs holding banners as he boomed forth with an authority which nearly matched Grommash's. "Now!" the bannercarrying orcs step aside as a mysterious contraption of a gigantic wheel of iron with spikes emerging at precise intervals but that wasn't all. It was spinning, faster and faster in its makeshift wagon. However, that wasn't all. Two spears with long dark chains were primed at the railings and they then fired. The two spears hit the mountain side but the chains, they forced the Mannaroth with it. Pinning him against the stone while Grommash moved closer with Gorehowl in a tight grip with both his hands. Ready to make the killing blow but Mannaroth wasn't going to die, trapped like an animal. The tip of his polearm shattered the chains holding him as he roared, thrusting out with the tip pointing towards the mysterious contraption as sphere of unholy energy bursted forth and cracked the wagon.

The nearby orcs were caught in the blast but Grommash, he saw how the iron star, which was what the contraption was called was still spinning. He grunted as he turned, daring to show his back to the Pit Lord as he rapidly moved as unholy sphere flew him by. Every collision, another explosion. Hellscream had reached the rear of the Iron star and he lifted the beam as he moves, shifting the position of the Iron Star so it faced Mannaroth who was ready to make another thrust with his polearm. Grommash roared as he lifted the beam and the Iron Star was free, fiery breaths venting out its side as it cracks the stone and accelerated and the sphere missing it as it then collided with the Pit Lord. Engulfing it in an explosion but one direct hit with an iron star seemingly wasn't enough to bring the demon down but then. Through the smoke, he came through with Gorehowl held with his both hands as he brought the metal down upon the demon's head. The skull cracked as the demon's blood was drawn. He roared out in pain as his entire being started to glow with infernal fire.

The stranger got up to his feet and was moving, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he had only one purpose now. The pit lord was dying and what came next could be fatal. The pit lord burned more and more as the Chieftain staggered back as suddenly, flames erupted towards him. He couldn't move but he didn't have too as then. The stranger had tackled him to the side, out of the event horizon of the pit lord's fiery eruption.

When the flames had subsided, they all saw. All orcs saw the Pit Lord, mannaroth whom sought to corrupt them all with his blood was dead. His head split by the force of Gorehowl and the decisive swing which brought the demon down. The green and horrid blood flew from the corpse like several rivers through the area which now smelt of death and brimstone. Gul'dan drew breath as he tried to still himself but a steady hand grasped him and he looked up. "This was not our destiny." He gasped forth as he with his red eyes saw the mysterious orc unveil himself. The cowl was gone and before him was an orc whose lower jaw bore the tattoos of a chieftain and a shaved cranium. He looked so familiar, he recalled the stranger who came by him to deliver his message. "Times change." He returned with a hint of satisfaction? Gul'dan couldn't tell as the orc let go of him.

The mysterious orc wandered over to the dead pit lord and grasped the hilt of Gorehowl, forcing it out of the demon's skull. He turned and heaved, the axe flew and Grommash caught it. Staring down the demon blood staining his axe as he turned around and held it upwards and shouted with a booming voice for all clans to hear. "We will never be slaves!" All orcs boomed their voice with his. "But we will be conquerors."

The bells tolled as the man laid in his bed, counting his heartbeats as he drew his breath. Counted to ten before he rose from his bed. He didn't bother to look at the clock, he knew what time it was. It was like an intuition as he paced by an old cabinet with an old fob watch to reach the window. Opening it was he gaze to look upon Stormwind City at the crack of dawn. Smiling widely as he proceeded with his morning routine. He got dressed with his usual attire, a linen shirt with some louse trousers and some sandals.

He got around to make himself some breakfast, egg and beacon. Who didn't love egg and bacon? He looked at himself in the mirror as he grasped his goggles and put it on his forehead which combined with the wild hair of his, made him look a bit wicked in his own personal opinion. He smiled at the image of himself in the mirror as if he just passed a final inspection. "Time to open the shop." He voiced before turning around and made his way to the floor below.

Note: That's a wrap on my prologue for my crossover fanfiction between World of Warcraft and Doctor Who. I know, it's a cliffhanger but do consider this a pilot as well as a prologue. I hope you folks enjoyed the read and I hope to be able to write more for you in the future.