Chapter 28: A Destiny of Flame and Sorrow, part 2

"We're being watched."

Torgall glanced back, gripping his axe slightly tighter.

"Are you certain of that?"

"Definately." Sapph crouched, stock-still, one hand on the forest floor, her eyes slightly narrowed.

"Weapons at the ready-"

"No; they're merely watching..."

Torgall frowned at her.

"You refer to night elves?"

"Yes..."

"Then we should prepare to bat-"

"They've left," she muttered, straightening up. Torgall's frown deepened.

"Are you doing this on purpose?" he asked. She looked at him, returning the frown.

"Of course not, why would I?"

Torgall regarded her for several moments before simply saying, "You can be very strange..."

He shook his head, then jerked it slightly to the side to indicate that they should move on. With Fenris and Kunasha's departure southward with the Timbermaw furbolgs, they had been proceeding cautiously - fortunately, through use of both Greshka and Sapph's exceptional senses, they had avoided several potential confrontations already. As it was, they would each stand a distance apart from Torgall and Torgus, ever on the alert, their ears perked and their eyes swivelling back and forth.

That was not to say that the males had grown complacent, however - Torgall always had his axe in one hand as a precautionary measure, and Torgus, though he still had his maul slung over his back, moved like a lion on the prowl, his huge, hulking form moving with surprising grace.

Not long after Sapph's confusing revelation, Torgall recalled a question he had intended to ask her earlier. He sidled up to her as unassumingly as possible.

"Yes?" she asked in a low voice, not even looking at him, but instead opting to carry out her continuous scan of their surroundings.

"I've been meaning to ask," he started, uncertain how to pose the question, before simply forgoing any subtlety and asking straight out, "how do you know about the Skull of Gul'dan?"

"Oh, I know about a lot of things," she replied simply, still not looking at him. Torgall waited for her to continue before asking, "Can you... elaborate?"

Now she looked at him, her cold blue eyes twinkling slightly. "I know a surprising amount about your people - or at least, enough to surprise you. I know that you were manipulated by warlocks and demons alike in the First and Second Wars; I know about the Blood Curse that ended with the death of Mannoroth; I know about a great deal of your people's history; and of course, I know about Gul'dan and the power his Skull is supposed to possess."

"But... how?" Torgall said weakly - he could scarcely believe that this elf knew such a startling amount about the orcs when sometimes even they didn't know as much!

"It's enough that I know," she said half-dismissively, half-evasively; Torgall got the distinct impression that she felt she had said too much, "and another thing I know is that the Skull in the hands of the Legion is a very dangerous thing. Gul'dan was a powerful warlock, and it would not surprise me-"

"I want an explanation," Torgall interrupted. She raised her eyebrows, and he added firmly, "about how you learnt so much."

She regarded him for several moments before sighing, "I can tell you'll continue to pester me incessently if I do not relent. Very well then - I used to be part of a skilled group of elves called the Farstriders. This organization included rangers, scouts, hunters, but also rogues, thieves, spies and assassins; this was because we worked mostly within the laws of Silvermoon, but also without."

Torgall could hardly see where this was going, nor how it linked to the Skull, but listened raptly all the same.

"I was a rogue and spy within the Farstriders, and during the Second War. My skills at subterfuge were enough to garner the notice of some higher-ranking officials within the Alliance, and throughout the war I was used to infiltrate the Horde. Through a great deal of stealth and caution, and not a little bit of magic, I gained a veritable wealth of knowledge about the orcs and your people's history in general."

She paused, as though pondering her story, though her eyes continued to survey their surroundings.

"Anyway, the war ended, I was rewarded for my services, so on and so forth. I'd had enough of spying and the likes, though, and rejoined the Farstriders, this time as a straight-out ranger. When I received the call to arms from Proudmoore, I brought my cadre of rangers and we joined in the... exodus."

She had chosen the last word carefully, as though she had had difficulty finding the right word to convey her meaning; Torgall had lapsed into silence, contemplating the story he had just been given. It seemed absurd, particularly that a lone elf could have found out so much about the Horde, which was a veritable military force of nature, but nonetheless, he had not been apart of the Horde anyway, so he would have no idea...

Even still, it was as good an explanation as any. Satisfied, or as satisfied as Torgall felt he'd be with the story, he moved away, returning once more to his state of awareness.


"I'm sorry."

Yulgash sat, head hung and staring at his knees, digesting the information Lucethious had just told him. They sat in awkward silence which lingered for several long moments; Lucethious briefly thought the young human might have been crying, but when Yulgash looked up, his face was quite composed and dry.

"Very well," he said in a steady voice, "this is an unfortunate turn of events, but it cannot be helped. My only regret is we lost several powerful companions."

"You are taking this... well," Lucethious said, somewhat surprised, "if not somewhat coldly."

Yulgash shrugged and said, "We're in a state of open warfare which gets bloodier by the hour, and we're allied with those we spent years warring against. Things change, and we need to remain flexible if we're to change with them."

Lucethious raised an eyebrow, still surprised at the young mage's attitude, but impressed all the same. Yulgash was right - in such dangerous and confusing times, one could hardly afford to wallow in self-pity or cling to memories of the past.

They were currently sitting in the infirmary; Yulgash had, at last, been discharged, though he chose to remain for a short time to allow his shoulder some time to recover. There was a shocking scar from the gargoyle's talons which, fortuantely, was almost completely covered when Yulgash donned his robes. Belpep was with them, having whittled the time away pursuing various texts within the arcane sanctum, but periodically visiting his master, if only to see if the human had died and therefore freeing him, or so the imp had said, lest Yulgash thinks that he "actually cares for him", as he had put it.

"So," said Lucethious, "our next move is to prepare the remaining magisters. I've been put in command of the sanctum to organize the magisters for the upcoming assault against the Legion and Scourge. We must counterattack quickly, so as to stop their advance swiftly."

Yulgash nodded. "What do you need me to do?" he asked.

"Finish your recovery, for starters," the elf replied with a slight smirk, before continuing, "mostly, I need you to back me up in case we get any protest from my abrupt appointed command. Thus far we've mostly taken our orders directly from the officers, but now that there's someone in charge, there might be... opposition."

"Surely that's unlikely to happen," Yulgash said skeptically with a frown. "Isn't this the least likely time that people would question one another's authority? The more organization we have, the better."

"You'd be surprised how irritible and difficult some people can be when they feel feel their power is questioned," explained Lucethious patiently, "something I learnt in my time at Dalaran and... personally. If I have the word of someone behind me already, however, that will lend me a bit of credence."

"Simple enough," said Yulgash, shrugging and getting to his feet. He winced slightly, instinctively gripping his shoulder, but simply steeled himself and gestured for Lucethious to lead the way. With that, the two magisters left, Belpep skipping along behind them.


As the orcs and their elven companion crept through the defiled forests, Torgall could not supress the feeling that he may very well be leading his friends to their deaths. However, they'd come this far, and he had merely to think of the Skull to renew his resolve. It had actually been Greshka and Torgus who had truly instilled the fervor within him, a fervor which they shared - they had regaled him, so to speak, with stories of Gul'dan's powers throughout the First and Second Wars, and it had been those tales which convinced him of the need to relieve the Skull from the Legion.

Now they were swiftly approaching the Legion camp that Greshka had described, and it was clearer than ever - like when they had battled the Warsong, the sky was now tinged with hellfire, and they could feel the air energized with fel energy. Torgall felt a mix of anxiety and excitement - the opportunity to strike a blow to the Legion while recovering an artifact of import to the orcs was within their grasp.

They approached the camp in silence, peering quietly through the undergrowth. The scene was not dissimilar to what they had seen at the Warsong camp - the ground was cracked and dry, having taken on a reddish hue. Felguards patrolled the area, and a pair of doomguard were standing near an enormous gate. Between the two arches of this gate was a shimmering veil of energy, and every minute or so, a demon, whether felguard, felhound, infernal or otherwise, would step out of this gateway. This, then, was helping bolstering the Legion's forces, albeit slowly, but Torgall had no doubt that there were many others scattered throughout the forest.

And at the centre of this defiled clearing, atop a burning pedestal, was the Skull of Gul'dan. It was much like any orc skull - rounded, but slightly more elongated than a human skull, and also tipped with several sharp fangs. However, it had been grotesquely engorged beyond normal proportions, to the point where it would have had to come from a gargantuan creature such as a dragon. As if to accentuate this point, the skull shimmered and pulsed with fel energy, energy that made Torgall's very skin crawl.

They withdrew from the sight, each thinking hard.

"So," Sapph whispered, "any ideas on how we'll do this?"

"We're at a disadvantage, to say the least," admitted Torgus, "they severely outnumber us, and possess far greater strength."

"There must be a way, there has to be!" said Torgall, almost pleadingly. "We've come this far..."

Torgus shook his head. "I'm afraid it's starting to look the way Fenris and Kunasha described," he muttered grudgingly, "there's no way we'll be able to-"

"Quiet!" Greshka hissed suddenly. They all looked up, alarmed, worried that the Legion had detected their presence, but in answer to their silently unasked question, Greshka merely shook her head forbodingly. Torgall opened his mouth to ask what, then, she had heard, but she shook her head even more vigorously, bidding him not to speak. Instead, she jabbed her finger towards the encampment, indicating they should watch.

They did as she commanded, peering through the bushes once more, but saw nothing. The Legion was in a state of awareness as before, and the occasional demon continued to pass through the gate, but beyond that, nothing. Torgall frowned, but knew that Greshka would not have stopped them for nothing - something must be out there.

That something revealed itself a moment later. As though materializing out of nowhere, the glade was filled with night elves.

The demons gave a roar of fury, with the felguard charging forward. At the same time, the archers toward the back of the night elves let loose a rain of arrows - several of these struck true, piercing the felguards' necks. Some of the panther riders rode into battle as well, their mounts pouncing upon the demons and pinning them to the ground before savaging them with tooth and claw. Similarly, their riders deflected the demons' blows with surprising ease.

However, their element of surprise was short lived. A pair of infernals rushed into the battle, barreling into the front line of night elves, sending several flying, or utterly crushing others. Torgall noticed that as the infernals joined the battle, so too did several of the male night elves. He raised an eyebrow, wondering what such simple spellcasters could do to the lumbering behemoths, but a moment later he felt his jaw drop as their arms and legs grew thicker, their bodies engorged, fur sprouted from their skin, and their heads elongated into snarling jaws - they had all transformed into enormous bears.

As the shapeshifters clashed with the infernals, Torgall noticed the arrival of a distinctive night elf - the same one who was leading the forces against the satyr encampment. One of the doomguard noted his arrival and strode forward to meet the tall elf. The doomguard brought his mammoth claymore down, but the night elf gracefully dodged it before counterattacking with one of his dual-sided blades. However, this was no simple satyr or other minor demon - the doomguard was ready for such a strike, and swiftly parried the blow.

"Now's our chance!" said Torgall, making to move towards the Skull, but he had barely gone two paces before Greshka had seized him around the midriff and pulled him back. He rounded on her, gnashing his teeth.

"No!" she hissed, her eyes flashing, "Do you think the demons or elves will not notice us? The demons would kill us without a second thought, and after the Warsong fiasco, the elves would do the same! We'd be killed before we made it halfway to the Skull!"

"We can't just leave it there!" Torgall snarled, "The demons may simply relocate it, or the night elves may capture it!"

"Such an approach would be certain death," growled Torgus, "we must remain here; the time might seem right to you, but look around... death surely awaits you."

Torgall seethed to himself, but did as he was bidden. Despite Torgus and Greshka's assurances to the contrary, he could not see how he would be spotted through the chaos of the battle, but on closer inspection, he realized that two doomguard were still standing protectively near the Skull, and while it was clear they wished to join in the bloodshed, they staunchly remained to guard the demonic artifact.

However, their wish was soon granted. With a ferocious shout, the blindfolded night elf plunged one of his long blades into the exposed gut of the doomguard he was battling, who gave a roar of mingled pain and fury. The elf smiled grimly, though his lips twisted into more of a leer than a proper smile. He wrenched the blade up and out with startling strength, ripping free the blade from the impaled demon, who was thrown several feet into the air before slamming the ground with a resounding thud, ichor splattering everywhere.

The elf commander waded through the thick of battle, slicing a demon here, slashing another there, until he stood before the two doomguard overseeing the Skull. For several long moments, they remained stationary and glared at each other - at least, the elf's brow was furrowed and was now baring his teeth slightly - in silence, apparently oblivious to the sounds of battle around them. Then, as if from some unspoken command, they attacked.

The battle seemed one-sided at first, but it quickly became evident that the night elf was no mere fighter - he fought with one who had honed his skills for many, many years. The first doomguard was swiftly outmaneuvered by his more nimble opponent, who delivered several precise strikes to the demon, who, while not slain outright, gave a furious bellow as ichor bled from the wounds. He whirled about, trying and failing to strike the elf with an enormous waraxe, but again his target simply moved away.

The elf commander then struck at the other demon, this time magically - he outstretched his hand, which erupted into a writhing ball of flame and magic. The magical attack roiled in his palm, pulsing with energy, before flaring outwards and striking the demon on the arm, leaving a huge, raw burn on its leathery skin. The doomguard gave a roar like its partner, its eyes widening in both shock and fury at the effect of the magical attack. It attempted to heft its weapon, this one a polearm, but the injury greatly destabilized its fighting capabilities; the awkward strikes missed their marks by several feet. With such an advantage, the elf pressed his attack, and before long the doomguard was collapsing, ichor bubbling from his throat.

The first doomguard, witnessing his companion's death, gave a snarl and attacked with renewed fury, completely ignoring the damage from its earlier injures. The elf frowned slightly, this time from concentration, as for the first time he was put on the defensive; the demon's unbridled wrath lent it both great strength and stamina, and surprising swiftness, though its attacks went slightly awry from its forceful blows. The elf dodged gracefully back and forth, almost as though dancing, counterattacking occasionally, but otherwise not retaliating.

However, a curious transformation began to take place. As he continued to battle, he began to glow with a pale purple glow, which then became tinged with green, which became steadily stronger until his entire form was illuminated. The doomguard paid no heed to this change, still in a frenzied battle fury, until the elf suddenly leapt several yards back, out of range of the demon's attacks - and with a roar, oustretched his arms and unleashed a magical barrage, but one of demonic magic. The doomguard gave a scream of pain and fury as the lethal attack set his very skin aflame, before flaying it from his bones - the skeleton, in turn, erupted into flames and, still standing, was reduced to cinders. The deadly spell had simply obliterated the demon.

Panting slightly, the night elf now approached the pedestal upon which the Skull rested. Torgall tensed; surely this could not end well.

"Now at least the demons will no longer corrupt the voices," the elf said in a low, rough voice, one which was somehow audible despite the battle raging about him. He paused, as though thinking, and then added, "But, if I destroy the Skull and claim its powers as my own, I will become stronger than any of Archimonde's lieutenants."

"Blast it!" Torgall hissed, before saying in a defeated tone, "At least he intends to destroy it."

"Yes... the power should be mine!" the elf dictated, slightly insanely, and Torgall imagined there to be a mad glint in his eyes, were there any. The elf reached forward, grasping the Skull with one hand, whereupon it shrunk to normal proportions, and murmuring something they could not hear. The Skull then glowed with an evil, sickly green light, one which spread to his form. The light grew in intensity before abruptly changing to purple, which then darkened utterly, bathing him in shadows and obscuring his features.

Not, however, the startling transformation that took place. His arms became thicker, as did his legs, which became double-jointed and formed hooves at the ends. Huge wings erupted from his back, not unlike those of a doomguard, and his head enlarged as well, sprouting horns. The transformation was similar to that of an elf to a satyr, but this was an entirely new kind of demon - one which looked far more deadly.

"Now I am complete!" the elf cried in triumph, his voice now deep and reverberating. The demons and his forces had stopped battling completely, staring at him in blatant shock, but he paid them no heed. Rather, he ignored them entirely, striding off into the forests in the direction of the other demon base Greshka had described, the one where the demon commander resided; they had no doubts as to his intention.

"Well," said Sapph after a shocked pause, during which the elves and demons resumed their battle, "I suppose that sorts out that matter... shall we, um, return to the stronghold?"

They nodded, all still rather dazed after this alarming scene, leaving the elves and demons to their battle, satisfied that the Skull had been dealt with... or so they thought.