Zul was here. Because of course he is. Fucking prophets. The question I suppose, as I tense for combat, is whether this is Zul of the vague visions from Vanilla Hakkar and Throne of Thunder, or Zul the laser focused visionary of Ghun who could navigate around walking forces of nature, entire spy agencies and set stormwind to the torch, all without slowing down. This is my fault, I suppose. I should have expected that he would be here after Velen started treating me like an old but frustrating friend he knew he could count on, for all the aggravation doing so would cause him. I'd already begun to suspect that the five man teams who kept showing up were an effect of Chromie messing about.

My party, and the trolls surrounding them, sensed by agitation and began tensing as well, when Zul stepped forward and spoke. "I am a stranga, traveling from da west, seeking dat which is lost."

So... he knows pop culture references. But which is that good? Or bad? "I am a stranger, traveling from the East, it is I that you seek."

"Ey, you two gonna let da rest ah us in on da secret?" The king of Zul'Gurub asked, looking miffed. "Ya been nutin bud mysterious since ya arrived er, brudda."

"I am Thurm." I told him, going into public speaking voice. "Runemaster, Tide Breaker, last of my people, messiah of a dying world. My crew and I come to you from the sea of stars bearing a warning and a hero of the Gurubi people. The emerald flame of chaos returns to this world after 10,000 years of plot and proxy. Their vanguard spews forth from ancient Gurubi land, deep in the black morass. My world has already fallen to the flame, but yours does not need to as well. Will you hear my story?"

He looked down on me "Welcome ta Zul'Gurub, mon" The Hexlord told me, bowing theatrically "da greatest show on eart. Chu an ya crew be welcome er, bud some people be knowin beta dan ta show der faces. Bloodlord, why don chu show dem de hospitality ah da grave?" As he spoke I could feel the world shudder and snap, as suddenly a barrier keeping the Dutchman back by the shanty town released, allowing it to shudder forward.

Returning my attention to the scene before me, I almost missed the red mohawk troll beside him cracking his knuckles and grinning menacingly. "Be mah pleasure, boss."

A hand reached up to my shoulder and I glanced down to see Mando jr there. "I be sorry, boss man. Me an me fadda got old business ta seddle afore I helpin ya. So di ting set, ken?" His accent got progressively thicker as he talked.

"Go. When you're done with family business, join me again."

Mando Jr and Sr began slowly moving off to the side, prowling like two tigers sizing each other up and I contacted Charybdus, the elemental knight Neptulon had granted me, asking him to send quiet support Jr's way. A quintet of muddy trails broke off from beneath the elementals feet and began to flow after the shadowhunter.

"Ye shoulda known bedda dan to come back er boy." the red armored raptor rider taunted. "It hurts ya fadda ta see ya like dis."

"Keep talkin old man, an I'll show ya de true meanin ah pain."

With that pronouncement, they vanished down a side street. Turning to the Hex lord, I was taken slightly off guard as he held out his hand to me. "Come. Come! Da prophet warned me ah ya visit and we be preparin a grand feast for da return ah da Tidebearer an es friends." With that pronouncement, he turned away, waving me forward until Gortag and I joined him. Once we had done so, he began talking animatedly. It was hard to understand the troll through the thick accent (why wasn't arcane language translating it properly? Did I need to change the runes somehow?) but the lecture on troll history was quite interesting. As we moved through the neighborhoods and canals, I was treated to the story of each of the various temples, pyramids, businesses and chief's palaces. Each one reads like an adventure novel and covered thousands of years of history.

All the while, in the background, there are sounds of raptors screaming, waves crashing and two very impressive sets of lungs bellowing insults at each other. It's a pity I didn't have the presence of mind to construct an arcane intelligence capable of recording it.

"It's not going to go as you plan, kind" a smooth voice interrupts my thoughts. I turn to see Zul walking silently beside me, his purple eyes straight forward, and a grin twitching behind his tusks.

"It never does, old man." I reply, amused. "You'd do well to remember that."

He looks at me slowly, not changing pace. "Ah yes, yah see our world from outside ah time. But do no be forgetting that you be within now. Tha river can be changed with enough rocks, as you say," he continues amused "but who be tossin the rocks when ya be dragged along in tha current?" He shakes his head. "Hakkar belong to da trolls, kind, mess with him an all ya plans be thrown akimbo."

I snort. "I suppose that's why you didn't see Rastakan break your neck and throw you off the top of the palace then?" I ask him, with the same false pleasantry. "Hakkar clouded your visions just when it was all going right? Or was it that stupid idea you had to stop the wheels and let Ghun loose? You know listening to the tentacles will split even the most even keel."

The prophet laughed low, "You think that, but you do not know what I see. Without my machinations, Ghun would have been ignored by ya heroes. He would grow in powa as Zandalar sunk slowly beneath the waves. An den... from the sea he would come, unstoppable; a corruption even in the eyes of the gibbering shadows." He grinned broadly. "If my death be enough to teach my people how to throw off the chains ah millennia in neglect an move forward, free of corruption an rot, It be a price I humbly pay. Yah know it worked out, even if I be left behind. Yah din see it, traveler from da west. Dinya?"

I huffed as hummed a few bars as they came to mind, before softly singing "How low can I keep pretending to be? That all the stars in the sky could mean something to me... That Heaven'll open up if I live on my knees, a man of many words but a man of few deeds." I return the trolls dark grin, "I've long wondered just how you see things, Zul. The light would see what will be in perfect clarity, if only for the interference of the Shadow. The Dark sees all possible timelines but cannot know which will happen. The arcane sees the root of things and how they flow into one another bridging time and distance equally, but choice, free will, can confuse even the most adept diviner. Tell me dark prophet... how do the spirits see?"

"Me brudda's an I, we see the shape ah tings to come. The loa give us dreams of great events years, decades, even millennia in advance. Tings that cannot be stopped; the Timeline as you call it. But we do not see any event in detail until it is time to act. To find the best outcome. I suspect des...developers see things tha same. They be wrong in much, I have seen as you approach but right in many tings too, so I suspect they do not create us like gods." He cackles aloud, drawing the attention and irritation of Jin'do. "But mebe dat be da lies we tell to comfort ourselves, ya?"

And the Bleeding hollow saw the time, place and nature of their deaths, so they knew they could act however they wanted until then. Fascinating. Of course, if this method accounts for your reaction to seeing the future, you'd probably die at a different time, place and situation if you hadn't looked.

"If ya quite finished," The hexx lord snarked, "Da feast..."

Zul'Gurub's hospitality, provided by positive reference of Prophet Zul, is quite impressive. A dozen types of meat, dozens of fruits, no real pasta grains or veg, but plenty of spices. Ooooh the spices. The tables were loaded, heavily enough for the nobility and clergy of the 5 tribes of the Gurubashi Empire, and my crew to get pleasantly stuffed. Fire dancers and a choir of souls and a crazy number of drums serve as entertainment and the Gurubi subtly try to court Gortag.

It's quite amusing to watch actually. If I'm guessing right, they've tried to poison him more than a dozen times, but with a glint of the tidestone water washes across every dish as he bites into it, leading to looks of disappointment. Numerous glowing and simple knives have been turned away from his back, kidneys and neck by shields of water. I'm sure he's noticed, I mean how could he not, but he hasn't given any indication of it. And all the while, the trolls responsible for it keep making appeals to him. Join us, we'll give you girls, gold and glory. Defect, the Tidebreaker is a cultural icon and (we need/deserve/are owed) it's (service/possession). Hand over the artifact, it's sacred to the Gurubi people and your possession of it is a fluke/aberration/abomination/sign enough we should ally with your cause.

In all cases, Gortag's gruff repost, if he even stops eating to talk, is that if they want it so much, they should pilgrimage to I'lalai and petition Neptulon at the Altar of the Deep. The Tidehunter alone will judge if they are worthy to be the Tidebearer.

"Enough, I will not leave the Tide breaker until the Great Tree. I have seen it, do not try my patience, troll."

I was about to chuckle at the orcs latest reply, as it was obvious he was quickly losing patience, but the counter stopped me cold. "Hey, dats no problem, handsome." I looked up to see a troll woman wearing panther furs over ornate robes that shiver with the impotent rage of suppressed souls. "Da tree be a short jaunt tru human lands. De bright wood be contested, no one notice a few trolls huntin dragons."

Gortag and I stiffen, though for different reasons. Shit... I'd forgotten about the trees of nightmare. Planted by Fandral Staghelm from branches of Nordrasill to cleanse the taint of Sauronite bubbling up through the planet's crust. The Dream Gates allowed the Old Gods back into the emerald dream as the Emerald nightmare even as it neutralized the whispering metal, the blood of tainted gods. That same connection could be used again,.. and could also provide a means by which Gortag could learn to cleanse the Orcs of their own taint.

The prick himself is probably getting another vision now his leaving at the tree vision has been given context.

"Hona'd guests!" Hexx Lord Jin'do calls out, silencing the music and gaining everybody's attention. "Now dat we ave all been fed an watered, it is tam for business! Hona'd Zandalar as sent it's own prophet Zul to advise us, ah warnin for dark tams ahead! He has counseled we hear from de foreigners lips rada dan der scremin souls, so let us here! Entertain us, Thurm Runemasta, known as Tidebreaka. Tell us about des visitors from de stars."

Standing up, I walked to stand beside the Hexx Lord and cast my public speaking spell. "The history of my people is ancient and I expect you care little for it" there was a chorus of chuckles from the troll priests and I smile "but it has bearing the the current crisis nonetheless." My fingers twitched in a pattern as mnemonics wove a spell of light and memory. "My people, and the orcs," I gestured at Gortag "are descendants of the taming of our world by the Titan Aggramar." A world of lava formed as I spoke before becoming covered in choking vines. Aggramar's bronze bearded form rose behind it and formed a Gron like clay from one of the mountains. It began tearing at the vines, to reveal the current map of Draenor before the defeated vines attacked it and broke it apart. The Gron mutated into the breakers, then the Orgren, Ogres and finally brown orcs.

"When the Burning Legion arrived on our world, the fallen Titan Sargeras used this connection to the titans to corrupt the Orcs," The brown orc was assaulted by green fire and gained height, muscle mass, green skin and burning red eyes "much the same way they corrupted the elves ten thousand years ago." Purple trolls drank from a well of glittering blue and gold liquid becoming elves. The event caused the trolls to hiss all around me and I continued showing the blue elves opening their arms to the green fire and becoming Satyrs. I waved a hand through the image, dismissing it as the trolls began to mutter in confusion. They began looking at Gortag with suspicion and I moved on.

"The green orcs have destroyed our world," I continue, showing green veins spreading across the map of Draenor, leaving black pits behind as they expand and spread "and their mere presence corrupted even those who did not sell their souls to the demons fire." I then showed another orc brown orc beside the red eyed one with clear normal eyes who's skin slowly turned green as though suffering from disease. Gortag shifted uncomfortably, glaring daggers at me and I winked at him. "Recently though, their leaders realized that the Legions promise of paradise was a lie and began seeking another world to consume." I dismissed the images of the fel orc and corrupted orc, replacing it with Gul'Dan, complete with red eyes, hunched back and spines coming out of his back. "They found allies on this world in Medivh, Guardian of Tirisfal." The brown robed human mage and his staff Atiesh. The trolls hissed again, but I could tell they liked the idea of a human being the bad guy. "The Guardian has fallen to the legion his mother spent 1000 years fighting and invites the Orcs here to be his army." I showed Medivh and Gul'Dan shaking hands, then the scenes of each of them empowering the portal. They liked the idea that a human was weak even more, by the war chant now picking up around the temple courtyard.

I showed them another scene, this time from my own memory, of the Orcs pouring through both sides of the portal and into the black Morass before zooming out to a map of southern Azeroth. "Even now, the Legions orc pawns spew forth from the portal and spread across former Gurubi land." The jungle of the morass began to turn red and spread out like spilled wine. The stain continued north into the swamp of sorrows and I conjured a quick image of the temple city of Atal'Hakkar as the orc tide washed over it and north through first Red-ridge and then into the Burning Steppes. They also expanded outward until the stain was washing over the mountains separating Zul'Gurub from the Morass and moving into Stranglethorn. "Medhiv will try to direct the Horde to attack the Humans, seeking to conquer them and become king. If you allow them, they will destroy the humans for you" the war chant turned to cheers and I cranked up the volume to retain their attention "but stranglethorn is familiar to the Orcs and thus more desired. It is more similar to their old home than human lands and they will come here if you do not stop them. If you were to ally with them, you could turn them back on the humans, but to do so would come at a price."

I paused for a beat and showed them an image of Gul'Dan creating the 'Fist', draining the elemental of it's energies and funneling them into the Horde for their attack on Karabor. I made it clear the Draenai were easily holding the Horde off before the Elemental died. "The Horde will demand you hand them your Loa to fuel their war effort, and leave the lands of Stormwind a dead land of ash and monsters. Then, if they do not turn on you, it will be because they intend to corrupt you as they were." I showed them the scene atop the Throne of Kiljaden where Gul'Dan offered the cup of pit lord blood.

"The only path where the Gurubi survive is resistance. The only answer to orcish incursion is war."

The Hexx Lord saunters up to inspect my images. "I see a lodda pretty lights, mon, but whad chu got da tells us dis be da truth? Mebe you be the threat an da horde our friends. Ya bring one ah dem here" he gestures to Gortag "wearin our heroes mantel. What say da loa not want dem here an you gone? Great silvertonge."

I huff. "You want your Loa's word on the subject, why don't you ask them?" I looked out to the crowd arrayed before me. "Many among you are priests. Tell me, what do the Loa have to say about my truth?"

The crowd quieted, turning to the High Priests, who, under the pressure of their gazes pulled out hex bags. Some sniffed the bags, others pulled out leaves and began eating, a few simply prayed and more began shaking the bags over flame. A host of shadows appeared over the priests, showing animals and ancestors alike. As they spoke with their gods, I grabbed a gourd of honey and blood wine, taking a sip to sooth my throat. The whispers began to return as an agitated buzz the longer the priests remained silent.

Finally, the first priest returned. Her eyes glowed a brilliant teal and when she spoke her throat was a pit of light as well. "The interloper speaks the truth. If not all of it." The priestess of Mahamba speaks, her voice buzzing like bad CGI. "The Horde will not, cannot, be suffered to live. But the Orcs may still be allies." She turned to point a now clawed finger at Gortag. "Those of lesser corruption like him can still be saved. Enslaved. Uplifted."

Another priest, this one bearing the three headed shadow of Gaz'ranka added their own two cents. "Thurm shall be a useful tool. Trust him not, follow him not, but allow to his manipulations. For now..."

Another priest, this time the Tiger glowed with a golden aura alongside his teal eyes and mouth. "The empire shall rise again."

"Seven tribes, three leaders, one purpose."

"The emerald flame will forge the future. Withstand and thrive, or surrender and die."

After that, it just sort of devolves. The Loa start giving out orders and my party quickly turns into a hive of activity. Naal'Suul gets my attention, pointing out how the Trolls are subtly herding the Draenei into multiple small groups. Right, it's time to leave. With a snap of my fingers, Arcane familiars launch skyward, diving into the ship. In moments, the gunnery platforms on the sides, six of them now rather than 4, fold out and begin summoning my people back to the ship.

As the Trolls start to notice, the Shadowhunter team returns. Mando jr is dragging his father by the foot, and Gedwa throws the head of his raptor mount to roll through the swarm of trolls. "We beat ya bloodlord bloody!" Gedwa the blood trolls shouts, getting everybody's attention. "Dis da best ya do?" My people are almost completely evacuated now, and my personal guard are beginning to flash back down, forming around me. Naal, Kiel, Samaara, Jasune, Bali'ir and Kali'ir. Zalaza, Thron'ja and Velratha join me quietly as the Blood troll continues to draw attention to himself.

"Blood troll," Ana'thek, chieftain of the bloodscalps roars. "Even the golden tribe spits on you! Ya got some nerve comin here."

"HA! Nerve I got a plenty, ya useless peasants!" the shadow hunter of Torga mocked. "Two millennia an still ya grovel on ya bellies. Ya canna reclaim ya lands from dogs! Ya canna defeat humans. Ya canna even defeat an outcast like me! I look around an I see ya squattin in the ruins ah ya own cities. Rot an rot alike! I dinna tink I could do betta cursin ya dan what ya do ta ya-selves! What makes ya tink ya loa can revive de empire when ya canna even face da curse ah Hakkar?!"

"And what do you even know of Hakkar?" Jin'do sneered, hexxing Mando'fon into a frog before conjuring a series of chained souls to menace the blood troll.

He spread his arms out to the sides and blood begins to seep out of the ground, forming wings behind him. "Me people da legacy ah Hakkar! We led Zandalar in da campaign ta kill the black loa K'thrax! We made de blood plague an fed de empire on its swarms! Hakkar taught us all we know! An den you fuckers got dat knife! Hakkar will rise again, an it will be de end ah da Gurubashi. De end ah King Jin'do! Ya too weak, ken? Two thousan years an ya not even rebuild! Pathetic! Come! COME! Fight me! I crush ya here an na! Why wait?"

All the the Draenei are on the ship now, just me and my personal entourage. "Because you answer to me, Shadowhunter." I boom, stepping forward. "And I still have plans for the Gurubashi." Plans for you too, with that little reveal. I hadn't even planned to go after Hakkar before Zul brought it up. This... would certainly put a wrench in anything I tried to do. And would even explain why I might do something as silly as mess with the soulflayer.

Stamping the butt on my staff on the table holding the feast, chips of stone begin to spring up in a waterfall as lines and symbols carve themselves into the surface. With a mental command to my arcane familiars, the Shadowhunters vanish back up into my ship and only my honor guard, Charybdus and K'ure remain. "These are portal stones." I told the gathered trolls, as ten paired stones fall out of the banquet table. "Use them as the cap-stone in an archway and they will allow you to travel along the ley lines, from one door to another. There are ten pairs, for ten doors. Zul, you know how I intend to distribute them?"

"Ya mon, I know. Five to connect the tribes to Zandalar. Five more to connect the tribes to each othda ina circle." The priests replies lazily. "I get dem delivered. Trade, unification, conquest. In dat orda. No funny business. Tata now."

And in a flash of teleportation, I leave my rather disastrous meeting with the Gurubashi.

"That went well."

#$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+

Two months ago:

Velen knew the moment the future changed. He had been in the middle of a council meeting discussing the disposition of fishing equipment, shroud crystal allocation and the burgeoning mutations among the Light-lost. Or as the less charitable had taken to calling them, the Broken. Reality had torn and the thinning veil of darkness clouding his foresight had been pierced as though a white hot ice pick had been driven into his skull.

The Remaining had panicked, nearly starting a civil war as they had accused Akama, the dear boy, of infecting the prophet with his orcish corruption and tried to attack him. It was only because of the light shining out of his mouth, nose, ears and eyes like a sun that things hadn't devolved further. Anchorite Almonen had taken charge of the situation and cleared the room. Velen had heard the crash as the table had been cleared and layered with cushions, before he had been carefully lifted by the priest onto the surface.

While all of this was happening, Velen writhed in tortured soul deep agony as the events of the next 30 years played themselves out before him. His people would continue to degenerate. These initial signs, the light loss and rotten horns were only the beginning. They would become shrunken twisted wretches, living in constant pain as fel and void corruption forced continual mutations upon them. Those with the strongest wills would become hateful wretches, hunting the Horde as assassins, embracing the shadows and pawns of the Legion in the name of reclaiming what was lost. The environment would die alongside them, claiming first the Saberon, then the last of the Bottinai. The Arakoa would descend into madness, first enslaving their god, Anu, and then, listening to the whispers in the dark, would begin calling something far far darker to consume the world.

But then... there was a break in the spiral! In the other world, bathed in the blood of the foul horde, would march heroes. The lights of Creation, Order and technology shone from their armor and weapons as they marched through the Dark Portal to bring the fight to the Horde on this world. The Broken would fight alongside them and they would WIN!

Except... oh no..! Velen's heart nearly broke as he watched Ner'zhul wielding the Skull of Gul'dan, the Scepter of Sargeras and a curious foriegn artifact to open new Dark Portals, five in all, and step through.

The event ripped Draenor asunder. What was left of the Arakoa was barely enough to sustain a breeding population and the world itself was cast into the Twisting Nether, a way station between a hundred worlds of the materium and the collected horrors of the immaterium.

Then salvation came. Xe'ra, the Prime Naaru, the oldest and most powerful of the...artificial race? Oh dear. No, light, please no... Xe'ra and Adal came in the wake of the cataclysm. Xe'ra took the champions of the new world, Turalyon and Alleria while Adal collected his fallen people from hidden enclaves across Draenor and brought them to Tel'Redor. Most of them boarded the Tempest Keep, where they were greeted by half a million of their brothers and sisters from the time of the fall.

This was the Army of Light. They were who he had been promised. 6 more ships and two dozen Naaru.

That... was it.

And Xe'ra was a fanatic, forging the living just as an artificer would forge a weapon.

The visions went on and on. Another decade of hiding upon the ship. Attacked and defeated by those who should have been their allies. Who, had they only asked, they could have happily saved. Crash landing on the new world. The loss of 90% of the army in the crash, leaving the rest of them brain damaged, while M'uru was left to scream and cry as the other titan born race fed on her like ticks. Being unable to blame them, in light of all they had recently suffered at the hands of an undead plague and repeated betrayals.

But even in the dawn that broke over this nightmare there was only more tragedy. The survivors of the crash would spread out into the new world, many of them dying pointlessly on a world that seemed to delight in their pain, while others saved and were saved by alien's time and again. They overcame brutal monstrous foes of the Legion and Void Lords one after the other, each victory whittling away them away just a little more.

Then his heart shattered. The Legion came to attack the new world. And unlike this one, it did not work through mere proxies, but descended upon them in it's full glory and terrible fury. Worst of all... His son... his dear, poor boy, thought lost 25 thousand years ago, returned to lead the legions assault on the Exodar. This was the vision he had been shown all those millenia ago, where he held the disintegration body of a foul eradar in his arms and wept tears of untold grief...

The champions... those who were the hope of a thousand worlds... they would slay his son in front of him.

And he had to let them.

It was not fair.

Velen cursed the light then, fury and grief mixing in his heart and reverberating across the connection, but still the visions would not stop.

The champions would work hand in hand with a demon, a fusion of the other titan born and an eradar. The monster would acquire the Sagerite Keystone and use it to open a portal large enough to swallow an entire world. Argus, hung in the sky of the foriegn world and the invasion began in earnest. The champions invaded the broken husk of his home, plowing through the demons ranks like a rampaging clefthoof, every color of the magical spectrum blazing from their bodies as they grinned crazed bloodthirsty smiles, howling for 'loot', 'agro' and 'deeps'. Like demons, they died and were reborn in waves, bringing victory and desolation in equal measure.

Yet, even in victory, the blows keep coming.

Many draenei it seemed, had managed to survive and resist the Legion. Reunions with old friends, oh so many of them, as Kor'krul shadowalkers and demons. The discovery of the Titans. The revelation that as the Champions of the new world rampaged across his world, Sargeras manifested fully on their own.

Then came the final vision. The Pyrrhic Victory. The Demon whom he would work beside as a brother gathered the souls of the titans, defeated the soul of his dear home Argus, and sealed Sargeras away with the rest of the Pantheon.

But Sargeras stabbed his blade Deep into Azeroth. It was only luck that the tip slammed into the chained body of C'thun, slaying the sealed monster once and for all. But as inky darkness consumed the vision he could see the world bleed...

Finally... finally, Velen thought, the visions are over. Surely there cannot be anything more? Things cannot get worse? When you land at the bottom, things can only get better!

But the solid veil of shadows covering his mind were not the end. Cracks of hungry red light formed through the oily cloud over his foresight and then it shattered. A constantly reforming face bloody light and mismatched eyes stared at him, and grinned. Time began to wind backwards as the creature laughed as on another world, a soul was taken. Offered in sacrifice, it amused the horrific being with it's impertinence. Bravery, cruel spite and calm acceptance in the face of the unstoppable. The soul was taken from a shining world full of technology and peace, troubled only by petty conflicts despite a bevy of cosmic horrors preying upon it's population.

Then, it was stuffed into the body of an Ogre, of all indignities. Worse, the fool boy had chosen to become one of the barbarous thugs.

But wherever he went... things changed. Time warped and bent around him, not breaking down, but forming new orders. New possibilities blossomed from his every action and Velen found that he could control the vision for the first time in... ever. Desperate, and away of the laughter of the being that had caused this situation, Velen searched each future for what it held. There were victories and defeats in all of them, tragedies and triumphs of life and myth, but where he did not also tread, things were almost as bad for the Draenai as without Thurm.

The choice was clear. If his people were to survive, to thrive, to avoid the calamities of the future, they would need to work with this Thurm. Not to force his hand, but to act as conscience to his heart. The boy would reject anyone as heavy handed as himself, but a friend... a friend could take the reigns of that world altering power and wed it to their own interests.

For the future of the Draenei, for Velen's own peace, he knew what he must do.

Now:

Looking over the consecrated steppes of Karabor, Velen made an adjustment to his light-map. Orders flowed out from the crystal sheet to the necklaces of his followers updating their "quest's" and he watched in real time as the flow of traffic changed. He never would have imagined doing things like this before his visions of the Runemaster, but it was necessary. Even though the boy had returned Karabor to them, he had still left with much that needed to be done, and when he returned, from the other world, he would welcome the familiarity of the new system.

One where a person's skills were objectively quantified, catalogued, manipulated and rewarded. It was coercion at it's finest, a system where people embraced being controlled. Thurm would joke about it when they met again, revealing each others systems to the other. "Would you kindly,.?"

But it was working. The flight and dimensional transport rings were almost complete, and the Horde was still none the wiser. One warship had come to investigate the silence of the black temple, from the north, but they had sunk it with non survivors. There was just one more thing to do before they could take off.

"Prophet." A gravelly voice sounded from over his left shoulder. Ah, right on time.

"They are here then, Akama?" Velen asked calmly.

The former Exarch grunted, used to his leaders semi-omniscience, but still struggling to surprise him. "Yes. Skiiris of the Shadowbough consortium and Grish of pride rock, along with their respective tribes. They wish to join the allies of Anzu's champion in... they're calling Karabor Cloudfort, prophet. I cannot convince them otherwise."

Velen hummed. "And the Stonemaul?"

"Imperator Modok has taken them under his banner, as you predicted, prophet." Akama replied. "Hakmuud transmitted his report just this morning. The Imperator is celebrating the event by chaining a Gron. It seemed to suitably impress the troops." The Arcforged leader hesitated. "You're certain you don't want him assassinated?"

Velen nodded. "His fate is Thurm's. The two of them will fight for the soul of the Gorian people." He shut down his device, placing it in a pocket, cleverly hidden in the numerous layers and folds of his robe. "Now, let's go meet our guests. I want to lift off by nightfall. Any later would risk disaster, any earlier we will be ill prepared."

Nodding solemnly, the two of them left the terrace.

~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+

Seven weeks ago:

Spellbreaker Modok giggled to himself as he felt the teleportation spell rip him from the Thief's ship. He had the stone. One of them at least. One of three artifacts of sacred importance to the Gorian People. The other two were lost, he knew, just as his brothers aboard the ship were lost to the Thief's glutinous fury. He had seen it in those final moments. The other team had been slaughtered with ease and the three he had left behind would stand no chance. For all that Thurm was a runt and a heretic, no Ogre in highmaul short of the Imperators Council would dare call the cruel brutal pariah an incompetent.

Not to his face.

But where the opportunistic coward had left the Imperator to die and his brothers to be enslaved, Modok would plant himself firmly as their savior. The Usurper had not recovered these stone! Cho'Gall did not deserve them! Modok was different! He would not abandon the Gorduni as Thurm had nor enslave them as Cho'Gall intended, he would follow millennia of grand ogre tradition and free his people with the might of the Arcane!

And a quite sensible withdrawal. Digression was, after all, the better part of Valor.

Landing well away from the column of Twilights Hammer, Bladefist and Bleeding Hollow, Modok checked that Cho'gall was thoroughly distracted by his attack on the Thief's ship before blinking into the center of the Gorduni captives. Then, with the autistic glory of the idiot savant, he quickly carved a mass teleportation rune into the land around him, selected the 'worthy' and vanished.

Now:

Imperator Modok smiled broadly from the platform of his palanquin. Opening his mouth, he waited patiently as a pair of chained females fed him fruits and made a gesture with his fingers. The ground shook under the explosive force of his spell and the Gron he'd been hunting moaned as the fires were put out by an avalanche of snow. Life was good in the Bladespire mountains. After all, it was good to be the king.

Modok accepted another fruit and smirked through his chewing as arcane energy bubbled and sparkled through his mouth. One of his concubines had just tried to poison him. He turned his gaze on her and she shrank back as he smiled rather than coughing up blood. To other races, ogre women were difficult to distinguish from the men, but once you knew the trick it was simple. The women wore a trio of shields, one on either breast(deflated unless nursing), and the other on their stomach. Men, unless they wore full plate, kept bare chests, to show off their musculature and affluent stomachs.

Another difference was in the position they held in society.

Ogre women were just as large as the men, just as strong and twice as mean, so by and large, they took no shit from anyone and tried to get into positions of command whenever possible. But they also understood their value and where it came from. To compete in the savage brutality of Draenor, the empire needed children. Lots and lots of children. And so they had them. Every year; until they couldn't. But which men got to HAVE those children varied. An ogre could work his entire life just for one night of fun, because in order to get his turn, he had to provide a years worth of food, money and gifts. In advance. For her and all of her other kids. At least up until the sons matured, and then her sons were expected to provide the upkeep for his siblings, another limiting factor in being able to afford a mate.

This, incidentally, was why Modok liked the Bladespire. They were progressive. Rebels. Decades ago, a group of frustrated young men had decided that if they couldn't buy access, then they would steal women from the orcs. Frostwolf, Thunderlord, Whiteclaw, Rageroar, Laughing skull; never more than would be lost in your average caravan raid. And with these women were born the Mok'nathal; or "the sons of Mok", the leader of the movement. Of course, the then Imperator Kelgrok had found out about it. Hard to keep that sort of things secret. But rather than banish the boys for fouling themselves with a lesser race, he encouraged them to take more women and used cruel mind magics to ensure the childrens loyalty. With the abundance of women, the women of Bladespire lost much of their power. The boys just wanted families, but their Imperator wanted conquest.

Well, Modok wanted conquest too. But he had a different plan. He would enslave the Gron. And the Ogron. And the Orcs. Under his arcane might the Mok'nathal would be reborn and the land reshaped so that Frostfire ridge could support a truly reborn Gorian Empire.

One where Modok reigned supreme.

He and his chosen subordinates would have all of the ogre women, those of his people who were little more than meat would get Orgron and orcs, and the Gron would be their military might.

The cries of the Gron as his men dug it out of the snow and clamped enchanted truesteel manacles on it made Modok's heart tingle. If he ever saw the Traitor again, he'd really have to thank him. None of this would have been possible without Thurm. Not only had he provided the means, Modok had watched as the Runemaster banished the fetid horde to the abyss of stars.

Modok ate another fruit and sighed. Life was good.

~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+

Three weeks ago:

Ner'zhul stepped out of the portal into Auchindoun, deep in thought. The spirits... could be commanded. And his destiny was... had been... to command them. 'The souls of two worlds' the abomination had told him 'until the heroes come to defeat you'.

That was interesting. Very interesting indeed.

Looking up into the ruined structure he could perceive spirits of the Draenei milling around in great billowing swarms. Confusion, terror and agony were their primary emotions though there was a fair undercurrent of grief nearly a decade deep. This place had once been as sacred to the queer blue skinned invaders as Osho'gun was to his own people, and had been so for centuries.

It galled him to think that the abomination had stolen the white mountain.

How does one even perform such a feat? Ner'zhul had heard stories of the fall of Goria, how the landscape had writhed like a serpent, or plagued maggots under flesh when the orcs had tried to enslave the furies at the Throne of Elements. Had seen the land scream and twist during the elemental upheaval he now knew to be Gul'dan's fault. But to... just... remove a mountain. For fun. He shuddered to think of ogres wielding such power deliberately.

If nothing else, it was good motivation to realize the outsider monstrosities promise. Even now, in the temple, the creature was arming itself, growing further in power. If his people were to survive, they would need to step up. ...HE would need to step up.

Lifting his hand, he pointed it at one of the spirits and reached out with his soul. Tongues of foul chaos shivered as they tried to crawl up his arm and join in the working, but with a titanic effort of will, he suppressed them. The Fel could help him, he was certain of it, but corruption was not his purpose. Not now. Never... never again. Invisible to the naked eye, soft teal light streamed out of his palm and formed a lasso around the nearest Draenei spirit and the two of them fell into his soul space.

Ner'zhul ignored the flaying of self as he climbed the golden bridge to meet the spirits on their own terms. His target was... Kol'uun. A builder among his people. A toymaker, really. He had died to the Bladewind massacre at the beginning of the war, one of the first sacrificed by the tribe to appease the elements. He didn't know what had happened later in the war, or that there had even been one, his time around the celestial crystal the Draenai buried in this place was one of darkness, not light, and the spirit was mostly confused. Why was an orc talking to him, and not his family. He was supposed to be with his ancestors, not a primitive.

Ner'zhul mediated for hours, trying to reason with the soul, coerce it, direct it to his whim, but it seemed this would not work. It was a battle of wills even to keep him in place and continue their talk, but the old shaman would not be deterred. In Gul'var they bound the ancestors to the defense of the land, this would be the same. Just... less cordial.

Eventually, he was able to force the spirit into its own bones, forming a skeletal servant. It wasn't much, but it was a start. He ordered it first to capture him some food, and set about searching for a spirit of flame with which to cook it.

The elemental spirit proved much easier to subjugate, submitting to him almost eagerly in exchange for Ner'zhul purging it for fel corruption. THAT had been difficult, but eventually he'd managed to drain the emerald taint out of the spirit and into himself the same way he'd seen Gul'dan do as punishment for failure.

After the food came, it was cooked, consumed and then Ner'zhul continued to experiment.

Now:

Ner'hul watched with grim satisfaction as the construction proceeded. Lines of skeletons gathered and arranged pieces of sarcophagi while spirits of earth and fire fused them back together. Spirits of wind, fire and earth shifted rubble and performed the same task on a larger scale, recreating hallways, mausoleums and antechambers of the grand necropolis.

It was easier to work with the spirits of stone, as they practically begged him to give them form. Their memories of how they were before the explosion were still cemented in their minds and living as a state of rubble was new and disturbing to them. The spirits of wind had been the hardest, but their melancholy as they raced over the brutalized landscape had been enough of an in for him to bend them to his purposes. The spirits of fire traded their wills only for purity, but were still apt to abandon him if he had nothing to burn, so he had to keep them constantly busy or else risk losing a great deal of momentum.

And beside him burned an emerald skull.

Achunai Nyami had been instrumental in Ner'zhul's rise to power in the crypts. The soul binder had been both the Draenai's line of defense against the restless dead, and primary shaman bringing them back to speak with their living relatives for almost a thousand years, and as such had a great deal of wisdom to offer him. Unfortunately she was also the strongest will he had encountered among the dead. His first encounter with her had very nearly killed him, and in desperation, he had turned back to the fel, something he had sworn again and again never to do. This hadn't been all bad, and had in fact been quite the boon, as it allowed him to offload the fel corruption he'd been taking unto himself for the service of the spirits of the land.

It also had the added effect of making the soulbinder more willing to work with him, even as her power grew enough to slip the bonds he had placed on her.

On his own, by sheer force of will, Ner'zhul could dominate between one and seven souls depending on their own wills or two dozen elemental spirits. With the soul-binder there to act as his native ally, spell advisor and cruel informant, he was capable of directing nearly two hundred draenei souls at once; though his elemental cadre remained the same. This strained the number of connections he could maintain without tearing his own soul apart, else he suspected he could have held more, but this made coordinating them largely dependent on their willingness to do what he told them, or be browbeaten into doing so.

Thankfully, all of the spirits agreed that restoring Auchindoun to its proper glory and storing the bones and souls of the dead in their designated sarcophagi to be a task worth following. Most of the traitorous lazy weasels would break themselves free of his control once their own tomb was restored, but he suffered their insolence with grace. There were always more where those came from and he was slowly building up a loyal rank of spirits who both aided him in extending his control and agreed to work with him at least as far as erasing the Path of Glory in Tannan. Several even vowed eternal servitude to him, if he would agree to restore the settlements lost in the war and take over the post of Achunai, leading the souls and bones of the fallen to this place of peace.

As he came out of command meditation and his perspective tightened from a large portion of the ruins to his own body, Ner'zhul sighed in pleasure at the lightness his work seemed to lend to his own guilty soul.

It was all coming together.

~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+

Prophet Zul watched with amusement as the interloper escaped the direct presence of Hir'eek and augers of almost a dozen major Loa and nearly twice that minor Loa. He had foreseen this event almost an hour before, but it was no less impressive to witness in the moment. Of the many Loa present only Hakkar the Soulflayer, blood god of the zanchuli, patron of Zul'Nazman and current master of Zul'Gurub's true leaders deigned to interfere aiding Thurm Runemaster. And what aid it was. Directing Gedwa to reinforce Mando'fon and make a scene while the Lever of Fate made his escape was particularly inspired, he thought.

Zul knew why the Loa had done it. G'huun had begun to co-opt Hakkar's worshipers in Nazmir and the feathered serpent knew that as soon as the cataclysm struck the balance of power would shift rapidly out of his control. The city of Zul'nazman would fall in the earthquakes and the three titanic seals would crack. Those who survived would quickly abandon Hakkar for the more potent and maddening power of the shadow maggot and Hakkar wanted to be prepared. So, he had reached out to Jin'do at the end of the last war with Stormwind and began setting the stage for his manifestation elsewhere. Gedwa was supposed to go to the Amani in Jintha'alor and corrupt Yeh'kinya, priestess Kol'gara Hexx and construct the Altar of Zul so that the Champions of Azeroth would collect his egg and begin the events heralding Hakkar's return.

But Thurm had co-opted the blood troll as he began said mission and changed the future. The cloud snake god had seen this opportunity to regain control, and perhaps even accelerate the timetable. With enough cards reshuffled, maybe even prevent the events of the blood war.

Zul himself would have been instrumental in that war, but on G'huun's side rather than Hakkar's.

Now though..? Zul looked down at the portal stones in his hands and grinned. It was indeed time to change allegiances. The runemaster and his court of stars had proven that he had "backed the wrong horse" as it were, and it was time for plans to change.

As the Flying Dutchman's aftershock dissipated across the heavens Zul began gathering his party.

"Jin'do, I be needin ya." The prophet spoke quietly into the Gurubi leaders ear.

The man grunted "Ya be willin ta tell me why dat be way nah?" He asked a scowl on his face.

"To accelerate Hakkar's return." The prophet replied, making the Hex king's eyes widen.

"It be don way?" He asked, surprised. "Em nah?"

Zul nodded. "Yes, Thurm was meant to come. The defeat of Mando'kir by his son and the blood priest followed by Thurm's escape will motivate the tribes to follow ya. And now, I be needin ya pets. Des stones no be deliverin demselves an de fastest way be a bit... guarded."

The Hex lord nodded seriously and led the blind man quickly away from the crowd. Ten minutes of running through back alleys later and they emerged into a clearing full of feathered serpents. The lay basking in sun rays, flying around in a great cyclone and coiled around the arms and necks of their handlers as they were fed small morsels of recently butchered human.

"How many ya need, tap ah de tap?" Jin'do asked.

"Five, large enough to ride. Grant dem Hakkar's blessing of insidious whispers. Dis be a stealth mission against dragons."

The gathered Hakkari's eyes bulged at the Prophets pronouncement, but set about their tasks with alacrity.

"You intend to deliver them yourself, prophet?" Jin'do asked, cautiously.

Zul nodded. "I shall lead them through the dreamway at brightgrove and back. Huli'jin shall take his stone through the ashenvale portal and fly north to Darkshore, bringing the Shadow tusk into the fold for the first time since the Kith'ix expansion. Kil'wog will exit through Androsil to connect the Drakkari. He will need a gift for Mallak de frost king, send for one while we prepare." Jin'do did so and Zul continued. "Xi'balba'a will exit through Seradane and deliver his stone the amani at Jintha'alor. Finally, Hiss'ak will leave through Feralas and journey south to Zul'Farrak. It be pity de connections on Kalimdor will take so long, but dey will be fasta dan me own trip home. All portals will open at da same time an we shall begin rebuilding de empiah."

Jin'do looked uncertain however. "Da green dragons an elf Loa will notice. Hakkar's song in dere home? Dem be wack."

Zul looked through Jin'do's eyes to the shadow that lurked behind the trolls soul. "De soul flayer provide. Him know de stakes, yah?"

The shadow of the feathered serpent rose over the Hex King's shoulders and hissed. There were no words this time, but both of them knew Hakkar had taken the challenge.