Author's note: trigger warning - sensitive content will appear in this chapter
"Wrathion…"
The Black Prince's eyes opened widely upon hearing his name. A woman called for him.
He rose out of the sheets as his feet carried him outside his tent. A shiver ran down the dragon's spine, but he ignored it; stepping barefoot with a blurry vision towards the voice. He didn't know where he was walking as it was too dark to see, and his half-asleep state failed to take notice of the surroundings.
His short shiver turned into a heavy tremble; eventually Wrathion opened his eyes to find himself standing atop a dark grey platform.
Red sky and a black sun covered the above; tall, rigid buildings were arranged for as far as the eye could see.
There was no fauna, no animals; not any manner of ambient sounds or feel. Only a swarm of foul creatures of the Black Empire, standing together in mass before the stairs which led to Wrathion's platform.
Neither of them dared to climb them; the gathering of aqir, k'thir, n'raqi and other fiends, merely stood idly before the Black Prince. They blinked and grumbled under their breath; they appeared to be waiting... expecting his advent.
Wrathion's crimson eyes fixated in a glare of disgust as he stood before that view. He tried to stop his body from quivering, his hands turning into knuckles and his breath hastened. He had been here before; this was an illusion set by N'Zoth; one which could easily become reality if the dragon's crusade failed.
During the time that he was the prisoner of Xanesh, Wrathion was tortured into succumbing to the Old God's will. The particular physical and mental wounds the cultist leader inflicted upon the dragon, caused him to be trapped in an illusion where the Black Empire ruled over Azeroth again and he was its Emperor.
It was a haunting experience, which Wrathion blocked away from ever remembering. His corrupted form, the holy knight in the form of Tieria being slain by him, his father speaking to him of their kin… All of it was locked inside deep within the black dragon.
The Black Prince didn't know how or why he was witnessing this mirage again; all he thought of is getting out of it. He must find a way to wake up.
As he continued to gaze at the army of the Black Empire, crafting an escape strategy in his mind, he failed to notice a figure standing behind him. It was only when he felt a set of arms wrapping around his waist, that the dragon realized that another being was present on the platform with him.
Realizing that his body suddenly ceased from shuddering due to the uninvited touch, Wrathion looked down at the slim hands which held him. The skin was of a light violet colour; its shade did not appear as natural as that of the kaldorei, instead it looked as if it was inflicted by a manner of magic… Void magic.
The dainty fingers, and long oval-shaped nails indicated that this was a woman. Her wrists were decorated with numerous obsidian and dark gold bracelets. The fingers were also adorned with a set of rings; from basic bands, to thick rings with large purple gems; all of the trinkets were made in a design the Black Prince had never seen before.
However, the origin of the jewelleries did not concern the dragon. He focused on the hands which held him so tightly and lovingly, wondering why they seemed so familiar to him. The embrace was interrupted as the figure tore away from his back and slipped away; walking with feline-like steps to stand before the Black Prince.
Dragons were cold-blooded beings, but Wrathion's blood felt as if it froze when he looked upon the woman whose brown eyes lingered alluringly at him. He admired her, while also feeling dread crawling onto him.
Tieria paid no mind to the dragon's startled gaze. She arranged a portion of her dishevelled locks behind her right ear, batting her long, black lashes at him with a loving look, as if she was welcoming him home after a hard day of work.
Wrathion's eyes peered at her mystifying appearance: she radiated with void energy infused into her, turning her skin violet. Her eyelids had black eyeshadow over them and her lips were rouged with a scarlet colour.
She wore a sleeveless dress of a dark indigo colour, with golden outlines decorating the margins of her top. It was a regal attire, fit for royalty; made out of fine silky material which sat perfectly on her slim figure; as if it was sewed specially just for her.
Her neck had two dark golden chokers arranged around it, matching the shade and design of the trinkets on her hands. Last but not least, a crown rested on her head. It was of the same gold as the other jewellery, and its long spikes had sharp tips.
There was an unearthly aura radiating from Tieria. It felt dominant and salient, cutting one's breath away by a simple glance at her.
That appearance, the proud pose she stood in and the cavalier grin - made Tieria look like a monarch. A beautiful, contemptuous and deadly ruler, who would govern her people with an iron fist.
And Wrathion found himself both awed and shaken to be standing before her.
"Wrathion…" Tieria purred; her echoing voice sent a chill down Wrathion's spine. She did not allow the dragon to react, for she clasped his cheeks in her cold palms and pulled him in for a hungry kiss.
He felt a shock running through his body once their lips touched. She practically devoured his mouth, pressing every inch of her body against his'. The kiss turned rapidly wet and heated as Tieria slid her tongue in his mouth. With each thrum of her hot tongue, Wrathion forgot about the illusion he was trapped in.
As their lips were locked into the kiss, his hands wrapped around her waist while their tongues continued to wrestle. Satisfying moans escaped Tieria, while Wrathion drowned himself in their kiss. He felt fire burning inside his chest, a wave of carving lust washing over him as he tasted her.
Once they pulled away, Wrathion felt mesmerized; as if Tieria put a spell on him during their amorous exchange. A feeling of dissatisfaction also surged through the dragon; he wanted more. He ached to feel her again, to go through that sensation of contentedness he felt whenever she was around...
Why did he hold himself apart from her? From this?
"Come, my Emperor…" Tieria pleaded sensually while taking a hold of his hand and pulling him closer to the edge of the platform. Her touch, her voice, her words, made his knees weak and his heartbeat increase. The dragon suddenly felt empowered, and let himself be guided by her, ignoring her icy feeling and eerie intimidating presence.
Her Emperor... He liked the sound of that.
There must have been a particular gleam in his eyes, given that Tieria's smile widened. She watched as Wrathion followed her, taking slow steps closer to the end of the platform.
"Gaze upon our Empire…" Her fingers rested around his chin, gently guiding his head to look at the swarm which stood at the bottom of the stairs.
As soon as Wrathion's eyes set on the view, the mass of creatures knelt down. Every behemoth, n'raqi, k'thir, even the tiniest aqir, stood humble before the Black Prince.
Their Empire...
Goosebumps formed on Wrathion's body. Was this N'Zoth's new strategy? Instead of showing the dragon slaying his beloved, He now showed her as his faithful Empress and the Black Empire on its knees? Was He once again trying to corrupt Wrathion by showing the power and divinity beyond what he could acquire?
Or was it perhaps Wrathion's own thoughts that conjured this dream? He could not tell; the dragon simply felt lost.
His mind was screaming for him to run away from this sight, but his body reacted differently; his right hand guided itself to hold Tieria's waist and pull her closer to him. She released a small giggle, and rested her head on his chest, while continuing to admire the view before them.
Wrathion continued to gaze at how every minion of the Black Empire remained on their knees; their heads resting against the ground as they did not dare to look up to their harbingers. The feeling of empowerment now burned within his soul; if he would be in his dragon form - Wrathion would release the mightiest roar which would shake the earth.
He and Tieria didn't remain in the embrace for too long; eventually she pulled away when a k'thir, dressed in black robe, appeared on the right side of the platform and began approaching them.
It walked at a slow pace. Its hands were extended in front of it, carrying a black pillow; on that particular pillow rested a crown, similar in design to Tieria's but bigger in size.
The k'thir knelt down once he was close enough to Wrathion and Tieria, lifting the pillow above his head while it humbly gazed to the floor. Tieria walked towards the k'thir, which caused the creature to lower its head. It did not dare to look Tieria in the eyes. It even trembled when she stood close to it; it was cowering before its Empress.
She took the crown in her dainty fingers and back to Wrathion, but not before shooing away the k'thir with a glare. The chilling smile on her lips returned when she looked at the dragon. From the look she gave him, Wrathion understood for whom the crown was.
The Black Prince heard his own voice screaming in the back of his head, to pull out his sword and put an end to that ugly illusion of his beloved; but yet again - the dragon reacted differently. He tilted his head down, low enough for Tieria to comfortably arrange the crown on his head without having to stand on her toes.
Once the crown rested on Wrathion's head, Tieria bit her lower lip; her eyes shined with a raw hunger for him. He felt so enticed by the appearance of his Empress, that he too felt consumed by lust. The feeling was powerful enough to drive him away from the fact that he wore the crown of the Black Empire itself… That he succumbed to N'Zoth's will.
It didn't matter - not for as long as Tieria was by his side.
But yet again, Wrathion's mind cursed himself for being so weak. A part of him still held hope that he would break away from this hallucination; thus, the voice of reason still continued to cry to get away from this.
However, it died away once Tieria's hands reached for the back of her dress. With one swift maneuver, she untied the threads which held her attire, stripping herself before him and the whole Empire.
She remained looking at Wrathion while he admired her nude body, as if it was the first time, he witnessed it. Every shape, curve and scar remained unchanged just as he remembered it, albeit it was painted in the color of the Void.
The Black Prince twitched and took a few steps away from her. He felt both repulsed and excited. The thought of tasting Tieria again pumped his blood and staggered his breath; but his consciousness tried to fight it back.
His fingers curled into knuckles and he rapidly licked his lips; he felt as if he was trapped in a desert and Tieria was his only source of water. Poisonous water… but yet refreshing and invigorating…
Tieria walked up to Wrathion with slow steps. She ran her hands up her own body, stopping at her petite and yet shapely breasts, to begin caressing them in order to tease the dragon.
Once close enough to him, she pressed her chest firmly against him and once again wrapped her arms tightly around his waist; locking him in her embrace.
Wrathion was frozen in place; sweat formed on his body, his arousal grew, his breathing only hastened but he could neither run nor lift his arms to return her embrace. There was a war inside his own mind and the dragon did not know for which side to root for: rationality or lust?
A moan escaped his ebon lips when Tieria's tongue rested on his neck; she guided it higher and higher, in a slow, teasing manner; tasting every inch of his neck. She lifted on the tip of her toes as she trailed her tongue to his ear. Upon reaching his ear, she whispered words which set the dragon's soul on fire:
"Take me…"
Wrathion gasped for air once he awoke.
He lifted his torso and began taking in hasty breaths, as if he had been tied underwater all this time, and just now had resurfaced to be capable of breathing again.
His fingers brushed his locks away from his eyes and he continued to blink rapidly, trying to get a sense of what was real and what was an illusion.
And that dream- no; that nightmare, was certainly an apparition.
The Black Prince was not in Ny'alotha, serving as its Emperor. He was in Pandaria, trying to reignite the weapon that would destroy the Sleeping City; and with it - the fiend who stalked his shadows and haunted his nights: N'Zoth.
A weary sigh escaped Wrathion's lips while he was pushing back the image of the Void-corrupted Tieria; the dragon did not desire to ponder whenever or not that vision he had just experienced, would become reality if he would join the Corruptor's forces. Nor did he want to think of the fair templar he had left behind.
But he did wonder if what he has just experienced was a conjure of his own thoughts, or if N'Zoth grew bolder, and attempted to sway the Black Prince into joining His forces, showing a reality where the dragon is a mighty ruler with a faithful mate by his side.
Whichever it was, during that particular night - he desired to utterly forget that skin-crawling vision.
Wrathion reached out to the flask of water which rested in his satchel, and poured some of the cool and clear liquid in his palm, then he rapidly splashed himself and ran his wet palm through his face.
His fingers felt cold to the touch and so was the water; but the dragon ignored the uncomfortable icy sensation and got up on his feet, despite that leaving from under the sheets was even colder.
He lit the oil lamp and began dressing up in his tunic and coat; he was unwilling to go back to sleep, not after that dream.
Hence, the Black Prince elected to write a letter asking for the situation in the Ebon Rest… And he would address it to Rokash and agent Cullen. Somehow, writing to Tieria after what he had just experienced did not sit well with the dragon; (albeit he left her and Rokash as the leaders of the Ebon Rest)
It wasn't too long after he ignited the lamp that someone took notice of the sudden light on that fateful night; Calthaire daringly entered Wrathion's tent with feline steps. Her silver eyes were carefully surveying its interior as she checked upon her Master.
"My Lord-"
"Everything is well, Calthaire." Interrupted Wrathion before she could speak; he was adamant not to have her or any other mortal, bother his well-being.
The night elf agent shut her mouth as she continued to analyse the Black Prince; she could read the disturbance on his dapper features, but the half-elven-masked dragon was never the one to share his concerns. At least not to his Blacktalon.
Wrathion turned his head to her, about to command Calthaire to leave him be, but through the small opening of the tent, he saw that the sky of Pandaria was no longer carpeted with stars - the first light was cracking on the horizon.
"Dawn…" Whispered Wrathion; for a brief moment his face softened at the sight of the beautiful clear sky bathing in the morning colours of orange and blue. Then, he released a heavy sigh as he realized that with dawn - he and his companions must carry on with their task.
By marching on with their quest, he can at least leave that cursed dream behind him.
Determination suddenly adorned the dragon's face as he gazed towards that daybreak sky. Suddenly, he had a full grasp of reality and he was prepared to face it once again. The image of Tieria, which still faintly lingered in his mind, now fully vanished. He once again had the control to not let her nor N'Zoth take control over his emotions.
His eyes looked confidently over to Calthaire as he let out his next command:
"Wake up the others. It's time to depart."
"Found 'er prying by the camp."
Tieria was thrown on the cold and wet ground.
She grunted as she felt her aching muscles twitching in pain. Before she could move again, her wrists were snatched by a figure, while a second silhouette began tying them together with a thick rope. The figure did not account for her dainty wrists as they tied it painfully tight.
Tieria released a weary sigh, as she hopelessly stood before three dark leather-dressed strangers: a female goblin, a black-haired human man, and a male orc with a shaved head, beard and even eyebrows.
"Don't remember capturin' a female elf." Stated the orc who brought her into the disturbing encampment.
"She's not an elf but a human, you buffon." Grunted the human whilst scratching his dry beard. The orc gave him a shrug while replying:
"Too skinny for one of your kind."
The female goblin suddenly reached out her small green hand to Tieria's cheeks. She gave them a hard squish while her crisp-red eyes roamed the templar's face. As the goblin examined her, she spoke in a high-pitched voice:
"Elf or human, she's pretty! Someone will pay good coin to have these pink lips wrapped around their junk!"
Tieria flinched and pulled her head to free herself from the goblin's grasp. She glared with disgust at the goblin's innuendo of selling her as a concubine.
The goblin shot her a smile with her violet painted lips. But her eyes widened abruptly at Tieria's unexpected insult:
"You are the scum of the earth!"
"Hm, nobody asked for your opinion, love." Replied the human snarky and dryly. Tieria lifted her head and directed her glare to the man.
"And you just found her meddling around the camp?" Queried the female goblin, talking as if Tieria was not present. The orc released a grunt and nodded.
As the orc described how and where he located her, Tieria inhaled sharply while scouring her surroundings. She watched as other thugs were carrying the captives out of the caravans, setting up a large campfire or pulling out supplies such as barrels or crates filled with goods.
Her nose wrinkled and mouth twisted as she watched the mistreat souls being tied to the outer walls of the caravan; she had to find a way to save herself and put a stop to this atrocity. She glanced down at her wrists; first things first - she needed to find a way to get rid of her binds.
"Anyway, the boss won't mind extra cargo. Put her with the rest." The human's words caused Tieria to break away from her thoughts to look at her captives. When she saw the orc approaching her, her heart skipped another beat.
"Don't touch me, you filth!" Hissed Tieria while crawling away from the orc's hand.
A large, fat figure, emerging from one of the largest tents ceased the commotion between Tieria and the three bandits. The figure belonged to a massive ogre; he had pink skin and a large scar running over his lower lip. Red war paint was drawn in rigid lines on his face. His bald head was covered by a dark velvet hat, similar to the design of a pirate captain's hat.
He wore grey breeches and black boots which went all the way up to his knees and his torso was bare, with only a sleeveless olive-green vest thrown over it. He had jewelry, originated from various races decorating his ears, neck, wrists and fingers in a tacky manner.
As he walked, the small brown purse which was attached to his waist kept on bouncing; the sound of coins clanking against one another continued to emit with each step he took.
"What's with the ruckus!?" Yelled out the ogre; given the commanding air around him, it seemed that he was the leader of this particular operation.
"We've got an infiltrator." Reported the human, yet again in a bored tone; as if he was unimpressed by this turn of events.
The ogre glared at Tieria, who was still sitting on her bottom on the moist ground. He clicked his tongue, picking off the remainder of the meal he had just had in his tent from his teeth. Then, he yelled before licking his lips:
"Scour the area and make sure there ain't more!"
Some of the thugs carried on with his order, and abandoned whatever they were doing to leave the premises of their camp to explore the dense marsh. Meanwhile the trio who tied Tieria, remained surrounding her.
"What do we do about 'er?" Inquired the orc.
The ogre took a couple of steps closer, standing only inches apart from Tieria and briefly examined her. His breath smelled so foul, Tieria could not help herself from dragging backwards, but was stopped by the orc from crawling too far. He grabbed her by the collar of her tunic, holding her in place like a canine by its leash.
With a wave of his hand directed upwards, the ogre ordered for Tieria to be risen on her feet. The orc obediently listened and pulled her up by the collar. Tieria protested, but felt too weakened to combat against the orc's strong movements.
Once she stood before him on her feet, the bandit leader began examining her. He took away the sword which was attached to her hip and tossed it to the human. Then, the ogre continued to search her for weapons. To her unfortunate and massive dislike, he also took the opportunity of having a female bound before him; as he ran his large, greasy hands over her body, he reveled in groping her.
Tieria squirmed quietly, but put on a brave face when she felt her buttocks being gripped. Her gaze remained on the ground, refusing to make eye-contact with the bandits who found her discomfort amusing. She even refused to let out any form of cry or protest.
But the templar could not withhold from exhaling disquietedly when she felt his hands on her chest. A demeaning, ugly chuckle escaped the ogre's chapped lips when he gripped the upper edges of Tieria's tunic and began tearing it. A line opened its middle, it wasn't too deep; but it revealed a small portion of the round curves of her bosoms.
The bandit leader gave an ugly grin, but Tieria ignored it by remaining to look down. Words could not describe how she felt in that moment. She wanted nothing more but to be able to sear down these lowly bastards; perhaps she didn't need the Light to accomplish her wish… A mere blade would suffice, so she could gut them out one by one and feed them to the wildlife. Alas, her body felt too weak to fight back - as much as she wanted to.
But Tieria resisted through the degradation, praying that it would not go further than groping.
"Throw her in with the others!" Commanded the ogre bandit in a resounding voice; but not before cupping Tieria's breasts, pressing them firmly against his palms and drawing out a hiss of pain from of her.
The orc immediately obeyed the leader, and dragged Tieria towards the edge of the camp, where the other captives were tied down around the caravans.
Tieria tried to fight back; she kicked the orc in his crotch with her knee, freeing herself from his grip. He released the collar of her tunic, tumbling to the side from the sudden and sharp kick in such a tender area.
Given the situation, the templar did not have time to think of her next step. Hence, she simply ran, hoping to elude the bandits.
Alas, it was futile. The black-haired human blocked her by slamming his arm into her stomach. Tieria coughed and spit. She continued to thrash, trying to get away from yet another bandit's grasp.
The human chuckled at her stubbornness; with his body force, he pushed her down, pinning her to the ground.
As he stood on his knees, with his legs between Tieria; he fixed his hands on her shoulders. He held them down with such strength that they were turning pale in mere seconds.
"Akoros!" The human yelled out; his head directed towards one of the caravans. He barked that name numerous times.
Finally, a draenei emerged to the human's call. He had a blue scarf wrapped around his head and wore seaweed-green garments.
His bright blue eyes glared at the sudden shout of his name, and refused to approach his comrades until he received an explanation for the sudden disturbance.
"Trance her!" Gritted the human bandit between his teeth, while gesturing his head at Tieria, who tried unrelenting to escape from underneath him.
In the state where her body was fully healed and she still had the ability of the Light, Tieria would have not struggled as much. But the current circumstances aggravated the situation she was caught in.
She resorted to screaming; perhaps Cyssa would hear her from the tower. However, Tieria was immediately silenced by the human placing his palm over her mouth. Tieria could do nothing but stare at the draenei approaching her with a vial of a dark green liquid in his hand.
The templar's heart still refused to let go of courage; she set her mouth in a hard line, readying herself to refuse the liquid she was about to receive.
But the draenei had no intentions of making her drink it; he popped out the cork and brought the vial to Tieria's nostrils.
The flowery scent of dreamfoil and the strong odour of golden sansam rose from the tiny bottle. It was a surprisingly satisfying fragrance; making one envision that they are resting in a bed made out of the softest flowers.
An unintended whiff was enough to make Tieria's vision blurry and daze her muscles. To her mind's protest, the templar stopped resisting and succumbed to the bandit's grasp. A few moments later, she could no longer hear her own thoughts anymore nor control her body.
Everything went fast asleep...
The land of Dread Wastes held up to its name.
The land was twisted by sinister energies and a dark gloom blanketed the land along with a swath of sha-corrupted soil; though the sha have been defeated, the land still suffers from its touch.
The sun was barely shining, and the fauna here was not welcoming. One forever felt as a prey, whenever they crossed the broken paths of the Dread Wastes.
The particular land was separated from the rest of Pandaria by the Serpent's Spine, the massive wall which was constructed during the rule of Lei Shen. And very few pandaren had settlements there, as it was the home of the mantid race.
For generations, the insectoid creatures - originally descended from a group of aqir — would attack the Serpent's Spine in hope to conquer the other lands of Pandaria. But the Shado-Pan, ever held to their pledge and succeeded in blocking their invasion, given the regular and predictable intervals that the mantid would attack.
Nevertheless, the pandaren forever feared them. For the mantid were still servants of the Old Gods and possessed unearthly abilities. And now that the mantid have lost their leader - the Grand Empress Shek'zeer - the people of Pandaria hope that they never have to face another war against the mantid ever again.
The Black Prince and his companions crossed its border about two hours ago; and now they took a small break from their traveling.
While Lorewalker Cho scoured the landmass through a spyglass (with goosebumps forming underneath his fur from being in this dreadful place), the others rested on the dry ground, with only Wrathion remaining on his feet, pacing around impatiently.
"Yer been awfully quiet, lizard." Caradin's voice caused Wrathion to break away from his thoughts. His dark brows frowned as he shot a small glare to the dwarf.
Caradin replied to the dragon's gaze with a shrug while speaking again:
"Usually, ye like throwin' snarky remarks every now and then; now ye're been quiet since we landed in Pandaria."
"The current state of the world is hardly keeping one's mood lifted, don't you think, Caradin?" Replied Wrathion somewhat evasive; he didn't even look at the dwarf, keeping his gaze constantly on the cracked soil and dry grass he walked upon.
Caradin released a grunt to the Black Prince's words before bringing his flask of water to his mouth. It seemed Wrathion's pessimistic reply sated the dwarf's curiosity of the dragon's foul mood. He silently drank out of the flask before releasing a loud exhale in satisfaction, feeling the cold and fresh liquid running down his throat.
Afterwards, another sigh left the dwarf's lips, this time more melancholic. He gazed down at his dusty plate gloves, as his mind ran to what Wrathion had just said. He thought of his beloved and those in Hearthglen, wondering how they were enduring the swarm of refugees and the fear of being attacked by the Old God's minions.
Then Caradin wondered about his other comrades and friends, who were scattered around Azeroth. Eventually all of those thoughts led him to think of one particular soul.
"I hope Tia is well; she looked so upset when we left." Confessed Caradin. At the mention of the templar, Wrathion couldn't help but clench his jaw.
The Black Prince began chewing on his bottom lip as the dream from last night began materializing before him. The void-infested Empress Tieria looked at him hungrily with her twisted smile. He forced himself to blink away that image.
To completely forget that illusion, Wrathion began remembering the last time he saw Tieria outside of his dreams.
Unlike the one from the nightmare, the real Tieria stood further away from him with a blank expression and an icy stare. She had her arms crossed while gazing at Wrathion and his champions getting ready to leave for their quest to locate the Titan forge in Pandaria.
That particular scene occurred almost a week since their amorous relationship had ended, and since then Wrathion has barely seen Tieria, given that she rarely left her quarters; which also resulted in them not speaking ever since the evening of their separation.
As the dragon delivered his final orders to his Blacktalon, he felt a force grip his heart when his and Tieria's eyes met. He found himself unable to look away from the templar. Hence, as he discussed with his agents, his eyes were ever locked with Tieria's.
After the discussion ended, Tieria daring took a step forward to Wrathion. She had her lips pressed thinly against one another.
"Win this." Were the only and final words she breathed to him. Despite the sorrow she had in her eyes, the templar gave him a small smile, but the dragon felt unable to return it. But he gave her a determined nod, mutely promising his success to save Azeroth from the Black Empire.
And that was all to their separation.
Wrathion was in turmoil ever since. Tieria's state, as well as their separation, have affected him more than he desired to admit even to himself. It caused him to even sleep little, as his nights were often occupied by thoughts regarding Tieria; whenever they were about her losing the essence of the Light and if she'll ever regain it, or simply remembering the sorrowful expression she had after he confessed that he no longer desired to be with her.
Then, of course, N'Zoth being in reach of victory was another dreadful thought which crawled in the dragon's mind and terrorized his nights.
And since he experienced that appalling and confusing dream in which he and Tieria ruled over the Black Empire, only aggravated his already pained state of mind.
"There!" Exclaimed Lorewalker Cho, causing Wrathion and the others to abruptly end whatever they were doing. Everyone watched as the pandaren historian unglued the spyglass from his eye and pointed south to his comrades.
Wrathion rapidly took the spyglass out of Cho's paws to scour the sight the pandaren pointed at. A light sigh of relief escaped his ebon lips, when he caught the sight of massive doors in amber colour, hiding underneath the roots of a gigantic tree. The design of the door matched the sketch in one of the Lorewalker's books, which described the Titan facility and the entrance that may reside in the Dread Wastes.
That must be it; Wrathion could feel it.
While gazing on that horizon, he hoped, wished that this time there were no more obstacles on their path to the Titan facility; and that they could cross inside and reignite the Forge of Heart with the necessary energy to blast it upon the Old God.
But of course, that would not be the case. The Black Prince knew in his heart that they would encounter something on their way. He just prayed that whatever it would be – it would not inflict too much damage to their quest.
"I'm tellin' ya boss, we should go to Booty Bay and sell all of 'em! All this travelin' will cause 'em to eventually rebel!" Trishka paced around the tent, her eyes never leaving the sight of her superior.
Torgulg rubbed his temples annoyed; the goblin's high-pitched voice irritated his ears and gave him a headache.
"We ain't takin' nobody to Booty Bay! The place is swamped with refugees and we'll be uncovered! We're waitin' here until we get our missive tellin' us the new location." He replied, fuming that this is the third time that day that he was having this conversation with Trishka.
"Look, Dustwallow Marsh ain't got any settlements anymore. But that dame we found around the camp must have come from somewhere; and I doubt she's here in the middle of nowhere alone. Who knows how many of 'em are out there?"
The ogre leader scoffed at the goblin's reply, he rose from his seat to have a fill of his mug of ale. However, he was swiftly interrupted by Trishka stepping in front of him and showing him the dark sword, he pulled off from the human lass earlier.
"This is an Argent Crusade sword - these fellows are renowned warriors and cannot be bribed; if they find us, we can kiss our gold and merch goodbye!" Argued the female goblin. She threw the blade into Torgulg's hands, causing the ogre to examine the fine, if slightly aged, weapon.
Torgulg grunted, his nose wrinkled as he thought of "noble knights" tearing down his hard work. He couldn't afford it; not now when the market had so much potential to evolve with the chaos which recently erupted in Azeroth.
His red pupils went down, running his thumb along the words inscribed on the hilt of the sword: "The call of a union." He found himself scoffing at that phrase; perhaps it was the motto or saying of the Argent Crusade order, either way Torgulg found it ludicrous.
But the ludicrous organization had a renowned reputation of being skilled warriors; after all they were the men and women who dedicated their entire lives to fight the Scourge and the Lich King. They could not be taken for granted; albeit the woman who showed up around their camp did not fit the description of a mighty knight.
"Fine, Trishka!" Sighed Torgulg in defeat while throwing the sword back at her. "If it shut ye up - we'll relocate. We'll carry on to Desolace!"
"Desolace?" Repeated Trishka unimpressed.
"Yes. We'll dodge the Darkspear village there; and the centaur tribes will leave us alone provided we don't trespass on their territory."
Trishka blinked while releasing a loud puff to blow away her side-bangs which rested over her left cheek. She wasn't too thrilled to travel to a grey desert, filled with dead trees and skulls of dead kodo, along with warring centaur tribes. (Albeit Dustwallow Marsh wasn't exactly the perfect set-up either). Either way, at least there would be less risk in encountering other individuals who might disrupt their plans.
Their situation was already complicated enough given that their hidden location in a cave on the outskirts of Booty Bay was compromised due to the recent swarm of refugees who escaped the attack on Gadgetzan; forcing Torgulg and his company to halt their journey there and wait for the folks of the black market to scour for a new safe location.
Trishka did not desire anything else to go wrong in their journey; for she desperately wanted her promised gold. And she was certain the rest of her companions left the same way.
"You're boss! We're goin' to Desolace." Affirmed the goblin, then she pulled another smile as she said: "Trust me - better safe than sorry!"
Torgulg rolled his eyes at her and exited the tent. He surveyed the camp area before bringing his fingers to his mouth and releasing a loud whistle:
"Round 'em up!" He commanded.
Daveth interrupted himself from trimming his black beard to carry on the ogre's order. The once-gilnean man grunted as he jumped off the caravan. Rounding up the captives meant that they were readying themselves to travel again, and he loathed journeying during the night.
He briefly shot a glance at their most recent "finding" to witness that she was still lying unconscious in the back of the caravan. Then he dragged his feet through the muddy soil to get to the others who were bound outside of the caravan.
His amber eyes fixated on the white-haired elf, who was the last one they have found before taking this unplanned and temporary hiatus in Dustwallow Marsh. They located him in Feralas, sleeping alone in some kaldorei ruins.
Regardless of what his business was in a place nobody treads on anymore, Torgulg believed that the particular elf was handsome enough for some human noble to buy as a concubine or a servant, to show off to other humans. According to his own letters he was Nelaros; (or at least was addressing someone named Nelaros).
"So you have one small drawback and you immediately run with your tail between your legs." Breathed the elf while Daveth pulled him on his feet and dragged him towards the back of the caravan.
"You know, you're awfully cocky for someone who just got captured." Spat Daveth in reply, this was not the first time the elf made snarky remarks. He turned to look as the elf threw him a cold glare.
Instinctively, Daveth looked down upon the elf's wrists; unlike the others, he was bound with enchanted chains which silenced one's magic abilities.
Torgulg said that the majority of these elves were mages; albeit this one hasn't shown any signs of arcane abilities (given that they seized him as he slept), nobody wanted to take the risk of having a mage unleash destruction on their caravan.
But from a mere glance at his glare, Daveth felt raw ethereal energy emitting from this elf; which made the black-market thug think that shackling this one was a good strategy. He also hoped news of their new market location would be received soon, and they can get rid of him soon.
Daveth did not let himself appear intimated by the elf's glare nor snarky remarks; he pushed him into the carriage, letting him fall next to the sleeping intruder. Then he carried on with his duty, ignoring the glares and cries of the other captives. He has already gotten used to it by now.