*Thoughts* "Speech" [Spells]

Disclaimer: As if you didn't figure it out, I don't own Warcraft series, Azeroth, or anything in them.

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Howl of the Frostwolves:

Chapter Three - The Ride to Hellfire.

*Two days now since we separated. Yet we are riding as fast as the wolves could carry us. I do regret the separation from our families and Elders, yet it's best this way - Durotan cannot be wrong! Gul'dan must be stopped!*

Greh'tor's parents have died long ago, yet he could still remember it - a massive Draenei warrior came out to them with its warhammer, and Greh'tor ran as fast he could... Yet his parents died, but Durotan saved him. Durotan always favored his father, Nezh'shogh, and when his friend died, the chieftain took his friend's infant boy, and raised him...

*I can still remember it... He teached me of Shaman knowledge, and Draka teached me how to fight... *But most importantly, they gave me a home and a loving family... They were just like my parents...*

The brave warriors of the Frostwolf Clan were clad in medium or minimal armor, but above the armor they all wore snow wolf furs - symbol of their shamanistic heritage. Most of them carried special blades, known as Katana Swords, while the others carried random personal weapons. Yet these weapons weren't for raids on the enemy clans, but rather for defense. While the Frostwolf Clan had fearsome warriors, and great shamanistic and martial skills, the clan was peaceful, never fighting unless there is a very good reason. They always tried to be at one with nature, even through the nature of Draenor declined long ago...

"Ride like the wind, my people!" - Durotan joined them on his giant northern wolf - "Ride like the wind to Hellfire and to Habarouth!"

The Orcs got separated, since she-Orcs, Orclings and Elders were too slow to catch up with the youth of the clan. It was decided that the wolf-riders will establish the primary settlement on this world, and also will make sure that the way to the portal was safe.

It was the third day since they left they camps in they journey to Habarouth, and Orcs were still to put Durotan's words to doubt - or at least, no one objected out loud yet - but rather out of uncertainty, instead of fear. Durotan was their beloved leader, after all!

"Where are we now, Chieftain?" - Durotan was addressed by Greh'tor, who sounded quite curious.

"You don't have to call Chieftain, young one!" - Durotan laughed, and so did Greh'tor - "And as for you question, we are about to cross the Flameblade River, and then we will ride through the Mushroom Fields of the Shattered Hand Clan."

"Will they let us through?" - asked Greh'tor.

"They are supposed to" - Durotan replied in his deep voice, and both Orcs signaled for their wolves to ride faster.

*But they aren't guaranteed to act like we think they will*

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The majestic green river was mostly frozen, expect for several holes, apparently made by Shattered Hand fishers.

In order not to risk anything, Durotan decided to cross the river quickly - he feared that the ice would collapse.

"We shall rest on the other side, my warriors! Forward!" - the aged chieftain cried out, and in three hops, his well trained wolf and comrade, Shnogar, crossed the river.

The other charged across the river as well, yet ice didn't break. Durotan looked relieved, but actually, he was thinking of Gul'dan, and his cunning...

*What evil does he plan for our clan... I must know!*

The old Orc dismounted, and released Shnogar, knowing that he won't run away too far from his master.

*Well, at least we made it thus far... But tomorrow, the Frostwolves will ride again to Hellfire Citadel, and to their destiny!*

The clan settled down, and before them, lied the field of giant mushrooms, that were abundant on Draenor. Tomorrow, the journey through the mushrooms shall begin!

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The structure was made out of Black Marble, and its entrance was made to look like a huge black skull. The temple was guarded by many Orcs, dark- green Orcs - a result of Gul'dan's necromantic experiments. In side it, darkness reigned around a ritual circle, yet if one was to look closely, then silent Orcish Necrolytes and Warlocks stood around it, yet they didn't act.

A silent silhouette stood by, watching them from afar. He was approached by another silhouette, of a muscular powerhouse.

"Oh Great Gul'dan, excuse me for bothering you, but the Sixth Circle has arrived" - Megtern said, as politely as he could.

"Good" - deep and vile voice of Gul'dan replied - "Very good, my loyal and faithful servant."

Gul'dan stepped out to the ritual circle. Another group of black cloaked, discolored and deformed, wrinkled Necrolytes, and Warlocks, with red, burning eyes - a result of a demonic curse - has entered.

"Greetings, Master Gul'dan." - half-whispered a tall Necrolyte.

"Let the summoning begin!" - Gul'dan exclaimed impatiently.

"As you wish, master!" - Guttural voice of a Warlock replied.

The dark sorcerers, including Gul'dan, surrounded the ritual circle.

"Begin the ritual!" - Gul'dan broken the silence.

In the darkness, chanting could be heard, then there was a flash of light, and a mighty voice that shook the very foundations of the dark temple spoke out in anger - "What is it that you want, pathetic whelp?!"