It was a week later. Mannoroth stood in Archimonde's antechamber, obviously
uncomfortable. He shifted and paced, and absently scratched various body
parts. Tichondrius sat on the floor nearby. Though the dreadlord appeared
calm, his stomach was a light as Mannoroth's seemed to be. Neither demon's
nervousness was unjustified; Archimonde was a volatile being, and it would
not bode well for either of them if Tichondrius' plan did not work the way
it was supposed to.
Still, Tichondrius thought to himself, the brute could be doing a better job of hiding it. Allowing one's emotions to show was not a trait the dreadlords prized, and Tichondrius had long ago learned to mask his feelings - an ability the mammoth Pit Lord did not seem to have picked up. He's practically announcing defeat already, walking around like that, and the battle's not even begun!
Of course, the dreadlord realized, that just makes me look more in control by contrast.
The door at the head of the chamber creaked open. A pair of infernal guards stepped out, their eyeless expressions unreadable. The great burning golems took their positions on either side of the open doorway and stopped. It was time to enter.
Tichondrius stood. The Pit Lord had stopped pacing and was ambling towards the large portal. Tichondrius began to follow suit, then leapt into the air suddenly, gliding past Mannoroth to enter just ahead of him - he wanted to be the first one Archimonde saw. The nathrezim landed on the cold stone tile just as the great door closed again behind his bloated companion. Tichondrius looked around.
The chamber was short and narrow, but the empty space above extended a vast distance, and the ceiling beyond was imperceptible from the ground. Perhaps Archimonde likes to fly as well, Tichondrius thought. He filed the information away. As for Archimonde himself, the great eredar sat upon a squat throne of some bonelike material at the opposite end of the room.
"Approach." Archimonde's voice echoed through the chamber. His two guests bowed and obeyed.
"Archimonde-" Mannoroth began, but he was interrupted by the elder demon's booming voice.
"You will address me as 'Master' or 'Lord', Mannoroth. You are no longer my equal."
"Yesss, of courssse, Massster. I, eh- well, you know me, and thisss isss my asssissstant, Tich-"
"I know who you are. Tell me what it is you want, before I lose my patience with you."
"Yesss, Lord." Mannoroth was sweating. I was right, Tichondrius thought. The ass knows just how thin his credibility is. "We - I mean I - I thought of something to do about the orc problem."
"Mannoroth, don't you think your involvement with the orcs has cost us enough already?" Archimonde's tone was severe. Mannoroth looked to Tichondrius for help, but the dreadlord pretended not to notice.
"I, uh," the Pit Lord faltered. "It'sss, uh, not exssactly about the orcsss themssselvesss, Lord. I just thought that, uh, something ought to be done for-"
"For when the news leaks out about your failure?" Mannoroth nodded gratefully, as if he thought Archimonde had decided to grant his request after all. Fool, Tichondrius thought.
"Let me guess," Archimonde continued, as Mannoroth's foolish grin evaporated again. "You want me to form some extra demonic force to contain the Legion's rage when they find out? And of course, you want me to put you in charge of it, when it was you who caused this problem in the first place?" Archimonde's speech had become a bellowing cry, and he stood suddenly. Mannoroth squealed and cowered, squeezing his eyes shut as if expecting some painful attack. When no such attack came, he cautiously opened one eye, then the other.
"Tell me," Archimonde said, his voice soft again. "Tell me, Mannoroth, from where is this force you envision to come?" Mannoroth blinked, then opened his vast mouth, but no sound came out. He looked again at Tichondrius, but the tiny dreadlord again pretended not to notice.
"You did not think of that, did you? You did not think!" Mannoroth took a step back, naturally expecting Archimonde to strike out at him at any time. "That is why we even have this problem, you stinking waste of flesh! Because YOU DID NOT THINK!" The Pit Lord now cowered in the corner by the doorway, his bloated hands shielding his face.
"GET OUT!" Archimonde bellowed. Mannoroth did not have to be told twice. He scurried (if it was possible for something so disgustingly large to scurry) out of the door, so grateful for being allowed to leave - alive - that he failed to notice that his dreadlord companion did not follow him.
Tichondrius waited a few moments before he spoke for the sounds of Mannoroth's hasty retreat to fade away down the corridor outside. The Infernal servants closed the doors again, and Archimonde sat down on his throne. All was silent. It appeared that the eredar had also forgotten about the tiny nathrezim that stood before him. The dreadlord took a breath and stepped forward.
"I said get out," Archimonde said, without looking at him.
"Your pardon, Master, but I believed you had only dismissed Lord Mannoroth."
"You entered with him, did you not, dreadlord? Should you not leave with him, then?" Tichondrius' levity seemed to be lost on the elder demon. He tried again.
"In a fashion, Lord. I prefer to think of it as him entering with me."
"Do you, now?" Though Archimonde no doubt fought to conceal it, Tichondrius thought he saw a shadow of amusement creep across the eredar's face.
"Yes, Master. That proposal was actually mine, not his. And I daresay I could have handled it better."
"And how, exactly, would you have handled it better?"
"I wouldn't have made his mistakes, Lord. He hissed. He sputtered. He was impolite, forgetful, impractical, disrespectful and inarticulate. Plus, it's his fault there's even a problem, so naturally you would never trust him to try and fix it."
Archimonde nodded absently. "What is you name, nathrezim?"
"Tichondrius, Master."
"Tichondrius..." Archimonde paused, as if searching his mind, then said, "I don't recall hearing your name before, nathrezim Tichondrius."
"That is because you probably have never heard it, Lord. I have done little that would be of notice to one such as you."
"Yet you wish to lead this... 'demon guard' of Mannoroth's?"
"Please, Master - of mine. It was my idea. And yes, I would."
"Tell me, nathrezim Tichondrius, why I should choose you for this task."
"First, Lord, because it was my idea. And second, because I can answer your question."
Archimonde raised an eyebrow. "And what question is that, nathrezim Tichondrius?"
"Why, the one you asked Mannoroth, of course. I can tell you where the force will come from."
Both of Archimonde's eyebrows were raised now. Tichondrius definitely had the eredar's attention. "Alright," he said. "Alright. Tell me where I will get the souls I need to summon such a force."
"From the orcs, Master. They lie scattered across the nether by their crude portals, easily snatched and harnessed. Their fury is as potent as Mannoroth's. They shall be the perfect servants for you."
Archimonde was smiling; he was obviously impressed with Tichondrius' ingenuity. "Of course. The orcs... why, they were right in front of Mannoroth's face. I'm surprised he didn't think of it himself."
"Well, you must excuse him for that, Lord." Tichondrius spread his clawed hands in jest. "His face is so large... and that's really quite a large area to search for an idea."
Archimonde chuckled. Perfect, Tichondrius thought.
***
Still, Tichondrius thought to himself, the brute could be doing a better job of hiding it. Allowing one's emotions to show was not a trait the dreadlords prized, and Tichondrius had long ago learned to mask his feelings - an ability the mammoth Pit Lord did not seem to have picked up. He's practically announcing defeat already, walking around like that, and the battle's not even begun!
Of course, the dreadlord realized, that just makes me look more in control by contrast.
The door at the head of the chamber creaked open. A pair of infernal guards stepped out, their eyeless expressions unreadable. The great burning golems took their positions on either side of the open doorway and stopped. It was time to enter.
Tichondrius stood. The Pit Lord had stopped pacing and was ambling towards the large portal. Tichondrius began to follow suit, then leapt into the air suddenly, gliding past Mannoroth to enter just ahead of him - he wanted to be the first one Archimonde saw. The nathrezim landed on the cold stone tile just as the great door closed again behind his bloated companion. Tichondrius looked around.
The chamber was short and narrow, but the empty space above extended a vast distance, and the ceiling beyond was imperceptible from the ground. Perhaps Archimonde likes to fly as well, Tichondrius thought. He filed the information away. As for Archimonde himself, the great eredar sat upon a squat throne of some bonelike material at the opposite end of the room.
"Approach." Archimonde's voice echoed through the chamber. His two guests bowed and obeyed.
"Archimonde-" Mannoroth began, but he was interrupted by the elder demon's booming voice.
"You will address me as 'Master' or 'Lord', Mannoroth. You are no longer my equal."
"Yesss, of courssse, Massster. I, eh- well, you know me, and thisss isss my asssissstant, Tich-"
"I know who you are. Tell me what it is you want, before I lose my patience with you."
"Yesss, Lord." Mannoroth was sweating. I was right, Tichondrius thought. The ass knows just how thin his credibility is. "We - I mean I - I thought of something to do about the orc problem."
"Mannoroth, don't you think your involvement with the orcs has cost us enough already?" Archimonde's tone was severe. Mannoroth looked to Tichondrius for help, but the dreadlord pretended not to notice.
"I, uh," the Pit Lord faltered. "It'sss, uh, not exssactly about the orcsss themssselvesss, Lord. I just thought that, uh, something ought to be done for-"
"For when the news leaks out about your failure?" Mannoroth nodded gratefully, as if he thought Archimonde had decided to grant his request after all. Fool, Tichondrius thought.
"Let me guess," Archimonde continued, as Mannoroth's foolish grin evaporated again. "You want me to form some extra demonic force to contain the Legion's rage when they find out? And of course, you want me to put you in charge of it, when it was you who caused this problem in the first place?" Archimonde's speech had become a bellowing cry, and he stood suddenly. Mannoroth squealed and cowered, squeezing his eyes shut as if expecting some painful attack. When no such attack came, he cautiously opened one eye, then the other.
"Tell me," Archimonde said, his voice soft again. "Tell me, Mannoroth, from where is this force you envision to come?" Mannoroth blinked, then opened his vast mouth, but no sound came out. He looked again at Tichondrius, but the tiny dreadlord again pretended not to notice.
"You did not think of that, did you? You did not think!" Mannoroth took a step back, naturally expecting Archimonde to strike out at him at any time. "That is why we even have this problem, you stinking waste of flesh! Because YOU DID NOT THINK!" The Pit Lord now cowered in the corner by the doorway, his bloated hands shielding his face.
"GET OUT!" Archimonde bellowed. Mannoroth did not have to be told twice. He scurried (if it was possible for something so disgustingly large to scurry) out of the door, so grateful for being allowed to leave - alive - that he failed to notice that his dreadlord companion did not follow him.
Tichondrius waited a few moments before he spoke for the sounds of Mannoroth's hasty retreat to fade away down the corridor outside. The Infernal servants closed the doors again, and Archimonde sat down on his throne. All was silent. It appeared that the eredar had also forgotten about the tiny nathrezim that stood before him. The dreadlord took a breath and stepped forward.
"I said get out," Archimonde said, without looking at him.
"Your pardon, Master, but I believed you had only dismissed Lord Mannoroth."
"You entered with him, did you not, dreadlord? Should you not leave with him, then?" Tichondrius' levity seemed to be lost on the elder demon. He tried again.
"In a fashion, Lord. I prefer to think of it as him entering with me."
"Do you, now?" Though Archimonde no doubt fought to conceal it, Tichondrius thought he saw a shadow of amusement creep across the eredar's face.
"Yes, Master. That proposal was actually mine, not his. And I daresay I could have handled it better."
"And how, exactly, would you have handled it better?"
"I wouldn't have made his mistakes, Lord. He hissed. He sputtered. He was impolite, forgetful, impractical, disrespectful and inarticulate. Plus, it's his fault there's even a problem, so naturally you would never trust him to try and fix it."
Archimonde nodded absently. "What is you name, nathrezim?"
"Tichondrius, Master."
"Tichondrius..." Archimonde paused, as if searching his mind, then said, "I don't recall hearing your name before, nathrezim Tichondrius."
"That is because you probably have never heard it, Lord. I have done little that would be of notice to one such as you."
"Yet you wish to lead this... 'demon guard' of Mannoroth's?"
"Please, Master - of mine. It was my idea. And yes, I would."
"Tell me, nathrezim Tichondrius, why I should choose you for this task."
"First, Lord, because it was my idea. And second, because I can answer your question."
Archimonde raised an eyebrow. "And what question is that, nathrezim Tichondrius?"
"Why, the one you asked Mannoroth, of course. I can tell you where the force will come from."
Both of Archimonde's eyebrows were raised now. Tichondrius definitely had the eredar's attention. "Alright," he said. "Alright. Tell me where I will get the souls I need to summon such a force."
"From the orcs, Master. They lie scattered across the nether by their crude portals, easily snatched and harnessed. Their fury is as potent as Mannoroth's. They shall be the perfect servants for you."
Archimonde was smiling; he was obviously impressed with Tichondrius' ingenuity. "Of course. The orcs... why, they were right in front of Mannoroth's face. I'm surprised he didn't think of it himself."
"Well, you must excuse him for that, Lord." Tichondrius spread his clawed hands in jest. "His face is so large... and that's really quite a large area to search for an idea."
Archimonde chuckled. Perfect, Tichondrius thought.
***
