Tichondrius was once again borne upon the harsh, stinging winds of Void
Land, but this time the skies around him were dark, hiding him from prying
eyes below. It was not truly dusk, as Void Land was not a world and
therefore had no sun, but the gleaming world of Azeroth had dipped below
the chain of unnatural mountains that ringed the home of the Legion, and
with it, their most prominent source of light. Even if someone could have
seen him, they would have likely mistaken him in the twilight for one of
the many gargoyle races that swelled the Legion's ranks. The lithe
nathrezim glided and flitted through the dark and horrid clouds, sighting
at last his destination: a lone spire, slightly obscured through the murk
and fog. He banked to the left, adjusting his direction to point himself
directly towards the spire and folding back his wings so as to sharpen his
dive.
The spire was something Tichondrius prided himself on. It was as perfect a residence for him as he could have dreamed, as it provided a quick, clandestine window to the skies and as much room to brood and plot as the young nathrezim needed. It had also been most difficult to attain - Tichondrius had been forced to remove its two former occupants himself, as neither had seen fit to surrender it willingly. It was all for the best, Tichondrius thought to himself afterwards. Now no one knows I am here.
Actually, that was not entirely true. There were a handful of beings who knew the whereabouts of the dreadlord's abode, but he was certain enough that none of them would prove a threat to his plans. Should he change his mind on that fact, he mused, he could also end said threat quite effectively.
The demon reached the top of the spire and alighted on a narrow outcropping of stone-like material which protruded from the spire's otherwise unremarkable cone summit. He slid through an equally narrow portal in the side of the cone, and landed on the floor of his apartment with no sound save the soft click of his talons scraping the stone.
"Light," he said. Magical wards placed around the perimeter of the room glowed to life at his command, illuminating the apartment. It was a decidedly bare residence: a round cot of sorts lay against the far wall; a shallow pool of clear liquid was in the center of the floor. The rest of the room was empty. Tichondrius did not care for decoration or accessory, only necessity. He rarely slept, and the cot sufficed when he did; like others of his race, he needed not eat; and the pool was not for bathing.
He approached the pool, and bent over onto his knees. He dipped a long, clawed finger into the liquid and stirred clockwise slowly. The pool turned from its calm, deep blue color to a fiery red, and images began to appear: Archimonde, alone in his throne room; a pair of dreadlords conversing in a dim corridor; an eredar warlock, deep in an incantation; and a group of tiny, impish creatures devouring a corpse. After a few moments, satisfied with what he had seen, Tichondrius began to stir in the opposite direction. The images vanished, and the pool began to return to its previous deep blue.
Suddenly he stopped. Something in the pool had caught his eye. He stirred furiously, clockwise again, and the image became clearer. It was Mannoroth, and he was addressing half a dozen or so of the imp-like beings Tichondrius had seen earlier. Now this is interesting, the dreadlord thought. He could make out the demons' words now. He stopped stirring, and the image settled in his mind.
"Then find them," Mannoroth was saying. "We cannot afford to lossse them, not with what they know."
"Yes, master," the imps squeaked. "We will find the orcs, wherever they run!"
"Of course you will..." Mannoroth seemed as though he was going to say more on the subject, but suddenly a strange expression crept across his face. "Go," he said, and the imps scurried away. When they were all out of sight, Mannoroth spoke loudly into the air.
"Tichondriusss?" A chill went up the dreadlord's spine. "I know you are there, Tichondriusss..." Mannoroth intoned. This is not good, Tichondrius decided. No one had ever realized before that he was spying on them, let alone spoken back to him. No, this is definitely not good.
"Tichondriusss, I am impressssed..." Mannoroth continued, his countenance growing happier and more malicious as he spoke. "A ssscrying pool... ssso that isss how you have been watching me... on Draenor..."
Tichondrius did not answer. He was thinking as quickly as he could about what this meant, and what must be done now that he had been discovered. I can't use the scrying pool anymore... or the apartment...
"I mussst compliment you, dreadlord... you had me worried with your... proposal..." I must leave... how much does he know? ...
"To ussse me... to get to Archimonde... very... sssneaky..." Tichondrius eyed the window in the roof. His followers will be getting here soon, he realized. I better not be here when they arrive...
"And the orcsss... right under my very nossse!..." So, Archimonde told him everything, Tichondrius thought. Well, now I know not to count on him. I've impressed the old warlock, but not won his confidence.
"But now... you will not be there to rule them... ssso of courssse... Archimonde will choossse me again..." Tichondrius was wasting too much time. He had to get out of there. He stood and looked around the room for anything of value, anything he would want to take, but there of course was nothing. Now he was glad he never accessorized. He would have liked to unstir the pool before leaving, but there was no time. He cursed Mannoroth silently. The demons will see everything I've seen in the pool... no matter. It can't be helped. He cast one last look about the apartment, and leapt upwards through the hole in the ceiling.
Outside, wind whipped the ledge. On the horizon, he could see an electrical storm brewing, and behind it, a wing of gargoyles heading vaguely in his direction. They must be Mannoroth's, he thought. He turned and faced the other way, towards the setting orb of Azeroth. He spread his wings and leapt from the ledge.
Anetheron, he thought as he flew. An image of a younger dreadlord appeared in his mind. Anetheron, he thought again. The image in his mind blinked, and responded.
Tichondrius? it asked.
Yes. I need a favor.
What is it, brother?
Mannoroth has found my spire. I need somewhere to stay.
There was a pause. I think I have somewhere you'll like, the other demon said after a few moments.
Good. How do I get there?
***
The spire was something Tichondrius prided himself on. It was as perfect a residence for him as he could have dreamed, as it provided a quick, clandestine window to the skies and as much room to brood and plot as the young nathrezim needed. It had also been most difficult to attain - Tichondrius had been forced to remove its two former occupants himself, as neither had seen fit to surrender it willingly. It was all for the best, Tichondrius thought to himself afterwards. Now no one knows I am here.
Actually, that was not entirely true. There were a handful of beings who knew the whereabouts of the dreadlord's abode, but he was certain enough that none of them would prove a threat to his plans. Should he change his mind on that fact, he mused, he could also end said threat quite effectively.
The demon reached the top of the spire and alighted on a narrow outcropping of stone-like material which protruded from the spire's otherwise unremarkable cone summit. He slid through an equally narrow portal in the side of the cone, and landed on the floor of his apartment with no sound save the soft click of his talons scraping the stone.
"Light," he said. Magical wards placed around the perimeter of the room glowed to life at his command, illuminating the apartment. It was a decidedly bare residence: a round cot of sorts lay against the far wall; a shallow pool of clear liquid was in the center of the floor. The rest of the room was empty. Tichondrius did not care for decoration or accessory, only necessity. He rarely slept, and the cot sufficed when he did; like others of his race, he needed not eat; and the pool was not for bathing.
He approached the pool, and bent over onto his knees. He dipped a long, clawed finger into the liquid and stirred clockwise slowly. The pool turned from its calm, deep blue color to a fiery red, and images began to appear: Archimonde, alone in his throne room; a pair of dreadlords conversing in a dim corridor; an eredar warlock, deep in an incantation; and a group of tiny, impish creatures devouring a corpse. After a few moments, satisfied with what he had seen, Tichondrius began to stir in the opposite direction. The images vanished, and the pool began to return to its previous deep blue.
Suddenly he stopped. Something in the pool had caught his eye. He stirred furiously, clockwise again, and the image became clearer. It was Mannoroth, and he was addressing half a dozen or so of the imp-like beings Tichondrius had seen earlier. Now this is interesting, the dreadlord thought. He could make out the demons' words now. He stopped stirring, and the image settled in his mind.
"Then find them," Mannoroth was saying. "We cannot afford to lossse them, not with what they know."
"Yes, master," the imps squeaked. "We will find the orcs, wherever they run!"
"Of course you will..." Mannoroth seemed as though he was going to say more on the subject, but suddenly a strange expression crept across his face. "Go," he said, and the imps scurried away. When they were all out of sight, Mannoroth spoke loudly into the air.
"Tichondriusss?" A chill went up the dreadlord's spine. "I know you are there, Tichondriusss..." Mannoroth intoned. This is not good, Tichondrius decided. No one had ever realized before that he was spying on them, let alone spoken back to him. No, this is definitely not good.
"Tichondriusss, I am impressssed..." Mannoroth continued, his countenance growing happier and more malicious as he spoke. "A ssscrying pool... ssso that isss how you have been watching me... on Draenor..."
Tichondrius did not answer. He was thinking as quickly as he could about what this meant, and what must be done now that he had been discovered. I can't use the scrying pool anymore... or the apartment...
"I mussst compliment you, dreadlord... you had me worried with your... proposal..." I must leave... how much does he know? ...
"To ussse me... to get to Archimonde... very... sssneaky..." Tichondrius eyed the window in the roof. His followers will be getting here soon, he realized. I better not be here when they arrive...
"And the orcsss... right under my very nossse!..." So, Archimonde told him everything, Tichondrius thought. Well, now I know not to count on him. I've impressed the old warlock, but not won his confidence.
"But now... you will not be there to rule them... ssso of courssse... Archimonde will choossse me again..." Tichondrius was wasting too much time. He had to get out of there. He stood and looked around the room for anything of value, anything he would want to take, but there of course was nothing. Now he was glad he never accessorized. He would have liked to unstir the pool before leaving, but there was no time. He cursed Mannoroth silently. The demons will see everything I've seen in the pool... no matter. It can't be helped. He cast one last look about the apartment, and leapt upwards through the hole in the ceiling.
Outside, wind whipped the ledge. On the horizon, he could see an electrical storm brewing, and behind it, a wing of gargoyles heading vaguely in his direction. They must be Mannoroth's, he thought. He turned and faced the other way, towards the setting orb of Azeroth. He spread his wings and leapt from the ledge.
Anetheron, he thought as he flew. An image of a younger dreadlord appeared in his mind. Anetheron, he thought again. The image in his mind blinked, and responded.
Tichondrius? it asked.
Yes. I need a favor.
What is it, brother?
Mannoroth has found my spire. I need somewhere to stay.
There was a pause. I think I have somewhere you'll like, the other demon said after a few moments.
Good. How do I get there?
***
