Author's Note: Like many of my stories, this one is set in the continuities of older, retconned timelines. In the case of 40k stories, it is mainly set in the old 3rd edition timeline with units from up to 7th edition just being thrown in while for Fantasy, it is set in the 6th edition timeline where Storm of Chaos was relevant and units from up to 8th edition are just around along with numerous elements from the even older editions.
The following story is also set in alternate times where for Warhammer Fantasy, Total War: Warhammer happened after the Nemesis Crown and for Warcraft, the Orcs won the events of Tides of Darkness.
Soft steps echoed across the halls of white stone as a lone figure swathed in a cloak the color of dark rust strode forth towards the end of the corridor. A long wooden staff, one that was adorned with a carved raven for its headpiece was held in the right hand of the stranger, the bottom of which tapped lightly upon the floor while a mantle of metal adorned with dark feathers covered his shoulders. A crimson jeweled brooch rested slightly above his chest, its dark glassy surface shimmered with light from the surrounding area as he went to meet the lord and master of this place.
Soon the stranger stepped into a chamber, one that was richly furnished with wooden book cases and shelves containing tomes or rolled up scrolls of arcane knowledge while quite curiously upon one corner was a well used board that had many game pieces. His attention was soon drawn upon the one he sought, a figure whose presence could be felt even long before he had stepped foot within this place for he radiated with such raw power that it almost felt as if the stranger stood within the presence of a god, a feeling he knew all too well.
Clad in robes of white edged with red and green was the master of this place, his host whose hospitality the stranger greatly appreciated. A glittering crown one that looked as if it were made from captured starlight adorned the brown of this figure whose appearance was deceptively one of an ageless youth whose eyes gleamed with light of silver and gold. A great staff was also held in the hand of his host who like the stranger himself had once shared a similar profession as he once had.
In this place, between worlds, between time and space, between the realms of life and death, they had met to discuss the fates of both their respective planes but for the stranger, this was the opportunity he had long sought for, one to redeem himself of his greatest failure.
'I have been waiting for you all' calmly spoke his host and the stranger bowed his head in respect.
'You honor me with this meeting' said the stranger who then felt two other presences within the chamber one was from a being somewhat similar to that of his host but its power was far, far weaker, one that was achievable by mortal means while the other that felt cold and alien.
Looking to his right, he saw the first of them, a figure with features similar to that of their host who was clad in black robes adorned with bone colored pieces of what seemed to be some strange ceramic material. This other being gave a slight nod to the stranger who returned the gesture before he then looked to his left to see a curious creature, one that resembled a large bloated, floating masked toad yet he could not deny that just by being in its presence, he could sense that it too radiated with raw power, one that would have rivaled his own in the days of his prime.
'Now let us begin' spoke the etheral voice of their host...
Azeroth, 20 years after the Opening of the Dark Portal
Scented smoke filled the interior of the Spirit Lodge as five beings sat around the bonfire that burned at the heart of this place, each one meditated in silent communion with those their kind called master. Dressed in black sleeveless robes which left much of their bare, muscular green flesh exposed, the minds of the Warlocks beheld glimpses of distant worlds, many of which burned beneath the dread shadow of their lords. Glorious scenes of slaughter, carnage and bloodshed were witnessed by the coven as they watched the futile attempts of other beings attempting to stem the Fel tides in vain for their master were endless, they were Legion.
The images they saw within their minds eyes then shifted, to familiar glimpses of this world, the one that was known to its inhabitants as Azeroth. Far across the Great Sea to the east, great cities of their kind were had been built atop the ruined castles of those they had conquered and enslaved. From the north to the south of the lands once known as the Eastern Kingdoms, the skull topped banners of the Horde were held high while in other lands such as the frozen realm of Northrend and here in the west were different banners banners being raised for these ones belonged to the clans that honored the great shaman, Ner'zhul rather than that old fool Doomhammer.
It was only a matter of time now before this world would fall under the dominion of the Orcish Horde, its inhabitants slaughtered or enslaved, just as what had happened to the Draenei but some lucky few though such as the Trolls or the Goblins would be given the chance to join them. Even here in these distant shores, to a land that apparently had been called Kalimdor, the Horde had found beings like the Satyr who had proven to be useful allies for they too served the same masters, The Burning Legion.
Soon the minds of the Warlocks beheld new sights, different worlds that had yet to come under the dread gaze of their demonic masters, worlds that were ripe for slaughter and conquest. One member among the Warlock coven, an Orc named Makorak saw a curious sight, a black bird perched upon the branch of a tree, a raven he believed it was called, a carrion creature that often feasted on the dead. The bird gazed back at Makorak for a long moment and he swore that within the dark orbs of its eyes, a keen intellect was held within.
After a moment, the black bird took flight and the warlock was shown a vision of a great city in the distance. He saw a place of tall, glittering white towers that somewhat reminded him of the structures built by the elves of Silvermoon. At the heart of this place he felt something great, something, powerful, a raw swirling vortex of energy like that which raged at the heart of this world's ocean.
This place Makorak came to realize must be what the lords of the Shadowmoon Clan, Teron Gorefiend and Ner'zhul had sought, once this world had fully fallen to the Horde. A cruel smile soon spread upon the tusked face of the Warlock who with but a whisper shared his vision with the rest of his coven. Soon the other warlocks saw the same things as he had and he could sense their agreement.
The eyes of the Warlock slowly opened and he beheld the forms of his brethren who with but a mere look he could tell that they all understood just as he had on what must be done. Once this world burns for the glory of their masters, The Horde would know what planet would be their next target but first it would be prudent to find out what awaited them.
Elsewhere... IC 2532
A nauseating wave of acrid stench washed over the roaring crowd as the chained train of hundreds of captives let loose another spray of fetid musk from their disgusting furred bodies. Bloodthirsty roars, hisses and jeers emanated from hundreds of scaled throats that had gathered this day beneath the burning gaze of Chotec in celebration to the Old Ones. Great pyres burned across the City of Ash, Pahuax and no doubt within the other Temple Cities of Lustria as well for it had been announced by the Prophet of Sotek, that the next five days would be ones of celebration in honor of their victories and remembrance to the fallen.
Warm blood coated the limbs of The Skink Chief Tlatuahka as he inserted an obsidian knife into the flesh of a writhing Skaven and he began to separate its furred hide from the rest of the body while a pair of burly Saurus Warriors held it down by the limbs. The captive screamed in agony as it unleashed another spray of noxious musk which he and his assistants avoided the worse of by not licking the air. He then peeled away a large strip of bloodied meat and then placed it over his left shoulder while the right had been adorned with another strip from the same victim.
Many parts of his body had been now covered with the bloody pieces of flesh taken from the hated rat-spawn captives with only his head remaining untouched for he wore a ceremonial headdress composed of a golden helmet adorned with bright bird feathers. To his surprise, the Skaven captive was very much still alive and still struggling, its weak heart had yet to give out under what must have been excruciating agony. Soon the climax of his offering came and with a single quick thrust he stabbed deeply into the Skaven captive before slicing open its gut wide enough for his clawed hand to fit into.
Placing his knife towards his left hand, he then used his freed right one to reach into the screaming rat-spawn and once he felt its beating heart, he tore out it out with well practiced precision. Raising the bloody and still pumping organ towards the sky he dedicated this sacrifice to the Sun God, Chotec for the warmth he provided to the world before a Saurus warrior armed with a heavy ceremonial blade stepped forward and with a mighty overhead chop, decapitated the rat-spawn captive whose body spasmed for a wild moment before finally lying forever still.
The severed head of the now dead Skaven was then tossed to the gathered crowd below, its body had shortly afterwards been hurled tumbling down the steps where soon it would be set upon by the faithful for. The celebration was also considered a grand feast for the inhabitants of Pahuax as they gorged upon the flesh of the sacrificed captives with the frenzy of river piranhas. Every Skink, Saurus, Kroxigor and even the great carnivorous beasts that served them in battle had their fill for these recent days were a time of plenty, despite everything that had happened in the last years.
A foul warm-blooded stench soon touched the tongue of Tlatuahka and he turned his head around to see a pink skinned man-spawn slave waiting for him with a stone tablet held in its hands. Dressed in filthy tattered garments that had once marked its allegiance to the human tribe known simply as The Empire, the slave was no doubt one of many captives taken after the defeat of their invasion in Lustria years ago. The Skink Chief then turned his attention to one of his assistants, an apprentice Skink Priest who bowed his crested head towards Tlatuahka before stepping forward to take over in the sacrificing of the captives.
Another struggling rat-spawn captive was brought forward by the Saurus guards while Tlatuahka handed his bloodied sacrificial blade and headdress to the Skink Priest who respectfully took the blade and donned the ceremonial garb before turning around to bellow a sermon to the crowd below. He then turned his attention back to the Man-Spawn slave whose smelled of fear for the sacrifice of humans had also become popular among the Lizardmen since the defeat of the Warmblooded Empire tribe. Taking the tablet in his hands, Tlatuahka began to observe its chiseled contents and he nodded in silent acknowledgement for it was a summons from He That Hunts Unseen, The Ghost of Pahuax, Oxyotl.
Handing the tablet back to the man-spawn slave, he called for a Stegadon to be brought forth and a pair of Skink servants scurried off to fetch the great beast while other servants began peeling off the bloodied skaven skin that had been wrapped around him and then bringing forth ceramic jugs filled tepid water which was used to cleanse him. After being cleaned he began to make his way down the ziggurat and the crowd cheered as another bloody sacrifice was made in the name of the Old Ones.
Azeroth, 20 years after the Opening of the Dark Portal
Stepping outside of the Lodge, Makorak was greeted by a cool autumnal breeze which carried with it the scent of the nearby sea along with the stench of his fellow Orcs. The sawing of lumber, the hammering of nails and metal upon a blacksmith's anvil, the clash of blades and the lapping of the sea could all be heard as the expedition of the Shadowmoon Clan kept themselves in a state of combat readiness. Although this place which the natives of this land supposedly called Azshara was far away from the frontlines of the battles raging in the forests to the west, there were still many dangers that awaited the unwary from the native tribes of walking, talking bears to the restless spirits of long dead elves and in the case of the Shadowmoon forces, there were bands of Murlocs that prowled the coasts and waters nearby.
Such threats though were not of the concern to the Warlock and his coven as they headed towards the nearby Tower to gather their belongings. Merely a few meters away from the Spirit Lodge where they had meditated was a grim structure that had been carved from stone to resemble a massive skull with black painted four segmented sorcerous symbol daubed upon it. This was the true seat of power within the outposts of the Shadowmoon Clan for this was where its Warlocks trained and mastered their knowledge of the dark magiks gifted to them by the Legion.
No major incidents of course occurred as they entered the building and gathered up various items needed for the coming spellwork from of course their magic staves, potion bottles, grimoires and spellbooks plundered from the human city of Dalaran to black pouch bags filled with crystalline Soul Shards. Once the Warlocks had completed gathering their materials, one of them, an elderly white haired orc named Nagral called towards the camp's Blood Guard officer, a veteran warrior named Reshtar who obeyed the commands of the Warlocks.
Dressed in a manner similar to the common Grunts but wearing a somewhat more ornate helmet with bigger horns than what was usual, he drew from his belt an ivory horn and blew a series of notes which drew the attentions of many of the nearby Shadowmoon warriors. Soon several axe wielding Grunts, javelin armed Spearmen, sword carrying Raiders and even mercenaries from other races such as the Ogres and Trolls came to answer Reshtar's call. Numbering in less than a hundred warriors, the Shadowmoon forces were eager to engage in violence and Makorak wondered if they would either be disappointed or satisfied this day.
The Blood Guard, Reshtar then began bellowing out orders to the gathered warriors, he pointed a thick clawed right handed finger to various soldiers here and there, picking out which ones would form the honor guard that would protect the Warlocks. Leaving the officer to make his decision, the Warlocks knew full well that the Blood Guard would prioritize in choosing those he was most confident would remain discrete in the matter regarding whatever it was the coven intended for who knew how many of them could also be spies from the other Clans or possibly even an informant for Doomhammer's Horde.
After a minute, the Blood Guard had chosen a group of a dozen soldiers composed of six Grunts, four Spearmen and a pair of Raiders who all formed up around the Warlocks with Reshtar at the leader. They ignored the grumblings of those who had not been chosen as they headed back to their guard duties.
'March!' roared Reshtar and soon the members of the Shadowmoon Clan headed towards the walled ramparts that protected the camp, along with the Watchtowers the Peons had built.
Situated along the northern edges of the bay, the Shadowmoon base camp was merely one of many outposts built by the Horde forces that occupied this region. Other clans such as the Shattered Hands, Laughing Skulls, Bonechewers and Thunderlords had also established bases along the coastlines but first among them all was the camp of the Warsong Clan for its leader, Grom Hellscream had been appointed by the Shaman Ner'zhul to be the leader of this expedition.
For years the Horde of Draenor had carved a bloody path across the continent of Kalimdor. They had first arrived in the dry, barren lands to the south and had spread out to establish many fortified settlements along the coasts as well as further inland. It was only within recent weeks that they had finally, at the behest of their demonic masters, launched their assault into the verdant forest of Ashenvale.
Many of the Warlocks were certain that the great source of magical they could sense in this land was what their demonic masters sought it only further intensified their intrigue when it became known that the Pit Lord Mannoroth was personally supervising this expedition. Under the guidance of the demon lord who had gifted the Orcs with his blood so many years ago, they had bided their time and established a very strong network of supply lines to reinforce their invasion into Ashenvale as well as landing points here in the region of Azshara where they could attack from the east.
With the final doom of this continent and no doubt the entire world of Azeroth within sight, it had been the desire of the Shadow Council to find a new world which the Orcs could further slake their lust for bloodshed and conquest. It was not long after the Shadowmoon forces left the base camp that they came within a secluded area of the region where they had specially prepared for this ritual.
In what had once been a forested glade, now cleared of all trees were five great cairns carved with gleaming runes, like those constructed by the elves of Quel'thalas and placed around a circle of magically scorched earth which formed the pattern of a pentagram. The runes which had been placed upon the cairns were specifically designed to prevent any form of spying through divination magiks, such as those used by the Necrolytes, Dark Shaman Farseers or even the Eyes of Kilrogg summoned by Ogre Magi.
The warriors of the Shadowmoon Clan then formed a protective ring around the cairns while each of the five Warlocks took up position within the five points of the pentagram in front of the standing stones. Makorak then reached into his pouch of Soul Shards and he drew one which bore the terrified face of a human staring back at him. He then turned his attention to the Warlocks within his coven and he tightened his grip around the Soul Shard before whispering words of power.
Drawing upon the Fel powers of the Twisting Nether, he felt the Soul Shard crumble as the soul of the creature was consumed as fuel for the spell they enacted. In the past, it had taken a great deal of effort from Warlocks far mightier than they such as the famous Gul'dan to open the Dark Portal between Azeroth and Draenor but since the fall of the human kingdoms and most especially that of the one known as Dalaran, the Orcs had plundered many arcane secrets from the libraries of its wizard inhabitants and for years they had refined their own knowledge of magik, the result of which was that it was now a great deal easier to create new gateways than it had been two decades ago.
Soon a tear in reality would open, it would not be one great enough to match The Dark Portal in scale but it would sufficient enough for their current purpose. Once they had known what was needed from this other world, the Warlocks would report their findings to their masters. Perhaps, mused Makorak that a Warlock such as himself may even be rewarded with a seat on the New Shadow Council, should their findings be quite promising.
Lustria IC 2532
Blood flowed through the streets of the City of Ash as a jubilant mood descended upon its cold blooded inhabitants. Good natured contests of strength were being held by Sauruses and Kroxigors while Skink entertainers played musical instruments or went about performing dances with bright colorful feathers in hand. Such sights lifted the heart of Tlatuahka as he passed by group of Chameleon Skinks surrounding the body of a dead man-spawn slave whose actual heart was lifted up and offered to a small shrine dedicated to the Jaguar god, Huanchi.
Once, not long ago by the counting of time to the Children of the Old Ones did the City of Ash, like so many others across Lustria and the in Southlands lie in ruin but when the false tongue of Sotek had been spotted in the heavens above and the Lizardmen began their race with the elf-spawn and rat-spawn to control the Great Vortex, it drove the Lizardmen to reclaim the city along with many others. Now Pahuax had been rebuilt, its Spawning Pools restored, its streets and markets filled with cold-blooded, reptilian that gave thanks and praise to the Old Ones. It was believed by many that a new age had dawned upon the Lizardmen, one where a semblance of the glory of their ancient past had been restored.
Seated upon a throne that formed the center piece of the howdah, Tlatuahka and a group of Skink drivers expertly guided the Stegadon they rode upon, towards the heart of the city where the High Temple stood. With heavy thundering steps, they passed by a wide open street where on the side to their left was a makeshift court where his fellow Lizardmen had gathered to watch as two teams of warm-blooded slaves were forced to play an entertaining ball game which involved a stone ring set high into the side of a wall, the losers of which would either be sacrificed or eaten by the spectators. Afterwards, he passed by a curious location composed of wooden chairs and stables where fellow Lizardmen lounged about feasting on fresh meat and bugs while consuming fermented drinks imported by warm-blood traders.
It was a curious thing how years ago the Prophet of Sotek, Tehenauin whose banner the Temple Cities of Lustria and even those across the World Pond had gathered beneath, announced that the Children of the Old Ones would make peace with and even cooperate with many of the younger races. The first and foremost among those they made treaties with were the Elf-Spawn of Ulthuan who despite being responsible for the death of Lord Mazdamundi had been the first forge this pact with the denizens of Lustria after they had claimed the Great Vortex for themselves and conquered their tainted kin in the north. Then there were Those-Who-Delved, the Dwarf-Spawn who had established colonies within the Spine of Sotek Mountains, their mutual hatred of the Rat-Spawn had made them natural allies with the Cult of Sotek during the last great war.
Across the World Pond, other tribes of Warmbloods had eventually made pacts with the Lizardmen and began to engage in commerce such as the forest dwelling Elf-Spawn of Athel Loren, the greater Dwarf-Spawn tribes that paid tribute to the chieftain they called The Grudgebearer, the Man-Spawn tribes that hailed from the lands known as Bretonnia, Araby, Albion Kislev, Cathay and even the dead man-spawn of Nehekhara had begun to make deals with them. No such treaties though were made with Man-Spawn tribe of The Empire who still held in their possession many sacred plaques that had been plundered from the Temple Cities of Lustria. Indeed, there were many voices among the Lizardmen such as that of the noble Gor-Rok of Itza that called for a war of punishment upon the now weakened Empire tribe that had suffered greatly from battles against many dark forces in last great war.
Putting aside such thoughts and focusing once more on the present, Tlatuahka eventually reached the heart of The City of Ash where the mood of celebration gave way to a grim silence of dutiful vigilance. The area around the High Temple of Pahuax was heavily patrolled by regiments of Saurus Temple Guards who kept watch for any dangers to the slumbering Slann while only a few devoted Skink servants remained to tend to their masters. As Chieftain among the Skinks he did not have the same authority as a Saurus Oldblood nor that of the Red Crest Chieftains, but his actions during the war had earned him a degree of respect even among the warriors of the Saurus.
From the frozen lands of Naggaroth to the misty isle of Albion, the desert realm of Nehekhara and the jungles of their homelands, Tlatuahka had directly served He That Hunts Unseen in many battles against the corrupted followers of Chaos, the Rat-Spawn, the undead and the many other warm-bloods whose actions defied The Great Plan. He had even participated in the great battle within the Heart of Darkness where Brass Bull, Taurox had finally been slain.
As his Stegadon arrived at the steps of the High Temple, Tlatuahka gestured for the drivers that he would be leaving and the crew dutifully obeyed. Getting up from his throne, he move to the side of the howdah where he expertly clambered down from the side of the armored beast and soon his scaled feet touch the stones street once more where not far away, a regiment of Saurus Temple Guards watched in silence, their hands tightly wrapped around the hafts of their polearms, each one prepared for battle. As the Stegadon trudged away, he could see that there were also other leaders of among the Lizardmen who had arrived at the High Temple, mostly Saurus and Skinks but there were also a few Kroxigor Ancients that made their way up the ancient stone steps of the High Temple.
Heading up the flights of steps, he tasted the warm air and detected many familiar scents which only served to unease him for why would He That Hunts Unseen call upon so many able leaders? Some of whom he knew were the commanders of truly mighty legions that had brought ruin to entire nations during the last great war. Eventually, Tlatuahka reached the main entrance of the High Temple of which was of course protected by more Temple Guards who allowed them entry.
Within the recesses of the Skink Chief's mind, he could hear the agitated mind-voices of the Slann, still engaged in their rather lively (by the standards of the Slann of course) mental debate which had been going on since the end of the last great war. Although he could not make out exactly what it was they were saying, there was a great deal of rumors going about which worried many of the Lizardmen. Some claimed that when the Elf-Spawn of Ulthuan had gained full control over the empowered Great Vortex, The Great Plan had been forever ruined while others believed that this was not so and that perhaps it had been furthered. There were even some wilder rumors going about that at least some of Slann proposed that they should abandon this world altogether.
Whatever was the case, it was not Tlatuahka's place to question or ponder upon the will of Slann but only to obey when their orders were given. Soon he found himself walking through the torch-lit corridors of the High Temple where the Temple Guard security was much tighter for the meeting chambers of the Slann were not far away, but this was not his destination. He then moved to a newly renovated chamber that had once been a collapsed ruin of which had been transformed into a personal sanctum for He That Hunts Unseen.
Soon the numbers of Temple Guards dwindled, their scents replaced by the familiar smells of many Chameleon Skinks watching from hidden perches and redoubts, no doubt each one holding a blowpipe in hand. He could also smell and hear a great number of snakes for the Silent Sanctum of Oxyotl had been placed near the serpent pit where sacrificial captives would be thrown into and no doubt they had been or will be well fed by the end of this day. Making sure to be on his best behavior, Tlatuahka soon arrived at entrance of the Silent Sanctum where the other leaders of the City of Ash could be seen gathering within.
Passing by a pair of opened bronze doors which were encrusted with gleaming gems, Tlatuahka entered the Silent Sanctum which was a surprisingly large stone chamber lit with braziers of arcane fires generated by True Rubies. The most notable feature of the sanctum was a great mural which depicted a well detailed map of the world as it currently was known to the Lizardmen. Arcane lights of different colors illuminated the different segments of the map each one defining the borders of different nations and the locations of many great cities.
The attention of the gathered leaders was of course drawn upon He That Hunts Unseen, Oxyotl who for now remained visible to the eyes of all in attendance as he stood upon a raised dais, his legendary golden blowpipe was held in his right hand. Standing next to the Ghost of Pahuax was a Skink Oracle whose name was not known but all knew him as simply The Oracle of the Sacred Plaques who was for now not accompanied by his bound Troglodon. While they patiently waited until the other the leaders of Pahuax to arrive, Tlatuahka took position among his fellow Skink Chiefs where even the Red Crested Chieftains of the Cult of Sotek could be seen among them.
It did not take long before all those who had been summoned had finally gathered and when the last of them arrived, He That Hunts Unseen began to speak and Tlatuahka felt the barest traces magic being used to carry the Ghost of Pahuax's words to them all.
'My Braves' hissed the sibilant voice of Oxyotl. 'I have seen a vision, of a dark tide that comes to consume our world.'
The dais which Oxyotl stood upon began to rumble and by means of sorcery, it slowly rose up into the air and sending motes of dust across the chamber. The floating dais then levitated towards a section of the great mural which Tlatuahka recognized was a map of the lands north of Lustria, Naggaroth. He That Hunts Unseen then used the snake headed end of his blowpipe to point towards a brightly glowing section of the map.
Narrowing his eyes and studying the Sanctum's map, Tlatuahka recognized the location which the Ghost of Pahuax observed as of being along the eastern coast of Naggaroth. This city he knew was called Karond Kar, once known as the Tower of Despair and the Slaver's Gate a city which had become the new capital of the elf-spawn tribe of Nagarythe. Curiously, he noted that on the mural there was, over the world pond a glowing medallion moving on its own towards the elf-spawn held city and it bore the insignia of The Wanderer's Legion.
Whatever was the vision of He That Hunts Unseen, it indeed must have been a dire one, thought Tlatuahka if even the mighty Spirit of the Jungle, Nakai the Wanderer had seen fit to respond to this looming threat.
Far to the north... IC 2532
A chill wind blew beneath the eaves of the forest of pine trees as a crowd of three dozen red cloaked elves had gathered within a clearing, beneath the grim gaze of a god. Wrought from iron to depict an armored warrior, his arms were outstretched from side to side as the statue carried in one hand a cruel serrated sword and in the other was a heart that had been so masterfully sculpted and painted that it looked as if blood was indeed oozing out of it. A great basin had been placed at the foot of the statue its interior forever stained with ages worth of spilled blood while to the sides of statue were a pair of blazing braziers that burned with narcotic incense.
The ritual which they performed would be very much similar to those that had once been done by the misguided Druchii but the key difference was that it would be done in accordance with tradition and most importantly, in moderation as had been once long before The Sundering. Beneath the gaze of Khaela Mensha Khaine, the Bloody Handed God, the gathered crowd of elves sought to appease the Lord of Murder. A majority of those who attended had come from the Asur occupational forces that protected the lands under the jurisdiction of Karond Kar yet there were also a few other elves among them such as the Asrai followers of the Mage Queen and even some Druchii collaborators who had seen the wisdom of cooperating with the High Elves, lest the wrath of the Shadow King fell upon them.
Leading this congregation was a high priest of Khaine, The Grand Carnifex as the Druchii had once called the position who held in his right hand a serrated knife and in his left he held a golden rimmed clay goblet while sheathed by his hips were a pair of swords that were inscribed in burning crimson runes. A brass skull shaped mask, similar to those once used by the Executioners of Har Ganeth covered the face of the Grand Carnifex whose great mane of snowy white hair was left to flow over his back and was dressed in a panoply of silvery armor edged with more brass which was worn over dark red garments.
Oaths and prayers to the God of War were spoken by the congregation as each member carried with them various implements such as blades of different shapes and sizes, hooks, platters and cups, all necessary tools for the ritual that would come. Once the round of prayers had ended, silence fell upon the elves and the Grand Carnifex tilted his head back from his throat came a loud, otherworldly shriek, as if it had been borne from the Banshee servants of Morai-Heg.
The gathered elves followed after the Grand Carnifex, giving voice to the primal, blood thirsty aspects of their nature that resided within all Children of Isha. After a moment, the high priest lowered his arms and the faithful became silent.
'Praise Khaine' solemly spoke the Grand Carnifex in a deep, baritone voice that was carried towards them all. 'Let us give our thanks for victories past, and seek His divine hand in our future conquests. Praise the Lord of Blood, the Prince of Death, for delivering our enemies to our blades.'
'Praise Khaine' responded the attendees.
'Although it has been only a mere five years since our great victory' continued the Grand Carnifex. 'Less than a heartbeat by our counting of time, we have achieved far more than what we could ever have hoped for in our lifetimes. The Witch King is dead, so too the Blood Queen of Har Ganneth, the so called Lord of Ruin and even the Beastlord of Karond Kar, all now forever residing within the Mirai.'
Emboldened cheers erupted from the Asur attendees while the Asrai only provided tacit approval and the few Druchii collaborators offered agreements with blatantly obvious sycophancy.
'Even to our brave kin of Yvresse' added the Grand Carnifex. 'There is cause for celebration for the bones of the Goblin King, Grom the Fat now decorates the Warden's Tower'.
The reminder of Prince Eltharion's victory in finally slaying Grom the Paunch during the War of the Vortex had also been cause of great approval from both the attendees of the Asur and Asrai while the Druchii applauded as well but in a less forced manner.
'Now peace, and perhaps even hope for a brighter future is within our grasp' spoke the Grand Carnifex. 'From Ulthuan to here in Naggaroth, to Lustria, the Southlands, Albion and Elthin Arvann, we the Children of Isha stand stronger and more united than ever before. But it is a peace, a future we must fight to protect'.
Turning around to face the statue, the Grand Carnifex raised his goblet high to salute the Lord of Murder.
'Guide us, Khaine!' shouted the high priest. 'Give us the strength to defend our homes! our children! our future! Give us the strength to slaughter the barbarians of the north! the vermin of the deeps! the beasts of the forest and the mountains!'
'Praise Khaine!' cried the attendees who either raised blades, left handed fists or cups towards the statue.
As if on cue, the sounds of rattling chains could then be heard as from the edge of the clearing came several slaves dressed in thick furs and wielding spears and various blunt hand weapons. Composed entirely of humans abducted by the Druchii, they all bore the pale skin tones of those who hailed from the nations of Elthin Arvann otherwise known as The Old World. Alongside the slaves were many chained captives from other far lesser races who would be offered as sacrifices to Khaine.
Following the old rites practiced by their ancestors from before The Sundering, the blood of innocents would not be offered to appease the God of War, rather they would offer up the blood and souls of those dark hearted beings which all right thinking folk would do well to exterminate. Greenskins, Beastmen, Chaos Barbarians and an especially large number of Skaven would be offered up to sate the thirst of the Lord of Murder.
One of the sacrificial offerings, a muscular Chaos Barbarian with the distinctive blonde hair and blue eyes of a Norscan attempted to pull at his chains which caused a goblin in front of him to stumble into the cold earth. In response a pair of nearby fur clad slaves started shouting in the Kislevite language and they began to savagely beat the Norscan with clubs which elicited some amusement from the few attending Druchii.
The Skaven then squirted their fetid musk as the slaves armed with bludgeoning weapons began beating the other more unruly captives into submission while those wielding spears used the butts of their polearms to do likewise. After a brief scuffle, the sacrificial captives had been subdued and the Norse barbarian was pushed, stumbling forward where several of the attending elves swarmed around the man and they brought him to kneel next to the basin before the statue of Khaine.
A tattooed, red haired Asrai maiden then grabbed a handful of the barbarian's blonde hair and she jerked his back which also left his neck and chest exposed. The Grand Carnifex who was still facing the crowd then had a pair of female human slaves begin undoing the clasps of his armor's breastplate before finally removing the protective piece. The slaves then pulled aside the clothing he wore beneath his armor which left the well toned chest of the high priest exposed to the cold air as well.
Raising the ceremonial blade up with the tip pointed towards himself, the Grand Carnifex then plunged it into the pale flesh of his chest and he began to carve the rune of Khaine. As his blood flowed from the fresh wounds he made sure to gather as much of it as possible into the clay goblet.
'I offer myself' intoned the high priest as he continued to carve himself. 'For all blood runs swift in your name, mighty Khaine!'
He then turn to face the statue and he raised the blood filled goblet to offer a toast to the Lord of Murder and he spoke 'In time, we all pray to give ourselves in your name, upon the field of bloodshed!'
'Praise Khaine!' responded the elves who collectively then felt a sense of excitement for they knew that the climax of the ritual was fast approaching.
The Grand Carnifex then turned to face the Norscan who glared at the high priest in defiance while the nearest elves remained ready for any explosion of action, his blue eyes met the the icy blue orbs that glared back with barely concealed disgust. Raising his dagger high, the Grand Carnifex slashed into the captive, the blade merely slicing the surface of the barbarian's skin while leaving any vital organs unharmed.
Again and the again the Grand Carnifex cut and cut until a torrent of blood flowed from dozens of shallow wounds. The elves who still held the barbarian then forced him over the rim of the basin so that his blood would collect within the vessel.
'Khaine!' roared the Grand Carnifex as murder-lust descended upon the attending elves which terrified some of the the human slaves who had been assigned to guarding the sacrificial captives but they remained in their place.
'Khaine!' replied the attendees who then drew their blades and began cutting into the barbarian's flesh. Like a pack of wild animal that had been driven into a feeding frenzy, they hacked and tore into the Chaos worshiper while shouting the name of Khaine. Hooks were stabbed into sides of the Norscan's belly and they tore him open to expose glistening fat, entrails and muscle as pale hands reached in to pull out pieces of him while others sliced of fingers, ears and even one of the Druchii attendees began working on peeling off the the barbarian's screaming face with a knife.
After a furious minute all that was left of the barbarian was a barely recognizable hunk of steaming meat and bone. His entrails, organs, bones and other pieces were triumphantly held up before the fearsome visage of the Bloody Handed God before being cast into the fires while the still beating heart was ritually placed last into the brazier to Khaine's left. The Grand Carnifex then pointed his gore-soaked blade towards the other captives and he shouted
'Khaine hungers! Bring us more!'
Azeroth, 20 years after the Opening of the Dark Portal
Dark syllables spoken in the demonic tongue of the Burning Legion flowed from the lips of the Orc Warlocks as one by one the Soul Shards they carried crumbled into dust. Collectively raising their staves towards the center of the pentagram where streams of entropic green light flowed from the headpieces of their weapons and it coalesced into a gleaming orb that expanded with each passing heartbeat.
Cosmic energies gathered around the ritual site, appearing as motes of fire that danced wildly around them and soon enough the orb began to expand and take a new shape into a shimmering disc of green light. Pride swelled within the hearts of the Warlock coven for if their calculations were correct, they had just opened a portal to a new world, despite of course being nowhere near as large or stable as The Dark Portal.
Reaching for a Crystal Vial attached to his belt, Makorak easily with one hand removed the stopper of the bottle before he took it out to imbibe the deep blue alchemical mixture it contained and soon he felt his internal reserves of mana restored. Looking to the newly created portal with a sense of accomplishment, the Warlock along with the rest of fellows knew that it would not last forever and so they turned around to face the rune inscribed cairns behind them.
Each of the Warlocks then produced a pair of tools, a hammer and chisel which they would use to inscribe new runes upon the standing stones so that they could bind the portal to it. One of the Warlocks then gave a nod to the Blood Guard for all among the Shadowmoon warriors understood their place. Reshtar then pointed the head of his axe towards the portal and he ordered for the warriors to enter.
Obeying their commanding officer, the Grunts formed up and then marched ahead with axes in hand while the Raiders took up a flanking position and the Spearmen remained at the rear. There was a part of Makorak that envied these warriors for they would be the first to see whatever this new world was but knowledge of how important it would be to stabilize the dimensional rift was more than enough to settle his disquiet. The Warlocks then began the next task by whispering incantations as they carved sorcerous runes below the ones of warding against divining spells.
One could never be too cautious when secrecy and discretion was imperative, even from among the other clans of The Horde.
Gazing up towards the portal which the Warlocks created, Blood Guard Reshtar of the Shadowmoon Clan could not help but feel a sense of wariness as he gazed into the sorcerous rift. He had heard stories about when the Dark Portal first opened, that the scouts who had first been sent ahead to Azeroth had been driven insane by things they saw on the other side. He could feel his heart beating a bit faster as a nervous sweat began to bead upon his brow for had he been about to face a foe of flesh and blood, he would have relished such a chance but instead he had to deal with things beyond his understanding for it was the ken of warlocks, shamans and other wielders of magik.
Steeling his nerves, Reshtar closed his eye and hoped to his ancestors that things will be okay and he took the first step into this new portal where he experienced a brief moment nausea which was then followed by being blasted with absolutely freezing air. Slowly opening his eyes, he found himself within a verdant green forest with tall, wild grass everywhere along with other forms of vegetation while high above them the sky was filled with ominously dark clouds which looked to be pregnant with rainfall.
A faint ocean scent could be detected amidst the smell of the forest while the Blood Guard also felt a deep chill that cut into his very bones, almost as if he were along the borders of Frostfire Ridge. He then heard heavy footsteps from behind him as the rest of his warriors stepped through the portal with more than few looking a bit sickly as well. Giving them a moment to recover, Reshtar took the time to survey their surroundings and was soon satisfied that there were no immediate dangers.
Once his warriors shrugged off the momentary disorientation, he ordered them to spread out and remain alert. The band of Orcs cautiously moved through the cold forest and after several minutes, the wolf mounts of the Raiders began to more furiously sniff the ground which alerted them all. With but a nod to them, the Raiders understood and took the lead as their wolves tracked whatever it was they smelled.
Tense moments passed as they allowed the savage canines to lead them, their hands tightened around the handles of their weapons as they began to look about for any potential threats. Soon the orcs smelled something foul like old feces as well as rotting corpses in the air, its stench was strong enough that they could tell from which direction it came. Eventually, they came upon a section of the forest where many of the trees had been cut down and they saw the clear signs of habitation.
Reshtar soon came to behold a ruined camp where he saw several green bodies scattered about while wolves, ravens and other creatures picked at the carcasses. The scavenging wolves of which were significantly smaller than those used by the Orcs as mounts, then looked up to them and bared their teeth with savage growls. In response the wolves of the Raiders furiously barked back and the scavengers ran off but most surprisingly, the ravens actually began shouting and screeching words with only one thing he could make out that sounded something like "cane! cane!"
Moving up to the nearest of bodies, he inspected the corpse of what surprisingly looked to be a male goblin dressed in thick furs. The dead goblin possessed no hair on its body while also it having much sharper features such as its pointed nose ears and chin which gave it a more feral appearance than the Goblins the Horde had encountered and worked with on Azeroth. Flies buzzed about the corpse, the belly of which had been torn open and feasted upon but he saw what had been the cause of the stunted thing's death of which was a deep bloody wound upon the Goblin's skull, most likely from a well placed arrow.
The Blood Guard walked to another nearby corpse where he found lying on its back the body of a creature that looked very much like a male orc but one with a very strange appearance to Reshtar's eyes. Like the dead goblin, this other orc was completely hairless with a larger than average head that possessed a much more pronounced jaw structure with tusks that were even bigger than anything he had seen on a fellow orc and a significantly smaller nose as well. Tilting his head as he further studied the body of the other orc, he was somewhat reminded of the large hairy beasts which the blue skinned Jungle Trolls of Strangethorn called a Gorilla for there was just something about it which made the its features seem more bestial.
What caused this other orc-like creature's death was quite obvious for there were a pair of deep gashes, clean cuts from heavy blades into the neck. While he studied the wounds, he also saw something which seemed rather... off and he placed his right hand index finger into one of the gashes which was already cold on the inside. Pulling his hand out he took the time to study the blood and immediately he noticed that it very much had a greenish hue to it, rather than the dark red he was familiar with.
Around the camp, his warriors inspected the other bodies and searched them for anything of value with the only items worth taking being the filthy furs which they wore. There were no weapons to be found, no pieces of armor, no accessories except for charms and talisman's made from bone but they did find some scraps of rancid smelling meat but none of them were desperate enough to bother trying it. Within the camp, they also found what it was that smelled of feces and much to Reshtar's disgust it was a huge pile of dung that had been crudely shaped into some sort of idol.
Curling his lips in distaste, he then turned his attention back to the camp itself and he tried to piece together what had happened. After consulting with some of his warriors, the Blood Guard and the rest of warriors believed that these other "Orcs" had been taken by surprise for many bore only a single killing wound, the size of which had no doubt been caused by arrows with only a few having been felled by blades. With all of this information, Reshtar war of course concerned for whoever had been responsible for this ambush had indeed been quite skilled such manners of assault.
The wolves of the raiders suddenly then look towards part of the edge of the camp, east from where they had arrive and began growling which caused the orcs to ready their weapons. A rustling of leaves was then heard and the Raiders took with their wolves fully running at full speed after this new target while loudly barking and the orcs who had been on foot followed after them. Soon, Reshtar heard a high pitched squeal as the barking continued and he along with the rest of the orcs found their quarry.
Caught under a net thrown by one of the Raiders was much to his suprise a human child dressed in thick furs while another one stood protectively nearby with a knife in both trembling hands. Reshtar could see the terror in the eyes of the whelp as it frantically looked about to the surrounding orcs while clearly frozen with indecision. Looking to one of the Spearmen Reshtar nodded and the warrior brought up a javelin and threw it. The human child was then struck directly in the chest and sent flying a short distance away where it was left impaled up the spear and still very much struggling.
Laughter erupted from the Orcs as the other captured human began screaming for what was likely its sibling or friend, it did not matter to Reshtar for the Raiders drew closer with one of them dismounting from the canine and moving towards their prey with sword in hand. The Raider then began to speak to his mount and the intelligently vicious beast moved closer to the human, began sniffing it and then suddenly thrust its snout to the child with its jaws tightly wrapped around its head.
With a quick twist, the wolf then snapped the human child's neck and it allowed the body to go limp while its Raider master then went about inspecting the net and seeing if he could use it again. The Orcs then turned their attention to the still squirming form of the child impaled upon the spear, tears flowed from its eyes as blood gushed forth from both its mouth and the fatal chest wound. Amused by this futile display Reshtar ordered for his warriors to leave the body while the wolves began to sniff around the ground before perking their ears up and looking towards a direction that seemed to be northwards.
Soon the Orcs were on the move once more and this time there was that palpable sense of excitement among them for their blood was now up. Allowing the Raiders to take the lead again, the Orcs ran through the brush of the forest and eventually they saw in the distance a section where it seemed that the trees finally began to clear. Slowing down their pace while still using the trees to help conceal themselves, they soon came upon a sight that filled their hearts with a lust for blood.
In the distance they saw a ramshackle collection of wooden hut and hovels where smoke emerged from crude chimneys. Humans dressed in thick clothing for the cold could be seen going about on their daily business and not knowing of their presence.
No longer being able to contain his bloodlust, Reshtar raised his axe towards the hamlet and shouted 'LOK'TAR OGAR! FOR THE SHADOWMOON! FOR THE HORDE!'
'FOR THE HORDE!' roared the orcs in gleeful unison as they charged into the glorious slaughter.
The thick smell of freshly spilled blood, excrement, urine, ruptured organs, charring meat and narcotic incense filled the glade as several gore-stained tools were raised in honor of Khaine whose divine spirit could be felt by all. Fresh blood now filled the basin before Khaine to the point of overflowing and the elves drank deeply of the warm drought blessed by the Lord of Death. Strength, power and heat filled the bodies of every elf and there was still so much more to be shared around.
Some of the elves turned their attention to the human slaves who had been assigned to guard the now dead captives and to partake, at the insistence of the Grand Carnifex. Many of course were too afraid as they whispered prayers to their own gods to protect them but more than a few such as those whose obedience was now deeply ingrained into them by the whips of their former Druchii masters or those who had some understanding of Khaine's mysteries stepped forward to receives his boon.
The first among these slaves to receive Khaine's gift was a tattooed male whose body was adorned with swirling blue patterns which suggested that he had come from the mist shrouded isle of Albion, now a land ruled under the auspices of the Everqueen herself. Gently taking an offered goblet from the hands of an Asur maiden, he drank the blood in one big gulp before giving it back and his hands clenched into fists as fresh new energy filled his very being. He then turned around and encouraged others to join and soon a few others began to drink.
Just as with the elves, the slaves who joined them felt the same strength and power coursing through their bodies but for many the heat was the most welcoming thing against the chill winds of Naggaroth. It was known to some of the elves that the worship of Khaela Mensha Khaine, like some other members of the Cadai and Cytharai did not extended to the race of Man that established secretive cults of murder in his name. Once most of the blood had been consumed, the elves then took the cups to the fires that burned around the shrine and as a last act to complete the ritual, they poured it onto the flames.
Last solemn words were then spoken by the Grand Carnifex towards the congregation as the slaves brought forth a wooden cart pulled by a pair of oxen and the thralls began piling whatever was left from the sacrificial offerings onto the back of the vehicle for every bone, every organ and scrap of flesh would have some value in the markets of Naggaroth. Those slaves who had been owned by some of the elves quickly attended to their masters or mistresses while others kept to their own groups and focused on the grisly task of gathering up what leftovers they could find.
Among the elves was Lord Inarion, a Noble of Yvresse who was for the moment wiping the blood off of his breastplate with a freezing wet cloth. Dressed in a full panoply of magically resistant Silverin armour with his winged helmet upon his brow, he was accompanied by four fellow Asur from Yvresse, each one of them like him, a veteran Mistwalker in direct service to their lord, Prince Eltharion. Mostly armed with longbows, spears and shield, they wore suits of heavy scale mail armour made from elf-forged steel but the Noble lord himself instead carried upon his back an enchanted greatsword that was imbued with the magic of Chamon. The Mistwalkers then made ready to return to the nearby coastal fortress known as Blacklight Tower where they could easily book passage back to Karond Kar while the other elves who attended went their separate ways along with the slaves.
It was not lost upon Inarion that since the end of the Vortex War where the Asur of Ulthuan had conquered vast swathes of new territory, they had needed to militarize their populace to such an extent not seen since the days of Aenarion. By the Phoenix King's decree a great wave of mass conscription into the Citizen Levy was performed which in turn had to massive drop in the Asur's workforce. As a solution to this, The Seafarer enacted a controversial edict to further open up Ulthuan to outsiders with some human nations such as Bretonnia being the first to encourage migration among its peasantry with others as far away as Grand Cathay following their example shortly afterwards.
Where once it was only common to find the employment of human slaves or servants only within the port city of Lothern, the practice had now spread out to all of Ulthuan, its colonies and especially here in Naggaroth. When the armies of the Shadow King, had conquered large portions of the Land of Chill, many had expected for the slaves of the Druchii to immediately be freed but so far, only a partial implementation of this policy has been put into effect for now there were only no elves or Lizardmen living in bondage. Thankfully for the remaining slaves, the Asur were far fairer masters than the Druchii and at least so far, there had yet to be any major uprisings simply because the Asur immediately exterminated or sold off the truly undesirable chattel such as Chaos Barbarians, Greenskins, Beastmen or Skaven.
The remaining slaves now toiled for the Shadow Crown, in the farms, the workshops, the mines, the forges and all manner of locations needed to keep a nation running, but the hope of true freedom was now an attainable one under the Asur. It was by the decree of Alith Anar that any human, dwarf, ogre, halfling or gnome slave be allowed to buy or even earn their freedom through a variety of means. Many sought emancipation though contracts of indentured servitude while others offered their services as fighters and became one of the many irregular troops regiments that supplemented the Asur occupational forces.
Once they had appropriately cleaned themselves off, the other Mistwalkers had confirmed to Inarion that they were ready to depart and the Yvressian Noble gave the order to leave. Taking up formation with two in front of him and another two behind with himself at the center, the Mistwalkers left the clearing around the shrine of Khaine where only the Grand Carnifex and a group of scavenging slaves remained. Passing through a crude dirt path which led through the forest, the Mistwalkers could see ahead another group of Asur who were accompanied by a baggage train of slaves that slowed them down.
Passing by the other group without incident save for mere nods of acknowledgement from the other elves or bows from the slaves, they continued on their way but soon, not far ahead they saw a pair figure standing still in the middle of the road and it seemed like something was happening between them.
'What are you standing there for?' demanded one of them, a hooded elf maiden who wore a more ornate version of the Shadow Warrior's uniform which made it clear that she was an officer, a Shadow-Walker of Nagarthye.
'Do you not feel it?' replied the second elf, a black haired male dressed in dark robes with a thick cloak of fur covering his shoulders, his flesh was far paler than was expected of an elf of Ulthuan which made it easy to deduce that he was one of the Druchii collaborators that attended the ritual and in his right hand he carried a staff, a Sorcerer whose career had only recently under the Shadow King's rule been made legal and under harsh supervision.
'There is something out there, in the woods, a strange power I can sense' then said the collaborator.
'I feel nothing, Druchii' hissed the Shadow-Walker maiden who placed her gloved hands on the pommels of a pair of short swords sheathed by her hips. 'Now get going!'
Should a violent incident occur, the Mistwalkers would have had zero quarrels in drawing their bows and filling the Sorcerer with arrows and truth be told, if the Shadow-Walker intended to cut him down on the spot, they would turn a blind eye to such actions for even were he collaborating with the Asur, the Sorcerer was still a Druchii.
'What about the rest of you?' then spoke the Sorcerer who turned to face the Mistwalkers.
'Don't involve us, Druchii scum!' sneered a Mistwalker named Tellorien whose body tensed in readiness for a fight.
'I am telling you that there is something out there!' pleaded the Sorcerer in a more desperate manner as he pointed a golden ring covered finger to the east.
'What is going on over there!?' then called a voice from behind and the Mistwalkers saw the other group of elves that had been accompanied by slaves approaching.
'This Druchii thinks there is something in the woods!' called back another Mistwalker named Edrioth which immediately put the other group of Asur on edge for although the Shadow Warriors and other Asur forces regularly patrolled this region, there were still many a danger lurking about in the forms of Greenskins, Beastmen, surviving Skaven, Chaos Barbarians and even Druchii brigands who didn't quite get the hint that they had lost the war.
A rustling sound was then heard from the brush and the elves turned to face it where emerging from the foliage were three Asrai who had been there for the ritual. One of them, a red haired, tattooed maiden who carried an enchanted spear in hand immediately then called to the other elves.
'Come quick!' called the Asrai in that strangely accented lilt which some of the kin of Athel Loren spoke. 'There is death upon the wind!'
Muttering a curse, the Mistwalkers soon followed after the trio of Asrai with one of them a cloaked warrior who carried the glaives used by their Wildwood Rangers gestured for them to follow. Glancing back, Inarion saw that some among the other groups of Asur had drawn their weapons and were moving up to join them while the Shadow-Walker and the Druchii Sorcerer were also on the move.
The Mistwalkers of whom were all clad in heavy armor were slowed down by the brush and briar of the forest while the same could be said for almost all of them, save for the Asrai and the Shadow-Walker. Soon, Inarion could smell freshly spilled blood in the air along with the burning of wood and cooking meat which caused him to quicken his pace.
After the conquest of Naggaroth, the Shadow King had offered as a concession to the slaves he did not yet free a chance to leave the fortress cities of the Druchii and to strike out on their own where the Nagarthyians would help provide the necessary resources to establish these new settlements. Faced with the prospect of still having to live alongside their former Druchii masters, despite the Dark Elves subjected to many of the Shadow King's extremely draconian laws, a noticeable portion chose to leave the safety of the cities and into the wilds. Since then, a number of new hamlets and homesteads have cropped up here and there with all being considered under the protection of Alith Anar and by extension, the Asur as a whole for these locations provided places where the High Elf forces could find respite or to resupply.
Shortly afterwards, the elves emerged from the forest and out into an area with many felled trees and in the distance they saw smoke and fire rising from a collection of hovels. There were no screams, no shouts nor angry cries, only the howl of the chill winds and distant thunder from the skies above. Wary of this, the elves approached the settlement with weapons and with each step the smell of blood grew stronger until finally, they beheld a grisly, an all too familiar sight in the land of chill.
Butchered bodies were everywhere across the hamlet as fire consumed some of the buildings. None of the inhabitants it seems were spared and it looked as if whatever livestock they kept had been taken as well. Inarion moved to inspect one of the bodies, a human female clutching an infant in her armies while a thrown spear had impaled both of them to the ground. Whatever had attacked the hamlet, they struck fast and hard and despite their being clear signs of struggles, it had ultimately been a one sided massacre.
'I found a survivor!' called one of the elves and the Mistwalkers immediately headed towards the voice. Passing by more bodies, Inarion soon found an Asur wearing the robes of a Nagarthyian archer kneeling by the body of a brown bearded dwarf who was slumped next to the wooden wall of hovel, his own blood was pooling around around him.
The dwarf's barreled chest slowly rose up and own despite the deep gashes on on his right shoulder which went down to his chest, the wound looked as if it had been made with by an axe blade while a bloodied miner's pick lay close at hand. Dressed in tattered furs, Inarion noticed the Druchii rune that had been branded over the left collar bone of the dwarf which marked him as of once having been a slave of Hag Graef. His eyes were glazed over and he looked as if it in a daze while trying to focus on something as blood dribbled from his lips and he was trying to use his right hand to reach out to something across them.
Looking in the direction see whatever it was the dwarf was trying to reach out to, Inarion saw another corpse which was short and broad, no doubt another dwarf but one that was surprisingly beardless that seemed a bit odd and it was then he realized that the nearby dwarf corpse was that of a female so perhaps a wife? a sister? a mother or his daughter? The Druchii Sorcerer and the Shadow Walker then came into view with the latter cautiously looking about with blades in hand.
'Do you know of any spells of healing?' asked Inarion towards the Druchii.
'No but I have potions' reluctantly replied the Sorcerer who then procured from his belt a bottle filled with a reddish liquid.
Such things were not exactly cheap and easy to come by and Inarion himself was partial to the thought that it would be a great waste to give it to a dwarf, even a dying one. But this dwarf was the only survivor and the only who could tell them what had happened and he did not see the appeal in dragging the carcass of the stunted creature back to Karond Kar just so they could have one of the Nehekharan exiles interrogate his spirit.
'Do it' then commanded the Shadow-Walker and the the Sorcerer did as he was told. Stepping forwards with the potion bottle in hand, the Druchii's presence put the Mistwalker and the other Asur on edge and he gave it to the Archer who had knelt next to the dwarf. Taking the bottle, the Archer who now had a grim look on his face for surely he would have been none to thrilled about the idea of having both a dwarf and a Druchii so close by, then proceeded to open the dwarf's mouth pour the alchemical contents into it.
Before the eyes of the elves, the dwarf's deep wounds began to close and he took a sudden big gulp of frozen air as he jolted up. The archer and the sorcerer took a step back as the dwarf coughed out more of his blood and spat a large glob of it onto the muddy ground but it seemed that despite everything, the healing potion did its work and he would very much pull through.
'What happened here' then asked the Shadow Walker and the dwarf began looking around them with him clearly not liking the idea of being surrounded by elves.
'Urks' growled the dwarf as a dark look soon came over him. 'Adthagged Urk Uzkul'
'Orcs' grimly spoke Inarion and he surmised that there must surely be some Greenskin raiding party nearby yet something seemed off with this attack for there were a number of key things missing which did not make this slaughter fit with other Greenskin attacks he had seen over the centuries. For one thing there were no piles of orc feces left as warnings to others.
'We should inform the garrison at Blacklight' then announced the Shadow-Walker.
'The daughters of the Mage Queen will hear of this as well' added another voice and he glanced to his right to see the Asrai party that had led them here.
Inarion was also most certain that his lord, Eltharion The Grim would especially like to know of any possible Greenskin activity for despite their victory over Grom The Paunch, The Warden of Tor Yvresse's hatred for the savages still burned as brightly as ever. It too was a hatred Inarion and all Asur of Yvresse held closely to their hearts.