ATTENTION: This Chapter of The Gurubashi Druid contains controversial information of the MMORPG, World of Warcraft, including a new ruler of Blackrock Mountain, a Magmawyrm not under Scourge Control, and the Blackrock and Dark Iron working together under one leader. None of this is to be used in game, except for the RP of the Bloodraptor Clan. Please enjoy.
Jaz'renthi flew through the night, her bat form making the long journey easier on her. She quickly passed over the mountain range of the Burning Steppes, and turned towards the most prominent structure, Blackrock Mountain.
A few days previous, she had received a letter from Golion, which was meant for Zi'bal. It had detailed that the Undead had gone to spy upon the Blackrock Orcs, after reports of suspicious activities in the area were reported by the Horde outpost there.
She had received the letter while she had been working in Zul'Drak, in Northrend. The bat that was Jaz'renthi shuddered in mid-flight. Drakkuru, a power troll, had betrayed her in Drak'Tharon Keep, leaving her to die in exchange for unbelievable power.
While in the Frozen Wastes, she was also tasked with killing a few of the corrupted Loa the Ice Trolls worshiped. Those acts… had changed her. And she knew it. The druid enjoyed it, seeing the world through now different eyes. She saw the cruelty around her, and was indifferent to it.
Blackrock Mountain suddenly loomed in front of the bat, and Jaz'renthi swerved to avoid it. She had not realized how wrapped up in her thoughts and memories she had become, instantly refocusing on the monolithic structure. Her ears perked, taking in the sounds coming from above her.
She began to rise, riding a draft of warm air. The druid enjoyed feeling weightless, as if there were nothing to hold her down. As she flew higher and higher, a platform came into view; a missing piece of the mountain revealing a lavishly adorned room.
The druid flew into the room, dodging the mighty pillars supporting a broken roof. She looked to the far wall, and spotted a man sitting on a lavishly adorned throne, surrounded by servants. The bat would have gasped if she could, recognizing the Undead perched upon the mighty stone seat.
Golion had servants waiting on him hand and foot, a small High-elven boy pouring red wine into a crystal goblet at the Undead's right. Each of the servants had raven colored hair, even the Elf-child whose skin was too pale too possibly match it.
The once Half-Elf was now dead as the grave, the flesh eating curse having stripped him of most of his skin, revealing the slowly yellowing bone underneath. His eyes were now an intense amber, far different from the ice-blue they had been in life. These eyes were now closed in thought, even as he was swooned over and praised.
Golion himself was dressed in Midnight Black robes, stretching from his massive shoulders down to his feet, which were clad in some form of plate greave. Encasing his hands, were thick, plate-mail gauntlets, pauldrons of the same make adorning his shoulders.
Jaz'renthi landed, shifting form. She scowled at the figure on the throne, even as the servants turned to look at the intruder.
"What game ya be playin," seethed the druid, as Golion's eyes snapped open. His waiters and praisers let out a collective hiss, as his hand raised up to quiet them. The Undead cupped his hands, grinning.
"Well, well, well," murmured the warrior, "This is a surprise. Jaz'renthi flying into Blackrock Mountain… Tell me, is Zi'bal with you?" Each of the servants looked at the Troll, appraising her as the Undead lounged upon his throne.
"No," answered Jaz'renthi sternly, holding up his letter, "He told me ta return dis to da senda." She grinned sarcastically, balling up his letter and throwing it into a nearby brazier, watching the flames consume the parchment.
Golion's eyes narrowed. He spoke in a strange language, and his servants slowly began to dissipate, leaving the large chamber by a metal door adorning a nearby wall. The two stared each other down, and Golion slowly smiled.
"Ya neva answered me," said Jaz'renthi, interrupting the silence, "What game ya playin', Ragereava?" The Undead laughed, sipping from his crystal cup.
"A game," mused Golion, sloshing the wine in its glass, "Yes, I suppose it is like a game… A game of chess." The warrior set his cup down, clasping his hands. "Then let's play a game, Jaz'renthi."
"Wha' kind o' game," inquired the Troll, already regarding the Undead as a nutcase. Golion chuckled, as his shadow grew, the flickering flames distorting the slowly growing darkness.
"A guessing game," chuckled Golion. He tapped his cheek, and then grinned darkly. "Tell me, what do you think has the quickest wit, and a tongue like liquid fire?" His imposing shadow spread across the floor, and Jaz'renthi turned to watch it.
The great darkness began to take shape, stretching and morphing. The light projected by the braziers did nothing to distort it, as two mighty wings stretched out from the mass. However, these were not leather bound wings, they were all bone.
"Dragon," murmured Jaz'renthi, as Golion cackled. The shadow's mighty head did the same, opening up in a roar. As the druid pivoted to look at the dragon, the Elvish child returned, but he was different.
Slowly, the boy's skin became reptilian, turning a pitch black. Small wings poked out from the child's back as a tail shot out from his rear, the green eyes quickly yellowing and turning into slits.
The Black Whelpling let out a puff of smoke, attempting to look intimidating. Strangely enough, Jaz'renthi was unsurprised by these revelations, having seen so many of these things in Northrend. Golion smiled down at her from his throne.
"Tell me Jaz'renthi," continued the dragon, "What did Nefarian leave behind that is useful to me…?" The druid sighed, getting tired of these word games.
"I don' know, eggs?" Golion sighed, pushing off from his throne. With goblet in hand he walked down the steps from his throne, to stand at Jaz'renthi's level.
"Nefarian left everything I need to fulfill my plans," began the Magmawyrm, "Two armies, an impregnable fortress, and with Ragnaros gone, a gigantic egg incubator." He walked over to the balcony, looking out onto the land. "Jaz'renthi, what do you see?"
The Troll stepped up beside the Undead, narrowing her eyes. Unlike Golion, she could not see the ground far below, her eyes too weak.
"Uhm," murmured Jaz'renthi, "Mountains?" The dragon beside her covered his face with his palm, shaking his head.
"No," replied the man, "Down there, are Dark Iron Dwarves, Ogres, Alliance and Horde. All separate factions, fighting and warring. They destroy our lands, our homes with their constant bickering." Jaz'renthi only nodded, wanting to see where Golion was going with this.
"What if they were all united," pondered the mighty creature, its physical façade of a face twisted into thought, "If they came together as one kingdom? One rule, one world, and no more destruction." Jaz'renthi looked at the shorter figure, and wondered if he was as mad as his Patriarch.
"Ya be soundin' like Deat'wing." Golion's face twisted into a mask of hate, and the crystal goblet in his hands shattered.
"Never," warned the Dragon, "Speak that name around me." He looked back over the horizon, wrapped in his thoughts. "If it weren't for Jarn'dor, my plans couldn't have come as far as they have."
Jaz'renthi raised a brow, curious. This did not go past the man's notice, and he continued on.
"Once I heard of his… exploits within Zul'Gurub, I knew that I could easily manipulate your Clan to serve my needs." Golion chuckled. "You see, the Bloodraptor are one of the most influential clans in the Horde, but none of you realize it… It was simple for me to pull the strings and guide you to fulfill my goals."
Upon hearing this, Jaz'renthi was furious. Everything she had suffered for, everything she had worked to complete, was planned by an insane fool? Golion laughed hollowly at her expression.
"Don't be so upset," continued the evil corpse, a grin tickling the corners of his mouth, "Most of what's occurred has been pure coincidence. Except for Zul'Gurub, that was all my doing.
"By sticking Vyndakian in his paradise, he would fall into self doubt and think he was weak. But with Jarn'dor… Making him helpless was all that I needed. Now he never leaves his precious Emerald Dream, always stuck within it and trying to become stronger.
"Me dying for Zi'bal also completed part of my plan, because Vyndakian brought me back to life, and gave me the eternal existence I require… I also fell into some form of good favor with your precious 'Chieftain,' and I easily came into a position of authority.
"The rest of them are no real threat," finished Golion, "They're all weaklings, or have too many fatal flaws." The creaking of an opening portcullis cut him off, as two Blackrock Orcs dragged in a Dark Iron dwarf, the short man babbling on in his native tongue.
"Lord Ragereaver," spoke one Orc, bowing, "This Dark Iron was found raiding one of the eggs within the Molten Core." Golion spun on his heel, his face contorted in absolute hate. The two orcs immeadietly backed away from the dwarf, the smaller man falling to his knees.
He started to beg, babbling on for mercy. Jaz'renthi watched as a change overcame the Undead at her side, as the visible gaps in his skin began to glow white hot, filling with fire. His amber eyes filled with fire, and he walked towards the Dark Iron Dwarf, picking him up by the throat.
The short man screamed in terror as Golion threw him against a pillar, and spewed molten fire from his mouth, the hot lava destroying the dwarf. As she listened to the screams, Jaz'renthi became terrified. The thought of leaping from the platform crossed her mind many times, but then she looked at what remained of the dwarf.
Golion's temper slowly cooled, as he returned to his normal state, the fire in his body going out. The Orcs were clearly terrified; looking between the charred remains of what was once an egg thief, and their master. Jaz'renthi stood nearby, but the look of
absolute fear on her face painted her inner thoughts on a public canvas.
The Undead turned away. "Leave the body," he ordered, and the Orcs hurried to leave, bowing all the while as they left. He looked out from the balcony, at the mountain range.
"Now," began the killer, "There are three options from here… You can join me; pledge your eternal loyalty and service to myself. The second is you can suffer in silence. After all, once one person knows, how long will it take for the public to know? And what would the Horde think, of the Bloodraptor harboring a Black Dragon?"
Golion grinned, and Jaz'renthi knew he had her backed into a corner. The druid slowly waited for him to continue, but it was clear that the warrior wouldn't.
"And da final choice," she asked, already fearing the answer. A horrible smile creeped across Golion's face.
"You die," he stated simply. She snorted, unimpressed by the beast. The druid turned to face him, a smile on her face.
"Afta Nort'rend, I ain't afraid o' death." The Dragon laughed, and the horrible sound rang throughout his mountain, reverberating back as a hollow echo.
"Then you'll feel unimaginable pain," spoke the Undead, "You shall burn in the fires of my wrath, your pain unending until the world ends." This, Jaz'renthi was afraid of.
Her choices were laid out before her, and she looked at each carefully. The druid's thoughts drifted back a far way, to the time where she had made herself promise an oath. Jaz'renthi looked at Golion, and her eyes held a fierce determination.
"I be joinin' ya, Lord Ragereava," she vowed, bowing slightly. Golion cackled, looking up into the night.
"Good," he said, the warrior's face turned up towards the night sky. "Of course, I can't trust you just yet… First you must complete a few tasks for me… Imprison Jarn'dor in the Emerald Nightmare, and keep Vyndakian in self-doubt."
Jaz'renthi nodded. "And Zi'bal?" The Dragon chuckled. Of course, he did not care if the Chieftain lived or died. He was just another pawn.
"Turn him if you can," replied the Undead, musing, "And while you're at it, find me a consort. I will not waste my time raising hatchlings when there are lands to conquer."
The druid could only nod, shifting her form into that of a bat. As quickly as possible, she flew away, speeding through the night. Her thoughts drifted back to her tasks, and her mind settled on Jarn'dor.
"Betta den dyin'," she thought, as she disappeared through the mountains.
Golion watched the druid turn into a speck, and chuckled. Everything had turned out according to plan. There had been this one hiccup, Jaz'renthi appearing instead of Zi'bal, but that could easily be overlooked. If it had been Zi'bal, then the dwarf would have been replaced with the charred corpse of a troll.
The Undead listened as the Whelpling fluttered over, turning into the Elvish boy once again.
"Lord Ragereaver," whispered the boy, "When will you two next meet?" Golion chuckled, as his form shifted. His robe fell away as his body lengthened and grew, turning into a great Dragon of bones and lava. The Magmawyrm rolled its shoulders, pieces of magma flying around the room.
"Upon the heath," replied Obsidion Terrorwing, "There to meet with her Macbeth… When the hurlyburly's done, and when the battle's lost, and won." The elf boy looked up at his lord quizzically. Obsidion looked down at the elf.
"It's a human play. Called Macbeth… Go read it." With a mighty sweep of his wings, the Lord of Blackrock leapt from his perch, returning to raze the Eastern Kingdoms like he had in life.