There was nothing Vyndakian could not endure. He had destroyed entire armies, leveled villages, and had his entire family murdered. The Death Knight had created diseases, brought the dead to life, and literally pieced together an abomination, one separate part at a time. But this…. This was unbearable!
The Death Knight sat deep down in the darkest cave of the Wailing Caverns, his emerald eyes creating the only source of light. Even in this advanced darkness, his Darksworn eyes could make out the shapes around him as if he were in the brightest sun. Beside him, was a crude stone bed, and on that bed, was Jarn'dor.
Vyndakian stood up, pacing around the room for the umpteenth time in days. He quietly went over what had led him here, for he couldn't even begin to believe it.
The Death Knight snapped his reins, urging his Skeletal Gryphon onward. The animal was all bones, but it was the only replacement he could find for…
Vyndakian shut the thoughts of Ravage out of his head. He had to focus. The Death Knight looked down onto the plains of Durotar, and his mount swooped down upon his prey.
Jaz'renthi was hunched low over her raptor as it leaped around the flooded Southfury Watershed. Her eyes were filled with a determination, something even the Elf could see from up high. What concerned him most of all is what was tied to the back of her mount.
Jarn'dor was slumped over the end of the screeching raptor, his form thin. The Druid had spent far too much time in the Emerald Dream without care and his body had wizened and grown weak. He was just skin and bones, his tusks looking far to over sized to belong on his body.
Jaz'renthi and her pursuer had come far, crossing into the Barrens. As she turned to head towards the Wailing Caverns, Vyndakian swooped down, landing in front of a surprised Jaz'renthi.
"Stop," spoke Vyndakian, dismounting. Jaz'renthi reigned in her mount, the raptor squealing.
"He be goin' back," growled the Troll, "Dis time, for good." Vyndakian bared his fangs, blocking the entrance to the Wailing Caverns.
"You put him in there," retorted the Death Knight, "You'll kill him. He's too weak to survive unattended." Jaz'renthi's gaze did not waver.
"He has a better chance in dere, den he will out hea," whispered the Druid. Vyndakian prepared to attack Jaz'renthi, when a noise turned his attention away.
Zi'bal walked up beside Jaz'renthi, and Vyndakian blinked in surprise. Perhaps it was chance, or perhaps not.
"What be goin on hea," asked the Chieftain, his eyes gazing over the two. Neither spoke, their gazes locked to each other with pure intensity. Zi'bal chuckled, shaking his head.
"Well den… Do wutcha gotta do." Vyndakian was caught off guard, as Jaz'renthi commanded roots to wrap around his body, squeezing him tight. The wind was crushed out of him, but he watched as a demon appeared at Zi'bal's side, the dark blue form taking Jarn'dor's body.
The Voidwalker carried the Druid into the caves, as Zi'bal and Jaz'renthi followed. Vyndakian struggled, trying to break the grasp the roots had on him.
"Jarn'dor," cried the Death Knight, "Jarn'dor!"
The Elf sighed, shaking away his memories. He had blacked out, and when he awoke he had wandered down here. Since then, he had cared for Jarn'dor, hoping that he might wake up.
A tremor stirred Vyndakian from his thoughts, and a mighty roar split the silence.
Jarn'dor didn't know how long he had been here, but it was suffering incarnate. The Druid writhed in agony, as what was the Emerald Nightmare tortured his mind, its agents gnawing upon his worst fears, turning them into a dark reality.
The Troll was unsure of how he had returned to the Dream, but he knew that one moment he had been fighting a troll, and the rest was agony.
Time and time again, Jarn'dor watched as his friends were slaughtered, reborn, and died again, and he could do nothing to stop it. Voices whispered to him, goading him, belittling him, and he knew they were right.
"Liar," murmured one, "Telling your friends that you would always be there." He watched as Vyndakian fought off a virtual army, protecting the Druid. As the Darksworn turned to yell something, an arrow pierced his skull.
"Fiend," muttered another voice, "Speaking to your imbecilic friends as if you knew all the answers. You don't…" Jarn'dor saw Nek'tan being gutted, the Zandalar ripping him open upon a mighty altar.
"Traitor," whispered Jaz'renthi, suddenly appearing before him, "Leavin' me for dis Dream… I spent so many nights alone… Cause o' you!" The Druid screamed as his mate ripped out his heart, watching as it continued to beat.
"Mon…" Jarn'dor reeled from the vision. "Mon…" He heard it again, as a three fingered hand reached out for him. "Mon… Take ma hand…"
As the nightmares and voices roared around him, Jarn'dor took the hand.
A gout of liquid fire was belched into the main cavern, causing Vyndakian to duck for cover. The lava melted all in its path, turning the animals into gibbering slag, and setting any plants it didn't touch on fire.
"Druid," roared a voice, "Lord Ragereaver sends his regards!" A river of lava burst through the cavern roof, nearly hitting Vyndakian as it carved through in its destructive path.
The Death Knight raced back through the maze of tunnels, ducking and dodging as the lava flowed ahead of him, the liquid fire carving its own path. Vyndakian leaped over one of the minor flows, and a pillar of the burning liquid burst through the cavern's roof.
Vyndakian hit the ground and tried to leap to the side, but a great, searing pain brought him to his knees. He held his face, and new he had been hit by a portion of the lava. But he couldn't stop now.
He rose to his feet, and continued to run, pushing aside a boulder covering a doorway. Vyndakian ran into the chamber and scooped Jarn'dor up into his arms. The Elf turned, to see that his escape had been cut off by lava.
Well then, he thought, I'll have to make my own.
Jarn'dor looked around, blinking. A troll sat beside him, panting. The two grinned, both wearing the marks of the Bloodraptor. Jarn'dor clapped the other troll on the back.
"Flak'za," he said, greeting the other druid. Flak'za chuckled, pulling his fellow troll to his feet.
"Ya be lucky I'm strollin' by," replied the Troll, with a smirk on his face, "Apparently, ya be a wanted mon, mon." Jarn'dor chuckled.
"Den someone asked ya ta find me?" Flak'za could only nod. The two stood, surrounded by darkness on every side. It blotted out the scenery, the sky, and the earth below them. They were trapped in the Emerald Nightmare.
Shadows reached out to the two, trying to grab them like vile tentacles. Jarn'dor began to cast spells, trying to keep the wicked tendrils away from him. The shadows receded, but only returned with greater force, slowly encroaching upon the druids.
Soon, Flak'za fell to his knees, as the Nightmare claimed him too. A beautiful Blood Elf appeared in front of him, kissing him deeply. It was his love, Kaoru, and the Elf was doing so many… Enchanting things to him. It was if the world stood still, and it was just them.
Jarn'dor yelled a warning, but Flak'za didn't hear it. Kaoru trailed kisses down his cheek, slowly unbuttoning her top. She moaned in his arms, praising him. Suddenly she grew very pale, and fell limp into his arms.
The Troll looked her over, unsure of what happened. She breathed out one last moan, and died.
"No," whispered Flak'za, "No…NO!" Kaoru slowly turned into a pink puddle and the scene shifted, as she was attacked by a group of Gnolls. Flak'za tried to move, but he found himself unable to, locked in his spot.
One by one, each Gnoll pounced on the elf, cutting her deeply. She soon fell to her knees, and the leader slit her throat, her blood gushing and covering the others in a fount of bright red.
Flak'za fell to his knees, screaming. A hand grabbed his shoulder, and ripped him back, the scene returning to blackness.
"Mon, don't let ya guard down," roared Jarn'dor as he slammed a shadow tendril with his staff, "Dey'll take ya into da darkness!" The Druid roared, a wave of natural power emanating from him. The tendrils shriveled, retreating.
"Flak'za," whispered the Troll, "You must leave. Before da Nightmare claims ya." The other Druid could only nod.
"Follo' do'," replied Flak'za as he vanished, returning to his body in the real world. Jarn'dor turned, as the shadows continued their attack with renewed vigour.
The Troll began to beat them back, as they took form. His nightmare, Atal'Hakkar took shape, chuckling darkly.
"You think you're strong," roared the Soulflayer, "But you will join others in this Nightmare!" Jarn'dor cried out as the Blood God bore down upon him. He unleashed the strongest burst of magic he could, as Hakkar's tail sunk into his heart.
Vyndakian exploded outward from the cavern entrance, collapsing on the ground. He panted heavily, clutching his friend in his arms. The escape was narrow, but they had made it.
The Death Knight stood, to look out from a mountain range on top of the Wailing Caverns. He had no clue what had caused the magma, but he was glad to escape with his life.
The mountain exploded, throwing Vyndakian backwards like a rag doll. A mighty, purple drake slammed through the ancient rock, ash and smoke filling Vyndakian's lungs.
The Twilight Drake took off, unknowing that the Elf had escaped with Jarn'dor. In the Drake's talons, was a clay pot, with the lid sealed shut?
Vyndakian would have time to worry about that later. He picked up the Druid and hoisted him over his shoulder. He'd take him to Moonglade, and place him in the care of the Cenarion Circle.
Then he'd figure out what the hell was going on.
Golion sat upon his throne, atop of Blackrock Mountain. And he was not amused. His advisors and messengers had brought him nothing but useless information all day. Enemy positions and foolish alliances did not concern him.
What he seethed about now, was Jaz'renthi. A few days ago, he had tracked her down, and had learned that she had locked Jarn'dor in the Emerald Nightmare. But then, she had snuck back into his lair, into the Molten Core, and had stolen one of his dragon eggs!
His grip upon the stone throne tightened. Only a small portion of his clutch was his own. Some had been stolen from Onyxia and Nefarian, both were failures in his eyes, and others from various dragons.
The downfall was, all the eggs were identical. Golion would not know which ones where his until they hatched. And until then, Jaz'renthi could have two of his own eggs. He couldn't risk that.
So, he had her imprisoned, deep within the depths of Blackrock Mountain, where the Dark Iron had carved themselves a home. Or, where they had.
Jaz'renthi had said someone aided him, and he knew all the Orcs here were under his sway. So, he had the city purged. Only those that fell onto their knees were spared. However, he had made sure they were subject to the most backbreaking, pain-enducing slave labor he could possibly imagine.
Right now, the Troll would be nearly halfway up the tower, to speak with Golion personally. Already, his Lieutenant, Ebberon, had returned from the Barrens with his ultimatum for Jaz'renthi.
Brutus, another of his Lieutenants, had returned from an expedition into Karazhan, the ancient tower of the Magus Medivh. He had brought the Lord of Blackrock exactly what he wanted, a book with Medivh's most powerful spells. Already, his operation had sped up, by at least a century with these spells.
And they had only used the ones on the first page.
The portcullis opened, and two Blackrock Orcs walked in, dragging a chained Jaz'renthi. Golion grinned, enjoying how the Orcs had followed his instructions. They had put her in solitary confinement, and better than that, they had some sort of harness on her.
The spiked harness looped up from her thighs, restricting how far she could step, looping around her arms, to restrict their motion, and linking up around her neck in a choker.
Golion rose as the two guards pushed Jaz'renthi to her knees, chuckling darkly. He took the urn from Ebberon, bouncing it in his hands.
"Well, well, well," spoke the Magmawyrm, "You've taken my family, Jaz'renthi, and I've taken yours. By putting Jarn'dor into the Emerald Dream, he's probably dead."
She spit at his feet. "He'll be hea," warned the Troll, "Ta kick ya ass!" Golion cackled, as did the rest of his court. It was one, unified laugh, directed at the Druid.
"I doubt it," replied the Lord, as he crouched in front of Jaz'renthi, "Mainly because, I saw to it that he burned." Jaz'renthi bared her teeth in defiance, so Golion continued.
"When you told me you had my eggs, I had already planned for Ebberon here to melt the Wailing Caverns." He set the urn in front of her. "In here, is all that's left of your mate. And to think, I couldn't have done it without you."
The assorted leaders laughed cruelly as Jaz'renthi reached out and picked up the urn. Golion watched as something broke inside her, but he was impressed she didn't show it.
"This is your last opportunity," began the Dragon, "To gain your favor with me, and return my eggs." Jaz'renthi slung many curses at Golion in Trollish, none of which he cared about.
"You see," he continued, "I had my comrade, Brutus, made a trip to Karazhan, to pick up an old spell-book." Golion laughed when he saw the fear in her eyes. "Don't worry, It's not the original spell-book, but it's good enough for me."
He waved to the guards, as they grabbed her choker, hauling the Troll to her feet. Golion sat down upon his throne, thumbing the pages of his new book.
"Put her back in her prison… I'd like to see her fight in the Dark Iron Arena soon." The Orcs nodded, hauling away Jaz'renthi. She hissed and cursed at the group of Lords, until the portcullis slammed shut.
Jaz'renthi was thrown into her cell, as the urn was ripped out of her hands. The Orcs laughed.
"Look what we got here," said one, as he pried open the lid, "It's your mate. Too bad you two can't do much anymore." The other laughed, as he swatted the pot out of his friend's hand.
The urn shattered on the cell floor, spreading its ashes everywhere. The Orcs guffawed as they left.
"Ashes to ashes," said one as the cell door slammed shut. Jaz'renthi fell to her knees, crying. Tears streamed down her face, as she tried her best to gather up the ashes.
Eventually, she gave up, sitting on the floor. It was because of her, Jarn'dor was dead. She would never see him again, feel his body against hers, or his love, ever…
Jarn'dor opened his eyes, and took a breath. He placed his hand, where he had felt Hakkar's sting. There was nothing, as if it had never happened. Jarn'dor looked around, wondering where he was.
As far as he could see, it was a rolling, green plain, covered in grasses. He looked to the night sky, and Jarn'dor could not recognize the stars, but the moon was full. The Druid could not think of where he was. A shuffling came from behind him, and he turned, to look at a shady figure.
This man, for that is what it appeared to be, was covered from head to foot in a dark, black cloak. In one gloved hand, it held a scythe, like one used to cut down grass. Jarn'dor and the figure watched each other for a long time.
"Are… Are ya Deat'," whispered the Druid. The figure shrugged its shoulders, the rest of its body immobile.
"Sometimes," it replied, its voice as dry as a desert. Jarn'dor was suddenly washed in a wave of fear.
"Den…Am I dead?" Death walked forward, its scythe tapping along the ground.
"No," replied its cold voice.
"Then," asked the Troll, "Am I alive?" Death shrugged a neutral gesture. Jarn'dor looked back up to the sky.
"Where… Where am I?" At this, Death stopped walking, resting next to the Druid.
"You are at a place, between worlds," spoke the figure, sounding tired, "Where there is no life, or death. Where there is substance, and there is nothing. Where time has no meaning, and it has all meaning. This is a waiting place."
Jarn'dor looked at Death. "Mon… Where am I?" The figure pulled down its hood, to reveal a bleached-white skull. If it could look sad, it did right then and there.
"My friend… Welcome… To Purgatory…"