Many thanks for those that reviewed the previous chapter! Enjoy the next, and please continue to R&R! ~F

Chapter Sixty Eight

Conspiracy

Teg'Ramm was more than pleased with the mission he had been given by his master. He was to take the greatest of the Ogre Magi in the Balefire Clan and forcefully recruit the clans back in the area they had first arrived, returning the new forces to Blackrock to prepare for the assault on the fortress on the coast.

The journey back through the mountains was smoother than their initial trek from the Blasted Lands. Circumventing the other orcish base in the swamps, as well as the Alliance fort on the outskirts of the Blasted Lands were the only potential issues, but circling north of them both respectively served the purpose that Teg'Ramm needed.

Luckily, there was also a massive fortress that the ogres had claimed in that direction. Even though they were ogres as well, the species as a whole was very territorial when it came to clan and loyalty.

The guards outside the fortress moved to block Teg'Ramm and his followers, gripping their massive weapons in both hands and snarling at the twin headed members of the Balefire Clan.

Instead of even bothering to speak with the guard, Teg simply swept his hand, blasting the foolish brute with the power of the Fel. The guard was blasted backward and collapsed, while his fellow fled into the fortress, bellowing the alarm for all to hear. But it meant nothing to Teg'Ramm, as he wanted the fools to bring forth their leader, so that one clan to another, he could challenge them for dominance.

With the command of the Fel empowering him, there were little to match Teg'Ramm in physical strength, which would be the primary contest between warlords, and if magic was to be used, well… he was trained under the most powerful warlock on the planet.

"Bring forth your leader!" Ramm roared in challenge as the Balefire ogres entered the fortress properly. Teg scrutinized the buildings of the fortress, noting that it was clearly built by orcs rather than the ogres that now occupied them, which was typical of what he had seen of the ogres of this world.

Still, it was a good enough stronghold for their forces to use; however, he would mention it to Lord Nobu'tan if he was interested. Still, in the meantime, there was a job here to do. Teg'Ramm glared up as the massive warlord of these ogres approached, surrounded by his own guard of warriors.

"We challenge you for the right to rule your clan!" Teg'Ramm bellowed, pointing his staff at the warlord.

The other warlord, foolish enough to think of Teg'Ramm as just any other challenger, bellowed a roar of anger, and pushed through his guard, right into the waiting arms of Teg'Ramm. The other warlocks spread out, one of them taking Teg'Ramm's staff for him.

The other warlord did not even both releasing his weapon, but simply charged at Teg'Ramm like the brute he was, massive mace swinging overhead, trying to crush one of the warlock's heads in his swift assault.

What he did not expect was for Teg'Ramm to be ready for such an attack, and grab the stone head of the mace with one hand, halting its advance completely through sheer strength and Fel empowerment alone.

"Fool," Teg'Ramm said, "You've left yourself open!" his other fist slammed heavily into the chest of the ogre, and Teg'Ramm relished the snap of bone as his powerful strike shattered several rips in his opponent, sending the warlord staggering backward, dropping his weapon and clutching his wound as blood formed under the skin, turning the area crimson and purple.

Advancing, Teg'Ramm smirked at the beating that was about to solidify his position as lord over yet another clan of his people, and perhaps supply them a base of operations in the Blasted Lands, if his Lord was willing to allow such a thing.

It was almost a disappointment how quickly he overpowered the other warlord, knocking the hulk to the ground and pummeling his face into a bloody pulp, while the other ogres looked on with awe and horror.

Finally, grabbing the feebly struggling creature by the head, Teg'Ramm pulled with all his Fel-assisted strength, ignoring the sizeable cracking sound that signaled the death of his opponent, and wrenched the head clean off, holding it up for all to see clearly.

"I claim this Clan, and you will merge with the Balefire and join us to glory!" Teg roared, even as Ramm watched the gathered ogres for any sense of dissent or uprising.

Tossing the head to one of his associates, where it was place in a sack to later be polished into another trophy for the growing collection that Teg'Ramm had amassed of defeated foes, and returned his staff to him. Another warlock started conjuring an Eye of Kil'rogg to send back to their master, which was the prepared signal for their lord to come to them via portal, and inspect the new recruits.

It took only a matter of minutes before Lord Nobu'tan cleaved a tear in space from Blackrock and walked through to the fortress. The other ogres recoiled at the sheer power of the Fel that admitted the grand warlock into their midst.

"My Lord, this fortress and its clan are under my domination now," Teg'Ramm said proudly, gesturing around.

"Good… another group of warriors for the Horde…" Nobu'tan said, gazing around at the collective of frightened and intimidated ogres.

"There are more clans in the area that I will recruit in due time, but my Lord, I wondered if this fortress could serve us in the south to monitor the area of the Dark Portal, and the demons in the south of this area…" Teg'Ramm suggested, and his master turned away, face contorting as he thought about the idea.

"It would serve to not have to move so many ogres across the regions of the Alliance, where they are to notice them, as well as the lack of their presence here to do so… I'll allow it," he said, "we will work toward building permanent portals between here and Blackrock, so that warriors and supplies can move freely between this outpost and the main headquarters in the Burning Steppes."

"Very good, Master," Teg'Ramm said, even as they moved away from the stinking corpse of the former warlord, and into the fortress properly. Examining the clear orcish architecture, the ogre lord watching the human as his eyes sparkled with fond memories.

"This was once the stronghold of Rockard, sister stronghold of Stonard in the north. And it will return to its former glory once more," he said, grinning broadly. "Go out and claim the other ogre clans, and scout the area. I will summon more forces to fully augment this fortress and begin its reconstruction to our new southern base."

"Yes Master," Teg'Ramm said gladly, summoning a few of his magi to follow as he set off further toward the surge of power that was the Dark Portal, retracing their steps to the dens of ogres that he recalled quite well from their initial arrival.

How he had longed for the chance to take these ogres as his own, and now that he was given the command to do so, he would take every needful move in order to achieve his goal.

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Tenebrous was pleased with his reception upon returning to Blackrock Mountain. While the orcs and their other, lesser, allies more or less ignored him as just another warlock of the Stormreavers, to be avoided unless absolutely necessary, Lucius Malfoy on the other hand, as their default leader when Nobu'tan and Draco were away, had nothing but pride in his eyes as the assassin and destroyed reported his moves and success in his mission.

"It is no more than we could have expected," the man said, in relation to Blaise being foisted out of Orgrimmar, "The Warchief of this other Horde seems to be more perceptive and wiser than we gave him credit for. We will send others; actual orcs that they will have more trouble detecting, especially if they are ones that are official members of their faction…"

"We have some of their Horde here?" Blaise asked, interested immensely.

"We do, they are being carefully watched and… groomed, for their future purposes…" Lucius said slowly, knowing that the sadistic young man would want to be involved if torture was being used to break the spirits of these other orcs.

Tenebrous was an expert in this field, but even he knew that Lucius, as another master of causing great pain and affliction with the Fel, would not want his work being augmented by another, just in case of some specific order being countermanded by accident. However, that didn't stop the younger man from wanting to learn at the knee of the master manipulator, the lead Death Eater of the former order.

"I would love to see the process, for academic reasons of course…" Blaise said eagerly.

"Of course you would…" Lucius replied, smirking knowingly at the young man. "This way," the senior member of the Council of the Black Harvest stated, leading the way out of the main room and down the spiraling corridors of the former dwarven fortress to the many holding cells toward the root of the mountain.

The rearmost prison chamber was guarded by the orc gladiator that they had recruited while sweeping the lower levels, the leather wearing orc looking very serious in his position, and only stepping aside when Lucius himself approached. "Any changes?" the former Death Eater asked, to which the orc shook his head.

"All the same, his will is strong, and his loyalty for the other Horde runs deep." The orc, whose name Blaise vaguely remembered as Gorosh, said.

"I see, well perhaps we'll make more progress this time…" Lucius said calmly stepping inside as the orc unbolted and opened the metal doorway, glowering at Blaise as the younger disguised human followed quickly.

"Gor'shak," Lucius said as the figure within came into view, strapped down to a metal slab that hindered his movement completely, despite the bulky orc's clear strength, "surely you'll reconsider our proposal now, after months of our hospitality…"

"If you call it that!" the orc spat in return, and Blaise marveled at the resolve despite the clear signs of magical and mundane torture, meticulously healed and broken over and over. The casual viewer wouldn't have been able to tell, but the signs were there for the trained eye.

"Crucio…" Lucius said, almost lazily, and the orc shrieked as the pain curse took hold. The man held the curse for nearly a full minute before releasing it.

"If you will not do so willingly, we have our ways to make sure that you will do as we desire…" Lucius threatened, "I've been patient, but your Warchief is wise enough to see through our operatives…"

"As I'd expect from the true leader of the Horde," the orc reprimanded, significantly humbled by the torment, but still full of spirit.

"However," Lucius continued, "we shall try again with a more familiar face, and you will aid us whether you remember it or not… Imperio!"

Blaise watched in fascination as the curse took hold, the orc relaxing and laying quite still as Lucius intoned the stipulations of his conditioning, layering magic over the commands and their triggers, where and how and what the orc was to do in a given circumstance.

This was what Blaise wanted to understand. Any fool could incite a single command with the Imperus curse, but it took a true master, brimming with cold indifference for the future of their target to conjure something as complex and powerful as what he was witnessing.

Finally, Lucius finished with his spell work, and stunned the orc completely, straightening his robes and turning to leave. Blaise followed and was pleased to overhear the man's instructions for the confused guard, "When he awakens, remove him from here, see that he is returned his gear and weapons, and lead him back to their capital." Lucius commanded, "You will be our chief informant in the enemy's capital, you already know your story, and how you came to escape."

"Yes," Gorosh replied, looking frustrated at the swift commands, "but what of…"

"His fate is none of your concern," the elder warlock interrupted, "he will report to you now the movements of his leaders and you will forward this information to us by the means which I have provided you. Understood?"

The orc seemed willing to protest further, but eventually gave up, "Yes, Lord."

"Good, then see to it…" Lucius said, turning and walking away with Blaise in tow.

"That will give us what was so easily foiled by your presence," the man said calmly as they departed the depths of the mountain, "and remove the thorn from my side, as there was no information worth taking from him, but turning him to our end, with magic that is unheard of in this world may yet succeed where all else thus far has failed."

"Brilliantly worked, Lucius," Blaise complimented, still savoring the sense of the magic.

"Only if it pays off," Lucius replied, "and then there is a myriad of other tasks that we must be about, what with an attack to plan, and Lord Nobu'tan seemingly running off to claim a new fortress in the south, without telling anyone for that matter."

Blaise didn't need to look to note the frustration in the man's voice. Lucius had always been one of the more practical of the Counsel, checking and rebuffing Lord Nobu'tan in every whim that he wished for when it was less than practical, but that tended to urge their leader into random bouts of independence that hardly were practical at the time. However…

"If it brings us more warriors, what's the harm?" Blaise asked, wanting to know of the recent events while he had been away.

"We don't have the resources to properly fortify the area, for one thing," Lucius said, rattling them off his fingers as they walked, "Secondly, we cannot trust so many fresh recruits, especially by the means that they are brought into the fold, there's no telling if or when they might try to escape or seize control, and that would pose a large headache for the rest of us if it was to happen at the wrong moment."

"And what about my methods will cause such a headache for you, Lucius?" said a new voice as the pair entered the main chamber toward the summit of the mountain. Lord Nobu'tan had returned, sitting on the large stone throne that overlook the hall and the wide balcony that spanned the whole of the blackened lands.

"Ah, Lord Nobu'tan," Lucius said, schooling his comments, "I was merely stating that with our current plans, suddenly acquiring a new fortress might pose to be a significant drain on resources that we cannot afford to spend."

"I am already aware of the potential problems, Lucius," Nobu'tan countered, "and what is why only a token overseer group of orcs will be needed while the ogres, that already live there, will be manning this fortress during the midst of our attack."

"Would that not prompt the ogres to possibly try to reestablish their independence?" Lucius asked.

"I doubt that," Nobu'tan replied, tilting his head to take both Lucius and Blaise in his view, "Teg'Ramm has more than established his dominance, and without their former warlord the others will be cowed for a time, at least long enough for our attack to be completed, and we will then have two strongholds to use, both near areas of dense wood and in strategic locations, one on the coast, and one near to the Dark Portal."

Lucius bowed his head momentarily, "I admit that my estimation of the ogres might have been a bit more than expected," he acquiesced. "I will adapt and make the preparations for a smattering of our forces to move into the new hold via portal, and supply them for their watch."

"Good, in the meantime, Blaise, I have a new mission for you…" Nobu'tan said, beckoning the assassin closer.

Thanatos eagerly approached, desirous to hear of what new enemy he had to prey upon.

"You are returning to Kalimdor…" Nobu'tan started, "in the northern area beyond Orgrimmar there is a massive forest named Ashenvale, or so I have heard it called, the remnants of the Shadow Council are there in a Fel tainted portion of the forest. You will go and cleanse the forest of all who follow the Legion and will not bend the knee to me."

"As you wish, Lord," Blaise said, bowing deeply and mentally preparing what tools and materials he would need for such a journey.

"I suggest, due to the problems with Orgrimmar, that you take a ship form Menethil Harbor and go up from the human settlement of Theramore." Nobu'tan said, gesturing at the large map of the world that they had recently acquired, and draped over the cavern wall near the throne.

"I will see to it immediately." Blaise said, bowing again and turning swiftly to depart for his own rooms, and gather the gear he felt would be needful on such a journey.

It would be a long ride north, followed by an even longer trip across the sea by boat, so he would need a sizeable amount of gold to sustain himself, but the coffers of the mountain fortress ran deep, and there would be little they could not spare to him on a mission from Nobu'tan himself.

Only when he felt that everything was in order did he take one of their dwindling supply of horses, a fresh one that had not been recently out, and rode northward, into the Searing Gorge and out toward the Badlands to the East.

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Voldemort was sickened by how long clearing out the monastery was taking. The graveyard and the armory itself were frustrating in the time it took for the small party to clear out their foes, but now, with the looming cathedral before them, and the last bastion of these fools standing in their way before the supreme leaders of the crusade in this area fell at his feet, there was at last some potential end of this madness.

Hitting the massive doors with a tremendous blast of force, Voldemort knocked them open, shattering the silence that had pervaded the interior of the building, and causing the rows of kneeling crusaders to take up their arms in defense of their sacred site.

The Dark Lord graciously complied to their wished, slaying as many as dared approach him, deathly magic ripping flesh from bone and the emerald green of his curses flashing through the room.

Beyond the fools that charged at him to their death, at the head of the building upon a raised dais stood the final leader of the crusade in Tirisfal, Renault Mograine. "Infidels!" the man cried, pointing his heavy mace at Voldemort, "They must be purified!"

Snarling at the pronouncement, Voldemort cleaved through the last line of crusaders that blocked his way, leaving the pathetic forsaken group to take care of the rest as he charged the commander himself, allowing the power of his death magic to carry him far faster than mortally possible.

Scepter and mace clashed heavily, but the enchanted nature of Voldemort implement refused to yield in the face of a seeming heavier weapon, and the Dark Lord swung again and again, pressing the defenses of the paladin, hissing in anger as the man used the power of his holy light to burn his unliving flesh.

"Avada Kedavera!" he bellowed, catching the man unaware, the curse hurling his backward to topple over the altar in the center of the dais.

The doors beyond slammed open, and Voldemort glowered as a woman emerged, wearing the robes of a high inquisitor. Holy power slammed into him, crippling his movement and that of the other forsaken, even as the woman rushed to the side of her fallen commander.

"Mograine has fallen? You shall pay for this treachery!" she cried, channeling her magic into the corpse, and Voldemort could sense the Light pulling back the fractured soul back to its body.

"Arise, my champion!" she intoned as the spell completed, reviving the Paladin. Mograine stood quickly, taking up his hammer once more and smiling at the woman.

"At your side, milady," he replied, grasping the weapon tightly and turning to face Voldemort, who had finally shook off the paralyzing magic that had prevented him from interfering.

The paladin rushed him once more, and Voldemort was surprised at the renewed vigor that the man possessed so soon after his return to life. Having had experience in returning from the dead, so to speak, Voldemort had expected that the man would have been troubled to even stand let alone fight. The power behind the light magic was decisively strange and foreign to him, as all the magic of this world was.

Meanwhile, the inquisitor started chanting, drawing even more holy magic to herself and focusing on all the slain waiting lying in the cathedral. Voldemort knew what she intended, and with the rest of the Forsaken still focused on the last of the crusaders, there were no one to stop her from completing her spell except Voldemort himself.

There was little that he could do to interrupt her with the paladin attacking him directly, but Voldemort knew another method that could prevent her from summoning all their fallen allies back to the field. He would raise them himself first.

Allowing the power of death to rush through him, Voldemort swung his scepter in a wide arc, forcing the corpses of the fallen to shamble to their feet and screeching in their new inhuman voices. The crusaders abandoned the fight with the forsaken party to turn on their rampaging brethren, but there were simply too many for the last guards of the inquisitor to prevent Voldemort's undead horde from reaching the woman.

Her spell now lacking any usable targets, she tried to fight back, but while she was distracted and couldn't mend the wounds of the paladin, Voldemort struck.

Catching the mace in his hand when it swung at him again, the Dark Lord utilized his superior and inhuman strength to warp and crush the metal, ripping the weapon from the mortal's grasp and striking him in the chest with the head of his truncheon.

Mograine fell back once more, only to be swarmed by his fallen and now shambling minions, leaving the way clear as Voldemort advanced on the inquisitor, knocking the staff from her hands with a single swipe of his scepter. "Now your pathetic light will fade…" Voldemort, said slowly, the green energy of death building from the soul shard of his own hateful self.

The woman's eyes widened as she was struck down, and the dark lord turned away, releasing his power over the puppet dead and allowing them to drop across the floor of the building.

The Forsaken party, now shockingly aware of his power and what he truly was, stood far away as Voldemort started back toward the entrance, "Necromancer…" Jadyn stated, and Voldemort paused at the hatred in the undead's voice.

Despite the lack of facial descriptors on the dead people's features, Voldemort could sense the newfound distrust and animosity against him that they had developed at the reveal of his true strength.

For the briefest moment he considered sparing them, but the overarching ramification was too great to allow any backlash to occur. Voldemort had too much riding on his ability to continue his unlife, as well as needing to remain unknown in the Undercity.

Therefore, he made his decision, and in a flash was among the Forsaken fools, bashing aside the shield of Jadyn and planting his own sword into the chest of the corpse, which injured it just as much as though the fallen being was still living.

Throwing the warrior aside, Voldemort then launched into a storm of devastating death magic, forcing the other three to scatter from the blasts of chaotic power. Norward and Elden fell back, trying to find an opening in the blasts of magic to rush at the former dark lord.

Meanwhile, Melody started toward the fallen Forsaken, healing magic glowing in her hands, but Voldemort was not about to allow that to occur. A small cyclone of shredding wind, incorporating the screams of damned souls taken by the Death Knight personally, erupted into being around the priest, draining what little life force from her emasculated body, even as the remaining two fools stared on in horror.

Elden tried to charge in the interim, while Voldemort was focused on finishing off the priest, but the blow from the warrior's large two handed weapon was less than effective against Voldemort, and the Death Knight rolled with the strike, turning and plunging a skeletal hand deeply into the decayed chest of the other fighter, relishing the crushing organs that still held power over the limit façade of life that the Forsaken held on to.

Even as the male corpse fell to the ground and expired once more, Norward turned and attempted to flee from the Cathedral, but Voldemort launched a barrage of death curses after the dead man, striking him in the back as he reached the wide gates of the building.

Voldemort watched the final body fall onto the stairs just outside of the Cathedral, feeling nothing within himself regarding the former allies and their now untimely death. Taking up his truncheon, he finally started away from the building, uncaring about whatever else may lay within. There had been no tomes of interest that he found, only the dogma of the crusade, and he was eager to return to the Undercity and regain the lost time that was spent here in observing the operation of the undead city, as well as waiting for the orcish delegation to return.

It was therefore something of a surprise when he, in the height of the day, returned to the sloping entrance of the city to find the various beasts of the Horde arrayed in front of it, skeletal horses for the Forsaken, as well as the larger wolves that the orcs favored and the massive Kodos of the Tauren. Their owners were just entering the front gates of the ruined surface city, and Voldemort wondered just how they had traveled so quickly.

Unfortunately, they were also blocking his ability to get around them and into the city unseen, so he had no choice but to follow them quickly and stick to the shadows, a task made easier once inside the ruins of the city.

Once down in the central section of the Undercity, it was far easier to determine that the group of living creatures was making their way to the section that Voldemort had previously avoided, the supposed Royal Quarter, and due to the circular nature of the city he was able to quickly head them off and watch carefully as the group of hide wearing creatures passed the guard at the entrance without even needing to announce themselves.

Making a rather rash decision, for the sake of completing his mission and moving on to hopefully returning to Blackrock and his solitude of plotting the downfall of Potter, Voldemort approached the entrance of the quarter. Restraining his surprise that the guards did not even look at him, he passed through to the narrow corridor that curved downward, moving through several more fortified sections of guards until the room opened up to a large circular chamber.

The center was dominated by a highly raised platform, whereupon the orcs, trolls and tauren were fanned out before one particular undead, the female's red eyes scanning over them as they conversed, probably some sort of report regarding their trip to the south and back.

Voldemort knew that he would be quickly noticed if he attempted to get too close to the group and overhear their conversation, and thusly hung back away from the assembled collection. It was odd though, how despite the guards surrounding the room and a handful of important looking orcs and Forsaken that there was no additional level of protection for who he presumed was the leader of the Forsaken here.

"Well, well, what do we have here," a voice stated behind and slightly above the Death Knight. His dead eyes widening in surprise, Voldemort turned, only to meet a hulking figure that he recognized. The bat wings and sharp claws of a Dreadlord were well known to those who came from earth, having seen Potter speak with one of their number many times in preparation.

"I do not know of you, nor have any of my eyes and ears across the Undercity," the Dreadlord said, advancing toward Voldemort, even as the Death Knight involuntarily took several steps back, clutching his truncheon.

"And yet I find myself amused at the strength that you possess, for being an unknown…" the Nathrezim continued, eyeing the magical weapon in the former dark lord's hand, "perhaps we need to have a little chat about where you came from, and who you happen to serve… Death Knight…"

Voldemort did not know what he could do against a powerful adversary on his own, in the middle of an enemy stronghold, and there was no time for him to formulate a plan as the Nathrezim's powers over the Fel took hold of him, rendering him unconscious.

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Mephistroth pondered deeply the situation of Azeroth, from the cold tower of the rulers of Nathreza. Several things, both good and ill for the Legion had recently occurred. Firstly, they had finally establish a strong enough communication with Lord Kazzak to discuss the Doomlord's findings in the Blasted Lands, and soon they would yield great fruit in opening a new route to the world they sought for the glory of Sargaras.

However, at the same time, there were less ideal situations going on, especially in the realm of the orcs. Someone, an unknown warlock to the Legion, had routed the powerbase that they had established through the searing blade clan within Orgrimmar itself, and eliminated all their leaders through exile or death, which prevent the Legion from knowing the movements of the renegade Horde and their shaman leader.

Still, it was a minor setback at the most, with the Dark Horde now flourishing under Nobu'tan's leadership, and already stretching their eyes and ears toward the other orcish stronghold, as well as holding their sway over the human kingdom of Stormwind.

It may yet be wise for Mephistroth to instruct dear little Nobu'tan to seek out the rest of the Shadow Council actively, and unite their forces toward furthering Kazzak's goals, but for the time being the Dreadlord knew that the human was busy just making sure that their forces were well entrenched in their lands and holdings, unable to strike out yet and act directly for the Legion.

Patience was a virtue that the Legion did not have much of, but in this case Mephistroth was willing to give some of his desire for results time to fully ripen. There would be time enough for his personal servant to strike out on his own and claim glory for the Legion, and the other plans that were in motion were long running and needed more time regardless.

So despite what Kil'jaeden would have wanted, Mephistroth would wait and watch a bit longer, making absolutely sure that their pawn was in the perfect position to fulfill his obligation to the Legion, and deliver means for them to enter the world of Azeroth once and for all.

If that meant waiting for Kazzak to finish his working on the Dark Portal, or some other machination of the scattered and relatively leaderless Shadow Council, then so be it. The Demons weren't going anywhere, and the little warlock's debt to them was great indeed, and would be paid in full, one way or another.

The one piece of troubling information that Mephistroth knew about was that the Frozen Throne seemed to have stirred, and the flying citadel of Naxxramus was seen moving slowly to the edge of Northrend, almost in preparation for some sort of assault on the Eastern Kingdoms, a preverbal spanner in the works that the Legion did not wish to deal with, and possibly another objective for the young warlock and his forces in the near future.

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Sylvanas looked on, imperceptivity bored at the report of the Earthen Ring delegation, which detailed how they had done little more than venture to the Searing Gorge and performed a quick survey of the area, before immediately departing when they realized that the elements were being slowly tainted around the mountain by Fel energy.

She was not overwhelming sure about what that entailed, having not studied too deeply into the power of the demons or its applications, but nevertheless it sounded unpleasant. A small, silent scuffle happened just behind the delegation, before the dais and only in view of the Banshee Queen, but she did not let a reaction show on her face.

Varimathras had accosted a dark figure, and incapacitated the unknown undead with his powers. After that the Dreadlord had removed the undead by teleportation, likely to the private holding cells in the Royal Apothecarium, even as the delegation of shaman concluded their findings, and bowed to her before departing.

She waited for the last of the shaman to leave completely from the Royal Quarter before looking to the side, where her Majordomo had returned, gliding out of the shadows like the overgrown bat that he was, "We've had an… interesting visitor, my Lady," he said silkily, the cultivated voice scarcely hiding the sinister and cruel nature within. "I've shown him to some amenable accommodations to wait for your visit."

"Show me…" Sylvanas demanded, touching the extended claw of the Nathrezim as he whisked the pair of them through the shadows to the effective dungeon and holding cages for their most valued prisoners.

The unknown was slumped in one of the end cages, still unconscious from whatever the Dreadlord had done to him. "Awaken him," Sylvanas ordered, and the Dreadlord sighed once, allowing a vapor of smoke to escape his lungs and waft around the slumbering figure, who started to consciousness.

"Who are you?" Slyvanas demanded of the stranger, watching the dead glowing eyes of their prisoner as he looked around for a moment of confusion, before focusing on her own.

The strange being said nothing, the only signs of defiance being in the dead eyes, which glimmered with a foreign power of death that spoke of only one thing.

"Death Knight…" Sylvanas spat, "The Lich King sent you to assassinate me then, didn't he?"

Again, there was no response, but Sylvanas didn't need to hear any lies from the corpse to know that they had to try other means to root out the truth. "Varimathras," she said, turning to the Dreadlord, "loosen his tongue, I want to know why he is here, what the Lich King hoped to gain, and what Arthas is up to before the month's end."

"As you wish, my Lady," the demon stated, smirking toothily at their prisoner, even as the Banshee Queen turned and departed.

This new development was not what she needed, not with all else that was occurring around her kingdom. The scarlet crusade and the scourge to the east, while the Alliance bore upward from the south and the constant threat of the return of Arthas, the Legion, or any other foe that had been thought defeated. The Worgen were also a threat, but as the beasts were contained to Silverpine Forest and Gilnaes in the west she was not as concerned with them, but it was just one more pressure to add to her already great burden.

"Where are you, you damned bastard," she said to herself, thinking of Arthas, the madman who killed her, destroyed her beloved Silvermoon, and brought torment to their entire people. She would have her revenge, and this assassin would be the very first step in that direction.

In the next room, the Death Knight's equipment was laid out for examination, and Sylvanas took her time, looking over the suit of armor, swords, and other articles that had been collected. Confusingly enough were the handful of tomes that she knew had been previously stored in the library of the Scarlet Monastery. She would have to send scouts to confirm if the location was still heavily defended, as she guessed that against a Death Knight the crusaders would have fallen quite quickly.

Finally, the jewels and glimmering scepter caught the eye of the Banshee Queen, the deep scarlet gem glowing in the gloom of the dark chamber. Taking up the weapon and implement, Sylvanas had the distinct impression that she had heard of something akin to this before, but she could not place where or when it was. Likely it was something that she had known in life but forgotten in the interim of years that she was a mindless servant of the Lich King.

Nevertheless, she set own the object. It would be up to the alchemists and mages to discover all that there was about their prisoner, and she would see to making sure that their patrols were doubled, in case this was the prelude to a full scale attack from the Lich King.

She had no doubts that in the end, the Death Knight would talk. The Nathrezim hadn't failed her yet in regards to her orders, and so long as Sylvanas didn't allow herself to become complacent, she had little to fear from Varimathras.

Returning to her position in the Royal Quarter, the Banshee Queen allowed her mind to turn to other matters, such as the long, pains-taking plans that she was laying the ground work for her own rise to power. It would take an extreme amount of time, however; as she was in no hurry to garner the wrath of Thrall.

The powerful shaman actually posed a threat to her plans, and Sylvanas had no desire to find out just how power the orc actually was. So, she would wait, and hope that in time another would rise to power in the Horde, one weaker and more easily susceptible to her plans.