Thanks to those who reviewed. Great chapter ahead, in my own not-so-very-humble opinion, but I'll let you all be judges over that. Until next time! ~F

Chapter Seventy Nine

The Daughter of the Sea

Jaina Proudmoore was interested to hear that Lady Malfoy had sent someone to hand deliver a message to her at Thereamore. She had thought that the strange and magically powerful family had hit it off well when she had surprisingly visited, despite the reasons behind her appearance initially, but she wasn't sure if the relationship would continue past the interaction they had had. Clearly she was wrong.

But for Lady Malfoy to send the correspondence with her by way of her son specifically, that was something that caught the Sorceress' attention. There had been an… interesting connection that she had felt with the young man Draco, and there were some similarities that Jaina felt they shared. Could the older woman be honestly trying to arrange them together? It was silly, and yet…

Many knew the sad truth that since Arthas' fall and transformation into the Lich King, Jaina had spent no time whatsoever trying to rebuild her own personal life, rather throwing every ounce of her being into protecting her people, first against the Legion, then later in the vicious battle that exploded between her father and Thrall's Horde to the north.

Aegwynn scarcely let the matter lie, occasionally mentioning that it was improper for such a young ruler to be alone so often, and that people would begin to talk. Up until now Jaina had ignored those jabs, but now confronted with an admittedly attractive man her own age hand delivering some manner of invitation, she started to wonder if the old Magna had the right idea.

"I still do not approve of that young man in question, on account of the powerful demonic magic around him" Aegwynn stated, catching Jaina looking out the window of her high tower toward the harbor, gazing at the Stormwind flag that mounted the top of the ship that had brought Draco to Theramore, "but if you're convinced of his truthfulness and so forth, I can see no reason why you would want to avoid this… some courtship might be just what you need to heal from past injuries…"

The reminders stung, but Jaina had to consider that Aegwynn truly had her best interests at heart, and that the old woman had a point. "Do you know where he is?" she asked, curious.

It had been several hours since the ship arrived, but none had come to the tower since then, nor had any announcement of Draco's presence been delivered to her.

"Touring the city I believe," Aegwynn said simply, "last I heard, he went out to look at the graveyard across the bridge."

Jaina winced. The graveyard was her least favorite place in Theramore, because of all the reminders of her past that it brought to the surface. While her father's body was taken back to Kul Tiras after the battle, many of the sailors and other soldiers that had perished hadn't had the same luxury, and were given markers on the shores of Kalimdor regardless of their remains were actually buried there or not.

"Go to him… or you might end up regretting something more than what has already happened…" Aegwynn said wisely, and Jaina sighed. Clasping her cloak around her, she quickly opened a small portal to the outskirt of the city and stepped through.

Duskwallow Marsh was not the most pleasant of places. Many of her citizen had attempted to tame the swampy marshland, and most had failed miserably, either in combat to the natural forces of the land or by the sentient denizens that lived in the thick trees.

But since the defeat and removal of Onyxia, the land had been eerily silent, and Jaina expected that many would start to wonder if it was safe to start branching out from their little island nation and try once more to expand onto the mainland.

Turning away from the marsh itself, Jaina proceeded along the coast toward the graveyard, inwardly dreading every step, but her own curiosity driving her forward. If Draco himself had brought the letter, it could mean that he had his own reasons for wanting to see her, and she had to admit that it had been a long time, well before the Third War in fact, since she had had any gentleman callers that had taken a personal interest in her.

The graveyard was not large, due to the elements and the lack of many actual bodies to place therein, and Jaina was able to easily spot the blond hair of the man she sought.

He was wandering in between the markers, make out of the swords of the hundreds that had died in the battle of Theramore years ago, occasionally touching a hilt here or there, but why he had come to this place specifically was beyond Jaina's understanding.

She thought she heard something on the wind, a male voice, but it was hard to make out and she was too far away to pinpoint of it was Draco himself or just some far away cry.

Bringing forth the courage needed, she stepped forward into the graveyard, her feet moving slowly but carefully around the markers, toward the young man. She couldn't help but look at the weapons, all Kul Tiran in make, and each one feeling as though it longed to pierce her own heart.

She still blamed herself for her Father's death. It was a pain that she would live with forever, that she was not strong enough to stop him from his own hatred, and convince him to just leave the Horde alone.

The closer she got to Draco, the more she recognized the area of the graveyard that he was in, and Jaina quietly sucked in a breath of pain. He was standing over her father's sword. It was the only marker she had been allowed to keep for the people of Theramore, as well as the medallion of an anchor that Jaina's mother had left when she came to collect the body of the Lord Admiral.

It was also the place that she learned the sad fact that all her people blamed her for his death, and that Jaina was forever banished from Kul Tiras, and that to return would bring the harshest of punishments from her family and her people.

As she approached, she could make out more of what Draco was saying, more to himself than anyone or anything else. It was as though the young man was in a sort of trance, staring at the blade and seeing little else.

"Beware… beware… the daughter of the Sea…" he said, and Jaina stopped, the pain in her heart magnifying. It was impossible for the young man to know those words.

And yet, there he stood, the sea breeze tossing his far shorter locks of hair as he seemed to communicate with those who were represented by the markers of swords around him.

"Beware I heard him cry…" Draco continued, even as Jaina forced herself to continue approaching. As she drew closer, she could see that the young man's eyes were unfocused, looking off across the sea as though seeing something that wasn't there.

"His voice carried across the ocean breeze… as he sank… beneath the tides…" Jaina added, feeling the pain and acknowledging that she owned it. The song was a vicious reminder of when the people of Kul Tiras had come to collect her father's body, and their rejection of her for her decision to try and protect the allies she had made here.

Reaching out with one hand, Jaina touched the young man's shoulder, snapping him out of the trance, his eyes widening to realize just where he was. "I…" he said hurriedly, turning and recognizing Jaina, "Lady Proudmoore… my apologies, I did not know…"

Jaina understood what had occurred now, spotting that her father's medallion had been disturbed, the anchor hanging slightly to the side of where she last remembered it being. "It is of no matter," she said gently, "you couldn't have known, and the gifts that your people possess must have reacted to the strong emotion that lingers in this place."

Leading the man away from the graveyard and back toward the city, Jaina hoped for some moments of silence to suppress what had just occurred in her own heart. It felt like an old scar tearing, ever so slightly, but the wound was partially reopened, and the pain of it returned for a time.

She knew quite well the entirety of the hymn that the Kul Tirans had formed concerning her and her betrayal, and the hatred that had been flung at her by her kinsfolk. All that hatred had clearly collected around the one small monument of her father, and as a powerful magical being, had drawn Draco to it.

There was no doubt in her mind that the young man knew much of her past now, and for some reason that bothered her greatly, even though the history of Theramore was no secret to anyone in the Horde or the Alliance.

Perhaps it was because she held a small hope that Draco might be different. From her conversation with him and his mother, it was clear that they were vastly unaware of the history of the Alliance and its various states, and maybe she had hoped to tell her side of the story long before such an event might happen, although not nearly expected in the way that it had.

However, it seemed that her desire for a period to pen up her emotion was to be denied, as Draco was apparently wrestling still with what he had seen, or felt perhaps, and wanted to discuss it immediately.

"So I take that there was some sort of battle here, not terribly long ago…" he started casually.

Jaina nodded, hoping that the man would see that she did not wish to discuss it. But it was no to avail.

"And I suppose that you are the one called the Daughter of the Sea…" he asked, growing silent as Jaina flinched momentarily at the old nickname of her homeland.

Looking up ahead of them, Jaina was relieved to see that Aegwynn had followed her to the city limit, and was waiting for them to return. Eager for the reprieve, she stepped forward more swiftly, smiling at her mentor, who was looking interestedly at Draco, clearly seeing the various magics that danced around the young man and warlock.

"Draco Malfoy, this is my closest advisor and friend," she introduced, although not giving the real name of the former Guardian, allowing Aegwynn to continue operating as she pleased under an assumed guise.

Draco stepped forward and took Aegwynn's hand nevertheless. "A pleasure," he said, bowing and respectfully kissing the back of the far older woman's hand. She did not show it, but Jaina could tell that the old Magna appreciated the respect that she was being given by a total stranger who knew nothing of her history.

"Would you give Draco a tour of Theramore while I go and prepare chamber for him, as well as make sure the cooks know to prepare enough for a guest?" Jaina asked of her friend and mentor, really not giving the older woman the option.

"Of course, Lady Proudmoore, it would be an honor to be escorted but such a handsome gentleman…" Aegwynn replied teasingly, and Jaina turned away to teleport, hiding the small blush that played at her cheeks at the taunt.

More to the point, she wanted a moment to collect herself fully before the deluge of questions regarding Theramore and its history started, especially after what she had just witnessed.

"I'll have him at the tower by sundown," Aegwynn said, the last jab of teasing echoing in her mind as Jaina teleported to her chamber in the tower, shaking her head at how the age old woman could so easily pass for a mother, despite her only child having been the demonically possessed prophet, Medievh.

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Voldemort wondered for a time, as he and Nathanos started the long trek back to the Forsaken capital, why they had even bothered with the place called Tyr's Hand. The wide open fortress had been nothing close to the difficulty of Stratholme, and the pair of undead had washed the stones red with the blood of the humans there almost effortlessly.

Voldemort had through that butchering grown quite accustomed to using the runeblade he had taken from Rivendare, and found that the weapon seemed ot suit him quite well itself, as though an extension of his rotting arm.

It reminded the former Dark Lord and wizard of the same feeling his old wand had once given him when he held the tool of death, and he eager to utilize the sword in battle once more, but on his terms and not at the bidding of another.

The one thing he could do without; however, were the whispers that came with the weapon. It wasn't often, and rarely were they discernible, but it seemed as though the weapon had something of a mind of its own, and was trying to communicate with him. But whether there was difficulty with Voldemort being dead or just not paying enough attention, there was no means of the voice getting through to his senses.

Not that he particularly wanted to listen to anything more trying to influence him to action other than what he desired. The sooner that he returned to this Undercity and was freed from the banshee spirit the better.

The tome he had also plundered proved most interesting, and Voldemort had an idea of how he would be able to make use of it, but once again it was not something he wished to put too much thought towards, not while the pesky spirit haunted his physical body and tried so often to interfere with his personal goals and plans.

Still, once the ranger and Death Knight passed out of the Plaguelands and back into the glades of the Forsaken, something akin to the sensation of relief entered the mind of Voldemort, a small smattering of hope that he might be freed at last bubbling to the surface of his mind.

He frowned however, when the spirit housed within him laughed, the high pitched voice ringing echoes through his mind. The scornful sound grated on his nerves, and he knew that the Banshee Queen would not willingly cast aside him, as he was viewed as a useful tool and weapon by all those who thought to exercise control over him, but he knew that there would be some amount of time that he could rationalize out a plan of escape from this mental captivity.

"Nearly there," Nathanos said, mistaking the expression of discomfort on Voldemort's face for something regarding their journey, rather than an internal struggle.

He was not incorrect in his declaration however, as the towers and massive wall of the ruins of Capital City loomed over the tops of the trees, and the road started to become more of a cobbled walkway rather than a dirty path through the forest.

The relief that surged through Voldemort's body at seeing those towers was not his own however, and that put him somewhat on edge. Anything that pleased the horrible creature exercising influence over him was typically not good, but nevertheless he was bound to return to the vile Queen and report alongside Nathanos of their success in her orders,

They passed through the surface ruins with little event, although there was a flurry of movement in the opposite direction, many of the Forsaken seeming to marshal supplies and weapons somewhere to the direct north of the hidden city, well past the small village in the center of the valley.

Where they were going, and what the Banshee Queen had planned, Voldemort was not inclined to care about. He wanted to leave as quickly as possible, whether the undead ruler desired it or not and there was little that was going to distract him from that prize.

Nathanos was able to lead the pair of them through the underground city, unhindered by the hulking stitched horrors that guarded the elevators and periodic locations throughout the main circles of the underground refuge.

Finally, they entered the narrow corridor that curved down to the deepest levels, and arrived at the high dais that the Banshee Queen took as her audience chambers. The red eyed creature was there, watching the pair of undead approach her with cold, calculating eyes, even as the massive shadow of her demon pet lingered in the background.

"My Queen," Nathanos said, kneeling before her, "We have done all that you've commanded, and were successful of removing the taint of life from both Tyr's Hand, as well a purging all foes from Stratholme."

"I am pleased that you both have succeeded, and return at such an opportune time," Sylvanas replied, almost smirking in her almost sinister delight. The visage sent chills down Voldemort's already dead spine.

"Nathanos," she continued, "You will lead the campaign that takes our people into Eversong Woods. The Scourge must be pushed back from the walls of Silvermoon, so that we can show our strength and extend the hand of friendship to the remnants of the High Elves that remain in the city."

"As you command, my Queen," Nathanos replied immediately, seemingly grateful for another excuse to leave the city and serve in a larger capacity for the Banshee that ruled over him.

"And as for our resident Death Knight," Sylvanas added, glancing with a true smirk at Voldemort, "I have a special task in mind for him…"

Somehow, the former Dark Lord was not surprised that this was to be. How better to keep a grip on a captive pet than to keep it continuously busy, and refuse it a moment's rest. The command however, was not even close to what Voldemort had expected.

"You will return to your former master in the south, and tell him nothing of your time among the Forsaken. Report what you will regarding the rest of the Horde, or activities in general about events relative to their previous lands, but the fact that you serve me now will not be told him." She said, and Voldemort momentarily widened his eyes, seeing what she was plotting.

"In due time," Sylvanas continued, a smirk on her face, "when the time is right, you will receive my command, and upon the phrase "for the Forsaken," you will kill the leader of the Stormreavers and any around him before returning to me, your true Queen…"

Voldemort held back his own laughter as the Banshee within his body acknowledged their commands. Little these two realize that he was incapable of raising a hand to slay Nobu'tan, because of the magic involved in his creation as a Death Knight, but he wasn't about to share that information freely.

"You will take the road south from the Western Plaguelands, which will come out near the river in the Hillsbrad Foothills, and allow you to rejoin your faction at Thoradin's Wall. From there, keep as close to your warlock leader as you can, and be ready for my command."

"Of course…" Voldemort replied, overriding the reply tha the Banshee was going to force out of him, and perhaps surprising her as well. Not that Voldemort cared, the spirit's power was already waning within him, thanks to the runeblade he bore, as well with distance from her precious Queen. There would be time enough to find a way to trap the pesky spirit and prevent it from controlling him whatsoever.

"Then go, I want you to return to their lines as swiftly as possible, in time for the rest of the Horde's attack on their walls." Sylvanas ordered, and he turned and departed without another word. He would speed his way back by flying upon one of the bat's that the Forsaken used as flying mounts, dropping him off at the head of the river and following it down on foot, returning to Nobu'tan within a matter of days rather than a week.

'Would it really be so bad to serve the Dark Lady willingly?' the voice of the Banshee rang in his mind, sensing something of his resistance and pleasure to be leaving.

"I shall serve none but myself…" Voldemort muttered in reply, keeping his voice low so that none of the shambling corpses around him could hear.

The bat nest was a strange location, but once the beast had climbed down from its perch and Voldemort had mounted it, the creature was easier to control than even the wyvern. Apparently the bats did not mind the stench of death in their riders as much.

Out through the massive network of sewer tunnels he flew, the wind whipping at his dead face as he turn the creature toward the east, making for the large lake that fed the stream heading south.

'If you were to do this, the Banshee Queen would be grateful,' the spirit said again, almost tauntingly trying to persuade him.

"When I kill the boy, I will do so on my own terms, not yours and not your Queen's…" Voldemort snarled into the wind, his voice lost past the point it left his lips.

'We shall see about that…' the Banshee retorted, and Voldemort said no more.

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Draco slowly followed the old woman as they took a very scenic route through the island city. He tried to pay attention to some of the more interesting locations, a full report of what he had seen being all but demanded on him by Pansy and his mother, but he was lost in thought over the disturbing visions he had seen.

He had not known what to expect when the ship had first made landfall, but hearing a distant, haunting melody had not been among his guesses. At first, Draco had tried to ignore it, but over time it had grown louder and more chilling until he had had no other option in his mind but to discover what the sound was and where it came from.

Only when he arrived in the graveyard did he understand. The magic of this place was interacting with the magic within his core, resonating and allowing a small amount of life to the memories that were burned into the magical signature of this place. It happened often to those locations that were inheritantly magical, and was why such locations as Hogwarts were a magnet to so many ghosts.

And although none made manifest to Draco in this place, he could sense that there were many ghosts lingering here, benign and malevolent alike. The one he had been drawn to, Jaina's father judging from the small record that had been placed before the blade, had the loudest voice of all, as those even the other ghosts still feared and respected their leader in death. From what he could guess, the man had been loved by many and had held the loyalty of all his people.

The old woman chuckled a bit, and it distracted Draco from his darker thoughts regarding what he had seen and heard. "I can sense that your heart is not in this little tour young man," she said, patting his shoulder, "your mind is all a flutter about the things you've witnessed upon your arrival, and the magic that lingers in this place… the terrible pain…"

"Yes," Draco admitted, feeling that it was no threat to speak to such an old woman freely, "I admit I was a bit shaken by the amount of sorrow and death that had visited this magical place."

"There is a long story required to completely understand what happened here," the old woman replied, gesturing for a small bench that was sitting aside the main road. Draco sat and the old woman followed suit, sighing in relief as her weight was removed from her feet.

"Lady Jaina would not want me to tell you these things," the woman said conspiratorially, lowering her voice and leaning a bit closer to Draco, "That girl needs to learn to let go of the things she could not have controlled, and forgive herself of what she had to do so long ago…"

"What happened?" Draco asked, growing more curious by the minute.

"There was a time, shortly after the Legion's defeat at Hyjal," the woman said, looking out over the city as she cast her mind into the past, "where there was peace on Kalimdor between the races of the Horde and the people of Theramore. But Lady Jaina's father, Admiral Daelin Proudmoore came with his entire fleet, worried over her life and not knowing that they had survived and defeated the demons."

The woman frowned, "that man, so proud and so angry, saw that the orcs were thriving on this continent, and refused to see that they were peaceful here, and moved to prepare an invasion of their fortress-city of Orgrimmar. But heroes of the Horde discovered his plan, and rallied all the allies of the orcs together, laying siege to Theramore in order to protect their own homes and loved ones. Jania had to choose between her friends and allies and her own father."

Draco sucked in a harsh breath, sensing the amount of pain that such a decision had to have exerted upon the young Sorceress.

"In the end," the old woman continued, "Jaina moved for peace, aiding the Horde in diverting the majority of her father's fleet and opening the way for their landing on Theramore. She asked for only one thing, that they spare her people, as much as they could."

"Daelin Proudmoore died in the battle, rather than see the truth that stood right before him, but the story only grows worse from that point on…" the woman summarized. "Katherine Proudmoore, Jaina's mother, came for the body of her husband, and to take what part of the fleet that was left back to their homeland of Kul Tiras. The sailors reviled Jaina, blaming her for weakness in the face of a fight against their oldest foes, and she was banished from her homeland…"

"No wonder she wanted nothing to do with that graveyard…" Draco said, hanging his head somewhat. That pain must have been renewed because of him.

"Jania remains strong in her convictions, but she is only human, and has times where she doubts herself…" the woman added, just as a small whisp of arcane magic sailed down to them on the breeze. "I believe she is prepared for us now…" the woman said, slowly rising to her feet, "let's head back."

"As you wish," Draco said, still trying to wrap his mind around all he had learned. Naturally he needed no reminding that trying to convey his sympathies to Jaina directly would be uncalled for, as he ought not to know most of what the old woman had told him.

Entering the tower however, he almost forgot about all that upon seeing the welcome that had been prepared for him. Servants were standing on either side of the central isle of the room, bowing and curtseying as he walked past them.

There was a smell of some sort of feast being prepared in some far off corner of the tower, like comprising heavily of fish, and it set Draco's mouth watering. It had been a significant journey on far more meager food than he was accustomed to.

"I felt that a proper welcome was in order," Jaina said from the end of the row of servants. She had changed, no longer in the traveling cloak or carring her staff, but a rather simply if not elegant gown of sea blue, and her blond hair was tied in a long tail looping around her right shoulder.

"I am honored, Lady Proudmoore," Draco said, bowing to her.

"Dinner will be ready shortly, if you would like to retire to the guestroom and freshen yourself," Jania said, and a male servant stepped forward to escort him.

"I thank you," Draco repeated, following the man off to a side chamber that half study, half bedroom.

It didn't take long for Draco to clean himself and enchant his clothing into another, more formal, set, and he returned to the main hall in time to be directed to the private dining room on an upper floor.

Only Jaina and the old woman were there, chatting quietly as he was introduced and entered. Jaina smiled as he approached, and the old woman gestured for the chair opposite them at the round table they were seated at.

As Draco had guessed, most of the courses of the meal contained fish of some sort, but he didn't mind. Fresh cooking was something he had been looking forward to. "I have had opportunity to look at the letter that your mother sent with you," Jaina started, "and I am more than happy to oblige, and come visit them from time to time when I'm in Stormwind."

"I'm sure mother will be delighted," Draco replied, dapping at his mouth with a napkin after the soup course was finished. The tastes were rather exquisite, and nothing like he had imagined could be done with fish.

"You seem to enjoy the Kul Tiran style of preparing fish," the old woman commented, and Draco smirked slightly, understanding.

"Yes, it's like nothing I've tried before," he replied.

"We try not to have it too often," Jaina said, almost dismissively over the food, "it's something that bring back…" she paused, "it's rather difficult to prepare correctly for everyday meals."

"Ah," Draco said, picking up on the near slip, "well I hope the cooks did not go through too much trouble just for me…"

They ate in silence for a short time after that, extending the awkwardness that had arisen from Draco's arrival. By the time desert was placed before them, Draco wondered if there was going to be any further conversation at all. He was proven wrong in his suspicion when Jaina did speak, "So, Draco, how long are you planning to remain in Theramore before returning with my answer to Stormwind?"

He swallowed the bite that he had just take and thought for a moment. There were many reasons to linger in this place, for both Lord Nobu'tan and his own reasons, but there were others present on the continent that would be doing the work of spying.

"Not long I think," he said therefore, "There is much that I must oversee back in Stormwind, and being the personal tutor and advisor to Anduin is a full time job in and of itself…"

"Oh, you're part of the royal court now?" Jaina asked, genuinely interested.

Draco waved off the small amount of praise in her voice, "It's more of just helping out where I can, and making sure that Anduin is more of a well rounded person in preparation for him to take on more authority now that his father is back."

"Well," the old woman said from her small side of the table, "If you're planning on returning as soon as possible, that will be at leave several weeks before the Stormwind ship returned with its next load of supplies and trade goods."

"That should be long enough to have the full experience of what Theramore has to offer." Draco said.

"Excellent," the older woman said, "then I suppose you'll wish to retire soon so that you can be well rested from your voyage…"

The insistence in the old woman's voice left no room for argument, and Draco rose from his seat, bidding both women farewell and departing for the guest room that apparently was intended for his entire stay.

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Nobu'tan was impressed with what Lucius had accomplished in his absence. The fortifications between Arathi and Hillsbrad were more than prepared, barring the stonework that was soon to be commenced, and the entire area of timber between the wall and the river was removed, clearing the area and allowing them to see fully if any invading force was approaching.

"I would like to, in time, start sending raiding parties into the rest of the land, probe their forces and see what exactly this other Horde is planning to use against us," Lucius commented, as both he and Nobu'tan stood atop Thoradin's wall and overlooked the preparations they had here.

"In time perhaps, but I want to make sure that the stonework is completed beforehand," Nobu'tan replied, looking out and spotting an approaching group of humans, bearing familiar colors and symbols. "That would be VanCleef and his people now, are our forces well hidden?"

"They are my Lord," Lucius replied swiftly.

"Good." Nobu'tan nodded, starting for the large portcullis, which had been restored once more and propped up for free passage through the region.

The mason guild was already examining the stone of the wall when they made it to them, and Nobu'tan was pleased to find that they looked optimistic at their chances of successfully repairing it.

"This will likely be the easiest job you've given us, Lord Banu," VanCleef said, looking around at the wall, "Whoever has tended to this place has done much of the harder work for us."

"That would be my lieutenant, Lucius, who saw to that work in preparation." Nobu'tan said, introducing the older man.

"My thanks then to you sir, we will be able to make quick work of quarrying stone from nearby and replacing what parts were destroyed by time and war." VanCleef said sincerely.

"I trust finding such stone will not prove difficult?" Lucius questioned, ever pragmatic about their security.

"Not at all, the dwarven mine just to the south is likely where the stone for the original wall was excavated, so we'll just take more from that area to make our repairs." VanCleef explained, "Now Durnholde on the other hand will be a much larger project, as it was leveled in the past by orcish raiders… there will be much that is needed to fully restore it to its former glory…"

"We have secured most of the wood from the area within, for your use in whatsoever needs you require, and there are plenty of stone deposites to the north that seem as of yet untouched." Lucius confirmed for them all, indicating the amount of time he had spent preparing.

"Very good," VanCleef responded, "I like to see our clients taking a keen interest in their projects. Usually indicates good business, and I feel that this will quickly become a very profitable and worthwhile endeavor for all involved."

Nobu'tan smiled as the group of humans turned from the front of the gate to the south, seemingly eager to get started finding the stone to finish the wall, and leaving the two warlocks on their own.

"Are you sure we can trust them?" Lucius asked, seeking confirmation once more about the masonry guild for the hundredth time.

"Yes Lucius, so long as we have gold to grease their pockets, they will do whatever we wish them to…" Nobu'tan replied, "and if not, they will be painfully simply to eliminate…"

"If you are certain," Lucius replied, letting the matter go and diverting their attention elsewhere. "My scouts have reported another ruined fortress to the northwest in the mountains above the rest of Hillsbrad."

Nobu'tan was aware of these ruins, having passed near them so very long ago. The ruins were that of the city and nation of Alterac, the one traitorous nation of humans that had sided with the orcish Horde during the second war.

The ruins would indeed be ideal as another fortification, but as it stood Nobu'tan wasn't ready to push that far into enemy territory. "It's a future possibility, but we ought to focus on what we control currently for now, especially with another attack on its way…" he said, distracting from the possibility.

"Not that, although I do agree those ruins are in an ideal location," Lucius said, "there have been reports of human activity up in those mountains, as well as a hefty ogre population."

"We send an envoy from the Balefire then, for the ogres. But what do you suggest regarding the humans?" Nobu'tan asked.

"Depends on what you think is best, my Lord," Lucius said, "these humans seem to be enemies of both the other Horde as well as the Alliance, and you readily make deals with these pirates and mercenaries, so perhaps there was an opportunity there for us to gain something there."

Nobu'tan thought about it. It was highly likely that any humans up there in those mountains might be the remnant of the people of Alterac, disposed from their lands and heritage. They might be willing, as they had once before, make alliances with the enemies of those that removed them from their lands in order to gained them once more.

"Perhaps I might give them a small visit, and figure out what we have to offer them…" Nobu'tan said with a smirk.

"It would be a useful countermove in response to the oncoming attack," Lucius said, "although, with them about a week away, I don't know if you'll have opportunity to see about that before they arrive."

"Seems that way," Nobu'tan agreed, turning to look toward the far end of the foothills and seeing the approaching smoke from the oncoming army.

"I'll send word to VanCleef to stay out of sight, while you prepare our defenses." Nobu'tan said, giving the official order, "I'll be back before they arrive."

"Understood my Lord," Lucius replied, turning and walking slowly toward Stromgarde to rally their defenders. Meanwhile, Nobu'tan turn and followed where the masons had gone.