Many thanks to those who've reviewed over the last week. Great things progressing in the far future of the story, and even more on the horizon! Please enjoy the next chapter! ~F
Chapter Eighty Seven
Grand Schemes
Sylvanas was not terribly surprised that the Blood Elf engineers took little time in finding a way through the mountain cave into the Arathi highlands proper. She had been well aware for centuries that her former people were among the leading experts when it came to all manner of construction and resource management. With the ore and stone that they took from making the rest of the tunnel, the elves had easily constructed several defensive structures around the seaward side of the cavern.
What was more surprising was the transformation that had occurred in the Highlands while they had been ejected from it. Honestly, Sylvanas had expected total devastation, evoking the image of the Burning Steppes or the Searing Gorge in destruction across the once green land, but what they found couldn't be more drastically different.
Much of the land had been cultivated, large swaths of fields and orchards being planted and maintained by various races in the Dark Horde. The fact that they had taken such a precaution against a prolonged siege was testament to the change of leadership that the Dark Horde had underwent. The Highlands almost resembled an extension of Hillsbrad just beyond Thoradin's wall, despite the clear and heavy fortifications that guarded the known entrances to the region.
"It seems that the leader of the Dark Horde is far more strategic and wise than we expected," Lor'themar stated, when they first observed the radical change to the region.
Several scouting missions of Farstriders and Dark Rangers had been sent to various sections of the Highlands, to ascertain any potential point of weakness that they could launch their surprise attack from.
In conjunction with these other scouting groups, Sylvanas herself took to spying out the main citadel of their enemy: the former ruins of Stromgarde. Leaving Lor'themar to oversee their defenses and the arrangement of the other forces that would be arriving from Silvermoon, Sylvanas took to the field, darting through the vast orchards of saplings toward the walls of the former human fortress.
She avoided the open fields, where there were orcish peons laboring, and stuck to the shadows under trees and around the ridges of the uneven terrain. The only hang-up was when she had to backtrack to get around the large mine just east of the fortress, which was highly active and under heavy scrutiny from the walls of the castle itself.
Still, the backtracking proved to be a benefit, as Sylvanas circled to the south and discovered a small pass in the mountains and a back entrance to Stromgarde. The pass led to a hidden cove where a fully functional dock was operating under the banner of the Dark Horde, and from the heavy guard that the location was under, the Banshee Queen was more than certain that this had to be the primary goal that the Dark Horde had in the region.
Thinking hard as she observed from an elevated ridge the bustle back and forth from the port to the stronghold, she followed the roving train of supplies back to the main citadel. Timing her approach, the former Ranger General of Silvermoon leapt down and darted into the castle, avoiding detection and keeping to the shadows.
Instead of trying to climb the outside walls or navigate the narrow alleyways through the former human city, Sylvanas targeted the citadel and clawed her way up the crumbling walls. The first window she arrived at was squeezed into, and Sylvanas landed lightly in an abandoned room on an upper floor. Now that she was inside, finding the leadership of this region would be a simple task.
Sylvanas had her own personal revenge to instigate, and in doing so it would open the way for the Horde to retake the region completely. The satisfaction that the orc would die by her hand was only an added bonus. She exited the room swiftly and started to search the building for any sign of the Dark Horde leadership.
She didn't have high hopes of finding the powerful warlock here, but as Sylvanas ascended she started to hear a conversation in the uppermost chamber. Pausing outside the door of the room, the Banshee Queen drew her bow and loaded an arrow; preparing to burst inside and slay everyone, when she paused at the voices she was hearing from the other side.
"Are you sure that you need to lead some of the Black Harvest alongside the Alliance forces?" a human voice asked, to which a second responded.
"Of course I am, the King was very adamant about my involvement, but I am not even remotely willing to trust them with my safety. I just hope that this business in Silithus is concluded before Kel'Thuzad and the Scourge try to launch their surprise attack on us…"
Sylvanas' hands clenched unconsciously at the name of the vile Lich. If there was one faction that she hated more in this world than the Dark Horde, currently, it was the Scourge. Stashing the arrow back in her quiver, she strained to hear more of the conversation between the two hidden humans.
"But can we be sure of the truthfulness of the information that was uncovered, I mean, its Voldemort and Zabini we're talking about…" the first human continued.
"I trust Blaise with my life, and Voldemort has proven himself to be at the least trustworthy with our goals and secrets," the second replied, seemingly annoyed at the conversation's direction.
Sylvanas smirked. She knew of the Death Knight that they spoke of, and this meant that there was something indeed coming for the rest of Azeroth, she had a duty to protect the Forsaken from it. Once their forces were secured on this warfront, she would return to the Undercity and make secret preparations.
The only cause for concern would be why the Death Knight hadn't reported this to her directly. She recalled that the undead monster had arrived at some point before she sailed down to this portion of the continent, but she did not recall meeting with him to discuss his information …
Her eyes flashed as she realized the reason. Varimathras had spoken to him, as she had been in the middle of introducing Thrall and Lor'themar. Clearly the Dreadlord had intentionally concealed the information for some personal reason.
She stalked away, leaving the Dark Horde leaders to their private conversation. She had all that she could desire from it, and clearly the target she sought was not here. Even if he had been, Sylvanas was certain that she would have allowed him to live, given what important news had been revealed to her by this talk.
So, her loyal demon thought to betray her at some point. Honestly, Sylvanas had expected that it would eventually happen, but it was particularly soon for what she thought that the Dreadlord thought to accomplish.
No matter. She was already devising her counter plan even as she navigated herself out of the castle and back across the Highlands to where Lor'themar and their forces lay in hiding. Those Dark Rangers that had already returned spotted the sinister look in their Queen's eye, and respectfully kept their distance from her.
Sylvanas jotted down a quick message for Lor'themar, as well as instructions of targets that she wanted the Forsaken forces to prioritize in their attack, before boarding her flagship, The Banshee's Wail, and sailing back to the north with all speed. If Varimathras was plotting against her, the more time he had in the Undercity without her supervision, the more destruction that he could potentially cause to her people.
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Draco sighed as Nobu'tan departed, along with several of the lesser members of the Black Harvest. He did not approve of allowing Stormwind to dictate so much of what they were going about and doing, despite the desire that Nobu'tan had had in traveling to those deserts himself and gauging the situation with the Twilight Hammer Cult.
Draco knew his opinion on the matter wouldn't be accepted by Nobu'tan, but he did not think that they would have any luck in gaining allies from those insane, self-destructive cultists. The few prisoners that they had had from the initial battles in Blackrock Mountain had all figured out ways to kill themselves, or had perished under torture, giving nothing in the way of information except inane mutterings and sadistic laughter.
Some form of madness overrode all their natural thoughts, and it was unnerving to Draco. He would much rather leave those cultists to their desert, so far from the Dark Horde or its holdings, and carry on with the work that they were doing. But Nobu'tan had more personal reasons for his involvement with them, and Draco lacked the sway to convince his friend otherwise.
Looking out one of the windows to the massive farmland that was being cultivated in the Highlands, Draco nodded to himself. Preparing this region to be the breadbasket of the Dark Horde was vital for their continued survival. If they were to increase their forces drasticvally, they would need food to feed their armies, and in large enough quantities to ensure loyalty to their causes.
He sighed slightly to himself. He had missed the actual fighting that had occurred at Thoradin's wall, and since he took control here in place of his father, the Horde had vastly scaled back their forces in Hillsbrad. All seemed relatively peaceful and boring. While Draco wished for a touch of excitement, or something other than monitoring; however, he wasn't stupid enough to wish for danger to encroach during his watch.
Unfortunately, as Draco gazed outward, and spotted a series of highly stealthy figures moving across the orchards toward the eastern mountains, he had a sinking feeling that trouble had found them from another route.
"I want several trolls to investigate those figures," he said to a nearby orc commander, "do not engage, only observe and report back."
"As you wish…" the orc replied, seeming to grasp for a title or name to give to Draco, but gave up and turned away.
Draco paused at that. He had noticed that certain of their numbers, namely Nobu'tan himself and Blaise Zabini, had earned a level of renown among the Dark Horde, predominantly because they had actual names with the faction. Even Teg'Ramm had his own clan within the Horde that answered to him alone. Draco hadn't had any need for personal renown or affirmation, but it wouldn't hurt to at least create and earn a name for himself outside of his real identity, even more so because his true identity was known in the humans of Stormwind.
Shelving the idea for the moment, Draco turned and spotted that the next patrol from the south, probing the wetlands for any sign that the Alliance had noticed their movements, ought to return. He enjoyed teleporting to the Thandol's Span and receiving their report directly, rather than wait the extra time for them to cross back to Stromgarde.
Realistically it was a means for him to have something to do rather than sit around and read reports in the castle, but this time, he going to take a small detour afterward, and look over the eastern mountains and out to the sea on that side. He had a feeling that something was up, and while the troll assassins followed the figures, he had a hunch.
Supposedly there had been a selection of ships passing back and forth past the Hinterlands, and yet there had been no sightings further to the south, which led to the question of where the ships were going.
Draco felt strongly that they were connected to the strange figures he had seen, although it would be delightful to be proven wrong. Nevertheless, that was his plan as he apparated to the edge of the bridge on the Arathi side of the Thandol Span that cut through the official southern boarder between Lordaeron and Khaz Modan.
Even as he appeared, he could see the patrol approaching. One troll guide, an ogre enforcer, and three grunts nodded at Draco as he approached. "What have you to report?" Draco asked, and one of the large male orcs stepped forward.
"The Alliance is completely blind to our movements, with their attention focused completely southward and across the sea." He started, and Draco nodded. He hadn't expected that the Alliance would prove to be a problem for them this far north.
"The dwarves are starting to get suspicious however," the orc continued, "They're started to march troops down from Loch Modan and reinforce their bunkers along the road, approaching this bridge. I wouldn't doubt that they are intending to take control of the bridge themselves in due time."
"So we might have a two front war on our hands indeed…" Draco said, more to himself than anyone. Nevertheless, the others looked between themselves with nervous energy sparking up. The last thing that the Dark Horde wanted was an attack from the Wetlands. The bridge was large and wide; very difficult to defend without creating new fortifications on or next to it. And as all their effort was put toward hyper-starting their agriculture throughout the Highlands, they lacked the manpower to quarry stone for more walls and towers. Wood was out of the question completely, every spare piece of timber going to the port to build more ships for their growing fleet.
"Also," the grunt reported, "the red dragons near Grim Batol are growing restless and active again, which could make traveling the Wetlands very difficult for us if they start to hunt in the lowlands."
"That… Weren't the Dragonmaw in control of that region?" Draco asked, pausing his train of thought.
"We had been," another grunt replied, the white skull of the same clan on his armor, "but the Dragonqueen was freed by an Alliance infiltration group, and devastated the leadership of the Clan that remained in Azeroth."
Draco nodded, thinking swiftly. He had heard the stories briefly about the magical means that the leader of the Dragonmaw Clan, Zuhuled, had used to subdue the red dragons. However, he wondered if the wizarding magic would be strong enough to affect these highly intelligent beasts. The dragons that Draco knew about, which had existed back on earth, had been highly magical and quite impervious to most magical attacks and controls, but at the same time they were little more than beasts.
Since arriving in Azeroth however, it was obvious to anyone that the dragons here were significantly different. Still, it was something to consider as a possible project to look into. If they could reestablish control over the dragons here, they could secure a perfect route between Arathi and Blackrock, as well as create caravans through the air that the other factions would be loath to try and attack.
"I see, thank you." Draco said at last, dismissing the patrol so that they may retire to their own camps, and turned toward the eastern mountain range. He could have sent an eye from Stromgarde, but this would be somewhat swifter for the little orb to ascend past the peaks and peer over the top to the sea beyond it.
The little orb zoomed away the moment that he conjured it, stealing his vision as it rose sharply into the air. Draco relished the sensation, recalling his boyhood before all the madness regarding the Legion consumed his life.
The mountain flew sharply past as he ascended, small creatures skittering across the dirt and snow, darting through trees and shrubbery that coated the smaller peaks. Once he crested the last of the tops, Draco turned the eye and paused, silent acceptance to the sight of Horde ships gathered all around a small coastal shelf.
It was as he had feared. The eye dove toward the far side for a closer look. The ships, clearly of an elven design cluttered the shallows, although a skeletal and clearly undead-manned ship was hastily making its way back to the north. Both races worth of soldiers were milling about as workers scrambled to get defensive structures.
They were clearly prepping for a large scale offensive. But the question that Draco had was how and where they thought that they were going to enter the Highlands. There was a massive cave mouth just outside their fortifications, but as Draco aimed the eye toward that location, there was a blinding flash of Arcane magic, and the eye was snuffed out of existence.
Blinking rapidly to return his vision to his own body, Draco cursed under his breath. This was precisely what he had been afraid would happen the moment that Nobu'tan left for his expedition. Sighing, he apparated back to Stromgarde, still pondering how best to counter this potential attack. If it was primarily the dead and the elves, then at the least that gave him the advantage of knowing what likely tactics would come.
Powerful arcane casters, likely mages, although Draco wasn't sure what else the elves had in their armies, as well as the same undead warriors that had been fought the previous attacks over Thoradin's wall.
"Well, if it's a surprise that they want. Perhaps it would be best to give it to them first…" he surmised aloud to himself, smirking as he thought of the possible counterattacks that he could throw their way. With their defenses only still being erected, they were a prime target for some of the more powerful frontline fighters that the Dark Horde sported.
While he sent out the word for the elite shock troopers of the Blackrock Clan to be assembled and brought to him, Draco smirked. Let the fools from the Horde prepare for their new harbor on the other coast. If he was swift enough, they might push out the elves and their undead allies, take the coast for themselves, and claim all the waters east and west of the Highlands, traveling up and down the coastline unhindered from the need to cross by land. The possibilities would be significantly widened with this venture.
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Nobu'tan felt out of place among all the Alliance forces gathering at the extensive harbor in the Wetlands. Even more so was the fact that he knew that all the gathered beings were watching him with equal levels of scrutiny and suspicion. It was plain as day that the King of Stormwind did not trust him, and only the man's love for the Malfoys that had even permitted this expedition under Nobu'tan's command, to ascertain where his loyalties lay.
Nobu'tan wished he knew that little fact himself. While he hated the Legion for what he had learned that they had done to his mentor and father, Gul'dan, they were the only patrons he truly had. They had made it possible, even against all odds, for him to return to Azeroth. And even with the terrible burden that he felt regarding what the demons had planned for the world he called home, he wasn't sure what he wanted to do about it.
Preventing others in the Shadow Council from taking action was only a precaution, making absolutely certain that the fate of this world lay in his hands alone, so that when he finally came to a decision he would have the power to do as he saw fit.
Thinking of his longing for that sense of home, Nobu'tan glanced down at his own hands, clenching and unclenching the digits that felt foreign under the illusion of what his normal human body ought to look like. The truth was that he hadn't ever lifted the enchantments, not even in the privacy of his own chambers. He did not want to know what the Fel had done to him, and therefore remained in human or orcish form at all times.
As for his time back on Azeroth, it just felt… different. He knew in his mind that he was home, among peoples and races he understood, a world whose rules he had learned from his childhood, but at the same time he felt no peace from that knowledge. "I am a stranger… in a strange land…" he said idly to himself.
The others, Walden Macnair and Yaxley, who he had brought with him to lead this contingent of Alliance soldiers, looked at him curiously, but Nobu'tan shook his head. An Alliance commander approached, saluting as he neared the three warlocks. They had done little to prevent this knowledge from being public, wearing the dark black robes and other trinkets of their station and power, which likely contributed to the sidelong glances from the troops.
"All our forces are assembled, commander." The armored man said, and Nobu'tan nodded. It was unusual to be commanding a force of humans now, but such was their time now. Even stranger to be in charge of the motley crew of humans, dwarves, night elves, and gnomes that made up the adventurers of the Alliance, who were far more adept and intelligent than the rabble that made up the guards and soldiers of the Alliance.
"Get them aboard, I want to depart as swiftly as possible," Nobu'tan ordered, gesturing at the three massive ships that would take them across the ocean to Theramore Isle.
"As you command," The officer stated, waving a hand at the other troops and giving the order. They all turned as one and started to march toward the ships.
"What are your orders for us, my Lord," Macnair said, the demonic summoner looking ready for some sort of action.
"We each take a ship, and if they get separated, you are in command until we regroup at Theramore," Nobu'tan instructed, "Do not do anything that makes it obvious that we care little about the lives of these soldiers…"
"As you wish, my Lord," Yaxley said obediently.
Nobu'tan knew that these two wished, like most of his inner circle, to prove themselves to him, and were among the last that had been given their opportunity.
Separating from them, Nobu'tan went for the lead ship, ascending the gangplank without breaking stride. Yaxley and Macnair would learn what it took to gain his favor in time, and if they were smart, they would do so by the time they reached Silithus. There were plenty of garrisons that needed management otherwise.
"At you convenience, take us out," he said to the captain of the ship before crossing to the front of the ship, watching the open water and waiting for the last of their supplies and troops to be situated.
It took the better part of an hour for all three ships to finally be ready and raise anchor, but they were particularly swift through the water, and were out of sight of land less than twenty minutes of departing.
"Captain says we'll reach Kalimdor in just under half a day, sir," a footman said, approaching Nobu'tan.
"Thank you," the warlock replied, looking out over the water as the ship swept through the waves.
"I've never met a real warlock before…" the man said after a few moments of standing there awkwardly, "I'm not sure if the stories they say are really true…"
"Depends on the story…" Nobu'tan replied, not really in the mood to pander to the man's curiosity. "But you're more likely safe to just believe them all…"
He walked away then, leaving the stunned soldier to think over his words. Nobu'tan dodged through a gathering of other adventures that seemed to have been listening, ignoring the mutterings that they had regarding the strange human that was leading them.
There wouldn't be much to do for the duration of the trip, and Nobu'tan couldn't do much in the way of planning with so many eyes and ears that could discover something he'd rather they not. Therefore, he went down to his personal cabin, and started drawing up scrolls, writing in the enchanted ink that he had been cultivating carefully since returning to Azeroth. Having knowledge of the plant life of this world had been a small measure of contentment amongst an unsettled world.
There came a knock on his door, and Nobu'tan sighed inwardly as he set aside his quill and stood. He did not have the luxury to just ignore whom he wished here. Opening the door, he regarded the odd pair that stood opposite it: a human and gnome, each wearing robes and carrying short staffs at their sides.
"Do you have a few moments sir?" the gnome said, the high voice slightly annoying to Nobu'tan, but he nodded and the pair stepped inside.
"We couldn't help but overhear that you, too, are a warlock," the human started once the door was shut and they were alone.
"And if I am?" Nobu'tan retorted.
"We would be interesting in learning a bit more about something that we've discovered regarding you, Lord Banu," the gnome replied. "We've heard, through the coven of Stormwind, that there may be a faction of warlocks willing to recruit more members, something called the Order of the Black Harvest?"
Nobu'tan kept his face neutral, but inwardly he was intrigued. Perhaps there would be something useful that occurred on this journey across the ocean.
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Voldemort resisted the urge to sigh as he watched the mass of ash-covered orcs and trolls before him. While the acolytes that Potter promised him were able enough to animate and control various corpses, they had a great lack in directly manipulating death magic in a wider aspect of purpose.
The Death Knight was starting to put together a theory off of it, and he wondered how interested the other earth-born wizards would be in it. He speculated that these Azeroth natives had no personal cores of magic, like the wizards and magical creatures of their world. Because of the abundance of magic in this place, there was no need for these races to have a store of magic within themselves. That was clearly expressed best by their willingness to channel magic from the world around them, with great skill to be sure, but not with an ease of natural talent that the wizards could…
If there was a way for him to artificially imbue that sort of core into these acolytes, it would become significantly easier for them to grasp the spells and techniques that Voldemort was attempting to teach them. To that end, he poured over the old texts that Potter had left about the upper levels of Blackrock Mountain, and he found something.
It was an old reference, little more than a description of the process by which Death Knights were created, but there was something there. In the process, the soul of the victim whose body would be the house of the Death Knight was forced into a crystal structure, which formed the key weapon and tool for magic that the Death Knight used. Voldemort himself had such an item, and it seemed, upon further inspection that the crystal housed the soul in a blanket of magic. This granted the same benefit as a magical core in the living soul of a wizard or magical creature of earth.
It was not exact, and Voldemort had a feeling that there was a difference in the original process, as it described drawing souls that had died back to bodies that had not been theirs, using the necrolyte's soul as a seal to bind the body to the foreign soul. The difference with Voldemort was that he had been bound to his own body, built perfectly for him from his own ritual. There had been no need for a secondary soul to bind together two unlike systems.
If that was correct, Voldemort could turn each and every acolyte that he had been given into Death Knights like himself, and grant them the power to have complete control over the magic of death, and significantly improve their strength as a fighting and commanding force.
But there was a slight snag. Not only would there be massive pushback from those who wanted to remain among the living, but a certain level of magical power required to spark the process. Potter had lucked out, probably unknowingly, that the aftermath of the resurrection ritual Voldemort had used prior to his downfall had charged the land around them in Little Hangleton with all the magic that had been required for such a powerful spell.
There were plenty of options here to choose from, although Voldemort wanted to avoid all the fonts of Fel magic, as he had no idea what the demon's power might do to alter the ritual. Best to have something that either had a charge of death magic solely, or at least was neutral but magically strong.
Searching around on a map of the Dark horde's holdings, Voldemort had found a possible location. In the eastern Swamps of Sorrow, there was a massive complex in the middle of a flooded lake. None of their warriors had dared to venture that far into the swamps, and there were some reports of green dragonkin in the area, but it would be a useful location to set up their base of Necromantic operation, as well as securing the region for the Dark Horde completely.
As he finalized the order for his Necrolytes to prepare for the journey, Voldemort chuckled to himself. How ironic that he ended up favoring the unity and security of the Dark Horde in the end, despite his continual flirting with treachery against Potter for dethroning him as the supreme power in their old world. Perhaps he was starting to move on from the notion of revenge against the man.
Then again, it would please him to feel the crushing bone of the other man's skull as Voldemort crushed it between his hands, so maybe not completely.
It took less than a day for the necrolytes to be ready to march. Voldemort had no need for sleep or rest, so he cared little for the time it would need for them to journey from the Burning Steppes to the Swamps to the south. The Amani scouts had found a high pass that skirted around the Redridge Mountain Valley, and led directly to the coastal region of the Swamps, and this route was the one that Voldemort had chosen to take.
The long march started, nearly thirty or more orcs, trolls, and a handful of ogres who had pledged themselves to the necromantic ways, and elected in secret to undergo the transformation into Death Knights, moved out across the ash-coated volcanic land to the east.
Voldemort kept up a maddening pace; knowing that only the stoutest and strongest of his followers would be able to survive the experience. Surprisingly, only a scant handful perished as they marched with limited food and water for a day and a half.
By the time they got into the soggy lowlands of the swamp, Voldemort knew that they needed to stop for rest, and called for them to set up camp. "I'm going to scout ahead," he said to the group at large, and while they focused on recovering their energy, Voldemort set off alone at a far faster pace into the thickest part of the swamp, searching for their destination.
As he passed into the trees and raised islands of sandy soil between the small swirls of marshy water, the Death Knight saw many smaller creatures, including crokilisks flee from his presence of death. However, there were larger creatures that weren't nearly as intimidated by his passing.
Monstrous spiders skittered in the branches of the trees, and Voldemort had to avoid the thicker nests of them to not be ambushed and attacked. The other major creature was, just as rumor had speculated, Green dragonkin. The four legged creatures seemed to be rallying around the massive central lake, although for what purpose Voldemort could not identify.
The other problem with the dragon creatures was that their patrol route would inevitably cross any charted path through the swamp to the lake. They would have to deal with them once they arrived as a whole group, and prepared to cross the lake to the strange, submerged structure in the center.
Still, they had a route now, and Voldemort figured that by the time he returned, the necrolytes ought to have had enough of a rest to push on to the structure properly before making their full camp for the night. Swiftly he returned, double checking the route that he had plotted through the marshy water, and letting his aura of death chase away anything that might be lurking in the knee high water for any prey to pass by.
Voldemort was pleased to discover, upon his return, that none of the necrolytes had been foolish enough to actually fall asleep, even if they had collapsed to allow their limbs to rest for a time. "We're nearly there, just a small push further, and a swim to the middle of the lake. The only things left in our way are spiders and some dragonkin…" he said to those who were still on their feet.
The necrolytes knew better than to complain, and all prepared in near silence to move out once more, and Voldemort shared the route through the marshes with them, indicating where the nests of giant spiders were lurking, as well as the route of dragonkin patrols. "I do not know what we will find inside the structure," he admitted as they started out into the wooded marshland, "but it is ideal for what we desire."
"We understand, my Lord," one of the orcs said, grasping a staff in both hands as he pushed forward to stand with Voldemort. The Death Knight did not react, although he was very pleased at the show of loyalty. They would become useful servants once the ritual was completed and they had transitioned into undeath.
The spiders stood no chance, the necrolytes torched their nests as they passed, hewing down any of the massive creatures that dared to leave the trees, and within an hour they had gathered on the edge of the massive lake. Voldemort could sense the dragonkin approaching, and to forestall the possibility of ambush, he allowed the chill of the grave to exude from his body, freezing the top layer of the water, creating a path of ice across the water for them to cross.
They started across, the ice melting once more after the former Dark Lord passed by it, keeping a short range around him constantly frozen as they traveled out into the deeper parts of the lake toward the submerged building.
Turning to glance back, Voldemort smirked. They had narrowly dodged the patrol of dragonkin, who were even now watching them from the shore, but not daring to enter the water to pursue them.
Once the circled the structure, Voldemort recognized that the unknown structure was actually a pyramid, much like the ones that he had explored in the southern continent of the Americas back on earth. That time felt like an eternity ago, but the architecture was assuredly what he recalled. And as he thought, there were steps rising out of the water, leading to a perfectly dry area at the top of the pyramid, under a large covering that would shield it from wind and rain.
The ice of his magic froze up to the steps themselves, and Voldemort waited for the troop of necrolytes to cross to the stone of the structure before stepping off himself and dispelling the ice. Realistically they weren't trapped, but it would be an irritation to try and swim after the long march that they had undergone. "Rest here the night," Voldemort said, giving them permission to sleep, "We'll venture inside at daybreak, clear out the structure completely and then prepare it for the rituals."
Running a mummified hand over the damp stones, Voldemort sensed the faintest magic of death from far below. It thrummed with its cold calculation, and the Death Knight could tell that someone, deep beneath the surface of the lake, was actively using magic to bring things back to a semblance of life.
"Interesting…" he said to himself. They would have some manner of resistance in taking this place for themselves, although it would be an excellent final test to prove who was worthy of following Voldemort into the realm of undeath. Not that he expected to find anything of terrible menace inside. Indeed the sense of living things was faint, so either the building went much farther down than he expected, or there were very few living things inside.
Either way, they would discover the truth of the matter come the morning. Voldemort himself would keep watch through the night, being the only one that did nto requires any sleep at all, for now.
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Varimathras caught the subtle signal from one of his underlings as the Forsaken entered the Dreadlord's private domain, deep in the bowels of the Undercirty. It was a universal sign that his people had learned in order to warn each other that the Banshee Queen was on her way. How far she was from Varimathras, he did not know. She was not in the city, or else he would know it, but the message was clear.
She was returning early from her mission for the Horde, and that meant that she likely was angered at him for something. The question was then: what piece of information that he was keeping from her did she find out?
Varimathras controlled quite a deal of the information travel through the Undercity, and gate-keep for what reached the ears of Sylvanas, and deciding which piece was almost likely to have been revealed to her was difficult.
If he had to guess, the Dreadlord would probably go toward the idea of the precious Death Knight under the Dark Lady's control, and the information regarding the Lich Kings impending attack on all races and factions of Azeroth.
A simple enough task, if that was the case. Varimathras didn't want the Lich King to have victory in the Undercity any more than Sylvanas did, and had been reinforcing their defenses subtly since learning of it, and sharing that information with the Banshee would help to placate her, with the promise that he had every intention of telling her once she was completed with the Dark Horde problem, so that she needn't be overly concerned and try something rash to end the conflict prematurely.
The more he thought of it, the more Varimathras convinced himself that that was the case and prepared accordingly. All the information he had gleaned from the Death Knight, as well as the sum total of changes that the Dreadlord had enacted in response to the threat.
He felt prepared for the storm that was to come when Sylvanas returned. And even if it turned out that she was here after him for some other reason, he could just as easily blindside her with this information, and allow a larger lie to slip through unaddressed.
The research on the plague would continue, regardless of what the Banshee Queen wished. Varimathras knew that once it was finished, regardless of her personal beliefs as of now, she would inevitably use it against her enemies. That was just the way that Sylvanas, Banshee Queen of the Forsaken, operated when it came to her revenge.
