R&R, and enjoy! ~F

Chapter Ninety Seven

Eyes Turning Northward

"Glory to the Alliance!" belted out the warcry in Stormwind's streets, even as Draco led a small group of exiled earth wizards from the canals, heading for the Trade District. Spells rang out from their number, wizarding as well as the powers of Azeroth that they had been taught to harness.

Undead fell in droves before them, and Draco could feel the rage that surged through his people. They would defend their homes, and those neighbors that had taken them in with all they were worth. This was a matter of honor, and Purebloods respected their honor more than life itself.

They tore into the Trade District, even as a fresh wave of footmen arrived from the Keep, led by Varian himself, "Arise people of Stormwind!" the King commanded, even as priests and clerics wove the magic of the Light to mend wounds and bring those recently slain back to life, "We fight for our lives!"

Laughter from the end of the district drew all their attention. The necromancer, Gothik, had returned, and along with many of his fellows was summoning a host of undead monstrosities into the tight corridor that led to the entrance of the city.

"Push them out of our city!" Draco shouted, leveling his wand and drawing upon the fury he felt for this necromancer. Gouts of flame launched from his wand, tearing down the street and consuming the dead and rotten corpses that rose to face them.

The united force of Azeroth and Pureblood wizards roared their resistant anger, and surged forward in the flame's wake, cutting down whatever remained from Draco's spell.

Slowly, the necromancers were pushed back, until they were at the arches where the massive skull of the dragon Onyxia hung. Once they arrived there, the necromancers halted, and the ground rumbled as something massive approached.

"Patchwerk want to play!" bellow a grotesque voice, as a stitched abomination rounded the bend, the hideous face smirking unnaturally as its many arms started to swing a multitude of weapons at the converging humans and their allies.

"Push it back!" Varian cried, rallying his forces, "Do not allow that monster into the city!"

And yet, even as the creature challenged them, yet another series of voices were heard from the far side of the bridge, and the flash of brilliant light magic heralded the arrival of more allies to their cause.

"Argent Dawn, advance! In the name of Uther we will vanquish these foul creatures!" Paladins were arriving from places unknown, and closing in quickly on their location.

Meanwhile, there was a rustle of wings from the northern sky, and Draco looked up to see a flock of Gryphons approaching, dwarven riders swinging massive hammers over their head as they came barreling toward the city.

"The Alliance never stands alone!" Varian said as Draco looked toward the King, smiling widely at the reinforcements that had converged on their city.

The mighty Wildhammer Dwarves soared toward the floating necropolis, their thunder hammers wrecking havoc on the vile stone fortress, while paladins of the Holy Light took to the field around them, mowing through undead with a grace and precision that Draco had not seen in a long time.

Curious of all was the mixed company that surrounded the paladins. Members of many races, some even allied with the Horde were with them, fighting the undead as a mutual enemy.

Gothik vanished somewhere in the melee, and Draco lost sight of his now hatred enemy, while the abomination quickly turned and fled with the remainder of the Scourge forces, likely withdrawing to some hidden point to cause chaos elsewhere.

"King Varian!" the leader of the paladins that had arrived greeted, stepping forward and grasping the King's hand, "It is good to see you've returned.

"Maxwell Tyrosus," the King replied, smiling, "it is good that you came in our hour of need."

"Wherever the Scourge tries to invade, the Argent Dawn will be there." He replied, "But I bring grave news. A massive Black Citadel has appeared over the Plaguelands, and that is where all these abominations against nature have arisen. Rumors tell of Kel'Thuzad, the Lich Lord of the Scourge leading them…"

"So the Lich King has made his move against us then…?" Varian asked, and the Paladin shrugged.

"It's hard to say, but this is clearly a test of our strength, at the very least," he said, gesturing at a few of his number, "We are marshaling whatever forces we can, and equipping them to march on this fortress, as the Scourge cannot be permitted to hold a single bastion in the Eastern Kingdoms."

"We will gather all provisions that you desire," Varian affirmed.

"There is more than your people could possible gather that we need, old friend," the paladin said, "that is why I have reached out to the others on the continent that could aid us…"

From Varian's frown, Draco could guess a number of figures that fit that description. "That old witch will not aid you."

"She insisted upon it, actually," Maxwell retorted, surprising the King," you underestimate her hatred of the Lich King, and Ke'Thuzad specifically. The same goes for the Dark Horde, who has already committed soldiers to join the Argent Dawn permanently, and bring the Light of righteousness to their Mountain Fortress."

That was news to Draco, but while he wanted more than anything to hear more, he had to tear himself away and turn back toward the Cathedral District. He had a mother to care for, and a fiancé to mourn.

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Voldemort looked through the spiky grey rocks that enshrined the valley of the dark tower he sought after.

It was far too soon before he would consider storming the place and claiming its power, but scouting the area for an idea of what to expect was not only imperative, but not to do so would be most foolish. Most of his Death Knights were working to transform the sunken temple into a perfect base of operation for them in the meantime, and so Voldemort elected to do this task himself.

It was a joy to move and control himself freely once again. Without the limitations of other's will forced upon him, he felt stronger and far more capable in his abilities than before.

Peering around the last bend of the road, Voldemort observed the ruined town that ringed the tower, spirits and shades walking about in a daze as they shimmered with the pulsing magic of the massive structure.

He had been surprised that no one guarded the tower, aside from some creatures that had taken residence in the rest of the pass. The ogres would be dealt with, and their corpses used by the Death Knights for various purposes.

But what had his attention now was the group of figures approaching the tower, passing unopposed through the midst of the ghosts, and stopping outside the massive gates, barred by a portcullis.

Apparently the group was attempting to enter, but finding entry very difficult. Creeping closer, sticking to the shadows to prevent being discovered, Voldemort attempted to listen in on the group as they ranted and raged at the door, and each other.

"I told you the base alone wouldn't work, Cho'Gall wants us to find the rest of the staff!" one was yelling at the others, while the leader held some sort of object, waving it back and forth in some attempt to have the door react to it.

"And I told you, the Scourge has the other pieces of the staff, and we wouldn't stand a chance in retrieving the rest of it. Surely there's enough power in just this part to get the door open, or some other means to get inside. The Guardian's power will greatly help ushering in the Hour of Twilight."

The Death Knight had heard enough. If these fools thought that they had some sort of key to the tower, then Voldemort had to have it. Gesturing with his hands, Voldemort unleashed a blast of freezing wind, catching the half dozen figures off guard.

Charging in, the Dark Lord blasted the leader with a curse of death, causing the little golden cap to tumble to the ground, where it pulsed with energy. The others scattered, screaming incoherently in fright. Voldemort dragged one back with his power over death, and hewed down the fool without hesitation.

The rest vanished, and Voldemort decided against pursuing them. Taking up the small object that had been so important to the group, the Death Knight studied the staff base. The power coming from it was faint, but significantly similar to the rest of the tower.

There was no doubt that it would prove part of a larger key needed for entry to this magically powerful location. Unfortunately, there was no way for him to find out where the rest of the staff was located. The cultists had mentioned that the Scourge were in possession of the rest. From the information that had gleaned from the mind of the Lich King, Voldemort guessed that Kel'Thuzad would have more knowledge about this, if not be the cause for the collection of the staff pieces.

Unfortunately, Voldemort and his Death Knights alone would not be capable of assaulting the flying fortress that had been seen to the north. Whether he liked it or not, he had to approach Potter once more regarding this matter, and hand over the artifact to the warlock, who possessed the magic needed to restore the artifact once they collected all its pieces for themselves.

It was a strain on the very proud Dark Lord, but such was the situation. At least he would be entering this bargain with a powerful chip in his pool, to be able to dictate the final fate of the tower, and how they would control the magic contained within.

Stalking away from the desolate valley, Voldemort turned his feet back to the sunken temple, planning to check on his followers' progress before going on back toward Blackrock and the Grand Warlock.

With luck the man wouldn't have moved on just yet, and Voldemort could speak to him directly rather than through another of the Black Harvest's inner circle. Dealing with those traitors and fools grated even more on the decayed nerves of the Death Knight than Potter alone, and he wanted this business to be settled and over with as swiftly as possible.

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Sylvanas Windrunner looked over the remnants of the Scourge invasion of the Undercity with a smirk. Their preparations had proven themselves most worthy, and in the event of future attack she had commanded Varimathras to enhance and duplicate the same defenses throughout the ruins of Capital City, so that living adversaries attacking them would have an equally difficult time in piercing to the inner chambers of her city.

What had surprised her was the timely arrival of the paladins of the Argent Dawn, who had assisted in clearing out the leader of the invasion, before moving on quickly to the south. Apparently cities and strategic locations all along the continent were under attack as well. While the Banshee Queen hated the Scourge with a passion, she wasn't too concerned if the others fell to the madman's forces, but she committed resources to the paladins in a token measure of gratitude, including portals to the Horde base in the Badlands to speed them on their way.

They could be useful when the Forsaken prepared and assaulted Naxxramus, which had been spotted hovering over the ruins of Stratholme.

The sheer overconfident arrogance that Kel'Thuzad possessed in coming to her domain and declaring himself lord of the Plaguelands. Oh, the Lich would pay dearly for the affront.

But the Forsaken were not nearly powerful enough on their own to assault the Scourge bastion. Much as she hated to admit it, they needed the rest of the Horde for this moment. "Draft a missive to Thrall and Lor'themar," she said aloud, and a nearby scribe put quill to parchment, waiting expectantly for his Queen's words.

It grated on her nerves to entreat the others for their aid at this time, despite knowing that the Blood Elves were more or less honor-bound to oblige the Forsaken for their need. Her concern lay completely with the Warchief. If the Orc deemed this task anything less than urgent, then he might deny Sylvanas the extra warriors that she would need to storm the Black Citadel, and that would mean more of the Forsaken had to take on the brunt of the Scourge warriors.

There were other options, but Sylvanas was hesitant to resort to conscripting more troops through possession or necromancy. Thrall was very clear that he would not approve of such tactics, and the Banshee Queen was very aware that his spies were among her people even now, watching to make sure that she remained true to her promises.

Sending a runner with the messages, she turned back to the map that she had acquired, featuring the Plaguelands and an expertly rendered model of the floating citadel. Her forces would have several avenues of attack, depending on who joined them and in what numbers. Air was out of the question, as Sylvanas knew that the Lich would have strongly prepared against the possibility of an aerial assault for his personal stronghold.

But the question on her mind was, if the other factions survived their attacks, what would they do and plan in reaction to the threat that Kel'Thuzad posed to their world?

"My Lady," Varimathras said, appearing at her side, "until we know more, could I recommend that we take the route through the cave at the river," he offered, gesturing at the western side of the region in question.

Located there, mapped out and explored by Nathanos, was a Crypt Fiend cave, which tied the entrance of the Eastern Plaguelands to the heart of the Plaguewood, and the area immediately around Stratholme.

"It would be the most subtle entry to the area and the least likely taken by the Alliance or Dark Horde," she agreed.

"And the least suspected area that the Scourge would look for enemies." The demon added.

"Agreed, for now we shall plan for that route, and modify as needed based on who joined with us and what the others do, if they survive the attacks." Sylvanas said, mentally tired of the madness that ceased to torment her in this unlife.

There was no joy in her after the curse set in, but for the taste of vengeance, there was a sort of sadistic pleasure that she chose to revel in.

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Nobu'tan worked tirelessly from the moment the Ardent Dawn departed them. Kel'Thuzad would pay for his initial strike against Nobu'tan's holdings, and his fixated desire for the warlock personally.

All these denizens of Azeroth greatly underestimated his power, ingenuity, and tenacity regarding punishing those that crossed him. Already he had commissioned several companies of warriors, with siege weaponry in tow, to prepare to move out to the north and board their fleet. There was a place to land off the coast of the Eastern Plaguelands, and temporarily take up the bastion of Tyr's Hand as their forward outpost while they marched on Naxxramas.

While he was sorely tempted to empty his lands of warriors and throw everything he had against the Scourge forces, he was smarter than that. He did not trust the other factions not to try and strike at him during in the wake of the defeat of the Lich, and therefore the irritating weighing of who was to go and fight and who would stay commenced.

Time was of the essence as well, and there were other things that demanded his attention at the same time. Namely the funeral, of sorts, for Zul'jin. The Amani Trolls did not bury their dead, but rather cremated them, and Nobu'tan was expected to be present for the ceremony.

Dressing in his most subtle robes, for the sake of those mourning, Nobu'tan slowly walked out into the Burning Steppes. The ground was littered with burning piles of the dead, but there was a large congregation of Trolls, with other races looking on at a respectful distance.

War Master Voone turned when Nobu'tan reached them. "We be glad dat you came, mon," he said solemnly, even as Trolls stepped aside to admit the part-human into their midst. Zul'jin was lying upon a briar of wood, gracious donated by the Dark Horde for this purpose, and doused in oils for burning.

There were no words, no speeches like at the funeral of a human, but all could feel the weight of the loss of the great warrior.

Voone produces a flaming torch, and offered it to Nobu'tan. Sensing the great honor that had been bestowed upon him, Nobu'tan pressed forward, mounting the platform that the briar was placed upon.

The bandaged body resembled nothing that the great warrior had been in life, even with the tokens, tools, weapons, and other ornaments littered over it in respect. The death of a close friend stabbed the warlock to the heart, and gently he lowered the torch to the closest sticks, setting them ablaze.

Within moments the roaring fire consumed the entire bed upon which Zul'jin lay, and Nobu'tan turned to see the faces of the assembled tribes of Trolls before him.

"Zul'jin… is dead…" Nobu'tan said slowly to the gathered masses.

Closing his free hand into a fist, and stemming the anger and hatred he felt toward the Troll's murderers, he looked up with Felfire in his eyes, "Who among you, will help me avenge his death!?"

The crowd roared, their own emotions erupting into seething rage at the loss of their leader and hero. "For the Horde!" some of the orcs chanted from a long way off, and the Trolls took up the cry, chanting their allegiance to the Dark Horde, and Nobu'tan. Gazing over the raging crowd, Nobu'tan spotted Zul'jins second-in-command, Daakara. The forest Troll looked apprehensive, likely thinking that Nobu'tan was about to seize all power from him over his people.

Holding out a hand, Nobu'tan gestured for the Troll to approach. "Behold your new chieftain, Trolls of the Amani! Behold Warlord Daakara!"

The Trolls cheered, but Nobu'tan was only getting started, "We will do all in our power to destroy those that kill the mighty Zul'jin, and recover the lands that were stolen from you! But there is one enemy that stands in the way of our vengeance!" he declared, and the crowd quieted down, although their emotions were still high.

"The Scourge, and their Lich master, have taken command of the Plaguelands, blocking access to the Elven lands to the north, and have marched upon this fortress already! If they are left unchecked, they will whittle us down and prevent us from our goal! Their fortress must be destroyed!"

The assembled crowd surged even wilder, and soon the solemn event broke out into a celebration of the memory of the great warlord. Ale and food was brought out in massive quantities, and the Dark Horde feasted as preparation for their war on the Elves and the dead.

Retiring to his chambers once more, well away from the festivities, Nobu'tan took several moments of silence to ponder his memories of the legendary Troll leader.

"Who died?" a voice asked from behind him. From the raspy tone, Nobu'tan knew that Voldemort had returned, although as to why he did not know.

"A good friend," Nobu'tan answered honestly, turning to face the undead. "What brings you back so soon?"

"Something has come up that will be of great interest to the both of us," Voldemort said, entering and pulling an object from his robes. The small metal cap was clearly part of something bigger, and Nobu'tan's eyes widened as he sensed the great power that swirled around the broken object.

It felt, familiar… "Where did you get this?" he asked, seeking clarity.

"The Tower in the Deadwind Pass, just west of my Death Knights' new sanctuary," The Death Knight replied.

"Karazhan…" Nobu'tan said, suddenly very still. If this item came from that location, then it was the magic of the Guardian that he sensed, and that was something devastatingly powerful.

"The fools I took it from called it the Key to the Tower, as well as something I cannot quite understand…" Voldemort started, but Nobu'tan had already deduced what the item was.

"Atiesh, the Greatstaff of the Guardian…" he breathed, looking closer to understand the mysterious power that coated the small piece of metal and wood. "but where is the rest of the staff?"

"Those who had this mentioned that the Scourge held the other fragments." Voldemort reported.

"Kel'Thuzad would most assuredly want this powerful item in his possession…" Nobu'tan affirmed, "We cannot allow him to get a hold of this piece."

"I agree, and then some…" Voldemort added, "We should go out of our way to assemble the pieces ourselves, so that we can claim this tower for the Dark Horde."

"This wouldn't happen to coincide with a personal desire to lay claim to Karazhan yourself would it?" Nobu'tan asked, smirking.

"Whether it is or not, what does it matter. Someone would have to maintain and control the region, and my Death Knights are in the best position." Voldemort replied with an awkward shrug.

"I like it," Nobu'tan replied, sizing up the conspiring Death Knight. If control of the tower would please him, then so be it, "but I reserve the right for researching and ownership of any items within the tower that may further the overall goals of the Dark Horde."

"Agreed," Voldemort said, far quicker than Nobu'tan had expected. "When do we march on the undead stronghold?"

"As soon as our fleet is ready to take on troops and sail northward…" Nobu'tan replied.

"And I will be on that first ship…" Voldemort demanded, causing Nobu'tan to roll his eyes. Of course the former dark lord would want to be in the thick of the action to ensure that his own goals were fulfilled.

"I can see no problems with that…" Nobu'tan said dismissively, "we will begin mobilizing once the festivities have wound themselves down…"

"I'll be waiting…" the Death Knight said, stalking away with purpose.

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Theodore could not believe the amount of information that the Grimtotem representative had willingly given to them. Layouts of both major Horde cities in Kalimdor, along with their weaknesses if they were to even choose to invade the fortresses, in addition to the location of pockets of Grimtotem warriors throughout southern Kalimdor that could be called upon to rally to their side.

Already Theodore had sent out scouts to meet with and secure the allegiance of these Tauren, knowing that every arrow in the quiver of Lord Nobu'tan was another that the Grand Warlock could use to protect them from the ravages of the Burning Legion, when the time came at last to oppose them openly.

Arnak had departed some time ago, but had mentioned that frequent messengers would come with more information as it became available. It was reassuring, but the fact that the Horde was planning to march on their outpost in Desolace was a disturbing thought, one that Theodore knew would pose a significant challenge to his hold on the region.

While they had demons and to spare from the many summoning circles his warlocks powered, there were still a significant lack of frontline fighters to command neither these warriors, nor anything else that could assist them in breaking a siege.

Wood was, unfortunately, scarce in this land, and to harvest from the southern wilds would prove to be more difficult than he'd like to admit. If the Elves there discovered their forests being destroyed, it could provoke a war on two fronts that the Dark Horde would assuredly lose.

To that end, they were planning to make do with what they had available. Earthen battlements at strategic locations were unsightly and not very easy to put together, but they had more than enough open space and dirt to be used.

They would be more than ready when the Horde finally turned their attention toward the operation. And from what the Tauren had told him, while they had some time to prepare, the Horde was most assuredly aware of them, their threat, and was preparing to test their defenses soon.

"We shouldn't waste time waiting for them to come to us," Kohor said, appearing at Theodore's side, "we ought to bring the Fight to Orgrimmar now, with our number of demons we can overthrow Thrall and subjugate all opposition to our cause."

"We have not been commanded to do so," Theodore countered, growing angry, "Need I remind you that Nobu'tan alone could wash away this army with barely a thought… what on this wide planet makes you think that the entire defensive bastion of the Horde, and their armies, wouldn't be capable of anything less?"

Turning away, Theodore watched the next wave of battlements start to be erected, through mundane and some magical means, "Until we receive our orders to do anything else, we wait and prepare for the eventual reinforcements that Nobu'tan promised."

The orc huffed, "If they come…" He turned and stalked away, leaving Theodore to his thoughts.

The wizard folded his arms as he watched. Inwardly, he understood and shared some of the orcs impatience. If they had a certifiable goal to work towards, it would be one thing, but the complete silence from their bases in the Eastern Kingdoms was an annoyance that grated on them all. It was as though they had been forgotten, ignored for some other goal that was more pressing.

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Varian fumed as he and his advisors pondered the map of the Eastern Kingdoms. From their intelligence provided by the Wildhammer Clan, the Scourge forces were mustering in the Plaguelands, around a massive Black Citadel that had appeared over the ruins of Stratholme. The problem was, in their desire to mount a counter offensive; the Alliance found their route blocked every way they desired to move.

Tirisfal Glades was occupied by the Horde, based out of the Undercity, and Sylvanas had little love for the living humans of Stormwind. They would risk attack on all sides trying to move through that land. At the same time, traveling overland was impossible because of the Dark Horde, which controlled Blackrock Mountain and apparently the Arathi Highlands, both important chokepoints.

Varian typically wouldn't be opposed to fighting through those foes on their way northward, but he greatly suspected, from information gathered by Lady Proudmore, that many of those that had gathered in recent days to Stormwind were allied, in some manner, to the Dark Horde. It was a tricky situation, and wouldn't be beneficial to start a fight with a faction that was both ally and enemy at the same time.

Fortunately for Varian, young Draco was away tending to his mother, who had gone into labor during the invasion from the Scourge. They were at the Cathedral of the Light, so the King had no worries that all parties involved would be in the best of hands.

"If you are dead set on marching against the Scourge, my King," said Bolvar, "might I recommend taking the fleet northward, and recapturing the lost town of Southshore?"

"And from there proceed north through the Hinterlands, just like our forces that were sent to aid the Wildhammer against the Dark Horde." Varian added, seeing where the Highlord was going with his thoughts.

"The Wildhammer would be grateful for the chance to aid us, and I have little doubt that they have a means over the mountains that would permit us entry to the eastern section of the Plaguelands." Bolvar said, and Varian nodded. It was a good plan; the best he had found as of yet.

"Send work to the shipmasters, I want our army prepared to depart within two days." Varian ordered.

"Shall we call upon Lord Malfoy and his people to aid us?" Bolvar asked.

Varian hesitated. The Highlord was a trusting sort, and not completely aware of the connection between the Malfoy's and the Dark Horde, at least not as far as Varian's own suspicions went. But the boy did serve him admirably, and obey every command that the King of Stormwind gave him, regardless of his possible dual allegiance.

"Send word to the Cathedral. I want Malfoy to meet with me privately before we depart. But he is under no pressure to come immediately. I hear that a new family member is about to come to their household." Varian said, and Bolvar smiled. The man had grown quite fond of the Lady Narcissa, although nothing that would breach the protocol of his Order, or the propriety of another man's wife.

It was a level of respect and trust that Varian himself was hard put to dislodge in light of all he knew. The entire family seemed very passionate about their people, and despite whatever else they believed or Varian suspected, they had yet to let him down in whatsoever he asked of them.

It was a good number of hours before Draco Malfoy appeared before him, entering the King's private study. "You called for me, your majesty?" the young man asked.

"Yes, please come in and close the door," Varian replied, gesturing at a chair before his massive private desk. Malfoy shut the door and took a seat, and Varian took a steadying breath. He had pondered long and hard over how to broach this topic.

"I need to ask you something, in all honesty." He said, dropping any façade of sternness or kingly aloofness, "What are you people's intentions between the Alliance and the Dark Horde?"

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Thrall glanced up at the messenger from the Undercity as the Forasken finished delivering their missive from Sylvanas. "I had feared something like this would come about," the Orc Warchief said, closing his eyes.

It was not difficult to imagine that the Lich King would start stirring again, so long after the events of Mt. Hyjal. And indeed, this Arthas would be focused solely upon the Eastern Kingdoms, and the realm of his mortal life over all else. A personal vendetta against Windrunner, Stormwind, and all others there would be natural.

They had little choice but to send warriors to aid the Banshee Queen in sacking the Black Citadel, but Thrall was torn at the risk that it left for them here on Kalimdor. Rexxar had been in constant contact regarding the Dark Horde and their outpost in Desolace. While the Grimtotem thought themselves very stealthy in their approaching of the leader of Thunderaxe Fortress, they had not escaped the view of the Champion of the Horde, and therefore Thrall was aware that the enemy had eyes in their camp at long last.

While it seemed still that the Dark Horde was not preparing to actually launch out and attack, they were bust fortifying their lands against the raids that Thrall had been discussing with Cairne. It was not surprising that the Grimtotem Crone, Magatha, had become aware of their plans, but for the Grimtotem to reach out their hand in alliance with the Dark Horde was a step that the Warchief hadn't imagined would happen.

His spies throughout the southern reaches of Kalimdor had reported as well that Dark Horde messengers were appearing among Grimtotem encampments throughout Feralas and Thousand Needles. Thrall knew that the leader of the Tauren would never agree, but in his opinion it was past time to put down these dangerous traitors in their midst.

Still, he had to address this important request for aid before him. "I want several zeppelins worth of warriors prepared and heading to Tirisfal by nightfall," he ordered, "they are to report and follow the orders of the Banshee Queen."

"The Forsaken thank you for the immediate show of force, Warchief," the messenger said, bowing shakily.

Thrall dismissed the undead and turned back to some of the day-to-day business of Orgrimmar, although his mind was far from the lands of Durotar. It had come to the point where he was afraid that their siege of Thoradin's Wall would have to be abandoned, in order to deal with the Scourge threat.

He did not want this, but Saurfang's experience and leadership would be a great asset for storming the undead bastion, and managing the orders between Sylvanas and the other Horde races that would converge on the Plaguelands.

They would just have to risk what the Dark Horde might attempt in the meantime, as the Scourge was a much more dire threat to the survival of their world. At least the warlocks lacked the magical power required to actually summon any of the Burning Legion leaders, which would delay any actual threat that they posed to the rest of Azeroth.

"Warchief?" said Vol'jin at his side, "wat we be doin' about da spies dat we know are here, in Orgrimmar?"

"Nothing, for now," Thrall said, frowning. It had been clear that there were several orcs had returned from the Eastern Kingdoms under influence of their enemies. Some Thrall speculated were blackmailed, but on other cases he heavily suspected enchantment to be involved.

However, they had been careful, and prevented those individuals from participating too near to any secrets of state that took place in Orgrimmar. There was always the risk that something could happen, but Thrall had specially tasked a handful of Shadow Hunters to keep an unseen eye on those individuals that had connections to their potential enemies.

Personally, Thrall was desirous that there be no disputations between the Dark Horde and his people, but it seemed nearly impossible with the anger and resentment that their Warlock leader seemed to hold for everything that had, in his mind, betrayed the Horde that he remembered from during the second war.

Thrall had no idea where this human had been, or what he truly was, but it was certain that he was no resident of Stormwind or Lordaeron. While Thrall was aware that other worlds existed, such as Draenor and others.

But to think that there was another world altogether where exceptionally magical humans lived was astounding to comprehend. Jania had been particularly forthcoming with any and all information that she and the Magna had discovered or speculated regarding the powerful warlock, and Thrall was trying to piece together the history of just why this Stormreaver clan had returned to their world with such a vengeance.

While it was true that the Legion was behind it, or so they three agreed, there was something else at work behind the scenes, and Thrall was unsure what to make of it. The sudden disappearance and execution of many of the Shadow Council spread throughout Kalimdor, alongside the rise of this Dark Horde in their wake seemed a standard power play, but subtle enough that the lords of the demonic Legion would not notice, as they had only so much care and attention for the mortals that were failures to them.

With the threat of the Scourge, Thrall wondered if they would end up seeing more of the Dark Horde's tactics and intriguing weapons at work. He found it likely, as there was rumor that the Scourge had attacked Blackrock with their strongest forces, which was sure to incite the wrath of Nobu'tan.

If things hadn't been so tenuous here on Kalimdor, Thrall would have joined his force personally to witness it himself.