Much thanks to those who've reviewed over the last two weeks. Until next time, R&R, and enjoy the next chapter! ~F
Chapter 109
Fall of the Fel Horde
Nobu'tan released an irritated sigh as he finally entered the massive chamber where the Shadowmoon warlocks were channeling their magic to bind and control the Pit Lord far below them. The Maker had not gone down easily, but eventually through the boldness of a pair of grunts and a particularly insane Witherbark shadow hunter, it had been slain.
Thankfully, once they were past that mad demon, the trek through the halls was much easier. Nobu'tan again took to the lead, intimidating those who were weak-willed, outright threatening those who were stubborn enough to bar his way.
There could have been a problem, when they arrived at the next brainwashing chamber, where a massive observer was channeling Fel magic into a group of captives the Fel Horde had taken from various clans. Smirking, Nobu'tan knew the best bet was to remove this threat altogether, hindering the Fel Horde and strengthen his position in the eyes of the Fel orcs.
To that end, Nobu'tan quickly drew upon his own wellspring of Fel magic, and invoked the opposite of a demonic summoning. Quickly a tear in the Nether ripped open beneath the massive, single-eyed demon, and quickly began sucking in it. The beast roared in protest, but there was nothing for it to do in order to prevent the banishment before it was completed.
And now, freed of all potential distractions, Nobu'tan was able to approach the spread out warlocks in the midst of their spell, feeling the energy of the Fel as it flowed downward to retrain the massive creature far below.
Immersing himself in the dark energy, Nobu'tan effortlessly meshed himself into the spell, stepping through the beams of ritual and powering it further with his own magic. The leader of the ritual turned, shock and amazement in his eyes as the orc realized that they were not alone.
"Calm yourselves," Nobu'tan said, himself falling into the trance of the magic as it flowed through and around him, "We come to finalize your spell and free you from channeling it indefinitely."
He knew that there would be no speaking with these Shadowmoon Fel orcs in any satisfying manner until they were freed from the burden of binding the Pit Lord, and there would be many ways the Stormreaver Clan could enable that. Motioning for the other warlocks to begin, he watched as they carefully etched runes into the metal all around them, before joining in with the ritual.
"Feed your energy through me, and I will bind it to the runes, and keep your prisoner trapped as long as needed." Nobu'tan ordered.
The Shadowmoon orcs hesitated, but even if they didn't join in moments later the ritual would have shifted regardless. Nobu'tan felt the raw Fel energy filling him up from within, and forced it outward with his mind, pouring the magic into the runes around them, which repeated phrases and symbols of binding over and over in a redundancy that would hold even against the overwhelming strength of the juggernauts of the Legion.
With a brilliant flash, all involved sagged on their feet as the power drained from them, and the runes burned with the verdant lights of the Fel, fulfilling their purpose of holding back the strength of the demon.
"I did not even envision that such a thing was possible," the lead Fel orc said, looking around at the ring of runes, "Who are you?"
"Nobu'tan, apprentice and heir of Gul'dan the warlock, leader of the Stormreaver Clan and herald of the Dark Horde," Nobu'tan replied, offering his clawed hand to the orc, and helping him to his feet fully.
"I am Kel'dan, leader of the Shadowmoon warlocks here working for the Fel Horde," the orc replied, clearly displeased at the situation.
"I doubt that Kargath and the Fel Horde will be much of a concern for anyone shortly," Nobu'tan replied, smirking, "the Dark Horde is already moving in to eliminate him and those who would oppose a reunification of the clans from Azeroth with those here in Outland."
The Shadowmoon warlock raised an eyebrow, "You mean to say that you're taking over the citadel by force, and slaughtering all those who resist?"
Nobu'tan grinned, sensing that the orc understood him perfectly, and was already considering the unspoken offer. "What do we hope to gain by joining with you against Illidan and his armies?" Kel'dan asked, "They are sure to attack this place in retaliation, knowing that we hold the means of them recruiting and producing more Fel orcs…"
"Parasites! You'll take my blood and choke on it!" the demon far below them roared in complaint, as though able to hear them from such a long distance.
"I am hoping precisely for them to do that…" Nobu'tan replied, "By dividing their forces between whatever they are up to in the south and attacking us here, it will leave them open to infiltration, attack, and otherwise. You forget that there are two other factions that entered Outland with us, they are simply not as tolerant and open to the idea of allying with the old clans of Draenor as I am."
"So survival is what you offer in exchange for our support against both Illidan and Karagth," Kel'dan surmised.
"There are other perks, which can be discussed once the Citadel is under my control," Nobu'tan added, pleased, "I trust that you are agreeable to at least entertain the idea." He added, watching the orc's eyes, "we will be meeting with those who accept our alliance at the old Bleeding Hollow fortress to the south, come whenever you reach a decision, whether to join us or simply depart peacefully… either way we are taking this fortress for ourselves."
Nobu'tan didn't wait for a response, but departed, heading toward a passage that had opened which he suspected led to some manner of exit. They had to meet up with Teg'Ramm and the others before returning to the Bleeding Hollow encampment, but he had one last stop to make. The Pit Lord itself was interesting to him, both in how it came to be here and which of the mighty servants of the Legion it happened to be.
Arriving outside, however, there was a swarm of messenger eyes waiting for him, containing visions of stranger creatures waiting to meet with him back at Zeth'Gor. Raising an eyebrow at the odd-looking creature, Nobu'tan felt torn. "We will be prematurely returning to Zeth'Gor," he announced after a moment of thought, "The Pit Lord is not going anywhere, and we have visitors that need my attention."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Line Break ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Voldemort looked over the massive archive within the tower of Karazhan. After defeating the keeper of the keys to the tower, things had been, more or less, smooth. The side passage filled with ghostly harlots and lesser demons had been eradicated utterly, with the massive titan at the end crushed beneath the power of death, despite its threats toward them all.
The massive theatre had tried Voldemort's patience, and he ended up slaughtering most of the ghostly actors, audience and stage hands in effort to push through it as quickly as possible. The massive wolf that had been brought in for the play had been something of an issue, but like a rising tide they had overcome and pressed onward. Even the Curator of the magical menagerie just before this overlook had been devastated by the Blightbringer Clan, the malfunctioning contraption scattered across the room as the Death Knights tore it apart.
"Spread out," Voldemort ordered, sending his followers into the massive library, "clear this place of anything that moves, and secure every scrap of knowledge that you find."
Turning his gaze upward, Voldemort calculated the floors that remained in the tower for them to explore. It was still quite a ways, with multiple splintering levels and alcoves that they would have to check. There was movement up there, the Death Knight spied. Some manner of creature was shuffling around the upper balconies, likely trying to harvest just as much of the arcane lore that the Dark Horde sought as well.
From between the stacks of tomes and scrolls, scores of flying mana creatures bolted, fleeing around the room until they were slaughtered by the rune weapons of his followers. Voldemort frowned. It seemed as though these lower floors were passed over by the other hunters. Did that mean that they had already plundered this floor some time ago, or merely pass it by in search of darker or more elusive secrets?
Taking a select group of his Death Knights and nercolytes, Voldemort pressed onward, commanding the rest to continue securing this ground floor, and set up a base camp there for them to use. At the back of the room and up a massive spiraling ramp contained the ramps and stairs to the upper floors. More mana-based creatures freely wandered here, siphoning off the power from the various texts and items that littered the chamber.
Beyond them Voldemort spotted the creatures that he had seen earlier. Strange beings wrapped in bandages, but shimmering with their own ethereal power rather than shambling like the mummies that they resembled. They were equally hostile to the Blightbringer Clan forces however, and thus were eliminated in swift order.
The path split there, two catwalks suspected over the floor far below. The one straight ahead seemed to progress upward, while the other ended at a large door. Presuming that a room lay beyond, and that something of value may be beyond, Voldemort turned off the path and went for it, opening the door to a large private study, containing thousands of tomes and guarded by a single ghostly figure.
The specter was clearly that of a powerful mage, from the robes and staff, but one from an era that Voldemort had not seen on Azeroth before. Whomever he had been, the ghost was muttering to himself, making gestures with his free hand as though casting spells in some trance that kept his spirit trapped here.
The tomes were to be claimed by the Dark Horde, and Voldemort cared little for the guardians that had been left behind. Stepping forward, Voldemort led the way for his forces, even as the shade snapped out of its stupor and faced them.
""Who are you? What do you want?! Stay away from me!" it shouted, conjuring arcane magic of a level that Voldemort had not expected, and hurling a ball of flame at the assembled group.
One of the Death Knights erected an anti-magic wall in response, and the spell splashed harmlessly off of it.
"I will not be tortured again!" the shade shouted, leveling his staff on them, even as the force scattered around the room, ice and arcane power pouring forth and sealing the one entrance to the room behind them.
Voldemort had not been idle however, and strode forward swiftly, clashing heavily with his weapon against the wizard's staff. Something about this place made the intangible tangible, and the ghost had no problems parrying and countering Voldemort with the heavy weapon.
"Die you old fool!" Voldemort shouted, swinging Blightbringer around to strike at the shade once again.
"I am not some simple jester! I am Nielas Aran!" the ghost retorted, blocking again as his other hand welled up with arcane power, channeling it into a massive explosion. Voldemort skidded backward, keeping his balance but still shaken by the strength of the magic.
For such a being to be so strong, even in death, was something of a marvel. Voldemort wished to harvest the mage's soul himself, to see what powers could be bestowed by it, and dug in his heels, pressing against the violent storm of magic that the undead specter generated.
The necrolytes spread out around the room, each quickly painting runes upon the ground, even as the other Death Knights converged on the shade, their weapons blocking the barrage of spell flung outward from the mad sorcerer.
"I'll freeze you all!" the shade commanded, conjuring a torrent of wind and ice. The storm swirled around the outermost edges of the circular chamber, deflected off the magically protected bookshelves and crashing inward. Unfortunately, the Death Knights had natural imperviousness to the effects of the cold, and embraced the magic filled snowstorm with vigor.
"You cannot stop the march of death!" Voldemort bellowed over the howling wind, "We will take the knowledge of your son, and become the new masters of this tower."
But it seemed no matter what he said, the shade did not hear him, and continued to fight in earnest, "Yes, yes, my son is quite powerful…" he said, "but I have powers of my own!"
Another blast of arcane power threw them all back, unprepared for the sudden speed of the magic. Voldemort slammed Blightbringer into the ground to hold himself nearer, even as the necrolytes began their spell to bind the shade in place. Around the room, the half dozen chanted as one, wisps of dark green magic expelling outward from their faces and hands.
The magic soared over their heads, joining in the center of the room over the undead wizard, and plunged downward, even as the shade screamed in agony. It was music to the former Dark Lord's ears.
"Torment me no more!" the wizard shouted, turning his magic upon one of the necrolytes, and impaling the hapless troll with a shard of ice larger than the necrolyte's body. Pointing Blightbringer at his fallen ally, Voldemort raised the fool from the dead, commanding him to serve once more for their clan. The flesh melted from the troll, transforming into a skeletal mage, who continued to silently channel the ritual, forcing the magic of death even further into the room, where it empowered the Death Knights.
Thus distracted, the wizard was forced to conjure a shield of mana over himself, at the same time that Voldemort struck. The tip of Blightbringer impacted the shield, draining the magic away swiftly and feasting upon the soul concealed within the fragment of memory.
"Argh!" the shade of Aran cried, "I'm not finished yet! No, I have a few tricks up my sleeve!"
From the sides of the room, elementals of water exploded to life, converging on Voldemort, and only countered by his loyal Death Knights turning upon the additional fighters.
"You've wasted enough of my time!" the shade shouted, struggling to push Voldemort away as he channeled another powerful blast of arcane magic, "let these games be finished!"
"Gladly," Voldemort replied, filling his runeblade with the mastery over death, and driving the blade forward with a burst of strength.
The shade screamed as his magic backfired, the arcane he had hoped to scour the room of his enemies turning inward and destabilizing the ghost's hold on its spectral form. Quickly, Voldemort seized his chance, drawing upon the magic of his weapon to pull the fragment of soul left in the shade, and further increasing his own strength.
"At last! The nightmare is over…" the shade said, even as its form faded and the water elementals fell lifeless into puddles around the stone floor of the chamber.
"No…" Voldemort said, feeling the hum of great magical power within his blade, "Your nightmare is only beginning…"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Line Break ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Khadgar sensed a small, disquiet note within the hum of A'dal's presence when the Vindicators returned from their scouting mission to the edge of the Hellfire Peninsula. "Velen has returned..." the Naaru said in the Mage's mind, and Khadgar's eye widened.
While he had never met the Draenei Prophet in person before, he had heard the stories. Shattrath had been the Draenei's city long before the Naaru, or the Sons of Lothar, had come to this world. And Velen was their supreme leader, a chosen wielder of the Light and a trusted ally of all that stood against darkness.
But the might of Illidan Stormrage, along with the cunning deceit of the Blood Elf leader Kael'thas, had driven the Prophet to flee the world of Draenor, taking all those he could save and stealing one of the Naaru ships to find somewhere safe, with only the Light to guide them.
For the Draeni Prophet to return so soon, and through the Dark Portal no less, meant only one thing. The Draenei had found Azeroth, and joined with the factions there to fight this evil. It lightened the middle aged wizard's hear to know this.
"We must find him." He said to the Naaru, "the Prophet's guidance will be indispensible for defending against the forces of Kil'jaeden and Illidan."
"But also a threat." A'dal added. Khadgar realized this as well, but he wasn't sure if the risks outweighed the benefits. Kil'jaeden sought Velen with a passion, for whatever reason that only the two individuals alone knew, and if they were caught in the middle, even the light of the Naaru might not be enough to hold back the Legion if they came with all their fury to claim the Prophet.
"Additionally, there are strange creatures scouting into Terrokar forest," one of the Vindicators mentioned, "they appear like the Arakkoa of old, but all female and clearly infused with the Fel."
"Curious…" Khadgar said. It was rare to see Arakkoa that could fly anymore. The orc's ravaging of Draenor had destroyed most of the other civilizations long ago.
Returning to the more pressing point, Khadgar directed his attention to the chief Naaru, "Who shall we send to meet with the Prophet?"
"We can send none that will draw the attention of Velen save you yourself, Khadgar," A'dal replied, and the Archmage's mind filled with the thought of himself departing immediately with a contingent of Vindicators to escort Velen back to Shattrath.
"I will go, with your blessing A'dal." Khadgar said, knowing that the Naaru was correct. It was far past time that he met the illustrious Draenei, and convince him to assist them against Kil'jaeden and Illidan.
Turning to the nearby Vindicators, Khadgar nodded, "You both with me, we will gather a small group to protect the Prophet, and head out as soon as possible."
"Yes, Archmage," the Draenei replied, shouldering their weapons and turning to depart. Khadgar knew they were securing mounts of their trip, and bowed to A'dal before seeking out the rest of those who'd serve best for their journey.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Line Break ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Teg'Ramm's blood was boiling by the time he set his eyes on the false Warchief of the Fel Horde. Rather than fight on the front lines with his warriors, like any true leader would, the Fel orc had kept back, sending underlings to be slaughtered in his place.
It was dishonorable in the most offensive way possible. Even the mad ogre mage had not infuriated the Lord of the Balefire Clan as much as seeing this orc, standing tall and altogether too proud for all his defenses failing to stop the tide of the Dark Horde's advance.
"What is this?" Kargath taunted, "Scraps of the true Horde, abandoned in Azeroth and weakened by mingling with weaker races? If you weren't so pathetic as to die on the battlefield I would bring out prisoners to slay for you."
Teg'Ramm knew that there had been no prisoners for him to take, because the Dark Horde had not bothered engaging their forces directly, and the bluff failed to have any effect.
"You are a fool," Teg said, even as Ramm muttered spells of power under his breath, "You serve demons and other masters, rather than glorying your own power."
"Ours is the TRUE Horde! The only Horde! How dare you suggest that we are weak." Kargath roared, showing his own emotional instability.
"You know that we speak the truth," Teg'Ramm continued, smirking as he felt his strength start to surge in his muscles. "Those who command you, the mighty 'Warchief' of the Fel Horde care nothing for you, or your lack of honor. We give you one chance to rejoin us, and take up the lost honor that you've cast at the feet of others…"
Kargath howled in fury, swinging his bladed arms in a fury, "I'll carve the meat from your bones for that insult!" he bellowed, even as Teg'Ramm charged to meet him head on. The ogre mage's mutated claw-like hand worked perfectly to parry the cruel bladed arms of the towering Fel orc Warchief.
Blasts of magic came roaring from the Dark Horde, assisting Teg'Ramm as he battled the maddened orc, and their warriors stopped the gap where Fel Horde warriors attempted to aid their Warchief. Teg'Ramm knew that they needed to keep the blasted orc separated from his fanatic Clan members, or else he would gleefully throw their lives away to save his own hide.
Despite his heightened strength and toughness, the ogre lord had to admit that the Fel orc was no pushover, despite being well past the prime of his strength. Soon Teg'Ramm was sporting many superficial injuries. Still, for every wound he received, the ogre had inflicted one or more to the old orc. And the Warchief was slowing in his ability to fight.
"You're slipping," Ramm said, even as Teg delivered a powerful punch to the armored chest, knocking his smaller opponent backward. "It won't be long before you finally fall, broken and defeated like the rest of your weakened Horde."
"I am called Bladefist for a reason!" Kargath retorted, "As you will see!" and he charged in once more. It was almost sad to see the blind loyalty that the old Fel orc expressed, and it emphasized why the rulers over these Fel orcs had installed him to be their leader.
Rising up, Teg'Ramm drove downward with his club-like scepter, hearing the tell-tale snap of bone as it crashed onto the left shoulder of the orc. Kargath fell back, coughing up blood and heaving with the effort to hold back his screams of pain.
"You are broken, surrender. Live to fight with us, and preserve your honor!" Teg'Ramm bellowed, trying to find some manner of sanity felt in the creature before him. But instead, it seemed that the more feral side of the orc manifested, and he continued to fight, staggering to his feet and drunkenly swaying with the agony of a shattered shoulder and collarbone.
Sighing, Teg'Ramm understood that there was no saving this hero of the old Horde. He was well and truly mad, and needed to be put down like the animal he had become. Blocking one of the wild swings, Teg'Ramm grabbed the armored body with his free hand, lifting and hurling the old orc onto the hard metal spikes that lined the final chamber of the Shattered Halls.
Spikes exploded through the metal chest plate, impaling Kargath and spraying blood in all directions. The assault of his Shattered Hand followers halted, the Fel orcs looking on in horror as their leader died before their eyes.
"Kargath Bladefist, Warchief of the Fel Horde is dead!" Teg'Ramm shouted, his voice booming through the halls to reach the ear of every Fel orc that yet breathed, "The Dark Horde has come, and we claim Hellfire Citadel for our own. Join our forces, or flee. Choose neither and you will die!"
The announcement served even more effectively than a ringing alarm throughout the fortress, as Shattered Hand, Shadowmoon, Bleeding Hollow, and Bonechewer Fel orcs fled in droves from their presence. Ironically, just as many ran to them, throwing down their weapons and surrendering in exchange for their lives.
Teg'Ramm turned away, permitting the others to tend to their potential recruits. Gazing across the chamber, past the impaled corpse of the former Fel Warchief, the Ogre spotted a cluster of chained prisoners. Clearly they were of both the Kalimdor Horde and the Alliance from their symbols and races, and Teg'Ramm quickly approached.
While the other faction warriors seemed cautious as Teg'Ramm walked up to them, they remained silent as the ogre took up and demolished the chains binding them to the ground, "We'll get you out of here and back to both Honor Hold and Thrallmar respectively," Teg'Ramm promised, signaling for the prisoners to rise and help each other.
Teg'Ramm waved his clawed hand through the air, conjuring several eyes of Kil'rogg, and sent them flying through the chamber and out into the open air of Outland. Some went to scout out open locations in each of the other factions' bases, while more went to report his success to those who'd already returned to Zeth'gor.
Waving his scepter in a small circle, the ogre mage tore open a portal to both Horde and Alliance bases, offering them for the use of the freed prisoners. "Tell your leaders that Hellfire Citadel is under control of the Dark Horde, and we will defend our territory if threatened. Otherwise we remain tentative allies in this endeavor." He explained, before turning away to manage the affairs of his force.
"I want a portal to Zeth'gor opened as soon as they depart," Teg'Ramm said to a nearby warlock, "We will need it to funnel supplies and workers through to shore up the defenses here and make it a more functional base of operation in Outland."
"Yes, Chieftain," the ogre warlock replied, its second head already muttering the spell to begin opening a larger gateway.
Teg'Ramm was eager to show his success to Lord Nobu'tan, and prove once again that the Balefire Clan was the most loyal in the Dark Horde, and would stand by his side forever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Line Break ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Velen waited in the relative comfort of the orcish building, his mind plagued with the strangeness of the situation. It made no sense for another faction to have arisen without his foresight. Lady Proudmoore had received a summons back to Stormwind, and had departed once the Draenei were secure inside the fortress. While he missed her comforting presence already, Velen was wrapped with the need of his coming conversation. A crackling of magic heralded the opening of a nether portal, and Velen turned, almost blinded by the being that stepped through.
If he didn't know better, he would have guessed that one of the Eredar that joined the Legion had discovered him, but the features and presence were so unfamiliar that it simply couldn't be. "Lord Nobu'tan I presume?" Velen said, stepping forward and settling his staff at his side.
"I am he," the figured replied, the voice extremely human despite the outward appearance of a demon. It was strange how thoroughly the being's physical form had merged with the raw power of the Fel for such a young race. Even those who had originally embraced the Fel of his people, Velen only knew of some subtle changes that took place, namely the reddening of the skin, and a fair few that grew spikes and claws, but this… this was something on an entirely different level.
"You are the one they call the Prophet…" Nobu'tan said, crossing the room and settling in a large chair, gesturing at another near to him, "Come, let's have some civility before the rest of the leaders for this expedition arrive."
Velen found the relaxed nature of the human-turned-demon very strange, and sat in the offered seat. "So, what is it that you desire of me?" Nobu'tan said.
"I cannot truly say," Velen admitted, "I desired to meet with you to try and see what it is I have missed…"
"Missed?" Nobu'tan asked, "It's as though you're saying that you see the future… oh no…" his eyes widened and he slowly stood, "You can, can't you? The title of Prophet is literal."
"I have been known to see visions of the future, many of which are quite detailed and specific," Velen admitted, "but you and your Dark Horde appear in none of them…"
"So we are outsiders invading the flow of time as far as what you've come to assume…" Nobu'tan supplied.
"That is one possibility…" Velen agreed.
"So what, you wanted to see if you could provoke some vision to set us in a proper place, or what? You and your people would become our enemies to try and set the order of the universe right?"
Velen hesitated before replying. The jumpiness and outright disdain for visions and prophecy from the young man told a story all by itself.
"Again, I couldn't say." Velen admitted, "I do not wish to wage a war while the Legion remains the greatest threat to all worlds, and indeed having an ally that is outside the visions I have seen could prove useful, but I cannot see what your ends will be, and that does concern me greatly."
"Frankly I'm surprised that you don't have some manner of prophecy concerning me…" Nobu'tan said, drawing a small wand from his robes and waving it. A tear in reality opened, large enough for the warlock to reach in up to his shoulder and pull out a scroll of parchment, "It seems that some denizens of Azeroth were already privy to our arrival, so why not yourself?" he commented, tossing the scroll on the small table between them, where it skidding to a halt and unrolled before Velen's eyes.
The crude drawings clearly spoke of a race of wanderers coming from another world, blessed with powers over magic that would awaken an Old God, C'thun, and bring him to power.
Carefully, Velen reached out to touch the coarse scroll, and felt the Eye of Prophecy flare to life atop his staff. Instantly he was flung far from that place, as his vision swam with the possibilities that could come to pass, and the influence this one man would have on the future of Azeroth, and indeed the entire universe.
"Oh no…" Nobu'tan said, but his words were washed away in the sounds of battle, and the cries of terror that Velen saw, in the futures that splintered and fell away as actions and inactions were taken.
Velen quickly removed himself from the visions of the future. The way had been cleared, and now he could see clearly. "The horrors you have faced…" he said, pity in his eyes as he looked upon the creature that had once held so much purity, "I am sorry…"
"I do not desire your pity…" Nobu'tan said, growing harsh, "Now that you've seen where I fall in your grand plan, what do you intend to do about it?"
"Nothing," Velen replied, "as of yet. There are too many possibilities at this time, and I will not influence the future any further than I already have with regards to you and the Dark Horde. What will be, will be…"
Nobu'tan raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting this lack of desire to control the future by Velen. Those who had attempted to dominate the young man's destiny had not been so kind, the Draenei realized, and another wave of sadness washed over him.
"Lord Nobu'tan," an orc grunt said, appearing and glancing from the Prophet to Nobu'tan, "there are incoming fliers to our base. A group of Draenei, and one human."
"Friends of yours?" Nobu'tan asked, turning to Velen. Closing his eyes, he tapped into the Light and saw them coming.
"Not exactly, but they do desire to meet with me," he admitted, "I would suggest that you permit them entry."
Nobu'tan frowned, but nodded to the guard, who stood aside and held the door. After several moments a squad of Vindicators, wearing the symbol of the Naaru upon their armor entered, escorting a seemingly ancient human Mage.
Velen was about to greet them, when Nobu'tan stiffened in his chair, gazing at the mage, "Khadgar…" he said, even as the mage locked eyes with the warlock, before glancing at the staff that the young formerly human warlock bore.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Line Break ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sylvanas watched from the towers of Capital City as her Forsaken constructed a massive section of wall between Tirisfal Glades and Silverpine Forest.
While she still felt very strongly that the forest was their territory, the threats from the Worgen and their Dark Horde backers prodded the Banshee Queen to act more cautiously, now that she allowed herself to be calm.
This wall, complete with an enchanted gate, would hold back any attempt to assault them from that direction. The lake to the south was already a natural barrier, but Sylvanas was already having her Alchemists work on a manner to ensure that nothing would dare cross the water without suffering greatly.
Those directions taken care of, she could focus on the east, and the Plaguelands that needed to be turned to her control. Many adventurers and a great host of Forsaken warriors had been sent into the western portions of the Plaguelands, and slowly they were gaining territory, making up for that which had been lost to the south.
Still, she was greatly troubled by the effectiveness that the Dark Horde had pushed them from lands that had been for all purposes held in an iron grip by the Forsaken. She suspected that those from Arathi were already working toward spilling into Hillsbrad, and possibly the Alterac Mountains, consolidating their region and preparing for whatever assault they had in store for the Undercity.
While the Forsaken had taken to the bowels of the Capital City, it had become apparent to Sylvanas that soon they would run out of space in the overlarge sewer system they had transformed into their city, and would eventually need to return to occupy the towers and walls that defended them.
In this time of uncertainty and possible war, it was a matter of security that they actually see what was coming against them, rather than rely on secrecy and their blight to protect them. Steps had been taken to increase their population, but the process was slow, with only one in five corpses yielding potential Forsaken, while the rest were reduced to mindless Scourge undead; excellent fodder for training their warriors, but little else.
Turning her attention to the north, Sylvanas watched another zeppelin arrive from Kalimdor. The town of Brill, the center point of the Forsaken's power in Tirisfal Glades, had been reinforced, the new architecture of the Forsaken employed to great effect in walls and towers to defend the town and the tower that acted as the stopping point for the travelers from both the western continent as well as Stranglethorn Vale to the south.
Sylvanas wished to expand her people, but there were still so few of them, and with the recent battles between them, the Scourge, and the Dark Horde, they were even fewer. She hammered her hand on the battlement before her, shattering some of the stone in her anger. "Damn them!" she sneered, thinking of the Dark Horde, and how much of a setback they had caused for her preparations.
"My Lady," a voice announced behind her, and Sylvanas turned to see that Nathanos had returned to her side.
"My Champion," she said, smirking, "what do you have to report?"
The Forsaken ranger stepped forward, glancing momentarily at the shattered stone and the injury that Sylvanas had caused herself, before speaking, "The Dark Horde has not as of yet started moving beyond Thoradin's Wall. Nevertheless, the Alliance are abandoning Southshore and taking ships to the south, likely either Menethil Harbor or Stormwind directly. All opposition to our claiming of the Plaguelands will soon be gone."
"Excellent," the Banshee Queen said, "I want those lands blocked off from the Dark Horde, and split the land between us and the Blood Elves. Hopefully their magic will be able to cure the heavy Scourge presence in the easternmost portions."
"As you wish My Lady," Nathanos said, bowing slightly.
Sylvanas did not like the way that the man's body seemed to lock itself, rigor preventing him from moving as fluidly as he ought to be. There had to be something that she could have done to rejuvenate him. Making a mental note to look into the matter, she continued, "What of the Argent Dawn, how will we deal with them?"
"Dark Lady, I feel it would be unwise to try and foist them from their holdings in the Plaguelands," Nathanos confessed, "They control small portions compared to the large swaths of land we will claim, and they are friendly to the Forsaken, so long as we oppose the Scourge and the Lich King."
Sylvanas frowned, she did not wish to share her new lands with anyone aside from the Blood Elves, but if Nathanos felt it would be too problematic to remove the Paladins, she would abide by his suggestions, "What holdings are they taking?" she asked.
"Uther's Tomb, and Hearthglen in Western Plaguelands, as well as Light's Hope, and the various towers throughout the eastern." He listed. The loss of Hearthglen was an annoyance, but the Banshee Queen was fine with the rest. Even she would not dare disturb the resting place of Uther the Lightbringer. The repercussions from both Alliance and Horde would be great, as the honored Paladin was respected on both sides of the Second War.
"So be it, but in the meantime I have another task for you, my Champion," she said, turning her eyes back to Silverpine, "I need you to go hunting…"
