Hey! getting the chapter out on time for once, so great! Thanks to all my peeps who've reviewed, faved and followed over the last two weeks. Enjoy the next chapter, and if you want to see more of the things I do, consider the links on my profile page to my Youtube, Twitch, and Discord channels. Thanks and again, enjoy the chapter! ~F
Chapter 119
Dark Counsel
Master Mahan seethed as he felt the strain of staring at the same four walls starting to wear on him.
Banehallow had not made any attempt to communicate with him in the several months they had been imprisoned in the bowels of Blackrock Mountain. Mahan knew that the Dreadlord had the power to communicate beyond the physical world, but why he had not reached out to his star pupil.
Slamming his fist against the wall, Mahan relished the pounding sensation in his hand, even as blood trickled down from where he struck. "I am the master here," he declared, "why is this happening!?"
"Quiet down in there," a gruff orcish voice answered from outside, even as a tray of food was shoved in through the slot at its base.
Mahan growled in frustration, resisting the urge to kick the tray of food in retaliation. The guards were very determined that he only be given the bare minimum of food, and wasting any of it would be harmful to his survival.
"A shame about your situation…" a voice said, startling Mahan. He turned, and almost smile, thinking that Banehallow had finally appeared to speak to him.
"You're not Banehollow," he said however, seeing that the Dreadlord was clearly different.
"I am not…" the Nathrazim said, "I am Mal'Ganis… while also a dreadlord, I am of a higher rank than Banehollow…"
"What would you have of me?" Mahan asked, eager for some assignment or knowledge that might set him free from this place.
"Patience, young one," Mal'Ganis replied, "while I have plans for your further growth, there are events required to secure your release from this dungeon."
"I am ready," Mahan replied.
"Not so swiftly. I know of things that will yet come," the Dreadlord said, "The Lich King will awaken soon, due to events I have manipulated to occur, when he does, the Lich Kel'Thuzad will want revenge on this Dark Horde for his humiliating defeat in the Plaguelands. During that attack you will have the easiest time escaping from this place, with Banehollow at your side."
"And where shall we go? Nobu'tan will chase us when he discovers our escape," Mahan questioned.
"I will have prepared passage to Northrend for you, and a place that you'll be safe while we work on my plans…" Mal'Ganis explained, eyes flashing with pride at his own scheme. "Any who follow you will be well distracted by other affairs…"
"I understand, Lord Mal'Ganis," Mahan said, his own internal strife fading away. The Legion did not abandon those who were loyal.
The projection of the Dreadlord faded away, and Mahan sat on the floor to eat the scraps that the Dark Horde thought they were punishing him with. He would bide his time, now knowing that there was a plan to reestablish a measure of control. Master Mahan would achieve his goal of supreme power, even over the fool Nobu'tan and his schemes.
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Teg'Ramm roared as he slammed down another Legion contraption. The mesa upon which the enlightened denezins of Ogri'la resided, and the location of the Apexis crystals, had two fronts of demons encroaching upon them from both north and south.
The first task requested of the Balefire ogres was removing this threat to the swelling settlement, in preparation to liberate the other ogres throughout the rest of Blade's Edge Mountains.
As it coincided perfectly with Nobu'tan overarching goals to prevent all avenues of the Legion from moving on Azeroth, Teg'Ramm was perfectly agreeable to this plan, and sent all the forces that he could spare to each camp, and commenced a joint attack at both fronts.
It had been risky, but with the surprise of so many heavily armed ogres and warlocks to counter the strongest of the demons, Teg'Ramm was confident that they could throw the Legion from this location with few losses on their side.
They had been lucky to not possess any sort of aerial warriors, as the cannons that the Legion were using to defend their encampments were geared toward countering approach via the skies.
The demons must have been foolish enough to think that they were safe on this mesa, and it worked perfectly to the advantage of the Balefire ogres. Now, standing over the wreckage of their outpost, with the last demons smoldering as their bodies were consumed by the Fel in their blood, Teg'Ramm felt satisfied.
"Stage one complete," he said, lifting the small crystal that served as a communication devise to the other attack group to Teg's mouth. "Open portals to the Ring of Blood, and prepare for further instructions on the other side."
Nodding to the few mages that were part of his force, Teg'Ramm waited for their shimmering portals to open back to the lower area of the canyons, so that their clan could reform and prepare to engage the Gronn-ruled clan to the north.
The bladespire held most of the territory, as the largest clan in these mountains, but more importantly they had the favor of the chief Gronn, Gruul the Dragonkiller. To even have a chance to strike at the Gronn, the Bladespire had to be taken down several notches.
As a rival clan, not as large in force here but significantly better equipped according to Mog'dorg, they had the standard approach, but Teg'Ramm had a better idea. There would be an exceeding amount of death and blood if they went head on against the large clan.
Supposedly, three of the direct sons of Gruul roamed the Bladespire lands, and if they sought out and slew these powerful foes, it would shatter the faith that the ogres had in their masters.
Sizing up the warriors and casters of his clan, Teg'Ramm knew who he had to send after which target. Mog'grog had assisted in formulating this plan, and knew roughly where each of the Gronn haunted the canyons, and which of them was more dangerous than the others.
Teg'Ramm would lead one group personally, and slay the eldest son of Gruul, Grulloc, while he sent other warlocks and warriors after another pair, Maggoc and Slaag. "Remember, bring me the heads of these Gronn, so that we can present them to the Bladespire as the failure of their chosen masters."
"As you command, Chieftain," the warlocks in charge acknowledged, smirking at the coming bloodshed. Fighting demons was somewhat satisfying, but the fact that their bodies incinerated themselves upon death lowered the moral slightly. Knowing that their foes weren't really dead, but just banished back to the Nether was hard to deal with, even for the thickest of ogres.
They separated, each heading their separate ways toward their targets. Once again, the ogres of Ogri'la had provided useful crystals, which homed in on the current locations of the Gronn. Teg'Ramm was pleased that Grulloc seemed to be exactly where Mog'grog had said, lurking in the dead end of an off shooting canyon, surrounded by sacrifices and dead hunters that had either sought out the Gronn or else happened upon their doom at its hands.
The creature itself was hideous, even by ogre standards. Standing hunched, Grulloc was still head and shoulders taller than even the biggest ogre, with rock-like spines jutting out randomly from the tough body.
A single eye roamed quickly across the approaching group of ogres, clearly torn between attacking them immediately and waiting to see if they offered sacrifices to him. All confusion vanished the moment that Teg'Ramm gave the order to attack, and the first spells and ranged weapons struck the hardened skin of the Gronn.
Grulloc roared, stomping forward with earthquaking steps, swinging his hulking fists like windmills, shattering stone spikes as he moved past them.
Teg tossed his staff aside, even as Ramm chanted spells of Fel empowerment, and rushed the charging Gronn directly. The Balefire chieftain's clawed hands glowed green with Felfire as he punched forward, meeting the Gronn's flailing limbs directly.
The force of two meeting impacts caused a shockwave to erupt between the two figures, and Teg'Ramm, due to his smaller stature, was sent back a few steps, but the Gronn was also thrown backward from the shocking resistance to his charge.
Grulloc bellowed a challenge, and raised a fist to level a shattering blow on the ground in front of Teg'Ramm, even as the ogre mage gave the signal for his forces to attack. Spells and projectiles flew from the rest of his clan present, splashing over the hulking, spiny form of the massive creature.
Nevertheless, the momentum of the massive Gronn was not hindered, and the force of his blow to the ground caused a localized quake to stagger those smaller than the beast.
Teg'Ramm managed to keep his feet, but he was one of the few lucky enough to do even that. Even as the Gronn started toward him once more, the entire beast started to swell, as though some power it possessed caused its form to magnify, even as it swung at the chieftain of the Balefire Clan once again.
Throwing his arms together to block, Teg'Ramm was too unsteady to take the full brunt of the surprise attack, and was thrown backward. Smashing into the wall of the canton, Teg'Ramm felt the immeasurable pain as one of his arms was shattered by the force of the blow.
Several ogre brutes charged the Gronn, keeping his attention away from Teg'Ramm, even as a shaman and priest rushed to his aid, the natural and light-based magic mending his injury swiftly. The limb was still very stiff, but the pain had vanished completely.
"We cannot hope to match the Gronn in brute strength," Teg'Ramm admitted, "We must outsmart and overpower it by other means…"
Thinking swiftly, Teg smiled, even as Ramm nodded at their linked thoughts. It was a wonderful strategy, which would work to their advantage in more ways than one. Thrusting an arm to the sky, Teg'Ramm called upon the Fel, and called down a rain of Infernal meteorites, watching as the demonic golems smashed into the ground all around the Gronn.
The hulking beast withdrew a step at the burst of Fel power. Unfortunately, it did not anticipate more infernals raining down on top of it. Unsurprisingly, because of the size and strength of the creature, the infernals did not knock it to the ground, but the scorched pits that they left had to be more than painful.
Still, Grulloc swatted the ogres left and right as though they were toy soldiers, flailing about the massive arms. But Teg'Ramm knew what was needed to be done, even as he unleashed the full might of the Fel within himself. Once more the empowered Ogre Lord rose in stature, and conjured massive orbs of swirling chaotic magic, slamming them one by one into the body of the massive Gronn.
With every blast, the Gronn was pushed back a step, toward the end of the canyon. Taking up the lead of their chieftain, the other spellcasters redoubled their efforts, driving the beast backward toward the far wall, lined with razor sharp spikes.
Eventually, the Gronn started to adapt to their tactic, digging in its massive feet and refusing to budge further. Teg'Ramm knew that they needed one more massive blast to finish off Grulloc. Quickly turning to several mages and warlocks, together the casters combined their magic, summoning a massive boulder of Felfire.
The combination spell hurled its way across thy canyon, smashing into the form of Grulloc, and throwing the Gronn backward. The creature bellowed in agony, but was quickly silenced as its head was impaled on the sharpened spikes of the canyon wall.
"Good, the beast is dead," Teg'Ramm said, looking over the carnage as the healers went through those who were injured. All that was left was to take the head of the creature, to join the other two that the rest of his clan were gathering at that present time.
And that was when the modification to the plan that the ogres of Ogri'la had come up with would start.
Teg'Ramm knew that there had to be a larger base of the Legion somewhere in the mountains, likely the isolated canyon that the assassin, Zabini, had mentioned. If the Balefire clan could place the blame of the deaths of the Gronn on the Legion, they might be able to start a small war between two powerful enemies.
Thusly they could lure Gruul out of hiding and into the open. The only problem was that, if the father was far stronger than his sons, they would have an intense fight on their hands. Hopefully the demons of the Legion would weaken Gruul to the point that Teg'Ramm could devise a way to finish the Groon once and for all.
"Gather what we need, and return to the Ring of Blood," Teg'Ramm ordered. They would wait there for the rest of his clan, and work of their final preparations for the next steps of the plan.
Dragging the massive head of the Gronn with them, they started out, leaving the corpse to rot. With the amount of Fel magic that remained there, the Legion would naturally be presumed to the behind the killing of Grulloc.
The last remaining problem was Teg'Ramms form. For the life of him he could not shift back from his Fel empowered form, and he knew that it was likely to now be permanently changed. Nevertheless, there was not time to dwell on the state of his physical form. Teg'Ramm would deal with the consequences as needed, and not a moment before the mission they had been sent for was completed.
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Lucius hadn't been pleased about returning so swiftly to Blackrock after the fiasco with Varian's trip to Ironforge, but there had to be someone in authority within the Council of the black Harvest overseeing the movements of the Dark Horde, especially while Nobu'tan led the expedition into Outland.
He feared greatly that his daughter's formative years were going to be spent without him in her life, and such interaction had been critical with Draco. Still, Lucius wrote as many letters as he dared send back to Narcissa, assuring her of his safety and the continued progress to their ultimate goals of a protected land for those that Nobu'tan had claimed as his psudo-family.
Tossing the latest through the fireplace, connected in the manner of the Floo network of their old world back to his personal residence in Stormwind, Lucius turned as an orc barged into his private chambers. "My lord," the orc said, "There's trouble in the Silverpine outpost."
Knowing that this meant Fenrir Greyback and his werewolves, Lucius spent no time daddling, but followed quickly through the mountains passages to the portal chamber, where the warlocks and mages therein held open the doorway to the isolated keep that the wolves had claimed as their own in the forest near their undead enemies.
Fenrir himself was waiting for Lucius as the wizard stepped through to the island fortress, "What is the matter?" Lucius quickly inquired, smelling the overwhelming stench of smoke, and something else, on the air.
"The Forsaken have made their move to try and reclaim this land," Fenrir said, snarling in his wolf form as he turned to lead Lucius to the rampart of the keep.
Only once they had ascended to the higher ground did Lucius see clearly. The entire forest, starting at the end toward the Forsaken's land, was burning.
"They wouldn't dare…" he breathed, not believing what his eyes were telling him.
"It is true," Fenrir confirmed, "the undead have decided that losing the advantage of the trees and their cover is worth forcing us out of their territory." He huffed, "fortunately, the charm over this island is holding fast, and none of them remember that it is here, and we remain hidden from their scouts and infiltrators."
"For the time being," Lucius countered, "It may be safer to pull back and let them have their burned forest…"
"No," Fenrir rejected, "I have worked long and hard to make this place accommodating to my people, and you are not going to come here and draw us back to that ashy mountain on a whim of fear."
Lucius turned toward Fenrir, ready to rebuke the pack leader for his insolence, when he spotted the gathering of the pack at the base of the wall they stood atop. There were many more than the werewolves that had come with the Dark Horde, and even females and new children among them. Most of the men snarled at Lucius, knowing what he was implying from his scent, and the rage that they had for the Forsaken was palpable in their eyes.
"I understand…" Lucius relented, "but do not take any action that is too drastic. Nobu'tan would be livid if he lost your pack, just as much as any other member of the Dark Horde."
"Somehow, I can almost believe that to be the truth," Fenrir replied, smirking with a fanged grin, "we have our own plans for the Forsaken, and it involves the little nation to the south, walled off from the rest of the continent by their own doing…"
"Gilneas?" Lucius asked, knowing of what nation the wolf spoke of.
The humans of that southern peninsula had been known of by Nobu'tan as fierce warriors, but by and large they had remained aloof and distant since their coming to Azeroth. It was almost as though they sought to cut themselves off from all manner of peoples, and their problems.
If Fenrir was suggesting what Lucius suspected he did, that wall thought to keep the world out would end up their prison.
Still, there was something more that could be done, "Continue with this plan," Lucius said, "I will add some fuel to their flames, and make it all the easier for you to accomplish the infiltration of Gilneas…"
"Do what you will…" Fenrir snarled, even as Lucius focused on a point along the Silverpine road, and apparated.
Landing gracefully, well ahead of the moving flames, Lucius drew his wand, and ready several choice curses. Disillusioning himself, he advanced toward the encroaching line of the Forsaken, observing their movement and formations.
It seemed that they feared nothing that may appear as their plague masters and pyromaniacs. Advancing through the undergrowth like medieval plague doctors, the undead liberally spread flames and gaseous toxins through the forest, uncaring of anything that stirred up from their advance.
Lagging back behind their front lines, Lucius spotted the dark rangers, the Banshee Queen's elite assassins. If he was to accomplish this plan, he had to remain unseen.
From items collected from the southern part of Silverpine, Lucius knew what the weapons and armor of the Gilneans soldiers used, and a quick transfiguration of several sticks and rocks into raven-feathered arrows would do nicely.
Taking aim, Lucius banished the arrows en mass toward the front rows of canister-wielding undead. Chaos erupted instantly, the front-most Forsaken ducking behind cover while the Dark Rangers advanced, looking for targets to fire their black arrows at.
Carefully making sure that the ripple of his presence, which the charm could not hide, remained subtle and unseen, Lucius drew the patterns of spells with his wand, smirking as he released the spells he had prepared.
Imitations of frost and fire flew outward, alongside another series of transfigured arrows, startling and causing the Forsaken to retaliate into the shadows where Lucius had once been standing.
Enjoying his little game, Lucius allowed a bit more. Creating bursts of sound, he allowed the indistinct yells of men and the thunder of horses to sound further down in the forest, and watched as the Forsaken seemed torn between retreating and attacking.
Throwing a little more caution to the wind, Lucius threw his voice, bellowing in the distance, "For Gilneas, for Lordaeron!" and threw more arrows and imitation spells at the group of Forsaken.
The call of their human enemies seemed sufficient to break the Forsaken's will. Lucius resisted laughing as they turned and fled.
That would give the undead pause before they returned to this place, and even then they would be far more wary of their southern neighbors.
That would relieve some of the pressure on Fenrir and his pack, while they worked to subdue the Gilneans and spread their curse even further.
Lucius was not certain if Nobu'tan would approve of this plan, but both the nation of Gilneas and the Forsaken were effectively their enemies, obstacles to controlling more of the northern regions of the continent.
Should the two happen to destroy each other, the Dark Horde would only profit from the result. Lucius could only wish to see the look on the Banshee Queen's face when her entire kingdom crumbled around her at the plot that Lucius had begun here.
Granted, he was only halfway through the needfulness of the plan. The Forsaken thought that the humans of Gilneas had attack them, but he must make the others believe the Forsaken to be the aggressors.
Turning to the south, Lucius quickly summoned a Dreadsteed of Xoroth, and sped in the direction of the Greymane Wall with all haste. The Forsaken had withdrawn from most of Silverpine due to the actions of Fenrir's pack.
Still, it would take a lot more convincing those at the fortification that the undead wished to attack them than it did to drive the advance of the Forsaken back. However, Lucius had a few ideas that would be more than believable for even the most skeptical of observer.
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Bellatrix was not sure what to make of this new world that her Lord had called her back to. The fact that the Dark Lord had overcome death itself was something of a miracle. Even though this new form was less than ideal for Bellatrix's needs, it would suffice better than that place she had found herself after Azkaban was torn asunder.
But her questions, longings, and all else could wait. Her Lord had summoned her for a purpose, and Bellatrix Lestrange lived to fulfill her master's wishes. Across the bone-strewn waste they went, he afoot, and she floating on an unseen wind in his wake, from one cavernous entrance to another.
Bellatrix could sense dark magic somewhere far below, and something more, great and terrible in its strength.
"We will crush all those that oppose our new alliances," Voldemort said slowly.
Who theses unknown allies were Bellatrix was unsure, but the idea of flexing her power once again in the service of her Lord was more than pleasing. Despite her new form, and the foreignness of the magic inside her, Bellatrix felt great strength at her command, just waiting for her voice to give it form and malice.
They reached the far alcove, where a great pair of doors sealed the chamber beyond, leading into the depths.
"It is sealed by Fel enchantment…" Voldemort breathed, fingering the large sword in his hand.
Bellatrix, curious at the changes in her master, turned about to watch him as the undead form of her Lord rose to his full height, "Come, clan of the Blightbringer… and behold your chieftain's power…" Voldemort said, even as from the shadows of the rubble and dark corners of the ruin emerged countless figures, all strange and foreign to Bellatrix.
Turning back to Voldemort, Bellatrix was surprised to see him easily heft the massive glowing runeblade, its tip toward the sealed gate, and words that Bellatrix could not understand spilling from his mouth in a rushing stream of magic.
Eerie green vapor poured forth from the blade, snaking through the air and invading the gaps on the closed door, encircling the slabs that barred their way, and slowly, the sound of stone grinding upon stone was heard, and the doors parted like a curtain before them, revealing the horrified figures beyond.
The robe-wearing creatures, similar to some of those that followed Voldemort, shrank back at the power that the Dark Lord showed, and Bellatrix looked hopefully for the command to attack.
"Begin…" Voldemort ordered, and Bellatrix shrieked in delight and cruel desire for death, gliding forward at the head of the clan of undeath.
While she was terribly new to this ghostly form she now inhabited, Bellatrix could feel her own magical powers, and unleashed a wail of pure destructive force, shattering stone and throwing the first few creatures back as she advanced. Curses and spells from her old world flew from her lips, and while a great many produced no effect, the darkest of the dark arts responded to her call.
The Cruciatus curse above all heeded her command, wracking the fools before her with raw pain, crumpling the robe-wearing creatures.
The others of her master's servants followed in Bellatrix's wake, slaughtering those who survived the undead witch's onslaught.
The rearmost of these enemies shouted something in a language that Bellatrix did not understand, although from the immediate response of the others, who retreated further into the shadowy corridor beyond the initial chamber, she presumed that that one had some authority over the rest.
Voldemort took up the lead once more, his weapon lighting the way with its eerie glow. "These demon worshipping fools will not survive, trapped like rats in their hole." The Dark Lord muttered, gesturing at the fallen around them.
Bellatrix's eyes gleamed with mad desire as the corpses rose to fight once more. These were not quite the same as the inferi of their old world, bound by a single command and compelled to see it through forever. These were truer undead, led about as marionettes by the whim of the Dark Lord's thought, and it delighted her to know that her master's powers had only increased in his ascendance beyond death.
Glancing at the ghostly appendages of her hands and arms, Bellatrix vowed to learn the same powers as her Lord, and take her place once more as his most powerful lieutenant. None would stand in her way, or else they would find that her mad wrath was equal to Voldemort's.
But first, she would need some sort of physical form once more. Guessing upon all she had learned, limited though it was, Bellatrix could only assume her old body was long gone, and therefore she would have to find another, suitable host for this spirit form.
Not a simple task, but the children of the House of Black were up to any challenge that was placed before them. She would find a way.
Until then, she would learn all there was to know about this new world, and what their place in it was to be. Bellatrix followed Voldemort closely into the darkness of the underground ruins, stretching out the sensation of life in the winding tunnels ahead.
She eager anticipated the bloodshed that was to come.
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The journey through the open wastes of Shadowmoon Valley had taken far longer than Nobu'tan had expected, once they left the area surrounding the massive Fel volcano. Nevertheless, at last, they had arrived at the final stretch before the gates of the Dragonmaw fortress.
The massive crystal formations dotted the landscape, and as Nobu'tan gazed up at them, he spotted high overhead the distinct shapes of flying dragons. They were of a sort he had not seen before, and threw a questioning look at the Fel orc guides.
"Netherdrakes," the orc replied, "spawn of Deathwing that were sent to Draenor before the shattering…"
"Interesting…" Nobu'tan replied, glancing up again, "friend or foe?"
"Depends if they're wild or subjugated," the orc replied. "Best not to draw attention from them for now, the fortress is near."
Nobu'tan allowing his curiosity regarding the winged beasts to be set aside, looking toward the large fortress settled into the mountains at the far end of the crystal field. Not far north of the fortress, the massive citadel called the Black Temple rose over the landscape.
Nobu'tan could sense a great amount of Fel power within that place, and could only guess as to the sources of it. As they neared the Fel orc base, the guards started to move to block their way, but the guide they had brought from Hellfire called to them, quickly giving a token and sign that the guards understood, and permitted them entry without conflict or hindering.
"Who leads the clan now?" Nobu'tan asked at last, now that they were inside the fortress and heading toward the higher structures, up a rising slope that led through the center of the fortress.
On either side, many Fel orcs were hard at work tending to Nether Drakes, both adults and whelplings. It was intriguing to see the creatures up close, but the knowledge of who he was about to face was more pertinent to Nobu'tan.
"When we departed for Hellfire, Zuluhed still guided our clan," the guide replied, "but whether he still lives, I do not know."
"Then until I learn otherwise, I will assume that he still is your chieftain," Nobu'tan replied, nodding to himself. Zuluhed the Whacked was a name he remembered. The wily Dragonmaw chieftain had been one of former Warchief Blackhand's greatest supporters, although not opposed to Doomhammer's commands when the Blackrock orc had taken command of the Horde, according to Gul'dan so long ago.
Should it prove that the old orc was still the leader here, Nobu'tan felt as prepared as possible to try and convince him to abandon Illidan Stormrage and join the Dark Horde. When they arrived in the central garrison, and saw the imprisoned Nether Dragon chained there.
"Same strategy, different location?" he asked, smirking at the guide. From Warchief Nek'rosh, Nobu'tan had learned of the secret that the Dragonmaw had held tightly throughout the entirety of the second war, and their domination of the Dragonqueen Alexstrasza, until a force of Alliance adventurers shattered the magic controlling the Life-Binder and released the red dragons from the clan's control.
"Not the same level of control," another voice said, even as a green-skinned orc emerged from the building nearby. From the orc's white hair and wild expression, Nobu'tan guessed that this was Zuluhed.
"But we have enough of a threat present over these Netherdrakes to keep them obedient for our needs." The Dragonmaw chieftain looked over Nobu'tan, unfazed at the demonic appearance. "You seem familiar to me… something akin to Gul'dan's power of old."
"You are correct," Nobu'tan replied, "I am Nobu'tan, former apprentice to Gul'dan, and chieftain of the reformed Stormreaver Clan."
"And representative of the Dark Horde, along with the half of my clan that remained on Azeroth when we formed a pact with the Destroyer and returned to Draenor…" Zuluhed supplied, smirking at his knowledge regarding Nobu'tan identity.
"Yes," the warlock replied, seeing no advantage to trying to deny the truth.
"Yet you have come here, knowing full well that our faction of the Dragonmaw are loyal to Illidan Stormrage and his Fel Horde…" the older orc said, turning to look over his forces, "I could easily have my clan wage attack, and you wouldn't escape our clutches unscathed."
"That may be, but you know that I would decimate most of the orcs here, dragons or not…" Nobu'tan retorted.
"I do," Zuluhed replied, "news of your power has reached the Black Temple already, and measures are being made to fight against you, should you pose a threat to Lord Illidan…"
"My fight with Illidan need not concern the Dragonmaw," Nobu'tan said, deciding that there had been enough preamble to the main topic of his journey. "I wish for you and your clan to rejoin our Dark Horde in full, and stand alongside the Bleeding Hollow and Bonechewers, who have also joined forces with us."
"Ours is not a simple matter of switching allegiances," Zuluhed said, facing Nobu'tan, eyes grave, "the lesser clans that were stationed in Hellfire were not trusted, nor were they given secrets to keep about the defenses of the Black Temple. I cannot simply leave the Fel Horde without ramifications falling upon my clan."
"You fear Illidan and his wrath, then?" Nobu'tan questioned, raising an eyebrow at the old orc.
"Dragonmaw fear nothing," Zuluhed retorted, "but I know what the Lord of Outland is capable of."
"You want assurances that we can defeat him, then," the Grand Warlock surmised, seeing the minor wavering in the former shaman's eyes.
"It would greatly sway our impressions of your chances…" the orc said.
Nobu'tan nodded, "I had suspected that such would be needed…" turning to leave, he added, "I will return in time, and you will have the show of force against the Black Temple that you desire. Try not to get killed before then… It would be a great shame to lose you before being able to benefit from your wisdom and experience."
Zuluhed did nothing to prevent Nobu'tan and those with him from departing their stronghold, and the warlock allowed his mind to relax. All in all, it was the best he could have hoped for, from a well established clan settled right next to the fortress of his enemy. Still, there was much work that had to still be done, now that he had to prove the Dark Horde to these Fel orcs.
Even as his group moved back toward the exit from the valley, something caught Nobu'tan's eye. A shimmering, dark figure was standing off in the distance, watching them as they wove through the crystal fields.
A familiar aura of power washed over Nobu'tan, and briefly he recalled the surge of power from the altar of damnation in the center of the valley, and the short vision of another altar overlooking an endless void.
"We are taking a short detour before returning to the Boenchewer fortress," he said suddenly, changing his direction and proceeding toward the spirit's location, "I sense something important in this direction."
The others did not complain at his declaration, but followed as Nobu'tan led them around the southern part of the mountain line, carefully navigating the ridge over the endless drop into the Nether.
Nobu'tan forced himself not to look over the egde into the endless void of space, but set his sights on the path ahead of them, as it wove through the rocky landscape, ending at an ancient altar, set between two crumbling pillars. Waiting there, the spirit formed itself into the shape of an orc Necrolyte, and addressed Nobu'tan, "I've been waiting for you to return…"
Just a quick reminder, Twitch, Youtube, and Discord links are in my profile page, (PM me if the links don't work for whatever reason) hope to hear from you either in reviews, or else on one of these other platforms. Until next time! ~F
