We near the end of the Lich King arc of the Stormreaver, and while my ability to pump out chapters is still diminished, I continue pushing, as we are so close to a part of the story that I have been plotting and planning for so long in advance. It's gonna be epic, I hope... in the meantime, enjoy the current chapter!

Chapter 177

The Upper Citadel

Blaise did not know how the undead spider revived so quickly, but he knew that if they did not quash him once again his spider forces would overwhelm their position. Attacking from below was really an oversight that their forces would regret if they failed to push their enemies back.

Dodging between the crushing legs of another large undead spider, he slashed with a blaze of the Fel at the unarmored underbelly of the creature, felling it swiftly and making space for their troops to push closer to the Crypt Lord.

"This place shall serve as your tomb!" Anub'arak bellowed, spinning as he too engaged with warriors of the Alliance and Kalimdor Horde, presenting his backside to Blaise as the assassin allowed his form to embrace the shadows that both Nobu'tan and Garona had taught him.

The flames of his daggers surged, changing from demonic green to jet black, and he leapt with magic-aided strength, landing lightly on the armored and spiky back of the Crypt Lord. The armored plates exploded upward, even as the wings beneath started to beat wildly, spewing a swarm of leeching insects into the air.

"The swarm shall overtake you!" Anub'arak shouted, stomping and spinning, trying to throw Blaise from his back, but the assassin of the Dark Horde planted a dagger into the midsection of the creature's back, anchoring himself to the wild ride as the spider lord started to buck like a wild horse.

Letting the black flame eat away every insect that tried to attack him from the air, Blaise withdrew his wand in his other hand, extinguishing the dagger not imbedded in the carapace in order to operate the instrument of his temporary mount's destruction.

There was only one thing that he knew that would work to destroy this creature, and it was rare to find any of their number that knew the dire incantation, let alone dared to use it. The chaotic fire of the Fel led many to fear mixing the Fel with the power of Fiendfyre, but Blaise was not one to back away from what had to be done. That was why Nobu'tan trusted him so closely.

"Prestis Incendium…" he intoned calmly, letting the powerful curse take effect. With a roar, the flames erupted into life, consuming the undead and decayed flesh beneath Blaise, and he wrenched his blade free as he leapt from the back of Anub'arak.

Tendrils of power rose like the heads of a hydra, roaring with the promice of freedom and the desire to consume everything in its path, but Blaise willed it not to do so. The strain was beyond anything he had expected, but he would manage it. He had to, or their salvation would become their new doom.

"I have failed you, master…" the Crypt Lord groaned, even as he perished at last, under the weight of the enchanted flames.

Beads of sweat formed on Blaise's face as he concentrated, just managing to keep the fire from spreading out of control, but snuffing it back out was another matter altogether.

"Here…" said a cold voice suddenly at his side, and Lucius Malfoy appeared, his wand waving in a complicated pattern, adding his own will to Blaise's own, to command the fyre to their whims.

The battle raged on, but the warriors of the united force rallied around them, protecting the wizards as they battled the flames, slowly condensing them into a swirling pillar of roaring green. Several times, the Scourge forces tried to assault their position, but it worked to their favor to allow the fiendfyre to consume the undead, as there was little magic and life for the fire to absorb from them, and therefore did not cause the fire to grow any further no matter how many enemies they incinerated.

"Funnel it into the tunnels," Lucius ordered, steering their joined magic to guide the flames toward the Nerubian's entrances, "let the magic run rampant through their subterranean kingdom until it is fully spent."

Blaise could find no fault with the logic. With nothing but undead to consume, and the rock tunnels having no normal fuel for the fyre, it would rush headlong through the tunnels, and eventually the spell would wear itself too thin to continue burning, extinguishing itself long after their enemies' entry to the battlefield had been long sealed.

Carefully, they pressed the burning pillar of cursed demonic fire toward the entrance of the crypt fiend's assault tunnel, incinerating every undead that tried to press mindlessly through it and reach them. The ice and snow was left evaporated in the spell's wake, allowing them to move easily across the barren stone ground of the courtyard, until they reached the shattered tunnel.

A final series of undead spiders tried to crawl up as the pillar settled into place, and their wails reminded Blaise of the horrid sounds demons made when they had tried to storm his Mother's manor back on earth. The indomitable witch had overcome even the Legion's natural defenses to wizard's magic with a surge of the blackest Dark Arts spells that he had ever felt, flaying the hides from their corpses and setting their burning blood loose in their own veins.

It had taken a full contingent, with a pit lord commander, to finally defeat her, but not before she had shattered nearly two thirds of their ranks, saving a great many that were fleeing the rampages of the Legion.

Finally, after a great surge of effort to seal the magical fire inside the tunnels, Blaise relaxed, putting his hands on his knees and feeling thoroughly wrung out. Lucius held himself with more poise, but the assassin knew that the older man had to feel much the same.

"Yet another assault from the Scourge defeated," Lucius said slowly, clearly protecting his image in the face of desperately wanting to breathe more deeply.

"Hopefully the assault force will return before the next big attack…" Blaise said, slowly starting to catch his wind again.

"Hopefully…" Lucius agreed, leading the way back to the steps where the command group of the defenders was gathered.

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Narcissa felt a great weight of tension leave her as she saw the torrent of green fiendfyre disappear beneath the surface of the ground. It was wise of her husband to send it out to consume their enemies underground, where it could do no more damage to them. She was well aware of the power of the cursed fire, and the idea of combining it with the demonic Fel was something akin to giving a Basilisk the ability to breathe dragonfire.

"Lady Malfoy," the voice of one of the Stormwind guards said, peeking in from the doorway.

Pulling her eyes away from the windowed portal that opened to the chaos of Northrend and the assault of Icecrown, Narcissa started to rise, presuming that the guard was here to inform her about Aurora and some need that her daughter needed.

"There is a Nobleman here to meet with you, one Lord Nott." The guard said, and she frowned, confused for the briefest moment.

Despite being one a member of one of the inner circles of the Black Harvest, and well aware of the connection between the Dark Horde and the refugees from Terra, Lord Nott had been somewhat disgraced and aloof of them since the betrayal and escape of his son. For him to reappear now, breaking his long absence, was meaningful, and she needed to give him at least a few moments to speak his peace, whatever it may be.

Coming swiftly to the door, she nodded to Varian as she departed. The King took no notice, his eyes glued to the defenses of Icecrown as the unified forces strove to hold off the undead waves until the strike team inside finished their mission.

Lord Nott was waiting just outside in the corridor, staring at his feet, with his hands clasped together in front of him.

"Lady Malfoy," he said as she closed the door, stepping forward, his gaze snapping to hers with intensity that she was not sure the man had had before. "I have made an important discovery."

From the tone of excitement in his voice, it did not seem as though she was about to hear more disturbing news, and Narcissa nodded, taking the man's hands as she noticed them trembling. Whether that was from age or excitement, she did not know, but it served as a reminder for the widower that he needed to maintain his composure.

"What is it?" Narcissa asked gently, encouraging him to speak simply and clearly.

The man seemed lost as to where to start however, and began a slow ramble to explain himself, "As you know, many of our fellows among the resident Purebloods are starting to follow your gracious example, and expand their families with new children, with all the free ambient magic in this world."

She hushed him, as Lord Nott's voice was quite loud normally, and in his excitement, it would quickly draw unwanted attention that would ask questions.

The man nodded, finally understanding that he had to curb his eagerness, and lowered his voice to a near whisper. "With so many new children, we will need to pass on our traditions, especially those of the basics of magic."

Narcissa nodded, understanding the basic concern that most of the Purebloods had with regards to the new generation that was coming, with Aurora as first of them.

"While we have no institution like Hogwarts to help with the instruction of these new children, I believe I have uncovered the secrets to at the least make sure that the manipulation of our primal magic is not lost." Lord Nott said.

"You mean…" Narcissa breathed, daring to hope at what the man was inferring.

Nott nodded, "I have discovered, through a lot of study and trial, the basic secrets of the wandlore of our land."

Narcissa felt the air catch in her lungs. The wands that they had brought with them, while many plundered from wand shops and from the fallen during the war with the Legion, were still limited, and it was not guaranteed that the wands would select any of their new children as their witches and wizards.

However, if Lord Nott was correct in his claim, then they would be able to have a new supply of wands crafted, perhaps greater than those they brought with them, with all the new and different materials that could be used from Azeroth and its widely varied regions.

"As soon as Lord Nobu'tan has returned from the Northrend campaign," she instructed Nott, "he must be made aware of this. I can guarantee that he will throw whatever resources you require to achieve this lofty goal."

Nott's face drooped somewhat at the mention of Lord Nobu'tan, "I do not believe I or my name will be enough to persuade the Grand Warlock of anything, with the mess that my son has left us all…"

"If that is the case, which I doubt," Narcissa said flatly, "I will make certain that it happens, even if we need to dip into the Malfoy family funds or even petition the King of Stormwind himself if I must. This rediscovery is too important to preserving our traditions and way of life to not give every ounce of seriousness that we can."

Whatever answer he was expecting, the one she gave was not it. Lord Nott seemed overjoyed, but controlled himself, allowing the emotion to sink behind the controlled composure of a proper Pureblood Lord with all honor intact.

"I thank you, Lady Malfoy, and will endevour to make this potential the reality for our future. If we are to make this land our home, then we had better make sure that all of who we are, magically and mundanely, are available for those children to enjoy. Their heritage is a blessing to celebrate, not forget."

The man swept away, a subtle spring in each step as he returned to the front of the Keep and out back to Stormwind City. Turning back to the chamber with the King of Stormwind, Narcissa stepped back inside the small private chamber that they had taken refuge in to observe the battle.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the lack of her calming presence had allowed the Varian time to think up and do something drastic. The portal, his majesty, and the mages holding it open were gone, presumably passed through to the battlefield proper.

"Anduin will not be pleased…" Narcissa said to herself, choosing not to remain in the empty room. Perhaps she could delay the Prince from knowing the truth by having him come back to their house for an extended visit.

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Sirius had to confess that Harry was nothing like what he had expected to find. There had been many on the Xennedar, and among the resistance that had formed on old Earth that had spoken ill of the 'betrayer' as they had taken to calling his godson. While Sirius had held out hope that there was good in the now young man, he had had his doubts develop over the many years.

He was gladdened, therefore, to find that the truth was something more in the middle. Yes, Harry was by all accounts a dark wizard, practicing what would have been considered on their world the blackest of magic, but he wielded it against the enemies of the free beings of this world.

The level of wrath that he personally released upon these San'layn rivaled even the power of the Light in ferocity, and effectiveness.

The undead fell back before their group, nearly fleeing against their fury until a chamber opened up before them, with the corpses of three Elves splayed out on a risen platform. As they entered the chamber, a cold voice rang down from a chamber above them, the attempt at seduction in the tone lost behind all the snide contempt it transmitted, "Foolish mortals. You think us defeated so easily? The San'layn are the Lich King's immortal soldiers! Now you shall face their might combined!"

From the ceiling, an orb of blood red magic descended, tendrils of power flashing in all directions, energizing and powering the undead that were struck. Eventually the orbs power focused itself on the displayed corpses.

"Rise up, brothers, and destroy our enemies!" the voice rang down, and the three figures splayed their claw-like fingers, fangs barred as the vampires of Sirius' homeworld.

"Such wondrous power!" one of the three undead elves shouted, glorying in their blood-revelry, "The Darkfallen Orb has made us INVINCIBLE!"

The second stepped forward, magic crackling off him as his blood-red eyes scanned their force, "Tremble before Taldaram, mortals, for the power of the orb flows through me!"

"The fall of Naxxanar was merely a setback! With the power of the orb, Valanar will have his vengeance!"

Sirius huffed. These names and places meant nothing to him, and all he saw were three power hungry vampires that may have had the magic of Azeroth behind them, but there were more than enough ways to destroy them utterly, even before factoring in the power of the Light.

At his side, Brigitte Abbendis stiffened. He had spent a short time speaking with the woman who now commanded the remainder of the forces known as the Scarlet Onslaught. They had been tricked, multiple times, by servants of the Legion and traitors from other factions. But they had had high aspiritions before, to take vengeance on the Lich King and his Scourge that had slew their King, perverted their Prince, and destroyed their homeland.

Sirius felt for the woman, and understood the level of hatred that these people might feel, despite its misguided outlet as he learned of the Forsaken, and the war between the former Scarlet Crusade and those who had been raised, and later freed their minds from the Lich King.

At his other shoulder, Amaryllis Parkinson, a witch he had been marginally aware of from their mutual homeland, had bristled like an angered feline. Sirius could sense her magic welling up in rage and pain. While he had no idea what drove the formerly very lovely and patient woman to such anger, he had to act before she threw them all into chaos.

Funneling the Light into his hand, Sirius utilized a technique that he had been perfecting before departing the Xenedar with Snape and Remus. The golden magic shaped easily with the slightest thought, forming the jagged bolt like a piece of crackling lightning.

Hurling the magic made real, Sirius saw the bolt streak through the air and strike the third Vampire, and the power of the Light burned him thoroughly.

"My cup runneth over!" the vampire that called himself Valanar said, even as the three lunged into the fight. Sirius and the ogre mage leapt forward to meet two of the three vampires. The paladin was pleased to see that the guardian of his godson continued to live, and although the twin-headed creature looked as though he had been through the worst of many fights and threats, the powerful Fel-empowered limb served as a sweeping weapon to knock the smaller San'layn backwards.

Sirius quickly followed up with his sword, slashing the nearest of the creatures and forcing the nimble creature back further, separating the vampires and preventing them from working together.

The blood magic user hissed angrily, fingering the scorching cut across his chest from Sirius' Light-blessed sword, before leaping back forward, trying to sink deadly claws into the exposed flesh of the scion of the House of Black.

And they only found the glossed silver of the paladin's enchanted shield. Sirius smirked as he caught the momentary sizzle of the San'layn's claws as they reacted to silver. The idea that these creatures, despite the long stretch of distance between Terra and Azeroth, were so similar to the vampires of Earth was oddly refreshing, made this the type of enemy that Sirius knew how to fight, and with his skills and power over the Light, he held the distinct advantage.

"The Light shines even in these unhallowed halls!" Sirius cried, calling down a pillar of holy radiance upon the undead creature, who wailed as he was bathed in the unmatched power.

The thing died screaming, reduced to ashes by the force of Sirius' devotion to the Naaru and the Light that wafted off them, energizing the paladin with the light of retribution. Pivoting quickly, he targeted his next adversary, the beast still wrestling to land a blow through the toughened Fel-hide of the ogre lord.

A crushing fist of holy magic flew at Sirius' command, striking the vampire in the small of the back and making him rear back in shock. The hulking juggernaut of the Dark Horde took advantage of the moment, and smashed his hulking club-like staff down, burying the San'layn deeply in the stones of the fortress.

The sheer force required in breaking the unholy stone staggered Sirius to witness, but there would be time to consider the implications later, as he focused on the last of the three vampire lords.

Blood magic was flowing freely from this creature, trying vainly to contend with the demonic fire from Nobu'tan. The warlock was snarling, letting torrents of flames surge through his anger, brilliant green flaring and sparking with what seemed like lightning.

Bolts of holy lightning returned to him in a flash, and Sirius hurled them into the fray, striking the connection of Fel and blood magic, as well as the vampire, knocking him aside as the Fel consumed the spot where he had stood.

Leaping past the demonic flames, Sirius slammed his sword point-first into the creature, letting the Light scorch it from within as he twisted the blade deftly, and ensuring imminent death for the undead.

"My queen, they… come." The San'layn murmured weakly, and flaked away into ashes.

Whether Nobu'tan was grateful or irritated by his interference, Sirius did not care. He would protect his godson, with or without the young man's permission.

"They will just return, unless we destroy their queen," the warlock replied, wiping a small amount of soot from the edges of his robe sleeves.

As if in answer to the declaration of their next target, the doors on either side of the chamber creaked open, more undead servants pouring in to contend with them, minor liches in tow. The waiting bows of the two elves, one alive and one undead, sang as arrows were loosed on one side, while Madam Parkinson and the elven mage sent spells cascading across the opposite side, fire and blasting hexes liberally spraying across the stone.

Pressing forward through the side riddled with arrows, Sirius followed the rest of the group, allowing the Light to wash over them all, and mending small wounds as he spotted them on their members. Apparently, other undead had tried to flank them as they dealt with the vampires, and several of their number had been caught off guard.

The path spiraled upward, meeting back with the opposite choice they had not taken a floor above, where another group of lesser vampire-elves were gathered over a metal grate that spied down at the entrance they had passed earlier. Once these final guards were dispatched, there was left only the elaborately dressed female vampire, bat-like wings spreading out behind her as she glowed with blood magic.

What concerned Sirius was the mass of caskets that surrounded the chamber, likely brimming with fresh warriors for her to use against them. Discreetly, as their group advanced on the undead woman, the paladin allowed the light to seep from him into the stones as he walked, casually passing as many of the caskets as he dared.

Slowly, the vampire queen was backed toward the oppressive throne that she clearly lorded over her people from, "It is over…" Nobu'tan said, "surrender you piece of the key to the Lich King, and we will end you swiftly…"

"You have made an… unwise… decision," the San'layn Queen said, her eyes will with greedy hunger, and the blood magic surged outward, latching onto the caskets, even as Sirius had feared and suspected.

"Yes… feed my precious ones! You are mine now!" she shouted, even as the newly risen vampires clawed their way out of the various containers, leaping at the nearest members of their force as soon as they could.

Many of them encountered a wall of holy force, as the traps that Sirius had placed as he entered activated, blasting the newly risen creatures back to their eternal sleep.

The queen leapt into the air, wings billowing out as he attempted to dive onto the living elven ranger, fangs bared as she sought for the blood of the living. "Just a taste…" she crooned.

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Voldemort spared little time for the dying Val'kyr. His senses were drawn farther forward, as he could focus on a waning pulse of life energy amid the hordes of undead housed in this cold tomb. Turning to look farther down the rising corridor, the flecks of green life energy seemed to intensify.

"Intruders have breached the inner sanctum!" boomed a cold voice above them. Voldemort felt the collective shudder through their living allies as the voice of the Lich King filled the halls. "Hasten the destruction of the green dragon, leave only bones and sinew for the reanimation!"

"A daughter of Ysera is here?" The undead Highlord said, the other Death Knight growing concerned, "We must go to her aid!"

"Heroes, lend me your aid! I… I cannot hold them off much longer! You must heal my wounds!" the green dragon said, a roar of pain echoing as the Scourge undead started to surge from the sides of the chamber ahead all around her.

Hurling bolts that glows the vivid green of the Killing Curse, Voldemort stalked into the chamber, striking down several of the charging undead, even as the other death knights channeled their command over death to drive back more of the ghouls and skeletons that flocked at the command of several minor liches.

"Light, dawn upon this unhallowed hall!" Tirion Fordring cried, and a beam of the yellowed magic poured downward, bathing the dragon in light and incinerating the undead already trying to cleave through the emerald scales.

At once, the wounds across the dragon's flesh started to mend, slowly at first, but with them came renewed strength, and in moments, the dragon's own magic started to surge.

A vortex of emerald magic tore open along the wall of the chamber, and pure life energy poured out of it, "I have opened a portal into the Dream. Your salvation lies within, heroes…"

The old orc, bearing the symbol of the Kalimdor Horde, leapt to the portal, reaching inside and drawing forth something that shattered in the grim halls of the dead, erupting with life magic that wafted back to the dragon. Voldemort was forced to look away, spinning to dodge a particularly quick ghoul, and hack down the lich using the fodder undead as a unloving shield.

"My strength is returning! Press on, heroes!" the dragon cried, gaining force around its voice and straining against the enchanted chains that bound it to the stone ground.

More portals opened around the room, feeding more of the sickly verdant life energy into the chamber. If anything, it started to make the Death Knight uncomfortable, bypassing the normal numbness that weighed over his emotions.

Focusing the liches as they appeared, trying to reestablish control over the chains around the dragon, Voldemort struck them down mercilessly, even as the paladins channeled their magic toward shattering the unholy chains and freeing the dragon completely, and their light magic restoring it.

"I AM RENEWED!" the dragon roared, surging to its feet as the last of the chains shattered, emerald flames erupting from its maw. "Ysera grants me the favor to lay these foul creatures to rest!"

The living fire washed over the Scourge forces, obliterating any of the remaining stragglers that escaped the blades of the Death Knights, or the flying axes of the Frost Troll warlord.

"Go forth and destroy the Frost Queen, heroes!" the dragon said, even her voice stronger now that she was filled with the repulsive magic of the living, "I will hold the way until you return!"

Nevertheless, it was an opportunity that wasn't to be wasted. Even the paladins nodded their silent agreement, turning with the rest of them to the gated passage ahead, and the metal platforms that seemed to operate as lifts.

The enchanted metal portcullises seemed unyielding to the concept of moving, but Voldemort was not a patient man in life. Undeath may have added something to that, but inherently he still wanted this to be finished, so that he could happily go back to his own machinations. Channeling the raw necromantic magic from the fortress into him, he seized the metal gate and viciously tore it from its place, throwing it in pieces out of their way.

Stepping through his new doorway, Voldemort turned to face the others with cold impassion on his face. "No use waiting…" he said, before starting to manipulate the chains that operated the lift. Others piled in, but it would take two trips for all of them to reach the bottom.

The webs clogging the next chamber gave away what lurked in the shadowy recesses of the vaulted ceiling, but without any heavy magic users, there was nothing they could do aside from simply spring the trap.

"Watch the walls, nerubians will likely be trying to flank us as we cross the room." Tirion said, pointing to the pillars of the circular room, where the webs were the thickest.

And, as they had all suspected, motion exploded above as they started across the circular room, "You must not approach the frost queen! Quickly, stop them!"

The spiders skittered down on their own webs, more spiderlings using the older webs, to try and surround the expedition force, but they were prepared for the ambush. Channeling the remnants of his old magic, mixed with the new powers he had been gifted in death, blue-green flames of undeath flared off Blightbringer, washing over the lesser spiders and splashing against the nerubians.

The two paladins leapt forward, their strength in the Light flaring as their weapons burned through the undead spiders, removing any that tried to circle around behind their group, as the rest of them formed a defensive circle.

These would not bar their way for long, even if they had vrykul reinforcements from the direction of a massive balcony directly ahead. Tightening his grip on Blightbringer, Voldemort eagerly awaited the slaughter to come.

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Garrosh was first to turn and push forward into the central chamber of the plagued chambers they were invading. The others had played their roles respectably, and he was not going to sit idly by and let these humans and Dark Horde traitors take all the glory that belonged to the Horde as much as any other.

As he mounted the large ramp up to the central observation chamber, however, the doors in front of him started to close on their own, and gases started to pour down from the ceiling. "You can't come in here all dirty like that!" the diseased undead ahead of them all but giggled, "You need that nasty flesh scrubbed off first!"

Roaring in a burst of rage, Garrosh hurled Gorehowl at the closing gap of the door, his strength and speed allowing the war axe of his father to wedge the door partially open ahead of their force.

The magic users of their group started channeling fire and ice to ward off the toxic gases, even as the Alliance commander, his dwarven ally, and the Dark Horde paladin all threw themselves at the door, grunting with the effort to try and pry the doorway open again. Lunging in to help, Garrosh hefted all his strength at the barrier.

Together, the four of them managed to start turning the tide, and the gap started to widen, allowing Gorehowl to clatter to the ground and one-by-one, the others of their force started to slip through the space they held.

"Go, we'll use magic to get through after your all on the other side," the female sorceress shouted at those holding the doors, and quickly they stepped through, Garrosh scooping up his father's weapon as he did so. In a flash of arcane and Fel magic, the two teleported through as the door slammed shut, sealing them inside with the maddened undead plague-maker.

"Oh dear… that won't do at all, will it," the undead horror said, turning from the alchemy table he was working at with a potion in hand, "I guess I have no choice but a final drink before handling things on my own…"

Quickly, the undead downed the vile liquid, appearing like green sludge as it ran down the front of his face, "Hmm. I don't feel a thing…" he said disappointedly. But the effect was apparent, as a pair of tendrils sprouted from the undead's back, waving like extra limbs as he swayed on the spot, "Whaaa? Where'd those come from?" the creature said, before shrugging, throwing the vial to the side, and rushing at them all.

Meeting the scrawny undead head on, Garrosh was momentarily surprised at the extreme strength the fragile-looking corpse exhibited, and he twisted away as the undead parried the swinging Gorehowl with his rotting bare hand.

Grimaxe, as well as the two Crusader paladins, swarmed the undead next, the Light rolling off their weapons as they pushed the decrepit professor back toward his table. The young male spellcaster, Garrosh hadn't bothered paying attention for his name, circled around the melee, going for the table to destroy everything on it. The green fire of the warlocks surged from his hands, consuming every vial and bottle without allowing the contents to spread throughout the room.

Normally, Garrosh would be incensed, but given the circumstances, the destructive demon fire was the only thing protecting them from the noxious fumes and acids that the mad undead had strew across the table. Seeing a choice opportunity, he lunged in, Gorehowl singing as it sliced through one of the wavering green tendrils on the corpse, depriving the undead from another lashing limb to defend itself with.

The other Alliance fighters, including the ice-wielding sorceress, took the job of destroying the other equipment of the madman, rampaging around the room and smashing or freezing everything that seemed relatively important. Truly, if the undead was even partially truthful of his ability to engineer death-dealing plagues, then all his research needed to be destroyed as well as him killed to prevent it from happening.

Garrosh took that as his prerogative. The paladins were not able to get around the defenses of the surprisingly agile and strong undead, but between he four of them, they could score several decisive blows and end the madman's unlife.

Whirling around to get behind the backpedaling undead, Garrosh swung low with his father's axe, tripping the undead while separating one of the legs at the knee.

"Woops!" the undead squealed, as though enjoying whatever sensations of pain its lifeless body will felt. That enraged Garrosh, and losing a bit of control, he spun again, blackened blood flying off the axe head as he brought it up and around, before slamming it back down onto the neck of the vile experimenter.

The head rolled away, and even as its body twitched its final convulsions, the sickening creature had the audacity to continue mocking them, "Bad news everyone! I don't think I'm going to make it…"

The demise of the undead did little to ease the frustration however, and Garrosh turned his boiling rage upon the tables and vials all around that hadn't been consumed in fire, smashing them and splintering the floor with splinters.

As much as Garrosh despised the warlocks of old and their demon masters, his hatred of undead and their machinations was steadily growing to rival it, through not only the workings of the Lich King and his Scourge, but anything that added to the vile magics of darkness that sought to twist the world to its own ends.

Only when the tables were completely demolished did Garrosh halt his rampage, lowing Gorehowl and he turned to look at his current allies. Only the human male sorcerer dared to meet his gaze, the cool grey of his eyes unwavering in the face of Garrosh's simmering anger.

"You finished?" he asked importantly, and the Mag'har had to admit that the unwavering courage in face of what normally would have sent these weak human's quailing quite caught him off guard.

"No," Garrosh said still, striding slowly past the human to follow the rest, who had started leaving already, "Not until we've dealt with this Lich King for good…"

"Good," the young human replied, turning to walk shoulder to shoulder with Garrosh, which unnerved the orc all the more, "That rage is powerful, and it wouldn't be good for it to be wasted on something as undeserving as a hunk of wood, when there are undead left that ought to be destroyed."

There was something there, a cold knife's blade in the sound of the man's voice, which Garrosh suddenly became aware of, and it chilled even the blazing heat of his own ferocity. This one had anger boiling just as Garrosh did, but it was trapped under layers of ice and snow, cold as any outside these unholy walls.

The human caught Garrosh looking, the question only barely starting to form in his mind. "You know the hotness of indignant anger, Garrosh son of Grom," the man said, "but you do not know the depths of cold rage, which can never be quelled, that which comes at the death of one held dear to the heart, and not those whom you barely knew."

The acid that dripped from the words, Garrosh suppressed the urge to shudder at, and focused his mind once more. It was another lesson in a day of endless lessons. Garrosh was not the only one entitled to anger this day, and his claim was not even close to front of the preverbal line.

"We will gain justice this day," he said, hesitating before placing his hand on the human's shoulder, the size of his fingers almost swallowing the whole of the human's arm. It was the first time he had felt kinship to anyone of another race in his life, aside from Me'dan, but the part-orc didn't count in Garrosh's mind. This was drastically different, and he redoubled his oath to learn to control himself, and be more observant of those around him.

It would be what Thrall had wanted of him, if he was to become a leader in the Horde one day. For the sake of his people, orcish and all others who were sworn members of the Horde, Garrosh would give his all to see it done. Soon they were returning to the center platform of the upper citadel, where one beam of chilling light now spear across to the central pillar, burning out a rune blocking their way to the summit.