Apologies for the delay, had to do one final run through edit of this chapter before commiting to posting. Thanks to those who reviewed recent chapters, and please enjoy the latest release! ~F
Chapter 112
Heritage
Med'an was confused at the entire exchange between Thrall and the orc warlock that they rescued on the road. It was clear that they were of different factions, but Med'an knew that his mother was closely tied to the workings of the Dark Horde, and they had their own kind of honor. By the time they parted; however, Thrall seemed to have put the matter behind him completely.
Soaring now over the trees of Terrokar, they followed the Mag'har scouts over the mountains and into a grassy landscape that seemed to stretch to the ends of the planet. Closer to Thrall now, Med'an heard the Warchief suck in a breath of surprise.
He did not need to look to understand the reason, as he felt it as well. The elements were strong here, vibrant and thriving among the rocks and grass.
Some of the Kor'kron had brought drums with them, and started to beat them in announcement of their arrival. Med'an looked down to see the village they were approaching, and the many brown heads looking up to see as they circled the high buildings and landed just outside the entrance.
"At long last, I am home…" Thrall said, leaping off his mount and stepping toward the walls of the village.
Med'an rushed to unstrap himself from Longmane, who held perfectly still as he did so. Many of the Mag'har appeared at the gates, curious to see the arrival of the Warchief of the Horde and his entourage.
Slowly, the group made their way through the village, set for the center-most building, where the Greatmother awaited. Med'an was curious at the sea of faces, all looking with wonder and awe at a green-skinned orc, something that they clearly had not seen in many years.
Son, they arrived at the place, where an ancient-looking orc female knelt on a rug of furs, her eyes dimmed with near-blindness.
"Greatmother," Thrall said respectfully, bowing to her and her guards.
"I have been expecting you, young one" the wizened orc said, stretching her hands toward Thrall, "Come closer – my eyes are not as sharp as they once were."
The Warchief obeyed, and the old woman ran her hands over his face and shoulders, murmuring to herself as she did so. "Yes…" she said, at last, when satisfied, "You move like my son. You have his broad shoulders – ahh, and your mother's fierce eyes."
"Greatmother… Am I…" Thrall asked, but the older orc shushed him.
"There is no doubt," she confirmed, "you are the heir of Durotan… my grandson. Draka told me she was with child before she and your father left our world, but I dared not dream that they would survive…"
Thrall averted his eyes, "They… did not, Greatmother. They were killed shortly after I was born. I never knew them; I was raised as a slave. To this day, I carry the name of Thrall."
The Greatmother huffed, frowning, "Thrall? You've been a slave only to the past, grandson! But no more! When last I saw him, Durotan told me the name he would give his unborn son… He was… so proud…" the old orc wiped away a tear. "Go'el. You are Go'el, son of Durotan – rightful chieftain of the Frostwolves. This day, grandson – you are the great joy of my heart."
There was silence throughout the gathered soldiers, villagers, and other heroes of the Horde that had been in these lands for some time now, even as Thrall… Go'el, allowed the emotion to wash over him. Even Med'an could tell that there was something powerful going on around them.
"I have dreamed of this moment all my life, Greatmother." The shaman said, "'Till now, all I've had were Orgrim's stories about my parents and their adventures on Draenor. He was my greatest teacher and dearest friend. He died a hero… They all died as heroes – and for all of them, a song of honor remains."
The Greatmother glanced down at the Doomhammer, set at the side when Thrall entered her open canopy, "I see that you hold the Doomhammer. Have all of our greatest heroes fallen, grandson?"
"They died honorably, Greatmother," Thrall affirmed, bowing his head once more.
"What of Grommash? What of Hellscream?" the old orc asked, out of the blue.
"He died our greatest hero," Thrall said, smiling slightly at the memory. "It was Grom that freed us all. I was by his side when he struck down Mannoroth and ended the curse forever."
If it were possible, the old orc's eyes lit up all the more, "Blessed spirits!" she cried, "For twenty years, all we knew was that Grom was the first to drink from the cursed chalice and bring damnation down upon our people… it is the only truth his son, Garrosh has ever known."
The Kor'kron, Med'an, and even Thrall looked surprised at the news that Grom Hellscream had had a son.
"Grandson, will you… Will you tell Garrosh what you have told me about his father?" the Greatmother asked, clutching Thrall's hands with her own.
"Tell him?" Thrall repeated, "Greatmother, that boy's father died so that all of us could live free of the blood curse. I will tell him nothing. I will show him! Show him, and any that would doubt Hellscream's resolve, exactly what Grom Hellscream did for all orcs!"
Thrall rose swiftly, "Please excuse me, Greatmother. I will return soon."
Me'dan had to jog in order to keep up with the purposeful steps of Thrall, even as the orc walked down where a shamanistic circle was set up in the exact center of the village. The Warchief's eyes were on one orc in particular. Med'an couldn't yet really tell these Mag'har apart, but the individual that Thrall approached was powerfully built, but seemed almost broken of spirit, sitting on a log with his head bowed.
"Rise, son of Grom, and look at me." Thrall ordered, and the other orc quickly obeyed. Thrall placed a hand on the brown shoulder. "You are the spitting image of your father… walk with me." He requested, and the orc, Garrosh if Med'an remembered the name correctly, looked stunned at the lack of scorn that Thrall had for him. He followed quickly as the shaman entered the spirit circle and raised the Doomhammer.
Raising his voice for all to hear, Thrall yelled, "Spirits give me strength! Take from my soul these old wounds and expose them for all to see! Let this child know his father! Let these people know their savior!"
Energy swirled around the village, coalescing in the circle and manifesting images from the warchief's memory.
A terrible figure appeared, laughing to scorn at the small images of a pair of orcs, "So predictable." The demon stated, "I knew you would come. And I see you've brought the mighty Hellscream. His blood is mine, as is your whole misbegotten race."
The tiny representation of Thrall roared in defiance, charging to strike at the demon with the Doomhammer, but the massive creature swatted him away with ease.
"A worthy effort, but futile," The demon taunted, chuckling as it turned its head to the other orc, who must have been Grom Hellscream. "The boy believed you could be saved, but he didn't know what burns within your soul when in your heart; you know we are the same."
Hellscream charged as well, bellowing a war cry and swinging his weapon overhead. Both orc and demon collided heavily, each falling to the ground, and the demon burst into flames, dying.
The miniature version of Thrall rose to his feet, rushing to Grom and hefting his body into his arms.
"Thrall..." Grom said, reaching to the younger orc. "The blood haze has lifted."
And indeed, the redness in the eyes of the larger, dying orc changed, dimming somewhat.
"The demon's fire has burnt out in my veins. I have... freed myself." Hellscream said, slowly exhaling and expiring.
"No, old friend." The image of Thrall said, "You've freed us all..."
Around the circle, the Mag'har were stunned into silence, and Garrosh collapsed to his knees before the image, tears in his eyes. "For my entire life I have thought my bloodline cursed. I have lived beneath the shadow of my father's greatest failure." The orc said.
He turned away in shame, "I hated him for what he had done. I hated him for the burden he left me. But now..."
Garrosh rose to his feet, and even Med'an could sense the fire that had burst into existence in his breast, "You have shown me truths that I would have never known. You and your allies have gifted me with something that cannot bear a price: Redemption. Thrall, redeemer of the Mag'har, you honor me as none ever have..." Garrosh said, bowing in reverence to Thrall.
Then he turned to the rest of his people, raising a fist to punch at the heavens, "On this day," he declared, "a great burden has been lifted from my chest. My heart swells with pride. And for the first time, I can proudly proclaim who I am. I can finally unleash the fury in my heart. I am Garrosh Hellscream, son of Grom, chieftain of the Mag'har! Let the battle call of Hellscream give you courage and strength! Be lifted by my rallying cry!"
The assembled orcs roared in celebration, lifting weapons and fists to the sky.
Garrosh turned back to Thrall, "Thank you, son of Durotan." He said, clasping the shaman's hands with his own.
Thrall placed a hand on Garrosh's shoulder. "You need not thank me, Garrosh. Your father was a brother to me. I would do anything for you and the Mag'har." The shaman turned back toward the hill that led back up to the chief hut of the village, "I must now return to the Greatmother."
Me'dan nodded toward Garrosh, and turned to follow Thrall back up to the Greatmother. He was not certain about the subtleties that had occurred in these events, but it felt good to be included, and somehow Med'an felt that there was a part of him that was welcome here.
"I have returned, Greatmother." Thrall announced as he approached the ancient Mag'har, "Garrosh has found his heart and his fury."
"It warms my heart to hear it," the Greatmother replied, "Now we will have a true chieftain, strong and proud of his heritage and his people."
Thrall took notice of Med'an's presence at last, and beckoned him closer, "Greatmother, there is another I wish for you to meet," he said, even as Med'an nervously took a few steps closer.
Thrall took Med'an's hands, and placed the Greatmother's in them, "This is Med'an, one of the most gifted spellcasters I have ever met."
Med'an held perfectly still after kneeling, so that the old orc could run her hands over his face, "You are young indeed, but there is something familiar about your as well," the Greatmother said, "but there is many other things that are unfamiliar to me. You are of mixed blood, but there is a power here, I can sense it."
"I do not know where my orcish lineage comes from," Med'an admitted, "but I am the son of Garona Halforcen."
"That explains it," the Greatmother replied, smiling, "a sad story it is, regarding her, but it is good to know that she had children. You are most welcome here."
"We will likely remain for a time," Thrall said over Med'an's shoulder. "There is much that I wish to understand, and connect with my heritage as well."
"You may stay as long as you wish, Go'el, and you as well, Med'an." The Greatmother said, smiling.
"I'd love to," Med'an said, feeling warmth blossom in his chest.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Line Break ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Khadgar sensed the moment that Nobu'tan arrived at Shattrath. The warlock's presence burned darkly in contrast to the Light of the formerly Draenei city. Sending out an arcane elemental to meet him, Khadgar waited near to A'dal for the Dark Horde leader to arrive.
At least he had the sense to retain his appearance as an orc, so as to not disturb the residences of the city, and the refugees that had fled both the Illidari, the Blood Elves, and the Legion to seek safety with them.
"Nobu'tan, warlock leader of the Stormreaver Clan, heir of Gul'dan and servant of the Legion…" A'dal said, connecting Khadgar's mind with the warlock through the mastery of the Light that the Naaru wielded.
The warlock seemed to wince as the mental connection was established, but did not resist it. "I was invited by Velen, leader of the Draenei, so what do you want of me?" he asked, clearly still unamused at the diversion that his visit constituted.
"There are many things that we could ask of you," A'dal admitted, "but there is information that we can provide you that will aid you further in helping us more than anything we could hope to learn from you."
Khadgar did not know what the Naaru was referring to, but it seemed sufficient to keep the warlocks attention. "I'm listening…"
"It would be of interest for you to understand where Illidan gained his powers over the Fel, and united most of Outland under his banner," A'dal explained, "Through the events of the Third War on Azeroth, Illidan came into passion of a particular artifact."
"And you feel that I need to take this artifact back from him?" Nobu'tan said, trying to hurry the conversation along. If A'dal was capable of feeling irritation at the lack of respect, the Naaru did not show it.
"You will wish to seek this artifact on your own, as it calls to you." A'dal replied, "The artifact empowering Illidan is the Skull of Gul'dan, your mentor."
Whatever Nobu'tan expected, clearly that was not the case. The warlock stood as though he had been physically struck. For a long moment Khadgar wondered if there would be any reaction, but soon enough the Fel spiked dangerously around the warlock, tossing his robes in his fury.
"You mean to tell me that some, Half-Night Elf mongrel has been keeping the head of my Master, hording his knowledge and siphoning his soul, as a trophy?!" Nobu'tan raged, flames erupting along his body, and parts of the illusion slipping. The demonic eyes burned on the orcish face. "I will destroy him! Illidan Stormrage will know terror at the hands of the Dark Horde! I will drink his blood!"
Khadgar was not sure what A'dal had been thinking, stirring up the anger of the Grand Warlock of the Stormreavers so, but even as Nobu'tan turned and departed, gouges where his clawed feet tore at chunks of stone, the Naaru continued serenely floating there.
"You may have just unleashed something greater and more destructive than Illidan could ever have hoped to be," the Archmage commented.
"It was the truth," A'dal replied, "And Nobu'tan would have learned this sooner or later. Better that he knows now, and turns his fury upon those who would threaten the balance of this world, rather than adding to its chaos."
Khadgar was not so sure about that. But he trusted that A'dal would not risk the destruction of Shattrath, and all they had worked to built over something as petty and simple as telling a pained young mortal the truth of his father-figure's fate."
"I hope you know what you're doing, then…" he said, watching the emerald streak of flames disappear into the forests of Terrorkar.
"While there is much anger in that one, there is also shards of light," A'dal stated, "We are not in the position to nurture those shards, without first allowing him to heal from the wounds that his absence from our worlds inflicted."
Khadgar was puzzled by what the Naaru was referring to. Their ability to peer so easily into the souls of mortals was still something he was unable to grow accustomed to. But if A'dal was certain that there was hope still for Nobu'tan, then Khadgar would respect the action and do nothing to hinder Nobu'tan if his path led to the Black Temple.
"With a little luck, he'll actually succeed and shatter the Betrayer's hold over the remnants of this world…" he said at last, before turning away to deal with some newly arrived adventurers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Line Break ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nobu'tan felt the blood thundering in his ears. Naaru didn't lie. This fact he knew, even if he detested the invasive creatures and their demanding nature. Which meant that Illidan, the target that the Legion itself had given him, had the skull of his master, taking both power and knowledge from it, sufficient to control this entire shattered world.
There was no doubt in Nobu'tan's mind that some shred of his old master still lingered in the skull. He had seen such magic before, when he destroyed the containers of the soul fragments of Voldemort back on earth.
He had half a mind to storm the citadel far to the south, where he had heard via rumor that Illidan dwelled, but a more rational part of him took control. It would be suicide to try and march on Illidan now, with so many allies and forces that the current Lord of Outland could call upon to fight for him.
He had carefully pulled what information he could from the Fel Orcs that had rallied to the Dark Horde, and from what he could tell, the Fel Horde had been a small fraction of the terrifying armies of Stormrage. This meant that to even have a chance, Nobu'tan had to destroy those allies one by one, and in such a fashion that Illidan did not become aware of his designs and come for him early.
Foregoing his previous desire for stealth and secrecy, Nobu'tan tore open a shadow gateway back to Zeth'Gor, fuming as he stole away to his private laboratory. He had a few things he wished to take back to Blackrock, where it would be far safer to make his plans for the new Outland campaign, as well as check on the status of the rest of his holdings.
In particular, Nobu'tan wished to check on the status of Voldemort, and his delving into the tower of Karazhan. The ancient magic and lore that the tower held would be most useful in planning out his assault.
Leaving a note for Teg'Ramm, stating that he was to remain in charge, and continue accessing the current status of the various regions of Outland for Nobu'tan return, the warlock took his leave of the entire shattered planet.
The first thing he noticed, upon returning to Blackrock, was the difference in the air. Azeroth was lighter, more freeing for him to stay on, unlike Outland. Nobu'tan thought about it for a moment, and guessed that it had to do with the ambient Fel energy that coated Outland like a covering of dust.
Even as he breathed the cleaner air of Azeroth, his rage dimmed, and even more rational control established itself over his actions. Nobu'tan knew now that he had to take the slow approach when it came to Illidan.
Neither Lucius, nor Draco were still at the mountain, but there was a large stack of reports and notes left for him, covering the expansion of their forces through both a clan of light wielders, as well as the necrolyte and Death Knight clan that followed Voldemort to Karazhan.
Scanning them quickly, he smirked as he read over the last handful of changes that had occurred further north. Fenrir becoming bold with his pressure on the undead was pleasing to him, as it took the threat of a siege off of Thoradin's wall, and permitted them the opportunity to snatch more territory if and when they so desired it.
VanCleef and his people were happily at work building more ships for the Dark Horde, despite a bumpy start when they realized that they were helping former enemies.
Thinking of his extended allies, and those who were only partially active in the doings of the Dark Horde, an idea struck Nobu'tan. Abandoning the parchment in his personal study, he quickly trekked to the Black Dragon rookery inside the heart of the spire. With the death of Onyxia, the black drakes and their guardians had been very wary of the Dark Horde, only assisting them when the entire mountain was threatened by the Scourge months back, but it was time for that to change.
A pair of Dragonspawn approached Nobu'tan as the warlock entered the inner chamber. "What is it that you want," one of the pair hissed, and Nobu'tan smirked.
"I have a proposition that will work out for all of us." He said, "You wish a guarantee that we will never turn on you and attempt to destroy the last of the Black Dragonflight, and we have need of your drakes as part of the Dark Horde."
"We're listening…" a black drake said, landing with a clatter of talons on stone nearby.
"A portion of your drakes will make a covenant with the Dark Horde, in Fel and in blood, to become an official member of our forces, and lend their strength to our causes, and in exchange you will be granted all the status of a full member of the Dark Horde, including free reign over the skies of the Burning Steppes and the Searing Gorge." Nobu'tan explained, "We will facilitate whatever needs you have in caring for the eggs, and protect you as one of our own."
The drake in question narrowed its lizard-like eyes, "and I presume you would want the binding ritual of the Fel to take control of those who would be most capable of fighting against you…" he accused, causing Nobu'tan to chuckle.
"I care not whom you send to fulfill your side of the bargain. The Fel will make up for whatever if lacking, and we will have the flying forces that we desire."
"It's that, or be locked within this mountain, all but prisoners of your own fears, and the potential retribution of the other factions that still hold enmity for your kind…" Nobu'tan added, tightening the screws of his argument even as he produced the empty chalice that normally was used in collecting the dire blood of a Pit Lord for the ritual. Nobu'tan knew that they had used up their stores of Brutalus' blood long ago, but with Magtheridon on their side, they had an endless supply, should they need it.
Fortunately, he had gathered some of the imprisoned Pit Lord's blood before speaking with Magtheridon, and therefore had at least a little to ensure that their bond was formed. Pouring the sticky, green blood into the chalice, he offered it toward the drake. "You must choose…" he said, smirking as he watched even these proud beings slowly bend to his will, and partake of the concentrated Fel.
The transformation of the drake was among the most interesting to watch out of all the creatures Nobu'tan had offered the Legion's gift of Fel power. The ebony scales were tinted with the green of the Fel, shifting to a more sullied brown in some places, while the drake's eyes flashed the crimson of the demonic rage that flood through its body. Claws and wings sprouted spines and became barbed.
"The pact is sealed," Nobu'tan said, smirking widely at the newly created Fel drake. He would use these intelligent beasts to lead his forces back in Outland, overpowering most of the land-bound forces of Stormrage, and topple his power from beneath his feet.
But there was still much to prepare and do before they could battle the Night Elf in the open. Sighing to himself, Nobu'tan turned his mind to the next step, and something far less desirable to him personally.
He had to speak with Lord Banehollow. The Nathrezim was entombed in the prison at the base of the mountain, but the physical restraints would do little to prevent the creature from utilizing its greatest weapon on any that were near. The manipulative creature's voice would drip with poison when he went to gather information on how best to defeat Illidan.
Steeling himself to wade through the forest of words and doubletalk that was sure to arise, and started to descend the interior of the mountain fortress.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Line Break ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Voldemort calculated their chances very quickly. There was one powerful demon apposing them, but because of the location that there in, some interdimensional place connected to the Nether, then the demon would be able to easily summon countless reinforcements. Still, the longer they waited the more power over this place that the demon could take.
"Attack swiftly, we must kill him quickly," Voldemort ordered, drawing Blightbringer as his force spread out, preparing to engage.
"Foolish mortals, and undead, you cannot hope to stand against a prince of the Legion!" the demon shouted, taking the initiative and attacking himself.
Moving quickly to counter, Voldemort used his two-handed sword to block the pair of handheld axes that the demon wielded. Spells flew from the necrolytes, and the other Death Knights leapt into the fray, allowing Voldemort to withdraw and access the situation as it unfolded.
So long as they kept their assault up and focused on pressuring the demon, they may not have to face the minions he could call, but Voldemort was not willing to plan for that favorable outcome. To that end, he drew upon the powers of death, and charged Blightbringer with its deadly green glow, waiting for the right opportunity to strike, whether it would be the demon or an underling he tried to summon.
As he predicted, the Eredar had tricks up his metaphorical sleeve, and released a nova of shadow magic, throwing all the Death Knights backward, "You face not Malchezaar alone, but the legions I command!" he called, even as the Nether opened and spewed fiery infernals down onto the platform around them.
"Madness has brought you here to me," the demon taunted, "I shall be your undoing!"
"I think not," Voldemort replied, swinging Blightbringer in a wide arc, unleashing the death magic and allowing it to strike the dire constructs and shatter them as quickly as they appeared.
The Eredar snarled in anger, and channeled Felfire into his weapon, dire vengeance gleaming in his eyes, "Simple fools! Time is the fire in which you'll burn." He threatened, hooves clattering across the stone as he charged Voldemort specifically.
The pair exchanged a rapid series of devastating blows. Voldemort felt several of his ribs break, although the dead tissue suffered little with the broken bones, and in exchange the demon's green blood flowed freely down his blade.
They seemed martially to be evenly matched, but Voldemort was prepared for the next bout of devastating shadow magic. He conjured a negating shield, and stood his ground at the demon tried to call more minions to battle, before striking, interrupting the cast and scoring a deep wound on the creature's blue-grey chest.
Another volley of spells splashed over the Fel protections that the demon wore like a cloak over his armor, but Voldemort could see the enchantments starting to give under the deadly magic. "Even demons die…" he said, allowing his aura of fear and death to magnify as he brandished the namesake of his clan. "You will never see your masters again, dying in this place…"
"Surely you do not think you could win…" the demon shot back, even as the pair clashed again, sparks flying off the metal of their weapons.
Voldemort refused to reply. Momentarily he glanced around to find some manner of advantage to take over his opponent, and that was his mistake.
The duel axes swung violently, out maneuvering the much longer runeblade, and dug into Voldemort's left arm below the shoulder. Despite the damage being minimal to him, so strengthened in undeath as he was, Voldemort still lost his grip on the weapon, and the blade was sent flying.
Another shattering blast of shadows threw back those that tried to leap to their chieftain's defense, and the Eredar was laughing darkly in his victory. "How could you have hoped to withstand such overwhelming power?" he taunted, laying Voldemort out flat on the ground with several devastating blows.
From his new angle on the ground, the former Dark Lord spotted a row of trophies already attached to the demon's metal belt. His fury grew at the thought of Blightbringer joining them, but the demon was not about to allow Voldemort to rise and strike back any time soon. One of the massive hooves came crashing down, breaking several of Voldemort's ribs and possibly puncturing some of the dead organs within.
The pain was there, although extremely muted for the Death Knight, and he was able to focus on what options he had left to use. The gloating creature stepped over Voldemort, thinking him perished, to confront the rest of his clan. "Your greed, your foolishness has brought you to this end…"
Voldemort sprang to his feet the moment the Eredar had his back to him, snatching one of the weapons at the demon's waste and drawing the large, two-handed axe back.
"Concede defeat, and I may spare you… I am a prince of the Eredar! I am…" whatever the rest of his taunt was to be, they would never know. As Voldemort swung the weapon, it howled through the air and passed through the demon's neck effortlessly, lopping the tendril-ridden skull from its shoulders.
The demon collapsed to the ground, neither smoldering as demons normally did when they died, no vanishing into a burst of energy as the demon's soul escaped from their presence. As Voldemort had thought, this place was directly connected to the Twisted Nether, and therefore even demons would die here if struck down.
The axe thudded to the ground as Voldemort felt his body starting to react to how damaged it was. The Necrolytes rushed forward to feed him the necromantic energy that would heal him, but Voldemort submitted to their magic with a smile.
It was done. The Tower of Karazhan was theirs, from bottom to top. Surely what little pockets of resistance remained would fall in due time to their might. "This place must be sealed off," Voldemort stated, as soon as strength returned to his limbs, "Or else it will draw more creatures from beyond Azeroth to our doorstep."
How they were to do that, of course, remained a mystery. Such feats were more akin to the powers that their Grand Warlock was capable of, rather than the more specialized form that remained with Voldemort after his death and raising.
"Send word back to Blackrock. Nobu'tan can come and deal with the remaining needs to secure this place," Voldemort declared therefore, "and the rest of you stay alert. This place is still dangerous, even without the countless foes we have destroyed."
The necrolytes departed to carry out Voldemort orders, while the rest of the Death Knights started investigating the treasures that the headless Eredar had left behind, as well as the highly magical space that they were currently in. whatever knowledge they could glean would be of use to them in the long run, Voldemort admitted, and permitted himself a moments respite after the nonstop fighting up the tower.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Line Break ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Varian glanced around at the intimate gathering of people, once they reached the back rooms. Jaina seemed thoughtful, open and willing to discuss the reasoning behind the recent meeting between various Alliance leaders.
Anduin was curious, the young preteen unaware of the entirety of the subtleties of the situation, but likely soon to demand being filled in on everything. The toddler, Aurora, was oblivious in her innocence, enjoying a small chewing toy that her mother had provided to keep her silence during the previous meeting.
Finally, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy were serious, almost grim in their visages if Varian had not know them long enough to understand that they were patiently waiting for explanation before making up their minds regarding what they had heard.
Varian sighed. There was little that he could do to soften the truth of the matter. "The Dark Iron Dwarves are not full allies of the Alliance," he started, trying desperately to resist the urge to pace in an unkingly manner. "But while they are refugees of Ironforge they have a measure of pull on the matters that the Alliance considers as relevant and important."
The three adults nodded, understanding the ramifications of how and why the Dark Iron Dwarves were able to demand assistance in restoring their position in their own homelands.
"I do not want war between the Alliance and the Dark Horde," Varian added, "but the fact remains that, while not outwardly aggressive toward our people, the threat the massive force just north of us poses."
"I do not deny that Nobu'tan had originally thought that war with the Alliance would be inevitable," Draco said flatly, garnering the attention of everyone in the room aside from his young sister, "that is why our defenses toward Alliance lands are the stronger and more prepared of our fronts."
"So the Dark Irons would likely fail in their desire to retake the mountain…" Varian surmised.
"They would be annihilated, and the Dark Horde would find it an act of war from the dwarves. Nobu'tan likely would seek to retaliate." The young man replied, nodding.
"I can only buy enough time to the end of this expedition into Outland, but even then I cannot trust that the Dark Irons will wait. Their anger is real and powerful." Varian explained.
"We do not blame you, or Stormwind for this," Narcissa said, "it is clearly a political nightmare that you're surrounded by, but there must be some means of ending this with little to no excess bloodshed."
"If there is, I do not as of yet see it, Lady Malfoy," Varian admitted, sighing as he sat in the large chair that he preferred in this private sitting room. Off in the corner, he spied the chair that Tiffin had loved, and felt his heart pang at the memory.
The two women in the room did not miss the glance, and both frowned in momentary sympathy before returning to their previous expressions. "I would offer to try and engage in diplomacy," Jaina said, "but I fear that the Dark Irons would refuse any attempt to find a compromise."
"As would Nobu'tan," Draco added, "The Dark Horde is his family, and Blackrock Mountain is their home. He will fight to the death to protect it, just as he fought off the Scourge invasion."
"His sense of loyalty and honor is admirable, but because it is placed in the memories of his past, it contains flaws that he is unwilling to address," Narcissa explained, "It's been a long road just to get him away from world domination, as revenge for the death of his master and father-figure."
"Gul'dan," Jaina clarified.
"But," Anduin piped up, "there must be something that can be done to pacify both sides, and prevent war altogether…"
"You'll find, Anduin," Draco said gently, "that quite often in this world we do not get what we wish for… especially peace…"
Varian could tell that the young man was still in mourning for his fiancé.
"Nobu'tan reminds me so much of Thrall," Jaina said thoughtfully, "but brasher, younger, and far more willing to do whatever is needed to achieve his goals."
"Perhaps that is where we find a solution," Narcissa said suddenly, "He needs a goal, something that turns his attention away from warring with the factions of Azeroth."
"That may work for the Dark Horde, but what of the Dark Irons?" Varian replied, seeing where the brilliant Lady was going.
"Who's to say that the same tactic won't work for our stubborn friends as well?" she countered.
