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Chapter 122

Plots Within Plots

Blaise waited until the rest of the Council departed, leaving only himself and Nobu'tan in the wide hall that was both war room and Nobu'tan's throne room.

"Yes, is there something else?" Nobu'tan said, his eyes flickering to Blaise as Lucius, the last in line of the others, swept from the chamber.

Once the man was out of sight, Blaise pushed himself off the pillar he leaned on, and stepped forward, "Yes, I have news out of Orgrimmar…"

Nobu'tan raised an eyebrow, his interest peaked at Blaise's words. The assassin was sure that any information from within the Kalimdor Horde's bastion of power, especially after Blaise himself failed to become installed as the eyes and ears inside that city, would be of utmost interest to their leader.

"From our sources, it seems that there are new visitors in the city, from Outland…" Blaise said.

"Fel Orcs?" Nobu'tan asked, but Blaise shook his head.

"No, they are called Mag'har, and they have no Fel taint in them whatsoever… their skin is even brown, the original coloration of the orcs, apparently…"

"This is unexpected…" Nobu'tan said.

"Their leader is a young warrior named Garrosh Hellscream…" Blaise continued, "and if we can believe what has been reported, there is a potential rift between Garrosh and the Warchief, they do not seem to agree on the best way forward for the orcish people."

"Could he be turned to our way of thinking?" Nobu'tan asked, but again Bliase shook his head.

"Garrosh has a great hatred for the Fel, and warlocks of his people more especially. He blames Gul'dan for the destruction of his father, and people."

"Hellscream…" Nobu'tan said, "I heard stories, but never met the orc. It was said he was the fiercest warrior of the Horde, but left on Draenor because Gul'dan couldn't fully control him, unlike Blackhand. If not for that fact alone, he would have been Warchief…"

Nobu'tan stepped away, lost in thought for a long moment.

"It's possible that this rift could become a bid for power over the mantle of Warchief… and if there is any chance that this Garrosh is not as wise or powerful as Thrall, it would benefit us for him to be made their leader…" he said.

"Do you wish for our operatives to make it so that Garrosh becomes a hero of his people?" Blaise asked.

"Yes…" Nobu'tan said, turning back with a smirk on his face, "inflate the young orc's ego, make him so proud of himself, and set him against Thrall… either they lose moral because of the destruction of one or both of their heroes, or else we have a far different Warchief than the shaman…"

"It will be as you command," Blaise said.

"After you send out that command," Nobu'tan added as Blaise was about to leave, "I want you to go ahead of our armies to Shadowmoon Valley. Find us the best location to bring our warriors through portals, as well as temporary fortifications that are in better range of the Black Temple itself. I'd use the Dragonmaw fortress, but it is ill fitted for our forces, as well as poorly positioned to attack the Temple…"

"As you wish…" Blaise said, waiting a moment longer if the leader of the Black Harvest had anything more to say, and departed the chamber.

Lucius was waiting in the hall, clearly having been listening in, but said nothing to hinder Blaise as he departed. Let the wily old Malfoy learn their secrets, he was more or less the chaperone of Nobu'tan, and therefore in the best position to oversee their volatile leader if he started to misstep.

Something that would have benefitted Nott greatly… but Blaise refused to spend a moment of thought on the traitor. Stepping quickly, he entered his personal chambers, and charmed the door sealed as he quickly scribbled out the message, with ink enchanted by Nobu'tan himself so that only the intended reader could make sense of them.

Once he was finished, he strapped on his armor and gear, quickly taking on the appearance of Tenebrous with a thought of Fel-infused magic. Depositing the letter with his chosen messenger, who could easily slip through the guards at Orgrimmar. It benefitted the Dark Horde greatly that the Gringotts goblins resembled their Azerothian cousins so perfectly, as apparently the race was neutral throughout the world, and while not welcome in all cities, were tolerated enough by the Horde on the other continent that they came and went as they pleased.

Finally, he went to the spacious portal chambers of Blackrock, and took the one keyed to Zeth'Gor, just beyond the Dark Portal in Outland.

He would have a bit of a journey ahead of him, but son, with the advent of another of their great allies, perhaps the chore of travel would be lightened somewhat. For the time being, a Dreadsteed would suffice to make the overland route through Terrokar and to the southern reaches of the floating continent.

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Voldemort halted, along with his clan as the orc warlock spoke his maddening threats.

"Soon, the destroyer of worlds will return to make good on his promise, you will all burn if you oppose the Legion!" the warlock ranted.

Voldemort huffed, "You're masters have failed before, and they will again. Starting with your death." He added, Blightbringer and Apocalypse gleaming green in his hands.

"You'll be a fine example for the others, then…" the orc threatened, shadow magic forming on his hands, "I'll make an offering of your blood!"

The book before the old orc shimmered crimson, and blasts of power radiated from the warlock, showering them all with bolts of deadly magic. Green, runic magic blossomed outward from Voldemort, as the shell of anti-magic absorbed and negated all attacks that the warlock thew at him, even as the Death Knight advanced.

He tired of this pointless excursion into the dark depths, of the ferreting out of these fools from their hiding places. His rage must have been apparent, as the warlock drew back a step, before refocusing his magic to summoning voidwalker minions to hedge up the way.

"Come to my aid! Heed your master now!" he called, even as the creatures swamred to Voldemort. But the Death Knight had trained upon the very best conjuring of the warlocks of the Black Harvest, and knew the weaknesses of each of these minion-type demons.

Lashing out with both of his weapons, Voldemort struck true at the bracers of binding that each of the creatures wore, shattering them and releasing the Void-born creatures back to their dimension. They evaporated, slinking back into the shadows from where they had spawned, leaving the way to the warlock, who had announced himself as Grandmaster Vorpil, undefended.

The orc knew fear as Voldemort towered over him, falling in his attempt to back away, "No! stay back, I will consume your soul!"

"I think not…" Voldemort seethed, bringing both blades down hard on the warlock, spilling his lifeblood over the stones, and ceasing his infernal chatter.

The magic keeping the book floating ceased and it dropped to the floor with a dull thump of leather and parchment. Voldemort knew one of his people would collect the item, as well as anything of value that the warlock had on his person.

Despite the death of the Shadow Council warlock, there was still power in these underground chambers, taunting them to go further ahead, and the Death Knight understood that there had to be some manner of horror that this warlock had unleashed.

Along with the intense sense of power, there was now an audible humming, varying in pitch and whine. The corridor ahead seemed to resonate with the eerie sound, but Voldemort felt compelled to go onward, and eliminate any threat left here.

Even as they approached the final curve, a sudden gust of wind billowed Voldemort's tattered robes, and he turned to see the massive chamber far ahead. Cultists and other demon-worshipers were running toward the far end, trying to use their power to restrain a gigantic whirlwind of elemental energy.

Clearly, the creature was powerful, as it was casually slaughtering any that got too close, blasting them with violent echoes of pure sound. The rows of cultists did nothing as the Blightbringer clan advanced, stabbing them in the back and clearing the path toward the creature that they were desperately trying to control.

"We had better bring that monstrosity down quickly, or else it'll rage across all of Outland," Voldemort said, surmising from the level of power that the strange creature was exuding.

The Death Knights charged, cleaving their way through the remaining ranks of cultists, and assaulted the elemental being directly.

The being of sound manifested a massive mace-like scepter, and with an earth-shattering roar swung. Voldemort planted himself directly in the path of the massive weapon, using Apocalypse as a deflection while he countered with Blightbringer.

The creature reared back from the unexpected resistance, even as Bellatrix and the necrolytes took up position, pelting the massive form with spells of their own, dodging as the elemental retaliated with bursts of sound.

It was difficult to tell if they were actually harming the creature, as it was comprised of swirling wind and noise, but with its consistent roaring seemed to be indication of either pain or anger.

Just as he was considering that, however, Voldemort felt more energy building up in the air, and the creature started to channel a great deal of sound and power in on itself.

"Fall back!" he called, withdrawing with the other Death Knights to a more comfortable range. Not a moment too soon either, as within moments an explosion of power rocketed out from the creature in all directions, shaking the entire room and causing pieces of the vaulted ceiling to crumble and fall.

Dodging around a large chunk of stone, Voldemort started back, trying to get the attention of the creature, and focus it away from trying to pick off the necrolytes at range. It seemed that the creature was immobile, rising out of the ground in a whirlwind of sound, and would engage only those that approached it with the overlarge mace.

"Keep it distracted!" Voldemort ordered, sending his Death Knights back into the melee, while he quickly studied the creature, looking for some sign of weakness or flaw that they could exploit to defeat it.

For a long moment, he searched, not seeing anything about the creature that was glaringly obvious. Then he saw it, the subtle explosions of wild power leeching from the creature's body. There were tendrils siphoning off the life-force of this creature, tying back to some long forgotten summoning ritual.

And they could be exploited.

Conjuring the power of the grave from both runeblades he wielded, Voldemort closed his eyes, trusting his clan to protect him as he channeled the energy required to shatter the sealed portal that kept this entity in their world.

Both blades grew warm in his dead hands, and Voldemort knew that the magic of the souls he had claimed were crying out. Eyes snapping open, he saw with magically aided sight the points that he needed to target, and took off at a mad dash toward the near wall.

Despite the effects of gravity on this world being comparable to Azeroth or Earth, his magically aided frame was able to push itself up the wall for several strides, ascending to the level of the creature's shoulders. With a grunt of effort, Voldemort pushed off from the wall, twisting in midair and slamming both blades down on the shoulder holding the great mace. Apocalypse and Blightbringer rang out with power as they slammed into the ethereal creature, shattering the weakened point from its ancient summoning.

The creature roared in clear pain, dropping the mace and weaving backward on its tornado of a lower body. Wild magic flew from the wound, resounding and echoing around the ceiling, and causing more cracks to form in the already damaged roof.

Seeing the path ahead, Voldemort regrouped by Bellatrix, directing their ranged attacks at the wounded portion of the creature, before the former Dark Lord sprinted for the far side wall, to repeat the process on the other side of the hulking terror.

The creature spotted him as he launched himself this time, but was hindered mid-counter as a barrage of death magic struck its already wounded side. With a roar of wrath, Voldemort cleaved the other side of the creature, and it started to break apart, its own magic becoming unstable and volatile.

"Withdraw!" Voldemort commanded, sensing that the creature would combust upon itself within moments.

They sprinted for the exit, only managing to round the corner before the beast detonated, and the rumble of the entire labyrinth starting to collapse sounded around them.

"Flee you fools!" Voldemort ordered the Necrolytes. They were in the most danger, even as Voldemort and the other Death Knights slipped partially into the realm of the dead, traversing paths that were closed to the living and covering the distance to the exit far faster than their living allies.

At their side, Bellatrix shifted into a completely ethereal form, bounders and falling rubble passing straight through her ghostly form as she flew at top speed, ushering the Necrolytes through a safe route to the exit.

Some were crushed when they made wrong turns or were too slow to escape the avalanche of rubble, but within a handful of minutes, the majority had escape the winding tunnels, and emerged back to the glaring light of Outland's surface once more.

Those still living panted with the exertion of their flight from the dark tunnels, but Voldemort chose to sweep the area with sensory magic, instead of seeing to their needs. Nothing in the tunnels below them survived, and with that he knew that the power of the Shadow Council in the area had been shattered, even as Nobu'tan had requested of them.

With their mission thus completed, they were to return to the fortress in Hellfire, and from there regroup with the rest of the Dark Horde back in Azeroth.

Voldemort would comply, but he had plans for the small outpost they had established here, before venturing into the ruins. Turning to several of his Death Knights, he ordered, "Take the strongest of our force, and secure the outpost at the edge of the forest. Hold it as our new forward command post in this area. I will return and report our success to Nobu'tan, and send others to fortify your position."

"Yes, Chieftain," the undead responded. There was no posturing for power among them, just as Voldemort liked it. Each member of his clan knew their place, and quickly divided themselves into two groups, one to stay and the other to accompany him to Hellfire.

"Now, dear Bella," Voldemort said, even as the company mounted up and prepared to depart the desolate circle in the forest, "now you will see the truth of our existence, and how Potter works into everything…"

The banshee's eyes narrowed, but she held her tongue. Voldemort knew that while she would resent the warlock that had defeated him, she would also see the usefulness of remaining allies with the Dark Horde for their new forces, and the advantages that the mixing of their magic and powers would bring in the coming times ahead.

She still had much to learn of their new world, but Voldemort could at last devote the time needed to properly instruct her of all that had transpired, and who their new enemies were.

Smirking to himself, the former Dark Lord of Britain thought ahead to the pleasurable moment that Bellatrix came face to face with the Banshee Queen, Sylvanas Windrunner.

What a reunion that would be, Voldemort suspected, and promised himself and his most loyal that she would be as prepared as possible to defeat that overbearing witch as Voldemort could make her.

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Teg'Ramm smirked as he looked over the side of a narrow gorge, seeing the running figures of Bladespire ogres back and forth into a gaping maw in the rock. "It's ingenious," Teg commented, glancing over the size of the cave mouth and the canyon it rested in, "With the inflated idea of Gruul, none would think to look in such a place for him…"

"Yes," Ramm agreed, "it's far smaller than even we were led to believe."

They had been here, waiting for the messenger from Bladespire stronghold to depart with the response of the Gronn leader for nearly an hour now. The rest of the clan rested, waiting for the signal to descend the cliffs and invade the cave, but only once the orders for the ogres to attack the Legion encampment had been sent.

Judging from the size of the cave mouth, and the reputation of its inhabitant, Teg'Ramm reasoned that it must have swollen much larger past the entrance. It could be that they need not actually fight the Dragon-Killer, but rather bury him in the ruin of his abode. It may not be sufficient to kill the great Gronn, perhaps, but given enough of a cave in, Gruul could suffocate or starve long before digging himself out of the massive cliff side…

"Chieftain," one of the other watchers said, drawing Teg'Ramm's eyes, "there," the hunter said, pointing with a massive finger.

Down on the canyon floor, a small trickle of powerful-looking warrior ogres started out, along with the messenger that the Balefire had followed to this place.

"Excellent," Teg'Ramm said, "they're sending reinforcements as well, lowering the number of guards to protect their master…"

Sending the signal, a small flare of Felfire, Teg'Ramm attracted the attention of those nearest the cliff edge. They immediately started to spread the word. Silently, the clan started to pack up their temporary camp, and prepared to climb down and fight.

Once the line of ogres on the ground had disappeared from sight and hearing, Teg'Ramm nodded, once, and massive ropes were hurled down the side of the cliff, and the strongest of his fighters started down the side.

There were no sentries near to the cave, even though there was a large settlement of the Bladespire nearby. They had no need to keep watch on this side, Teg'Ramm mused, even as his turn came to descend the cliff. It was a weakness to presume that none would attempt to scale the razor-sharp walls.

As his feet hit the dirt floor of the land, Teg'Ramm took the large staff from his back, softly chanting several choice spells of preparation. Approaching the cavern entrance, the Chieftain of the Balefire cast forward an Eye of Kil'rogg, the little orb darting inside, winding through the enlarging tunnel and spying on the guards that had been left behind.

As he had suspected, the cavern was massive inside, but not terrible deep. Two vaulted chambers connected by winding tunnels, scarily a dozen guards, and four interesting figures in the first chamber. It had to be a council of some sort of massive ogres, clearly some manner of go-between for the ogres to their Gronn overlord.

What Teg'Ramm was particularly concerned about was the massive leader of this council, a hulking ogre with sprouts of rock in his thick hide. They were clearly some manner of genetic flaw, which had worked to the ogre lord's advantage, and something that would be considerable difficult to overcome through brute force alone.

Still, Teg'Ramm trusted in the power of the Fel, and clenched his deformed hand, feeling the overlong claws and hardened spikes of crystallized demonic power as his muscle shifted around them.

Even as the next waves of Balefire warriors and warlocks were working their way down, Teg'Ramm led their first assault force into the cave, confronting the initial guards five to one.

Despite the brutes trying to fend them off with their weapons, the Balefire shock troops were far more prepared and equipped, their heavy metal armor being forged in the heart of Blackrock Mountain, and deflected the bludgeoning strikes of the lesser ogres with ease.

The unfortunate part of the direct approach was that the sound of their battle echoed throughout the cavern, alerting any and all inside to the fact of some force attacking them.

Strangely however, only a few of the remaining guards came to investigate, clearing the way for them to advance to the first chamber.

"So," the massive ogre leader shouted, as soon as the Balefire warriors came into view, "these are the upstarts that dare assault my seat of power!"

Teg'Ramm almost wanted to laugh at the ogre lord's assumption. It was forcefully clear that this was Gruul's seat of power, if the Gronn was even concerned with ruling over the ogres of Blade's Edge.

"You will all learn that Gronn are the real power of Outland!" the other ogre added, turning to the four ogres at his side, "Destroy them!" he ordered.

Quickly assessing the situation of the other four ogres, Teg'Ramm understood quickly that they were all magic users. As one, the four turned their magic on the leader, empowering the large brutish ogre lord.

"Prevent them from empowering him," Teg'Ramm called, focusing his sights on the nearer two of these casters, one a warlock, and the other a shaman of some sort.

Even as they channeled power into their leader, the ogre warlock barked a command, and sent a Felhunter at the approaching wave of Balefire ogres.

The sour look that the ogre adopted as Teg'Ramm banished the hound back to the Nether was priceless, and forced the casters to abandon empowering their leader to defend themselves as the Balefire ogres swarmed them.

Teg'Ramm waded through the throng, even as the initial wave was thrown back by the ogre lord of the Bladespire. "I will enjoy ripping your heads from that tainted body…" the orge said.

Teg'Ramm didn't reply, concentrating on the Fel and pooling the power inside him. It came easily, so willing to fill him and take control of his minds. He suspected that he might lose himself in this moment, with the amount of strength needed to fight equally with the warped hulking form.

All at once, Teg'Ramm released the magic to do its work, and felt the incredible strength wash over him like terrible fire. Momentarily, the ogre lord's eye flickered disquiet caution, before he settled in a determined glare as Teg'Ramm squared up against him.

A single glance at his lieutenants told the lesser leaders of the Balefire that they had to eliminate the rest of the enemy while he took on their leader, one on one.

Only then, did Teg'Ramm allow himself to fall for the burning madness of the Fel, and threw himself at the ogre lord with a howling roar.

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Garrosh was not overwhelmingly pleased with what he had found in the wilds of the Barrens. The orcs that lived there were happy enough, scraping livelihoods out of the most inhospitable of the plains, while enemies and wild nuisances flooded the area often, making their existence all the harder.

But the greater concern was seeing the stark difference as he and Med'an returned Durotar. The dry and dead land here was poor choice, even compared to the endless savannah of the Barrens. Why had Thrall permitted the orcish people to dwell here only, rather than the places that would be better suited for life and comfort?

Even in Outland, the Mag'har had chosen one of the more fertile places to live, despite the challenges unique to their world. But here on Azeroth, despite lush forests to their north, where it would be far more viable for orcish settlement, and yet even the lumber that was brought here was routinely attacked by Night Elves. Food and other provisions were also imported from all over Azeroth, but the ground was dead and dry, preventing the orcs from growing anything for themselves, except for the tamed boars that were reared in abundance.

Garrosh had yet to approach Thrall about the things he had seen, the Warchief constantly had things on his mind, taking care of the Horde as a whole, even if that meant ignoring the needs of his people in the immediate.

Med'an was an open ear for Garrosh's complaints, and the two spent a great deal of time together. Despite having no affinity for the elements, Garrosh would often watch as Med'an trained with the master shaman, quickly progressing from one technique to another.

Perhaps it was because he secretly sensed that their time together was nearing its end, but Garrosh was not terribly surprised when Med'an was summoned to the hold in the Valley of Wisdom. Together they went, chatting absently about the recent things they had seen in the markets of Orgrimmar, when Garrosh noticed the old human woman in the orcish hold, and stilled himself.

Without any knowledge of magic, he could tell that this old woman was far more powerful than she appeared, and that made him on edge.

"Med'an," the old woman said, smiling as he looked to her, "I hope you've enjoyed your time here."

"I have… grandmother," Med'an said, and Garrosh understood. This had to be the part-orc's paternal grandmother, the former Guardian Aegwynn.

"As much as you'd likely want to stay, it's time to return to Theramore," Aegwynn said gently, and Med'an nodded.

The old woman started to speak her farewells to Thrall and the other Horde leaders, and Med'an turned to Garrosh, "I'm sorry our time together was so short," he said, grasping Garrosh's hand in friendship.

"We'll meet again," the son of Grom replied, taking the younger male by the shoulder as a warrior's respect, "Aka'Magosh."

"And a blessing on you as well, my friend," Med'an replied, pulling away as his grandmother called for him again.

"Until we meet again," Med'an called, moments before stepping through an Arcane portal that the old woman conjured.

As soon as the portal closed, Garrosh felt more alone than he had ever before. Thrall and the others started back to their business, leaving Garrosh to his own devises for the time being. Feeling like he wanted to be alone, the Mag'har left the Hold, and started toward the Valley of Honor.

This place was Garrosh's favorite in all of Orgrimmar. The rearmost valley of the city, there were fewer visitors from other parts of the Horde and their allies, which helped in feeling less crowded in the narrow canyons that made up the orcish capital.

Still, he had a distinct feeling that, as he wandered the open area, debating whether to enter the inn and order a drink, that he was being watched.

The Wyverns Tail was busy at this time of day, with many off-duty guards coming in for a drink or something to eat for a short break between their patrols. Even the Kor'kron, the Warchief's elite, frequented this place.

Garrosh knew there were eyes on him here, even as he took a seat near the entrance, nodding at Innkeeper Nufa to bring him his usual, and counting out some silver from the coin pouch at his waist. Thrall had generously offered to give him whatever funds he needed, but Garrosh had declined, not affronted by the charity, but rather as motivation to earn his own keep while serving as an advisor to Thrall.

For a short time Garrosh enjoyed the ale and meat, although the former was too bitter and the latter too salty for his liking, when all sound stopped in the inn. Turning to look at what had drawn the attention of all, Garrosh frowned deeply at the foul scent of Fel magic.

A warlock had entered the inn, robes flowing around his hunched frame as he approached the innkeeper, speaking in low tones that none could overhear. The warlock knew he wasn't welcome, and when he collected whatever parcel of supplies that the innkeeper thrust into his hands, he quickly departed, but the stench of his passing changed the climate of the room even after he no longer darkened the doorstep.

Huffing in irritation, Garrosh tried to resume his meal. The fact that Thrall permitted those foul magic users to remain in his city was the chief complaint that Garrosh had against the Warchief.

"Their kind shouldn't be here…" an orc said, sitting down across from Garrosh, while another took the seat beside the stranger, "Grol'dar, I think his name is. Generally leads the larger faction of warlocks in the city…"

Garrosh eyed the newcomers, unsure why they were speaking to him specifically.

"Of course, we haven't met before now," the orc said, nodding at Garrosh's hesitation, "Commander Gor'shak, and this is my acquaintance, Gorosh…"

The other orc nodded in greeting.

"No need to introduce yourself," the commander continued, "everyone in Orgrimmar has taken note of the great Garrosh, son of Grom and first visitor from the Mag'har, our relatives back on what remains of Draenor…"

"Yes, I find warlocks and their magic distasteful," Garrosh said, mildly shunting aside the annoying topic of his instant fame when he arrived in Orgrimmar.

"With the damage they've done to the Horde, we should have stamped them all out years ago…" Gorosh said, producing a flask and drinking from it, "yet Thrall continues to turn a blind eye, finding their uses more important than whatever they're plotting in those caves."

"What caves?" Garrosh asked, sudden curious.

He had never ventured into the Cleft of Shadow himself, although Med'an had gone a few times. Garrosh had assumed that it was just an open crevasse in the rocks that formed the interior wall of the city.

"Oh yeah, they have a large network of tunnels down there," Gorosh said, leaning in and lowering his voice, "rumor is that they still practice some of their darker spells down there, hiding their shame from the eyes of the Horde, and the fact that they still serve the demons that Grom died freeing us from…"

Garrosh stiffened. It wasn't casually that many mentioned his father, and the way that the mysterious orc had said it sent a chill down Garrosh's back.

"If there was such a thing, Thrall would know of it, and stop it," Garrosh said, feeling uncomfortable with these two.

"But the Warchief does know," Gor'shak replied, "he just turns a blind eye to it, so long as the warlocks continue to be useful to the Horde…"

"Do the other Horde leaders?" Garrosh asked, thinking quickly, "I can't imagine that the Tauren would be too pleased with what is going on."

"I am certain that Thrall does what he thinks is best, but no, the others are uninformed of the goings on of Orgrimmar itself," Gorosh said.

Garrosh felt his temper rising. Warlocks should not be allowed to practice their destructive magic around the people who they'd hurt so much. "But if you were to bring it up…" Gorosh added, looking thoughtful, "in front of the other leaders, Thrall would be forced to acknowledge and deal with it…"

"It wouldn't be that simple," Garrosh retorted, knowing a bit about the system of leadership in the Horde. Rarely were the leaders of the different races together at any one time, nor for very long. And there was still the burden of proof that Garrosh would need.

"I did not mean the other Horde leaders…" Gorosh countered, "It is widely known that Thrall has open conduct with leaders of the Alliance," the orc spat the word, "and they have a much higher sway over the Warchief's actions than any member race of the Horce, including his own people."

"Thrall was raised by humans, we cannot forget that fact," Gor'shak added.

Garrosh though long on that notion. He was aware of a peace summit that Thrall was palnning to bring Garrosh and several of his other advisors to. The leaders of the Allaince were sure to be in attendance.

"I will find proof, is there is any to be found, and then I will decide how best to address it before the Warchief…" he said, standing from the table. Leaving a small stack of coins for the meal, Garrosh quickly departed the inn, his mind suddenly filled with far more thoughts than he felt comfortable musing over.

Suddenly, he very much wished that Med'an had remained in Orgrimmar, as the younger part-orc had a good head on his scrawny shoulders, and would have had better answers for Garrosh questions.

Garrosh stopped, realizing where his feet had brought him amid his thoughts. The cavernous hole that led down to the Cleft of Shadow was poorly lit, allowing darkness to creep from the dark corners of the natural tunnel.

Garrosh wouldn't admit it, but he felt a touch of fear in that moment, but he thought a moment of what his father would think, seeing his son unable to face something with the courage of the Warsong.

Taking a deep breath, Garrosh stepped into the darkess. The winding tunnel was eerie enough, but once it opened up into the larger chamber, Garrosh found that it was lit enough to not disturb him as much.

The contents of the chamber, on the other hand, were more than unnerving enough made up for the lack of lighting. Demons were blatantly present among the warlocks and their homes, and they were practicing their dark magic for anyone to see.

Garrosh did everything in his power to repress the sneer tried to warp his face as he saw this. Instead he looked away, searching for this supposed inner cave where the truly black magic was being worked.

The entrance to the deeper tunnels weren't even hidden, but rather it was open for anyone to see and enter. Garrosh shook his head at the audacity that these warlocks had, that Thrall overlooked so readily.

Preparing himself mentally for whatever Fel horrors he would witness in the underground caverns, Garrosh started forward, his hands twitching to pull both his axes from his belt, but he resisted for the time being.

If there was something that he needed to bring to Thrall's attention, he wanted to have the high ground in his accusations, and a bloodbath in the bowels under Orgimmar would not convince the Warchief that anyone other than Garrosh was in the wrong.

"Hellscreams fear nothing…" he muttered to himself, remembering the saying that the Greatmother would tell him.

He would honor the memory of his father, and uphold the legacy of freedom from demonic domination that Grommash had sacrificed himself to usher in for their people.