Much thanks to those who offered constructive criticism over the last two weeks! Onward we go, please enjoy the next chapter! ~F

Chapter 131

Battle be Joined

Khadgar turned his head away from tome he had been studying. The day had been quiet, much like any other in Shattrath, what with the light of the Naaru keeping all foes quite distant from them, but something was breaking the peaceful reverence that filled the former Draenei city.

It was the pounding of drums, and something else that Khadgar couldn't place—a high-pitched whining, horn-like, but very different from anything he had ever heard before.

Suddenly overcome with a great fear, the Archmage tore from the chamber, his tome forgotten in his haste to grab his staff. If Illidan or Kil'jaeden was marching on the city, he had to be there to lead the forces of the Aldors and the Scryers in defending A'dal and the rest of the innocents in the city.

In the time it took to rally what forces he could to the seat of A'dal, the music, for what else could the horrid blaring sound mixed with drums have been, grew increasingly louder. Khadgar was confused to find, however, that the Naaru did not seem even remotely concerned, "A'dal, what is it?" he asked, stepped toward the shimmering creature of pure light.

"The Dark Horde has come at last," A'dal whispered into the Archmage's mind, "We must rally all who wish to give battle to the Betrayer. Xi'ri is waiting for them at the entrance of Shattrath."

Khadgar took a few moments to understand, and even when realization struck, he did not wish to believe it. The army that had to be making that noise had to be in the tens of thousands at the least. What meager forces that resided in Shattrath wouldn't even muster a tenth of that number, and yet they were to march to battle immediately.

Sending out an arcane eye, Khadgar's mind and vision went soaring over the treetops, just to get a better view of what was making the terrible wail. As he had surmised, as well as what A'dal had testified of, a massive army was indeed marching along the northern roads, flying the banners of the Dark Horde.

And they were not nearly in the tens of thousands, perhaps closer to ten thousand proper, but probably far less. The music that they played gave the audible idea that they were far larger than in reality, and combined with the stretched lines of their marching army, it worked effectively to dissuade any from approaching as they followed the road to the southeast, and the Shadowmoon Valley.

"Archmage Khadgar, what are your orders?" the voice of Grand Anchorite Almonen, vice-leader of the Aldor clergy, came to his ears, and Khadgar dismissed the spell.

Blinking as his vision returned in a rush, he looked over the assembled forces that had appeared at his warning. Aldor and Scryer forces stood shoulder to shoulder, alongside a militia of the refugees of the lower city, all waiting for his word to fight and defend their home.

"We are in no danger," Khadgar admitted, shocking those nearest who heard him, and sending ripples of murmuring back through the ranks, "but we will need every available warrior."

"Clergy of the Aldor," A'dal said, communicating his words to the minds of all present in the city, holy radiance surging from the chief of the Sha'tar, "Members of the Scryers, hear my words."

All murmuring ceased, and every eye turned to A'dal.

"The time has come to march on the Black Temple, and take our struggle for survival to Illidan's doorstep. The drums of war you hear are our allies, the Dark Horde, as they march from their bastion of power, the reclaimed Hellfire Citadel, across our lands to give battle to the Illidari. All those who are willing and brave, rally to Xi'ri, and go to march with our allies of circumstance."

Shock and disbelief transformed to awe and curiosity, even as the blaring sound of the Dark Horde's horns continued its ongoing drone. Aldor and Scryer alike turned to the other Naaru, while the refugees lowered their weapons, knowing that their safety was not in jeopardy. For one of the Sha'tar to be leading the attack on Illidan meant that their hopes for victory were high.

Xi'ri, the more warlike of the Naaru, released a chiming sound, less of words and more of emotion, surging in the heart of every warrior, and rallying those who would fight to gather equipment and mounts, and join with the being of light as it floated toward the gates of Shattrath.

Khadgar simply shook his head in amazement. He was not going to travel to Shadowmoon and fight. His place was here, being the herald of A'dal and managing the affairs of the large city, keeping Scryer and Aldor separated so long as the pair kept their ire directed at each other. With some fortune, and perhaps a stirring victory at the Black Temple, the two factions would finally lay aside their differences and grow together.

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Teg'Ramm couldn't be prouder of his clan, seeing the eager faces of the young ogre lads and lasses, pounding drums and playing the blaring bagpipes of the unified Dark Horde army. The banners that they had chosen and created, an upraised fist clutching orange and green flames, billowed in the breeze generated by the speed of their march, signifying that the great ogre clan was here, proud and strong with their allies, and would not be moved from its place.

The Ogre lord had had no impute on the selection or implementation of this particular scheme, but he appreciated the subtlety in both increasing their own moral, as well as devastatingly demoralizing any force that might try to challenge them.

Many of the members of the army had started the march with dour or irritated faces, hating the music and dreading the battle to come, but the pride from their youth had torn through their despair, and now many were marching with more enthusiasm, or else keeping a sharp eye on all sides, to protect their flanks and see what a stir they were making in the surrounding trees.

Nothing accosted them as they pounding along the roads of Terrokar, the noise alone being sufficient to drive away even the most aggressive of predators. Even if they had been spotted, Teg'Ramm knew that there were next to none on this hunk of destroyed rock that would even consider a head-on assault, with their thousands ready and willing to give battle to anyone who crossed them.

As they reach the crossroads that led to the large city of light in the forest; however, they finally encountered another group of warriors.

The being leading them was like nothing Teg'Ramm had ever seen before. The crystalline being floated over the ground, an aura of light pulsing like an unseen heartbeat, slowly, rhythmically changing to be more in union with the drums of the Dark Horde.

Rather than draw weapons or act in any manner aggressive, despite the hesitant looks on the warrior's faces, they turned onto the road and marched alongside the Dark Horde, matching their step and hoisting their own banners.

There was no shout of attack, or even of challenge or threat. Nobu'tan, at the head of the army, several clans ahead of the Balefire, didn't even pause in his march. He merely nodded in the direction of the light creature, and turned his Dreadsteed to the other road, continuing their way to Shadowmoon.

The strongest reaction from any member of the Dark Horde was from the Dawn's Hammer Clan, the light wielders instantly recognizing the power that this other force wielded, and they slowly gravitated toward them, filtering through their position near the front, passing through the Balefires as they settled in a more optimal position near the newcomers.

"Who are they?" Teg asked Bannok, Chieftian of the clan of Paladins, as he passed.

The old orc shook his head, his newly forged armor of light grey and white clattering with the movement, "I do not know, but they are of the Light, and they are welcome here. Their leader radiates the majesty that we've only seen reflected in the eyes of the Prophet Velen. There can be no guile in that amount of goodness."

Ramm huffed as the Paladin Chieftain walked away, joining his clan. While the ogres of the Balefire had no like for the powers of the Light, they did not begrudge those ogres that left their ranks for the other clan. It was no different than those who felt the call of the dead, and joined the Death Knight clan for their own powers.

While it may have diminished the strength of Teg'Ramm's clan for them to be so open in their shifting, the power of the Dark Horde as a whole grew, and he would not stand in the way of victory for them all just to satisfy some petty power hoarding.

On they marched, the sound of their drums being echoed by the many feet and hooves of their army, until the ground itself started to shake with their passing. Teg'Ramm knew that their enemy would be well aware of their approach, but like the oncoming tide, they would not be hindered until they claimed the head of this Illidan Stormrage.

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Thrall wasn't sure what had occurred in the time since Med'an departing Orgrimmar, but Garrosh's attitude had changed drastically. Where once he had striven to be involved with everything, seeking to understand the differences between the Azeroth orcs and his Mag'har, now he was withdrawn, icy even, especially so if Thrall requested his presence or advise on a matter.

Thrall was greatly concerned, but there hadn't been time to address the situation in private with the younger orc. Even now, as he turned to take Garrosh aside after speaking with the leaders of Orgrimmar, Thrall was interrupted by a scout rushing in with word from Thrallmar. The troll was terrified, speaking quickly about a massive Dark Horde army that had marched in full force out of Hellfire Citadel, circled around the Alliance stronghold of Honor Hold, and off to the southwest.

He had been forced to rush off, leaving Garrosh and several others mid conversation, and reached Thrallmar with enough time to witness the army himself, its horrendous music blaring over the empty wastes of the Peninsula.

He had not remained, as the army was clearing moving away from their base, and while Nobu'tan had more than promised that both Hordes would return to infighting in due time, Thrall was confident that there were higher priorities for them to fight.

Slowly stepping back into Grommash Hold, Thrall met the eyes of each of his council, sharing silently the magnitude of what he had seen in Outland. Even Garrosh stepped forward and demanded answers from him. "What is it? This event that has you so haunted."

"I have seen that we sorely underestimated the strength of the Dark Horde…" Thrall said, gesturing for a nearby mage to approach, "I demand that Sylvanas Windrunner and Lor'themar Theron join with us. See that the summons is sent to them both with haste."

"Yes Warchief," the Blood Elf Magister said, a gift from the Silvermoon Regent Lord, to supplement the arcane casters in the Horde's Capital.

Thrall didn't want to explain the situation multiple times, but Garrosh and the others weren't going to accept his silence until the Banshee Queen and Regent Lord arrived.

"The Dark Horde's army is far greater than we ever imagined," he said, hoping to satisfy them for a moment, but the young Hellscream wasn't going to allow it to be left at that.

"How large? Why should we worry?" he persisted.

A portal opened, and Thrall was thankful for the Magister's swiftness. Lor'themar was curious, and reserved, but Thrall had to hide the smile at the worried glance from the Banshee.

"The Dark Horde's army numbers near to ten thousand," he announced, silencing any chance at rebuttal, "the damage we thought they suffered in Desolace amounted to little more than a scratch in terms of their numbers."

Glancing at Sylvanas in particular, Thrall continued, "We cannot afford to broach any manner of open warfare with them any longer. It is clear that they have been swelling their ranks, even amid their battles with us and the Scourge."

Sylvanas bristled, but otherwise showed no emotion or reaction. Garrosh however, continued to bluster and rage. "Your historians have made it clear that the Horde was once one unified force, how has it been allowed for this splinter faction to even exist, let alone grow in power until it rivals us?"

The challenging tone was not lost on Thrall, but he disregarded it in the moment of anger, and replied as calmly as he could. "After the Horde failed to destroy all of Lordaeron, around the time I was an infant, the clans were scattered. When I rose to power, only those that were captured by the humans were available for me to fond, and lead away under advisement."

Thrall did not wish to mention the role that the Guardian, Medievh, played in leading the Horde here to Kalimdor, but the fact remained, "Those clans that remained in the Eastern Kingdoms, at the time leaderless, banded together and formed the Dark Horde, before being taken over by Dragons, and later freed themselves through the return of the Stormreavers."

"And you never considered extending the hand of kinship to them before now?" Garrosh replied, less of an accusation, but there was a ting of it remaining amid his question, "they could have journeyed to join us and all this would have been avoided."

"They had their own Warchief, who was control by the Black Dragon Nefarian, by the time we were settled and able to house our own people, let alone any more—" Thrall started to explain, but Garrosh cut him off.

"So you just let orcs, our people, suffer for the sake of those who you had allied with in these lands. A true Warchief—"

"Garrosh!" Thrall barked, silencing the younger orc. This was not the time or place for such an argument, especially in front of the leaders of their allies, and even more so in front of Sylvanas. Thrall could already see the gears winding in the undead's mind of how she could manipulate this situation to her advantage, and that was power he did not wish for her to possess. "We will discuss such things later," he added, addressing the rest of the leaders.

"The fact remains that the Dark Horde's army outnumbers us greatly, and I do not want any of us to bring the rage of Nobu'tan down on the rest of the Horde." Thrall said, looking Sylvanas in the eyes.

"Of course Warchief…" she said, clearly meaning nothing of what she said. But Thrall had made the point clear, and consequences would follow if she went behind the rest of them and fought with the Dark Horde anyway.

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Draco glared at Prince Kael'thas, even as the mad prince gestured at one of the heavily armored Elves at his side. "Let us see how your nerves hold up against the Darkener, Thaladred!"

"Prepare yourselves!" the advisor said, throwing his head back in a long shout of challenge, before sprinting toward them in the center of the chamber.

The massive axe in the Elf's hand whistled as it swung around him mid charge, but the assembled Alliance force was prepared for such a bold frontal attack. A barrage of arrows and spells erupted around the charging armored warriors, splintering the metal floor around him and pushing him back.

Draco nearly raised his wand, but Shaw sent him a withering glance. Clenching his jaw, Draco relaxed himself. He knew that the plan was for him to strike once Kael'thas was vulnerable, but standing there waiting was not something he particularly enjoyed.

Beside the few that had to deal with countering the swinging great axe, the steady barrage took down the first advisor quickly enough. "Forgive me, my prince. I have failed…" the "Darkener" said as he fell to the metal deck, the axe clattering across the metal, leaving gouges in its wake.

Despite one of his innermost circle falling before his eyes, Prince Kael'thas seemed completely unfazed, "You have persevered against some of my best advisors… but none can withstand the might of the Blood Hammer. Behold, Lord Sanguinar…"

The other armored Elf stepped forward, mace clanging roughly against his shield. "Blood for blood!" he shouted, leaping through the air to avenge his fallen comrade.

Bloody was the correct word for the fight that ensued. The massive mace shattered shields and armor, and sent footmen flying in all direction, taxing the healing magic of those priests and druids that had come with their assault force.

The ship quivered once, vibrations from the bombardment outside shuddering through the metal floor. All the satellite ships had been destroyed; they were running low on time before this entire place was to be knocked into the endless void.

While he knew that he had to preserve his wizarding skills for the final confrontation, Draco decided to cast aside a bit of his duty to wait in reserve, and hurled a trio of curses at the Blood Hammer, followed by a pair of shadowy bolts.

The Fel magic seemed to have a substantial effect on the Elf, despite the corroding effects being limited. More so, it seemed that he siphoned some of the raw darkness from the spells, and was sickened by the putrid taint of the Fel within the dark magic.

The Elf's reflexes slowed by a small amount, but just enough that the others could keep pace with his attacks, and start to overwhelm him. Soon, he too lay dead beside his ally, mace and shield joining the axe on the metal floor.

"Capernian will see to it that your stay here is a short one," Kael'thas continued, gesturing to the only female Elf near him.

This one, Jaina herself moved to counter, even as the first massive orb of flame was fired from the Magister's hands. "The Sin'dorei reign supreme!" the Elf shouted, even as Jaina threw up a small column of ice, intercepting the fiery projectile, and returned fire with icicles born out of the damaged pillar.

The other mages with their force raised an arcane barrier, even as Jaina stepped in from of them all, her job to counter all magical attacks from the allies of Kael'thas. In an instant she conjured a quad of water elementals, sending them swarming to surround the Magister.

"Burn!" the Elf shouted, calling down a pillar of fire, which surrounded Jaina, but the Sorceress of Theramore froze herself into a solid block at the last moment, negating the fiery inferno and buying precious moments for the elementals to close distance with the Magister.

Each of the burly constructs of water bull-rushed the slender Elf, disrupting her footing and forcing her to dance around them, even as Jaina moved into the aggressor's position, firing more bolts of ice and frost at the Elf, keeping her completely occupied and unaware of the true danger.

Appearing in a flash of smoke behind the Elf, Shaw himself planting a pair of daggers in the small of the slim back, burrowing the blades deeply in her body and certainly piercing several organs with each. "This is not… over…" she managed to gasp out before falling to the ground, her staff rolling out of her hand as she lay in a pool of her own blood.

Kael even started to slowly clap for them, showing a clear lack of empathy for his fallen warriors. "Well done," he said, "you have proven worthy to test your skills against my master engineer, Telonicus."

The last Elf standing by the prince's side, wearing goggles and carrying some manner of small explosive, readied himself. "Anar'alah Belore!"

Draco had been warned of this one, by a subtle message from Blaise Zabini, in response to his quick message to Nobu'tan regarding the Alliance attack here. The Elf was tenaciously perceptive, and likely would have seen through any plot or ploy that threatened himself or his prince.

And, true to that information, the Engineer acted, hurling his explosives in the direction of Draco.

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Sylvanas seethed silently as he returned to the Undercity via portal.

Damn Thrall for knowing roughly what she had already intended to do. Not that she had any intention of stopping her plans. Lordaeron was hers, and she would do what was needed to reclaim it.

Her forces were already moving toward the ruins of Andorhal, and she would have joined them sooner if not for the summons from their Warchief. Now free of that irritating task, she fully intended to go out to the Western Plaguelands immediately, with a selection of her personal Royal Guard, to see to establishing their foothold in the ruined city.

They rode fast and hard, crossing past the Bulwark within an hour of Sylvanas returning to her lands. The roads in Tirisfal had become quite peaceful with the destruction of the Scarlet Crusaders in the north. Another small boon from the presence of the Dark Horde, if she was to give anyone credit for it.

The Death Knight she had tried to turn into her agent had been seen, long ago, slaughtering the crusaders alongside some Forsaken. Still, it was figured like that rogue Death Knight, created by the warlocks of the Stormreavers, who made Sylvanas certain that they would be coming for her and the Forsaken. And she would be ready for them.

Crossing the damaged stone bridges into the northern section of Andorhal's island-city, Sylvanas quickly found her forces, already engaging the lingering Scourge forces, and claiming a large area to start raising walls and towers to protect their encampment.

"My Lady," the force commander said, turning as Sylvanas and her mounted regiment arrived. She dismounted smoothly, and acknowledged him with a nod.

"We may have a small problem in claiming Andorhal," he continued, pointing out to the city itself.

The Banshee Queen looked, eyes sweeping over the heads of the Scourge swarm that crowded in the ruined housing district of the city. On the far side, near where they wished to push south into the secret path to Hillsbrad, Alliance banners were posted, and a force was marching on the city from the south bridges into the city.

"So the Alliance has also been displaced from Southshore, and have come here to flee…" she said, inwardly seething at the constant irritants to her plans.

"Yes, Dark Lady…" the field commander agreed, "They have settled around the south, claiming Uther's Tomb and the area around the head of the river from Darrowmere."

"We cannot allow them to hinder us in claiming this land from the Scourge." Sylvanas declared, "Engage and eliminate them just as readily as the mindless…"

"As you command, my Queen," he replied, even as Sylvanas started away, looking for the command tent.

There were other threats here that she was aware of, which needed to be dealt with before they could reliably hold the Plaguelands. On the island of Caer Darrow, near to where the Alliance had encamped, Kel'Thuzad had founded his school of necromancy: Scholomance, the Black Academy.

There were several liches and other loyalists to the Lich King remaining there, and she would strike hard and fast at them, removing the leadership of the Scourge in the area and clearing the way for her Forsaken to take the city.

Leaving clear directions of how her forces ought to clear through the city, and what threats they had to eliminate swiftly, Sylvanas called for her Dark Rangers.

Half a dozen appeared as she made the secret signs the former Thalasian rangers would recognize from life. "We go to clear out the last remnant of Kel'Thuzad's terrible students from this land, come swiftly, and slay anything that seeks to hinder us." She ordered, marching from the tent with the rangers in tow.

Her Royal Death Guards would remain, giving the authority of her orders means of enforcement, even as she personally took her revenge on the Lich's minions.

Rather than push through the city and skit both the Scourge and the Alliance, Sylvanas led her rangers out the way she had come, rounding the northern side of the lake and passing the falls the fed water into the Darrowmere river.

The bridge that allowed crossing from the mainland to the small island was heavily damaged, but still crossable, with only a few gaps that had to be jumped barring their path.

The island itself was deserted, but with her powers in the realms of undeath, Sylvanas could sense the presence of the tormented spirits of the former residents of the citadel that had once guarded the water supply for both the Altarac Mountains and Hillsbrad Foothills.

Under the ruined keep lay the dark teaching halls and grotesque laboratories of the necromancers and their sinister projects.

The door sealing the entrance was heavily barred and bolted, but the dark magic strengthen her steed was more than sufficient to smash the door right out of its frame, showing the stones inside with the broken wood and metal of the thick door.

"Slay everything we encounter, leave no stone unturned," Sylvanas warned her rangers. There had been countless hidden vaults and private chambers built into the depths of the underground chambers.

The one mighty home of the Barov, there was nothing left of the old human family, merely the legacy of their damned deal that they had made to try and save themselves from Kel'Thuzad and the Cult of the Damned. Sylvanas started down the stairs into the blackness of the hidden academy, keeping vigilant for any signs of movement aside from her Dark Rangers.

The first obstacles they found were easily dispatched because of this. A pair of hulking skeletal warriors, guarding the wrought iron door into the lower chambers, was pierced with arrows, shattering small bones and eventually ripping the guardians apart.

Sneaking forward one the gate had creaked open, Sylvanas looked over the balcony, observing the large library chamber that waited on the other side. The Dark Rangers fanned out, sticking to the shadows and waiting for the order to engage, but the Banshee Queen held off for a moment longer.

The fact that so many necromancers were still here, spreading their vile magic, disgusted Sylvanas, although she was more angered at herself for not making sure this blight was removed sooner. A simple hand gesture and arrows flew from all sides, striking down the majority of those in the room.

Among the handful of survivors from the first barrage, a tall succubus emerged from behind a bookshelf, fire in the demon's eyes and whip already unfurling from her waist.

But Sylvanas did not fear such creatures. A single black arrow in the head downed the demon, and silenced whatever dark secrets she had been filling the minds of the necromancer students with.

As the last figure in the room was dispatched, Sylvanas moved toward the gate at the far end, pausing to look over the library. She had a vague idea of what all the tomes and scroll contained, and none of it would help her with the plight of the Forsaken. Simply raising the dead and hoping for them to retain their minds was not enough, and these necromancers were not concerned with the notion whatsoever.

"Burn all these vile tomes, then follow quickly," she ordered, and turned away as her rangers produced torches and started to light them.

The surrounding structure was stone; therefore, Sylvanas had little fear that they would have no means of departure when they were finished. At the same time however, the fire would serve well to prevent her prey from escaping so easily.

The corridor beyond the library descended further into the darkness, but past that the fluttering lights of a half-dozen blue fires threw sinister light out onto the bottom landing of the staircase.

More necromancers were there, practicing their dark arts and sending small skeletons to battle each other, in some perverse game. If she were not already dead, Sylvanas was certain the sight would have chilled her blood.

Many of the necromancers were laughing, thoroughly enjoying their little game, and thinking nothing of the powers that they played with.

The first arrow struck one of these fools in the mouth, knocking the necromancer to the ground and alerting his fellows to their peril. Swarms of skeletons, no longer being directed in mirth, suddenly swarmed toward Sylvanas, the blue fire controlling them blazing in the hollow eye sockets and behind the jawbones.

Sylvanas hurled a knife at a second necromancer, before being forced to deal with the wave of brittle slaves. Swiping at one fragile skull, the Banshee Queen dodged away, leaving the broken corpse to be trampled by the small horde that followed.

The orange glow from the room above heralded the arrival of her rangers, and bow snaps rang out, heralding the black feathered arrows that mowed down an entire row of skeletons.

Many of her rangers drew their swords, keeping the skeletons back while their sisters kept a steady rain of arrows over the heads of the necromancers. On the far side, there was a massive pile of corpses for these casters to draw upon, meaning that unless they were slain they would raise more and more skeletons to serve them.

Drawing a trio of arrows, Sylvanas leveled her bow once more, dodging out of the reach of a swiping skeleton. She lined up her sight on the remaining necromancers, and let the dark shafts fly. The vile students crumpled, their backs pierced from the tainted arrows that Sylvanas had specially prepared long ago.

The few remaining necromancers fled, disappearing into the tunnel ahead of Sylvanas and her rangers, clearly desirous to warn the rest of the academy of their attack, but the gate off to the side, where a simple balcony looking out over the lake, burst open in a rush of wings and wind.

A gargoyle had come, landing with a clatter of wings in the center of the chamber, and transforming in a flash. Sylvanas knew this undead. Kirtonos was Kel'Thuzad's herald, the favored creature of the Lich Lord, and tasked with guarding the prized holdings of the majordomo of the Lich King.

"Sylvanas Windrunner," the Herald said, glaring at her with equal measures of amusement and anger. "Long have you hidden from our eyes; I'm sure that my Lord will be pleased to hear of your death."

Kirtinos transformed again, launching into the air of the vaulted ceiling, before swooping forward to rake at her with his claws.

The Dark Rangers scattered, dodging out of the way and taking up better positions to fire at their airborne foe.

Sylvanas wheeled backward, snapping off a pair of arrows mid-flip, in order to drive back the swooping gargoyle. Even her enchanted arrows heads ricocheted off the toughened hide of the flying menace, even as Kirtonos screeched a long piercing sound that rattled bone and would possible have been devastating against a living opponent.

The Dark Rangers fired a volley at the flapping beast, forcing it to cover its body with the thick folds of its wings. Still, this maneuver forced it to land, which allowed Sylvanas to close distance as she drew one of her long knives.

Kirtonos was just unfurling his wings again as she set upon him, stabbing low with the long dagger, bypassing the harder hide on the limbs and head and aiming for the softer belly and torso.

The hardened and enchanted blade bit deeply, spilling the blackened ooze that constituted the blood of the undead gargoyle. Still, Kirtonos managed to slip away, flapping haphazardly back into the air, the slime trailing from his chest onto the ground as he quickly tried to put distance between himself and Sylvanas.

The chattering madness that he was emitting, likely threats on Sylvanas and her people, were nonstop, until another barrage of arrows, now focused on the weakened area where the Banshee Queen had pierced his toughed, armor-like hide.

Several arrows struck home, knocking Kirtonos out of the air. He crashed to the stone floor, flapping and thrashing in agony, the long dead nerves still having enough capability to fire as his body was mutilated.

Sylvanas advanced again, long knife in hand, and seized the massive bat-head in one hand, hacking away with the dagger until the hideous thing was removed completely.

"I will not be judged by the likes of you, or your master," Sylvanas said, letting the head tumble away, even as the body ceased to twitch. Turning her back on it, Sylvanas prepared for the increased resistance that they were now likely to face. Several of the necromancer acolytes escaped them when Kirtonos attacked, and more than likely ran all the way to the leaders of the academy.

And Sylvanas was proven correct, as in the very next room, alongside more experienced necromancers, there were half again as many armored skeletal warriors, bows and swords at the ready to face off against the Forsaken.

"We will slaughter anyone who stands in our way…" Sylvanas said, sidestepping an arrow and drawing her bow back, sniping a necromancer that was preparing to hurl shadows at them from across the room.

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Illidan was pleased that the Skull of Gul'dan was again feeding him the vital information and power that he needed to fight the Legion. He had already found the crux of being able to bring the fight to Sargaras' very doorstep. The Keystone was on a small, remote world.

His very best warriors were already being summoned to hunt this prize, but as they started to gather, something in the air was different.

Iliidan heard something, far off, but growing louder with every passing moment. The entirety of the Black Temple seemed to grow still, trying to define the noise approaching them. Turning toward the west, and the rest of the landmass, Illidan's eyes, burning with Felfire, saw what was approaching them. The massive army thundered across the ground, drums punctuating every step, and a horrid blare of some manner of horn carrying them forward.

Even the pitiable group of warriors loyal to Shattrath was with them, but this army was something… unexpected. Illidan had heard of the Dark Horde, and their power, but he had not thought that they were in numbers this great or threatening. He did not have time to go to Mardum with his strike force, and deal with these interlopers at the same time.

This he knew, spying the leader of the Dark Horde out of the horde, blazing with Felfire and sending waves of indignation up to the Night Elf-turned-Demon atop the pinnacle of the structure. Illidan would have to split his attention. Turning toward his elite, the greatest of his demon hunters, Illidan spoke quickly and pointedly.

"Illidari…" he said, allowing shadows to overtake him, attracting their attention as he soared over their heads toward the pinnacle of the Black Temple. "My Demon Hunters, with countless worlds burning in the Legion's wake, you answered the call."

Those who had been resting stood, and all of the sightless warriors turned toward their leader. Illidan peered over, where the armies of the Shat'tar, and the Dark Horde stood, challenging them to battle, "Yet these mortals, in their ignorance, have come to destroy their own salvation."

Thinking quickly and gathering what magic he needed, Illidan turned, "Our time is short," turning toward his force, he continued, "I will deal with these intruders, you must venture to Mardum, and retrieve the Sargarite Keystone."

With a hiss of Fel magic, Illidan tore open the portal to the location he had seen through the additional magic of the Skull of Gul'dan, "Now go," he ordered, and the Demon Hunters surged forward into the portal, but remember," he said to their leader, his champion Slayer of the Illidari, "but remember, should you fail, all worlds will burn." The Elf nodded, sprinting at the portal even as Illidan allowed it to close.

Illidan knelt, concentrating on the skull, and using it to amplify his magic, in order to monitor his strike force into the Legion world. Their success was the key to all his plans, and anything else that happened across two worlds this day, mattered little in comparison.