Apologies for the late update. Lots of things are getting mixed up after I got sick for 2 weeks (allergies followed by losing my voice, nothing too major) and I've been playing catchup for days on some things. Chapter slipped through the cracks. Anyway, thanks for those who review, and those who attempt to remind me... although a message on my discord or other socials would probably be far more effective tbh. NEVERTHELESS! Here it is at last, enjoy! ~F
Chapter 143
Fallen Naaru
Sylvanas dismounted from her mount, quickly scanning the immediate area of their main stronghold in the ruins of Andorhal. The battle over Silverpine, between Nathanos and the wild worgen allied with the Dark Horde, was going about as well as could be expected, but Sylvanas did not have the energy or patience to sit around and wait for satisfactory results.
Meanwhile, she could be of use here, rallying their forces to eliminate the remaining Scourge forces from the rest of the city, while at the same time keeping the Alliance from making any headway into the city from the south.
"Dark Lady, welcome," the commander of their forces said, his jaw firm as he awaited Sylvanas' judgment regarding his command of their garrison.
She was actually quite pleased with their progress. They had forced the mainstay of the Scourge force into the far corners of the island-ruin, even pushing them back onto the Allaince's side of the river, where they had to fight through the universal threat before they could even threaten the Forsaken's forces.
Still, there was much yet to be done, and she wasn't about to allow the commander's ego dull his need to please her, and therefore she kept silent on his achievements. "We must claim more of the island for ourselves, and prepare to hold it when the Alliance breaks through the last remnant of the Scourge here…"
"Of course, my Queen," the commander replied, completely subservient. "We can send forth more builders, more forces to drive the last of the Scourge from Andorhal, but we will need many more troops if we are to man it properly…"
"And you shall have them…" Sylvanas said, lifting the black tome she had brought with her. The Death Knight of the Dark Horde had had many treasures on him when the Forsaken had captured him, but this alone she had kept, and more still when he had returned from Stratholme: a black book of the dead; a rare find. It was a tome of necromancy, detailing many of the original spells and rituals that had awakened the dead.
But she was not going to read it herself. Sylvanas' disdain for necromancy in all its forms was well known throughout the Horde, and it would remain that was. But there was one among the Forsaken that she knew would be able to unravel the secrets of the tome, and perhaps get them one step closer to overcoming the one major weakness of their people.
The Forsaken could not replenish their numbers like other races and factions. Raising the dead by means that were known resulted in less than a twenty percent likelihood of a Forsaken, one that retained their own will. The rest were mindless Scourge, incapable of any semblance of independent thought.
Sylvanas knew that they had to be a way to make sure that every raised body was one of them. But thus far it had eluded her people. But she knew that they had to be close to some manner of breakthrough, with all their research into the plague, as well as everything looted from Scholomance.
The Apothicarium had had a field day when they were permitted to enter the accursed lair of the necromancers of the Cult of the Damned. They had poured through everything not nailed down, and more or less moved into the facility as an offsite location away from the Undercity.
"Until that time," Sylvanas said, "we must make do with what we have."
"Of course, Dark Lady," the commander said, turning to assemble a new strike force to go out into the ruined city soon.
Another bat landed, this one coming from the south, where Sylvanas knew that her necromancy expert would be arriving. "Sylvanas Windrunner, a pleasure to meet with you in person." Helcular, former apprentice of Kel'Thuzad, said. The Forsaken had been lingering in Tarren Mill, observing the movements of the Dark Horde, but now the Banshee Queen had a better use for his talents.
Handing over the tome, Sylvanas watched the gleam in the necromancer's eyes, "You are to join the Apothicaries in Scholomance; however, your task is of the utmost importance and secrecy."
"I had thought that the Dark Lady abhorred necromancy in all its forms," Helcular said, grinning at her, "and yet here you are asking me to unwind the secrets of my old master for you… there has to be a really good reason for this…"
Sylvanas leaned forward menacingly, "The reasons why are not, yet, of your concern. I need you to understand everything left of that vile man's magic in that place…"
"And search for means to bring undead back with their wills intact," the necromancer speculated, smirking at the glower that the Dark Lady gave him.
"Not a word of this research to anyone except me," she threatened, finally silencing the amusement in the necromancer.
"As you wish, Dark Lady," Helcular said, stashing the tome in his robes and turning toward the bat handler. The Forsaken had established a small fortress on the island there, and while they still lacked sufficient manpower to keep it if there was a full assault of the location, the inaccessibility of the isle as well as her Dark Rangers keeping watch would be sufficient in keeping it safe for the time being.
With that matter taken care of, Sylvanas could return her attention to Andorhal, and seeing personally to driving the last remnants of the leaderless Scourge from the ruined city. Once they had full control of the island, the Forsaken could spread their fortifications to the southern bank, and seal the Alliance on the south side of the water, preventing any attempt for them or the Dark Horde to advance into upper Lordaeron from this route.
Unfortunately, that was not nearly enough. Sylvanas wanted the Scourge, and the Alliance, out of the Plaguelands altogether, so that she could seal this area off for the inevitable conflict with the Dark Horde. That meant taking the head of the Darrowmere River.
If the Forsaken could control the flow of water, and the narrow canyon that it flowed through, they could easily starve the Alliance out of Hillsbrad to the south. They then could slip in behind those Dark Horde forces in Silverpine to flank them from both ends of the forest. It would also seal the last remaining path to the furthest northern reaches west of the sea.
All these plans wheeled in her mind as she watched the gate of their little fort open, revealing the mindless ghouls that still ambled around the ruined city. They were unable to sense it, but they were to be the vanguard of the Forsaken's attack south. The Alliance were hard pressed to keep what land they had, and if the Scourge were to be… intensified… then the Forsaken could cause substantial sabotage and destroy their supply lines, forcing a retreat.
In the worst case scenario, Sylvanas had a thought that if she threatened Uther the Lightbringer's tomb, the Alliance would withdraw. Their reverence for the man greatly outstripped Sylvanas' respect for the human. Disturbing his rest was something she was willing to risk to eliminate all threats to her lands. Briefly she had considered Uther to be a target to raising a new champion, but she had witnessed several Scourge necromancers try to invade the tomb from Caer Darrow, and the result had been, unexpected.
Sylvanas had never really believed in the Light, not even when she had been alive. The High Elves had taken whatever magic they desired from the Sunwell, but apparently there was some other source, one that the humans had learned early on to tap into for the same strength in their priests, clerics, and paladins. It was this Light, sentient and vengeful, that she had witnessed striking down the necromancers who had sought to raise the Paladin in undeath, as though shielding its own, even in death.
The Banshee Queen may have been many things, but she was not stupid. She would not risk any of her people trying to actually do harm to the resting place of the Light-blessed warrior, but she would bluff all she could to achieve her ends.
But before she had to consider any of those options, there was a great deal of softening up that the Alliance and the Scourge had to endure first.
"Bring up the Blight throwers," she ordered, "drive the Scourge across the river, and open fire on the Alliance front lines… Let's test the new plague."
The handful of apothecaries chuckled to themselves, knowing what was to come with the concoction that they had spent years perfecting. Dreadguards charged out, attracting the attention of large swaths of ghouls and skeletons, trampling some but otherwise getting as many as they could to chase after them, directing the horde of mindless undead southeast toward the bridge to the Alliance. With the fodder shifted out of their way, Sylvanas rode out at a trot, some guards with her to watch over the apothecaries as they wheeled out their throwers.
There were several excellent locations for the siege weapons to set up, clearly where towers or ballista had once been positioned long ago. From the nearest vantage, the Banshee Queen watched as the Dreadguards rode hard at the Alliance front lines, breaking off when the Scourge horde had no change of turning aside their charge at the last moment. The Forsaken riders jumped the bridge, landing on the shore well away from the line of human soldiers, and rode hard around the shore, circling the city where they would return to the stronghold.
Meanwhile, the Scourge smashed into the front lines of the Alliance, claws and bones breaking off their shield wall. The Humans and their allies had weathered many attacks like this, and were well prepared for such a frontal assault.
"Fire," Sylvanas said coldly, watching the line of battling soldiers as the throwers launched the first wave of canisters.
The glass canisters smashed into the stone and dirt, spreading the green gas and slime in all directions. This new plague, already modified from the conflict at Thoradin's wall, was striving to be as equally effective on the living as the undead, in order to fight the Scourge as easily as any other foe. The Alliance force was easily wiped out by this plague, unfortunately, it was not as effective on the Scourge. Those that had not taken any damage yet were unaffected.
But there was promise where those who were injured were concerned. The plague seeped into open wounds, even if the flesh was necrotic already, and ate away at the internal connections, causing the rotting bodies to fall apart.
"It's a good start," Sylvanas said, musing as the catapults continued to bombard the bridge. They would turn and start assaulting the Alliance encampment soon as well, but allowing the Scourge to hold the bridge was just as useful for the time being.
"Send for engineers," Sylvanas told the commander, who had joined in keeping watch over the apothecaries, "once we push the Scourge and the Allaince from this place, I want a wall placed over the canyon, and dam up the Darrowmere River. I want Southshore to thirst as they sail away to save themselves from the Dark Horde and us…"
"Yes, Dark Lady, it will be done…" the male undead replied.
Sylvanas settled further into her saddle, even as the Plaguethrowers started to turn. It would be a long counter siege, and this seemed to be the best position to watch the progress of the bombardment, as well as whatever assault occurred from the Scourge forces that would be displaced onto their side of the river.
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Teg'Ramm watched carefully as these Fel Elves worked with Lord Nobu'tan to drain away the magic blocking their pathway forward.
He, for one, did not trust them for even an inch. They were wily, and clearly had only desire to help themselves with the resources of the Dark Horde. But he trusted Lord Nobu'tan's judgment, and would keep his opinions to himself until called for.
The power from the barrier was clearly vast, but it still fell inevitably from the constant powerful drain on it from the warlock and Elves. "We're in," Nobu'tan said, relaxing with effort from the stress that clearly had resulted from the ritual to siphon off the arcane on the door.
The wave of shadow magic that seeped from within positively stank of the void, so similar to the stench of the Old Gods and their ilk. Knowing that they were going into that mass of absolute darkness worried the ogre mage. Together, the Dark Horde had faced many dangers, but he always wondered, in his heart, where the last one would be for any of them. They had had so many near misses, even Teg'Ramm himself, but the fear never departed when they ventured into another major conflict.
But he was resolute in his pact, made so long ago to a human wizard that had saved him from an ignoble death. Teg'Ramm was the guardian of Nobu'tan, and if sacrificing his own life would prolong the warlock's, he would give it gladly.
"The Naaru is loose," Valdris said, growing grim, "it will not permit us passage without trying to consume us out of vengeance…"
"Then we will destroy it…" Nobu'tan replied, gathering his magic and taking a tentative step forward. Teg'Ramm kept his eyes on the warlock, well aware of the subtle cues that gave away how much that ritual had taken from him. He shouldn't have done it alone. Both Teg'Ramm and Tenebrous could have assisted, taken the weight of that magic off of him, but in part to show off to their new potential allies, as well as prove to himself that he was supremely powerful, Nobu'tan had wanted to do it alone.
Still, there was no stopping him as they started into the dimly lit chamber. The Naaru was there, the music that normally would be soothing and pleasant now a cacophony of disjointed noise, utterly insane in its tone and tenor. The crystalline being was floating well over the chamber, dark purple fading into black, starkly different from the gold and white of their normal coloration.
Energy danced around the room, forming yet another energy barrier in from of them, and closing the one behind them, trapping them with the insane Naaru. There was a momentary lull in the noise, before a spiking note of discord, and the creature descended into their midst, shadows coalescing into void creatures that roused to defend the fallen Naaru.
"Felblood, attack!" Valdris shouted, calling the other Fel Elves to advance, their powers over magic still formidable, even if they were handicapped by their near universal dependency on the Fel now.
"Teron, Voldemort, handle the voidspawn," Nobu'tan shouted, "Teg'Ramm, Tenebrous, with me, we have a Naaru to slay," the Grand warlock added, drawing upon the Fel and uncovering his true part-demonic form. The glowing red eyes pierced the gloom, even as emerald flames crackled in hand.
Teg'Ramm knew that his brute strength was meaningless against the Naaru, so he struck his staff upon the ground, calling forth demons to his side, and pulling heavily on his connection to the wild chaos of the Nether. It came readily to him, enticed by the deformities of his body because of the Fel, and quickly surging through old pathways to become manifest in flame and destructive power.
Together, the three warlocks raised powerful bulwarks of Fel and flame, in order to stifle the creeping shadows that the dark Naaru threw in all directions. Beams of maddening power shot out, zipping in wild paths and trying to seek out targets among their group, but these barriers negated the majority of them.
The problem was knowing how exactly to fight back against the creature. Teg'Ramm had encountered very few of these Naaru, and from a look at the crystalline body, there didn't seem to be any kind of weakness or flaw to exploit with well placed spells.
"What if it swallows any magic we hit it with?" Teg asked aloud, nearly needing to shout over the noise of battle.
"Only one way to find out," Nobu'tan replied, leaving the barrier to them as he darted forward, wand in one hand, a ball of Felflame in the other. The torrent of magic he leveled at the creature was near blinding in its display, jets and fire splashing across the creature, even as its song blared around the chamber. The pain was clear in the tones, but there was no visible damage on the perfect structure of the Naaru.
"Its body is near impervious…" Tenebrous said, keenly observing the same thing that Teg'Ramm saw, "But there is something going on, when it's struck, the pain and anguish are affecting it."
"So we simply overwhelm it and see what results," Ramm said eagerly, the slightly more destructive personality eager to wreck havoc at any opportunity.
"That would be the best plan, given what we have to go on," the other warlock attested, grinning at the idea. Teg had always suspected that the assassin had a wild, bloodthirsty side to him, but he kept it very restrained and secretive.
"Then I suggest we lend Lord Nobu'tan our assistance," Teg acquiesced, and together the pair dropped the Fel barrier, and charged forward, adding more magic to the barrage that prevented the Naaru from projecting its shadow attacks around the room.
The creature's screeching song became a wailing dirge, even as spells impacted it in rapid succession. The fervor and pitch continued to spike upward, even as the two Death Knights, supported by the Fel Elves, defeated and destroyed the Void elemental guardians that the Dark Naaru had summoned.
Shadow magic exploded in all directions, throwing even Teg'Ramm back several steps as the energy around the Naaru started to implode upon itself. The crystalline form started to melt and warp, collapsing from near perfection, and shifting to a void-born monstrosity.
"A being of pure entropy…" Nobu'tan breathed, torn between fascination and nervousness.
"Now that it is… changed…" Tenebrous said, questioning, "It won't be able to shrug off our attacks anymore, should it?"
"I'd suspect as much," Nobu'tan replied, even as he led them in lifted the barrier once more, shielding all their forces as they regrouped to deal with the new threat.
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Me'dan had seen the Stormwind Agents, moments before he and his mother was whisked away by the magic of the spell to a dusky and ash-filled landscape. The land here seemed charred, but with more than just fire.
There was a sense of death that lingered in these barren plains. Garona did not seem to notice or care, but turned her attention toward the large volcano that dominated the region. Me'dan had to shield his eyes as they approached, starting through the gloom and billowing ash just to make out the parapets and defenses that dotted the entire mountain.
"We would normally have used the portal to enter the mountain proper," his mother said, turning to him with a small smile, "but this works for you to get an appreciation for what Nobu'tan has been working here first."
"I see," Me'dan replied, suitably impressed. He could sense the radiance of many beings through the elements, thousands congregating in and around the mountain for miles in all directions. The sea of tents that they passed as they traveled seemed to be divided by clan, their banners clear to see for anyone.
Some, such as the Blackrock banner, Med'an recognized from his stay in Orgrimmar, but there were many, many more that he had never seen before. The idea that so many other orcs existed away from the relatively peaceful land of Durotar was shocking enough, but that they would settle in a land far harsher and even more desolate than the Kalimdor wasteland was even more impressive.
"How do they support so many in such a land as this?" he asked, leaning closer to his mother to hear her response. She had quieted greatly as they came nearer to the encampments, her paranoia still very strong even among their own kind. Or was it even higher here, now that Me'dan thought about it.
"Holdings far to the north, in the lush Arathi Basin," a new voice said, accompanied by the slightest of pops of displaced sound.
The two part-orcs turned, and a man was there, disguised by an illusion to appear as an orc, but Me'dan could see easily through the spell, as though it were not even there. The human was tall, not nearly as much as Lucius Malfoy, but just as self-dignified, and perhaps a touch more arrogant than the Stormwind man that they had just been with.
"Lucius just sent you both through from Stormwind," he said, not as a question, but a statement of fact, "I felt the influx of the Fel from the south and came to investigate."
"This is Yaxley," Garona introduced, "fourth of the Council of the Black Harvest, of which Nobu'tan is the leader."
"Lord Nobu'tan is away, as I guess you suspect, Lady Halforcen," Yaxley said, "and with both Lucius and his son in Stormwind, duty falls to me to monitor the situation here at home, while others keep watch on other matters." He glanced at Me'dan a second time, "Your son I presume…"
Garona said nothing, and Me'dan followed her lead. Clearly she did not fully trust the inner circle of the Dark Horde as much as she did Nobu'tan personally, or perhaps she was just wary of Me'dan's safety.
"Nothing to be concerned about," Yaxley said, raising his hands slightly, "We have already heard through our network that his instruction will come from select individuals, vetted by yourself and Lord Nobu'tan personally. I merely wished to greet you both, and inform you of the absence of our Chieftain, so that you need not worry yourself."
"Then where is he?" Garona finally said, nearly sneering the words. Yaxley seemed to be oblivious to the tone, or else he simply did not care about the clear distrust felt for him, "North, leading an expedition into the Elven homeland, something regarding the Sunwell I had heard. There is troubling magic there, Fel and Arcane roiling like some untold maelstrom."
Me'dan closed his eyes. For a flash of a moment, he sensed it as well, before the taint of the magic became repulsive to him, and he stopped trying to feel it out.
"You sense it as well," Yaxley said, keenly spotting Me'dan's discomfort.
"Yes," the young man replied.
"It is troublesome, but we can only trust in Lord Nobu'tan to see us through, or else warn us of the ramifications." He trailed off for a moment, before smiling. "Now, right this way, we've had lodging set aside specifically for the pair of you, well away from the main camps as your mother likes, but near enough that it won't be difficult to travel to and from Blackrock Mountain on a daily basis.
The man led them past the large stone causeway that entered the mountain fortress, off to a side trail that sat in the crook of the mountain and the surrounding range. It was an isolated area, just as promised, but there was something slightly off. While Yaxley led Garona and Me'dan to an unused ruin of some metal structure, where tent materials had been placed for their use, the trail went further into the secluded canyon.
"What's down there?" Me'dan asked, and Yaxley glanced in the direction.
"An Altar of Storms…" he said, "Focus point for Fel rituals, I wouldn't go down there if I were you. It's not been the same since it was last used, nearly a year ago…"
Garona seemed to bristle at the admission. But Yaxley was already explaining, "It's the most isolated place we could place the pair of you, and no warlocks use it anymore. Not after Nobu'tan instructed them on how to create more powerful altars inside the mountain, where they could be more heavily focused and accessed."
"Then we'll be relatively safe here," Me'dan said, trying to sooth the conflict brewing in his mother over their placement.
"If you wish for other arrangements, Nobu'tan will gladly hear them when he returns," Yaxley said, "but for the time being, this is the best I can give you. We have a large number of our warriors here recovering from the siege of the Black Temple, before they can be returned to their usual posts."
"Fine, it will do," Garona said, buckling under the pressure of both males trying to defend the topic, "how long till we can schedule shaman and mages to meet with my son?"
"As soon as you'd like, to at least evaluate him," Yaxley replied, "That's the extent of my knowledge regarding Nobu'tan's instruction. I believe he wishes to interview your son himself, and see where his talents lie before going too deeply into training."
Me'dan was silent. He knew that Jaina and his grandmother wanted him to be wary of Nobu'tan, and anything relative to the Fel, but he had to admit to himself that he was curious. He didn't want to wield that power, he could sense it from the old Altar that it was a vile thing, but he did wish to understand it at the least.
Soon enough, with a promise that the spellcasters would come the next day to trial Me'dan in their practices, Yaxley disappeared in a pop of magic, leaving the pair of part-orcs alone.
"This will do for the time being, but I want us to find more permanent housing inside the mountain in due time," Garona said, which effectively was her telling Me'dan to not get too comfortable.
"I understand," he said, grabbing some tent poles and asking the earth to shift so he could plant them sturdy and deep.
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Lor'themar loosed another arrow, glowering at the massive Pit Lord as it raged in the end of the Dead Scar, contending with the Shattered Sun Paladins. The Regent Lord had heard of this Brutallus, the greatest warrior of the whole race, butcher of countless worlds. While neither the most powerful nor the more intelligent of the Pit Lords of the Legion, this beast was definitely the most bloodthirsty.
This was clear with how the wrist-mounted blades on Brutallus' arms flailed about, slamming them down on the shields of holy energy that the Paladins maintained to protect themselves and the other ground forces.
At least the beast seem incapable of any sort of ranged attack, short of throwing a chunk of rubble at them, which allowed the casters and archers to spread out along the wall and level a constant barrage against him.
"I will crush you!" the Pit Lord shouted, wheeling around to glare hatred at those along the walls. From the stance, Lor'themar knew exactly what was about to happen.
"Brace yourselves!" he shouted, even as the Annihilan charged the wall, barreling through ground troops and trampling some of those unlucky enough to not get out of the way in time. Brutallus slammed into the wall, and the entire structure shuddered as several support pillars were shattered and fell with a crash.
Most of the fighters on the wall were knocked to their knees, and even a few were thrown from the wall completely, their bodies shattering on the rubble and ground below.
Lor'themar shuddered at the thought of that fate, but focused himself. The glowering face of the Pit Lord burned as he glared up at them, almost daring one of them to leap into his face and try to fight him so close to the infernal maw.
"Too easy!" he taunted, before turning back to reengage those still on the ground.
That was when Lor'themar felt the wall section rumble beneath them. "Up! Move!" he ordered, leaping to his feet and hauling up the Elf closest to him. The section of wall was coming down, and they had to move fast to avoid the devastating fate that others had already experienced.
Quickly he hustled as many as could be carried off the unstable section, even as the upper levels collapsed upon itself. Even thinking of the work that would be required to repair the structure made Lor'themar shudder.
"I live for this!" the Pit Lord was bellowing, even as the Regent Lord reassembled the Alliance, Blood Elf, and Shattered Sun mages and Farstriders. There were countless injuries, but most were still able to fight after a quick once-over by a priest.
"It doesn't matter what we throw at him, he just shrugs it off and continues fighting," one of his Farstriders reported, bow already in hand and fingering the flights of one of his arrows.
"There has to be some kind of chink, some amount of damage that we've inflicted," Lor'themar stated, already scanning the bulk of the Pit Lord for some indication that they'd harmed him.
At first, there seemed to be nothing, no hint of even so much as a scratch on the Fel-tainted body. But then, as Brutallus shifted to try and stamp the holy-magic barrier that the Paladins of the Shattered Sun were keeping to protect their forces from the raging Fel beast, he saw it.
Under the right arm of the Pit Lord, there was a deep gash oozing Fel blood. The mark was something far too large for one of their weapons, and Lor'themar presumed that it had been inflicted by the dragon prior to their attempt to fight him.
"There," the Regent Lord pointed out, "bypassing both the armor and the infused hide, we can harm him all the way to his Fel heart."
"None of our weapons are strong enough to dig that deeply," the Farstrider said, and Lor'themar quickly glanced around at the damaged ruin of their most sacred edifice. The wooden supports were large enough, but they would need a way to propel them.
"You there," Lor'themar said, whirling on the Alliance mages that were set with them, "We need your skill with the arcane."
The Mages, a human and a gnome, stiffened, but then nodded, stepping forward. "That beam," Lor'thamar instructed, "bring it down and suspend it on the parapet."
The two mages didn't seem up understand what Lor'themar had in mind, but once they had the beam free of the rubble and lined up, Lor'themar grinned. Giving the beam a nudge with his hand, he slowly aligned it with the Pit Lord.
"Now can someone give this a massive push…" he said, and out of the corner of his eye he spotted the mages start to understand.
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Jaina was exhausted.
Between all her battles, both personal and catastrophic, she had been able to persevere, knowing that she had a duty to uphold, and that people's lives depended on her. Even at the height of danger, battling on the lowest slopes of Mt. Hyjal, it had seemed as though a guardian had been watching over her, preventing her from coming to harm during the crucial moments of that climatic battle.
But now, she felt as though she had been drained.
Jaina had made a strong face for the time that Med'an had been around, but once the young lad had left for Blackrock Mountain and the Dark Horde, she had more or less fell into a deep depression.
This was the part of her she did not want her people to see, and the main reason that Jaina spent long hours up in her tower. The weight of all that she had experienced, all the way from Arthas down to the death of her father, and the horrors she had witnessed between and thereafter, pressed down on her continually.
She had many good days, but there were times where she could only scarcely muster the energy to rise from her bed and go about her daily necessities. It was during these times that Jaina was so grateful for Aegwynn taking control of most of the day-to-day running of Theramore.
Lost in the memory of her tragedies, Jaina wouldn't normally have been looking out her wide window at the expanse of Duskwallow Marsh, but the tapping on the glass drew her attention, even out of memories for Arthas and his fall into insanity.
The large raven that sat there, tapping on the glass, was a familiar sight to the Sorceress. It was one of the many secret messenger birds that Thrall used when he wanted to contact Jaina, or others in the Alliance through her.
Carefully, Jaina picked her way through the various piles of tomes, scrolls, and other items she had been trying to distract herself with in her sorrow, and threw open the small window she had placed exactly for the purpose of admitting these bird.
Typically the ravens would stay, awaiting a reply, but this one did not do so, and after Jaina had retrieved the scroll from its leg the bird turned and took off without hesitation.
Curious now, Jaina unrolled the scroll and quickly read the Warchief's tidy writing. It always had impressed her how neat and even Thrall could make even common letters, far better than even some mages that Jaina had known.
'We need to speak in person,
Meet me in Ratchet, I will wait two days for you,
T.'
It was short, but a very pointed message. Jaina had no idea what Thrall needed to discuss so promptly that he would go as far as Ratchet to speak with her in person. Clearly it was private, otherwise she would have been summoned to Orgrimmar, or else a messenger would have been sent. And the location meant that they would both have to be discreet. Jaina knew where Thrall would want to meet, and it would be shady enough that no one would expect the Sorceress of Theramore and the Warchief of the Horde to be meeting there.
The trouble was, Jaina was not sure if she wanted to muster the energy right now to actually go. On one hand, she was curious what Thrall had to discuss, so desperately that he wanted to meet as soon as possible, but the emotional pain of so much conflict threatened to spill over and make her a nervous wreck.
The two emotions battled like fire and ice, and as most battles went with her, cold logic won out in the end, and she gathered her robes. A quick spell shifted the distinctive blue and purple to a simple brown, and her staff to a worn walking stick. A quick arcane wisp down to Aegwynn to let her know what was happening, and Jaina was off.
Her teleportation dropped her off on the north end of the goblin town and port of Ratchet, nearest to Gazlowe's workshop. The leader of Ratchet was well aware of the unsteady truce between the Alliance and Horde on Kalimdor, and would keep silent of any communications between the two leaders.
Checking that her hood was fully drawn, Jaina started through the town. Adventurers of either faction bypassed her without as much as a glance in her direction. The Broken Keel Tavern was extremely busy, as it was most days, and helped allow the Sorceress to blend in to the crowd.
Glancing around the various tables of patrons, Jaina was able to easily sense Thrall in the ambient magic. The Warchief sat in a secluded corner, a large mug of some orcish drink in front of him, untouched.
Jaina smiled. Leave it to human-raised Thrall to stand out like a sore thumb among his own kind. Silently she slid into the seat opposite him. "You couldn't wait for a more inconspicuous opportunity to meet, could you," she said, earning a sheepish grin from Thrall.
"We do what we must…" he said, before leaning forward, "There are stirrings in and outside of Orgrimmar… these stirrings of the Legion in Quel'thalas have been the perfect cover for things going on behind the scenes…"
"What have you sensed?" Jaina asked, suddenly highly curious.
"It's less of that and more of what I've seen and heard…" Thrall countered, "With all our attention on Outland and the Sunwell, I almost missed Dark Horde insurgents inside Orgrimmar itself…"
"Unfortunate, but not the first time they've tried to enter your city…" Jaina started, but Thrall waved a hand.
"They're not the only invaders into Orgrimmar…" he said, "my Shadow Hunters have sensed necromantic magic starting to rise. I suspect the dead are on the move once again."
