Well, getting this one out was an adventure, but I am pleased with the direction we are heading with all current characters and plotlines, which bodes well for continued pacing and scheduling! Until next time, please enjoy! ~F
Chapter 181
Bridging the Hordes
Lucius rejoiced to be reunited with his family in Stormwind, but at the same time there was a dark cloud over the city. According to Draco, there was renewed pressure from the Dark Iron dwarves to press their formal complaints against the Dark Horde, or worse open up the concept of war. As before, Varian was not willing to breach the uneasy truce after Northrend, but the Dwarves seemed to be gaining support among the other nobles of Stormwind.
Narcissa was doing what she could, but the old nobles did not trust them as much, suspecting correctly that they were sympathetic to the Dark Horde, albeit for clearly wrong reasons.
More to his liking was the idea of the entire Malfoy family taking a vacation across the sea, to visit the Sorceress Jaina Proudmoore. Lucius personally had had little contact with the woman, but her clear interest in his son merited some closer scrutinization, but even those plans had to wait a bit longer.
Lucius still awaited the summons from Lord Nobu'tan, in order to see if and where his talents were needed to help arrange the defenses of the Dark Horde. More importantly, Lucius hoped to inform and keep smooth their relationships with the other factions. He was almost relieved when the call finally came, and apparated directly to the side of Nobu'tan in Blackrock.
Lucius had noticed that, through the proving grounds of battle, his strength magically had grown, and now he could personally use his own magic to travel over the barrier mountains with pinpoint accuracy, even reaching the limits of what normally would require a portkey to safely travel.
Nobu'tan glanced up at his appearance, and nodded, "Lucius, good of you to come. I think I have the finalized plans for our reinforcement." He passed over a large map of the Eastern Kingdoms, lines and notes added directly to indicate the placement of clans and tribes along their major fortifications.
"So the Shadowmoon will take command of Karazhan, and the Swamp fortress formerly controlled by the Blightbringers," Lucius said, glancing quickly theough the southern bases. What he did notice was that there was a large concentration in the Arathi Highlands, consisting of several brigades of Blackrock, Dragonclaw, and Amani forces.
"Do we except an attack at Thoradin's Wall?" he asked, glancing up suspiciously at Nobu'tan.
"There may be, but at the same time, we would want to be prepared if opportunity for a counter offensive presented itself." Nobu'tan said slowly.
Lucius did not like the sound of that. With the Amani close to their northernmost locations, there was a chance that Nobu'tan was thinking of an attack on Quel'Thalas, in order to retake Zul Aman and take revenge at last for the death of Zul'jin. It was too soon, and would destabilize their truce with the Kalimdor Horde.
"Remus Lupin has returned," Nobu'tan said, causing Lucius to pause, "and he has taken command of Fenris Isle and the Grimfang Pack."
"That would explain a justifiable reinforcement of that region, then," Lucius said nodding. He did not believe for a moment that merely protecting their lands was the only reason, however. "And Quel'Thalas?" he probed.
"Not yet," Nobu'tan replied quickly, "I have a meeting with the Kalimdor Warchief to conduct first. Presuming that I dislike what I hear, I may consider taking our revenge at last, or else we may continue to postpone."
"You are playing a dangerous game between the Elves and the Amani," Lucius said, thinking of the Felblood. They had kept their distance, but the trolls still hated them for their heritage, and did not trust them as much as Nobu'tan did.
"You've heard about Stormwind I trust?" Lucius added casually, "the Dark Irons are mounting another attempt to spur the Alliance against us…"
"They will fail again, whether in the realm of politics or the field of battle, it matters little to me…" Nobu'tan said dismissively.
"I trust that, otherwise, this meets your approval before I implement it for the Horde?" Nobu'tan said, returning their attention to the present.
"It does," Lucius said, "and I do have a personal request…"
Nobu'tan looked at him curiously.
"Narcissa wants our family to go to Theramore for a time, as a public vacation, as well as to spend time with Lady Proudmoore. I suspect that she fancies my son, although I don't know how deep their feelings go…"
"Draco still mourns Pansy in his heart," Nobu'tan said, "and you did not see Jaina the day we slew the Lich King, her former lover… I suspect they merely share similar pain, and are comforted by the understanding."
"Although," the warlock said, tapping a finger to his chin, "I do admit I am quite the foreigner to the concept of romance and love, so who am I to judge what is going on? I see no problems with your family taking time to visit Kalimdor, it would be good for little Aurora to see more of the world."
Lucius nodded, having thought much the same about the precious gem of his life.
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Teron stared at the forsaken expanse of desolate land that housed the tower of Karazhan. Formerly the bastion of the Blightbringer Clan, led by the Death Knight Voldemort, this tower, and all the knowledge and magic within were now held by his Shadowmoon clan.
Normally Teron would have wanted to keep their ancestral lands in Outland, under the spire of the Hand of Gul'dan. However, with the Kalimdor Horde and the Alliance strongholds covering the western portion of the valley, the Ashtongue reclaiming Karabor in the east, and only a Dragonmaw stronghold left displaced to the side there simply was no room for them to return as of yet.
It was difficult not to think that they were being sidelined for the older clans in the reformed Dark Horde, as much as Teron knew that young Nobu'tan still respected him personally. Teron remembered the days of old, when he stood shoulder to shoulder in the seventh circle of the Shadow Council alongside Gul'dan and the other founding members of the Orcish Horde. Now, with the reformation and creation of the Black Harvest, Teron found himself swiftly on the outside of the decision making looking in.
Certainly, he was called upon as an advisor from time to time, but control was firmly in the hands of Nobu'tan and the humans from his homeworld. It was… unpleasant to think of the great fall from standing that he had suffered in the time he had been reborn.
"Such dreadful energies, this place has, doesn't it?" another voice sounded, and Teron turned slowly to regard the Black Harvest warlock that been 'assigned' as a go between for the Shadowmoon and the Stormreavers. Walden Macnair was a sinisterly strange fellow, without any attachments in the form of family, which made him perfect to go on extended missions like serving the chieftain of the Shadowmoon.
"Nothing to which I suspect you are unaccustomed…" he replied, sensing the reek of death, and the revelry in such, upon the man.
In another world, at another time, this man would have been a perfect necrolyte, his embrace of the concept and power that death alone brought meaning that he would have had great talent for the magic evoked by the dead. However, things happened as they did, and there was a warlock here now…
"You should be aware, Lord Teron," Macnair said, "Lord Nobu'tan speaks most highly of you, when I was selected for this assignment. He seems to think that I have opportunity to learn a great deal."
Had the flesh around his mouth still worked properly, Teron may have smiled at that glowing characterization. "Well, I do have a long memory…" he said, "I'm sure I can recall some of the older techniques of the original Stormreaver clan you new generation have forgotten about over the years…"
Turning once more, he regarded the arcane tower. Suddenly, Teron thought it wouldn't be so bad, holding these records and artifacts in trust for the Dark Horde.
It had been a long time since he had instructed pupils on the finer details of being a warlock.
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Thrall waited in the gloom of Demon Fall Canyon, agitation both about the location and for whom he was waiting for threatening to consume him.
The emotions that he felt here, in the place where Grom Hellscream passed away freeing the orcs from the enslavement of Mannoroth were great. Coupling that loss and sorrow with the dread of what the warlock Nobu'tan would have to say when he arrived was not something that Thrall, in all his experience leading the Horde, felt prepared for.
The steadying hand of Cairne suddenly landed on his shoulder, making Thrall smile briefly. The old Tauren had come as his only guard and advisor for this meeting, being the one to inspire it happening in the first place. "He will come," Cairne said reassuringly, somehow knowing one aspect of Thrall's concern. If Nobu'tan did not show up at all, that would be an answer in and of itself, none the pleasant to think of.
Nevertheless, the old bull was confidant, and that warmed Thrall's heart to hope once more. If some measure of peace and comradely could be achieved between the factions of the Horde, perhaps in time the rift between them could be mended, and the Dark Horde would be welcomed into Orgrimmar with open arms.
A flare of the Fel was the first sign heralding the arrival of the Grand Warlock of the Stormreaver Clan, before the part human made his appearance, astride a demonic dreadsteed.
"I must say, your missive came as something of a surprise, Warchief Thrall," Nobu'tan said, dismounting and banishing his steed with a casual wave of his hand, "and to meet here, in the ruins of a Pit Lord's demise no less…"
"This is more than the location of the defeat of Mannoroth…" Thrall said, turning to gesture at the massive stone monument, "This is where Grom Hellscream, hero of the Horde, died to free us from the Legion's control."
Nobu'tan was silent, gazing around the location with new clarity, and then he nodded to Thrall in respect. "I see the symbolism in meeting here, then…"
Turning slightly, he also nodded deeply to Cairne. It often amazed Thrall how easily the old bull could win the respect of so many, just from the combination of his age and peaceful demeanor alone. "Hail, High Chieftain of the Bloodhoof." Nobu'tan said.
"And hail to you, young warlock…" the Tauren replied, leaning on his runespear that often doubled as walking stick, looking very unimposing despite the deadly weapon it was.
"As you no doubt read in my message, I have had to grasp with many things recently," Thrall started, feeling uneasy to say what his heart was feeling out loud. "The Horde, my Horde, is moving in a direction that I fear does not hold a place for me as its leader any longer. My people need a younger leader, one willing to fight our enemies, rather than wait and delay for a more opportune moment."
Nobu'tan waited silently, listening intently as Thrall spoke.
"My first choice was one of the many heroes who died at the Wrathgate, however through some virtue of sense, his sacrifice has led to a new opportunity. I anticipate that soon I will hand the mantle of Warchief over to Garrosh, son of Grom, and take a step back from outright leading the Horde."
"Do you think that wise?" Nobu'tan said after a long moment. "He is not the most even tempered of souls, and clearly knows little of diplomacy or statecraft… he is a warrior, and a good one to be sure, but there is far more to being a leader than that, let alone a respected one…"
"I have been surprised, as of late," Thrall said, "Garrosh has had a massive change of heart since the campaign of Northrend. He is still himself, to be sure, but he is trying valiantly to change, to be more perceptive, and to see what others can teach him. I will not leave him alone to rule the Horde. The best of advisors, including Carine will be on hand for him at all times. And while I plan to take some time to journey myself, I will always be available for the Horde, either Horde, if the need for me arises."
Sadly, that seemed to have little effect on the warlock. "People do not change that quickly," he said coldly, "I hold major reservations toward Hellscream, especially his hatred of my kind."
Thrall had suspected that to be one of the major sticking points. Because of his history, Garrosh still harbored a great resented to the magic of the warlocks. While Thrall was willing to understand that to fight the Legion, sometimes meeting fire with fire was an appropriate course of action, the Mag'har would struggle to hear of any advise in that manner.
"It is something that I plan to work with him on for as much time as I can," Thrall admitted, but Nobu'tan was already shaking his horned head.
"He'll never budge. While I understand where his hatred comes from, it doesn't mean that I will tolerate the vitriol and offenses that he will inevitably give. Mark my words, one way or another, if you make Garrosh Hellscream Warchief, there will be war between our Hordes. Be it the Forsaken, the Elves, or Hellscream himself, it will happen. And he will be just as eager to meet us in battle as I him."
"An event I am dearly hoping that you are incorrect on," Thrall said, his heart still heavy at the stubborn direction that this was going. "But I am firm in my belief that Garrosh is willing and able to change."
"Perhaps," Cairne chimed in, "it would behoove Garrosh's preparations, as well as alleviate Nobu'tan's concerns, to have a representative of the Dark Horde present in Orgrimmar to oversee how Garrosh is progressing, and perhaps even begin an embassy between the Hordes…"
Thrall frowned. As much as he trusted the wisdom of the old Tauren, he did not think that this was one of the better ideas that he suggested. Already, the shaman could see the wheels spinning in the warlock's mind, and he suspected greatly he was debating who of his many servants would goad Garrosh the most, and thereby prove the reservations that he held.
"We could send reports with a Horde representative frequently to accomplish the same," he countered, not wishing to have eyes of the Dark Horde inside his city.
"I wouldn't believe anything that was not by the hand of one I trusted," Nobu'tan said, and Thrall could tell that the orc-raised human felt much the same about one of Thrall's warriors inside Blackrock Mountain.
"Surely there is a neutral party that would be acceptable to both of you, then," Cairne said sagely, seeing through the wordplay that the pair was engaging in.
Nobu'tan looked thoughtful for a moment, and Thrall was surprised to find that the warlockj was actually considering the notion. "Med'an, I would trust his word, and I hear that he is on friendly terms with both you and Garrosh…"
Thrall was not certain how Nobu'tan knew of the son of Garona and Medievh, but it was true that he too trusted the young man. His honesty and clear judgment was well known in the walls of Orgrimmar. The fact that he was a friend of Garrosh was only a bonus to make his observations simpler to have happen.
"I would be amenable to having Med'an return to Orgrimmar in this capacity," he said with a nod.
"It seems that a compromise has been reached then…" Cairne said with finality, gently stamping a hoof to emphasize the point.
"Then I will take my leave. I will send you a missive when I convince Garona to allow her son to return here for this assignment. I trust he will be protected…" Nobu'tan said, starting to turn away slowly to make his way back toward the forest of Ashenvale, "If anything happens to the boy, I will rain fire and ruin upon all those who caused it."
"Do not worry," Thrall replied, "Our Hordes will stand side by side if anyone threatens Med'an. The elements themselves will rise up to swallow any foe that would harm the son of Garona."
Nobu'tan smirked, "Maybe the old bull is right, we aren't a different as looks appear, Thrall… until the next time, then. Hopefully our next meeting will be more like this one, and not across a battlefield…"
"Earth Mother willing…" Cairne replied, and Thrall nodded in agreement.
With a flash of shadow and Fel, the warlock tore a portal open to his domain, and was gone. Thrall let out a gush of air that he was surprised to find he had been holding.
"That was far more pleasant that it could have been," he said to Cairne, who looked ready to chuckle to himself at the actions of the younger leaders. "We have our work cut out for us regarding Garrosh, don't we?"
"That we do, young Warchief… but the Horde will see to its own, and together, we will raise up a worthy leader for us all." Cairne said, although finally Thrall heard the slight saver of doubt in the old Tauren's voice.
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Garona waited for Nobu'tan's return from his supposedly secret meeting with the Kalimdor Horde Warchief. Secretive and sly as the young pup might be, now that he was grown, she had spend many years training him in the arts of guile and subterfuge, and while he was good, there was no doubt in her mind that he enjoyed the dramatic flair too much to ever excel in subtlety.
Thus, when he finally noticed and approached her, magic coalescing around him to diminish the demonic nature of his form to something far more orcish in appearance, she only smirked at him. It was enough to state without words that his need to hide away what he had become was more for personal reasons than the reactions of anyone in the Dark Horde.
Still, the dark gleam in his eye told him that some scheme was unfolding, and she prepared herself for anything. "Where is Med'an, might I ask?" he said quietly, which was one of the last things that Garona expected to hear him asking about.
"With his instructors," she replied, "He is learning to fight with all his magic combined today, even to combat the magic of the Fel…"
"I wish to witness this for myself," Nobu'tan said, starting away from the room, and Garona had to catch herself before falling behind. This abrupt change had to be because of the meeting he had attended. Before departing, the last thing on the Dark Horde's true leader's mind had been logistics and preparing them against any threat outside of their forces.
'He's planning to use my son,' Garona thought, uncertain as to whether she ought to be concerned about that, or proud.
There was a high overlook connected to the chambers that Nobu'tan had claimed, that looked down into the cauldron of the mountain itself, and the hanging platform that had become the sparring arena for the Dark Horde's most elite.
It was there that Med'an, shirtless to avoid staining clothes with sweat or blood, dodged and weaved through the spells and attacks of a host of the most veteran warriors and spellcasters of the Dark Horde.
Flame, frost, and the elements themselves wove around the young part-orc, demolishing the stone constructs that shaman raised up to imitate attacking warriors, or else leapt out to catch and repel attacking spells from all directions.
"He would be a powerful warrior, should he wish to do so," Nobu'tan commented, even as Med'an used a sparking of lightning to pierce through the bolt of shadow that a warlock hurled into the arena at him.
"Med'an has more peaceful ambitions, I suspect," Garona said confidently. The years of war and destruction that had plagued their world, the boy had learned as history from his paternal grandmother, and he wished for far more in his day. It was admirable, if not somewhat idealistic.
"I know of many that I would wish to introduce him to." Nobu'tan said, almost wistfully, "If the next generation were more like your son, there would be great hope for the future."
"Would you be permissible to allow Med'an to perform an act of diplomacy on behalf of both the Dark Horde and the Kalimdor Horde?" Nobu'tan asked suddenly, turning away from the arena and looking at Garona straight on, "something that might make or ruin relations between our factions forever?"
Garona was again taken by surprise. Up until this moment, the way Nobu'tan had carried on, it seemed that war between the factions was inevitable, but now he was changing course, and wanted her son to bridge the gap between both orcish forces. "I would allow it, if you think he is the only person who can accomplish it…"
"I do, as he is the only person both myself and Warchief Thrall trust utterly. He needs only to go to Orgrimmar, and be the eyes and ears, officially, of the Dark Horde, as well as help their future leader, Garrosh Hellscream, temper that rage and hatred that he inherited from his father, so that war does not break out between us by his actions."
Garona saw the implications immediately. Med'an was ideal for this exact scenario, "If he agrees, I will not deny him, or you, in this matter. Peace on our world would be a delight change of pace…"
"If only it were so close a reality, without the threat of the Legion always looming over us…" Nobu'tan agreed, before turning back to watch the arena below. "One final test, and then I wish to ask him," he said, and with a flash teleported away, down to the arena himself.
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Med'an panted as he fought for his life.
Very early into his time at Blackrock Mountain, he had discovered the stark difference in the targeted applications of magic in the Dark Horde, opposing the Kalimdor Horde and the Alliance. While the latter factions tried to incorporate the magic of their people into everyday life, while accepting the fact that they had combative uses, the Dark Horde embraced magic as a weapon first.
Several High Warlocks, towering ogre shaman, and even a few troll witch doctors lined the outside of the arena, throwing occasional spells or other constructs and elementals at him, shouting commands and drills into him day upon day, until now he contended with the greatest of their spells with ease. Aetish blazed in his hand, and the call of the elements crackled from the raven-crowned head of the staff as he blasted the stone golems and elementals.
Shattering the last golem with a thunderous blast, Med'an sagged, sweat pouring down his bare back as the older casters around him applauded and muttered their approval.
A flare of the demonic Fel had Med'an whirling however, his nerves on edge, honed by the intense battle training that had been hammered into him.
"You've surpassed every report I have received, Med'an, and there is but one trial left before you are deemed a master of all the magic we have to offer here for you…" Lord Nobu'tan said, appearing before him, the demonic orcish appearance firmly enforced around him. Med'an had an inkling of what the man actually looked like, but he did not speak of it, knowing that it was not his place to reveal what was clearly hidden for all others.
The Grand Warlock shrugged out of his outer drop, which was gathered by one of those at the arena's edge, and stepped forward, allowing the Fel magic to build around him.
Even though he knew in the back of his mind he knew that the Lord of the Dark Horde wouldn't go so far to actually kill him, there was no doubt in his mind that if he didn't fight with his all, tired or not, then he would be mercilessly injured.
Raising Aetish, he drew upon the power that opposed the Fel so drastically: the Light. Striking out with the opposing power, Med'an met Nobu'tan initial attack head on, the Fel forming claws as it battered the shaped Light that he wielded with Aetish.
"You've trained the artifact to harness even the Light, I'm impressed…" Nobu'tan said, "But how will you handle what depths of darkness I can command?"
The flames extinguished, but the shadows grew, long and dark in response to the singing Light that Me'dan had to bear. "A touch, a taste, a wisp of what the Void and their minions could possibly bring…" Nobu'tan said, the hatred for the magic in his own voice.
The cold magic stretched forward like choking claws, and Med'an realized that any aggressive fighting was fruitless. He had to endure this, survive, and prove that he could defend himself from the wost that existed out in Azeroth.
This was the test.
A shield of Light slammed into place around Nobu'tan, reinforced by the power of the elements, as well as the Arcane. The darkness of Nobu'tan's magic raked across the shield, and Med'an felt power being stripped away by the hunger of the near-void magic.
He knew that he could not survive just by being defensive. The teachers of the Dark Horde had emphasized that the only way to truly defend oneself was to have an impressive offensive to keep threats at arm's length.
However, against an onslaught that the Grand Warlock could unleash, it took all that Med'an had just to keep his shield up and think of his options. Glancing to the sides, he spotted the rubble from the fallen golems, and sent a quick and powerful call to the elements that were part of the stone around him.
The stone flew outward, striking Nobu'tan in the shoulder, but the distractions was just enough for Med'an to dodge to the side, sending the torrents of void cascading into the ground behind him. Swinging Aetish wide, he released an arc of razor sharp ice, which sliced through the air before being shattered by a blast of Felflame.
"Using the environment to aid you, wise," the Warlock said, drawing the wooden wand from another world, "but how will you deal with powers you know little of?"
Med'an had little time before a barrage of the strangest feeling magic he had every sensed came flying at him. The faint arcane tint to them had him raising a barrier of the purple magic, and many of the spells were absorbed or reflected off the surface of the shield.
With the other hand not holding the Greatstaff, Med'an pulled on the Light, mending the small wounds of the diminished spells that still made it through his shield, cuts and small burns healing quickly. Still, he was back in his previous position, stuck weathering the attacks with seemingly no end.
However, glancing at Nobu'tan, where he expected to see a determination and ruthlessness to show him his place, instead he saw a calculated observation, as though the Grand Warlock was waiting for him to figure out some sort of puzzle that was only a single move away from falling into place.
Studying what was happening, the young spellcaster studied the magic that was washing over his barrier, and how Aetish was reacting to it. The staff of his father was humming with a resonance, knowing this magic even if Med'an did not. That was when he decided to do something rash. He turned his will over to the staff, allowing Aetish to guide him.
The shield dropped instantly. The magic came flying at him, but his hand holding the staff moved on its own, gathering the magic like a lightning rod, and spiraling it together like flowing water in the air.
Nobu'tan ceased attacking instantly, even as the orb of magic swelled around the raven crown of Aetish.
"Magnificent…" Nobu'tan said, lowing his weapon as Med'an allowed his staff to feast on the magic, draining it to nothingness.
Looking over at the Grand Warlock, Med'an saw him glancing at some of the other illusioned humans that were radiating similar magic to the leader of the Dark Horde. Whatever they were discussing without words, it seemed some agreement was reached, before Nobu'tan turned back to Med'an. "You are ready for the dangers of the outside world…"
"Thank you, Lord Nobu'tan," Med'an said, keeping his confusion repressed for the time being.
"Come with me, we have matters to discuss, both regarding your time here, and an opportunity to spend time back with the Kalimdor Horde in a diplomatic role for both Hordes." The warlock said, leading Med'an back to the upper floors of Blackrock after requiring his outer robe.
Curious, he followed, only growing more intrigued when their path led back to his mother, who was smiling with pride at him.
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Varian needed to exert every ounce of patience to survive this resurgence of insanity.
The Dark Iron representatives, with Princess Moira herself heading the contingent from Ironforge, now backed by several of the more prominent members of the Stormwind aristocracy, where were more than desirous to profit from a fresh conflict so close to their lands.
The idea that his own nobles were willing to try and profit off the misery of their people so soon after the end of Northrend sickened Varian, but there was little that he could do to silence them without evoking the ire of the dwarves.
It seemed as though the Dark Irons had at last found the leverage they needed to force the Alliance to fight for their own ends, or at least start to challenge the stranglehold that the Dark Horde had over their lands.
"It is only just," the Princess was stating, "that formal allies of the Dwarves, all clans now, set forth as soon as reasonably possible to call the Dark Horde to atone for their utter destruction of the home of the Dark Iron Dwarves, not to mention the slaying of many Bronzebeard and Wildhammer in their rampages across the Eastern Kingdoms."
The muttering across the assemble nobility of the Nation of Stormwind was disquieting. Even as King, he could be pressured if the entirty of the leading vassals and knight-commanders decided to force his hand, and with the charismatic Dark Iron Regent working her magic over them, it seemed that it was inevitable.
"My apologies, Lady Tharussian, but I fail to see how you can justify this course of action…" another voice rang out across the assembly.
Guards parted as Lord and Lady Malfoy appeared from the entrance of the Keep, the Lady stepping forward while her husband held their young daughter in his arms.
"Was it not the Dark Irons who had long attacked their own kin, as well as the members of the Alliance before the Dark Horde finally forced your people from the mountain?" Lady Narcissa challenged, stepping forward until she stood before Vairan's throne across from Moira.
"What allegiance do we have to the Dark Irons, I must ask, when they were until very recently, also our enemies?" she added, sending a ripple through the assembled dwarves at the implication.
While he feared for the ramifications of directly calling out the Regent of the Dark Irons, Varian was secretly very pleased for some ally in his desperate time to delay the madness that might fall between the factions.
"Additionally," Narcissa continued, turning to the nobles of Stormwind, "have we not had record enough of the strength of the Dark Horde, who singlehandedly assaulted the Black Temple of Outland, and fought countless battles with numbers and weapons that the Alliance cannot hope to counter as of yet? Do we want to challenge such a force when they are already on relatively peaceful terms with us, in direct spite of past actions and attitudes? Do we want a return to the raiding and assaults of days long forgotten?"
That set another round of mutters among the nobles, reminding them of the destruction that their lands and properties had taken in the past.
"Simply because the Dark Horde has been biding their time, fighting in Outland and Northrend, doesn't mean that they've changed their ways," Moira countered, all inkling of irritation invisible on her face, as prim and proper as her station warranted, "It will not be long before they venture another assault. Whether it is to the Horde's territory in the north or one of our lands, who is to say, and how can we take a passive stance in light of such a clear and present threat."
"If we choose to take a hostile stance toward the Dark Horde, how else can we expect them to react but to target us?" Narcissa interjected, cutting off the next round of reactions from the nobles before it could get started.
"We cannot trust them with their previous actions, we must see to the defense of the Alliance at all costs, even the hope of peace with those who have willingly shown great aggression and violence. Even by your own admission, they assaulted factions in Outland that they had little connection to… unless you have information that the rest of us lack about the motives of the Dark Horde…"
Whether that line of accusation fazed Narcissa, Varian wouldn't know, as another figure entered the hall, drawing all attention to her imposingly tall form.
"Lady Tyrande…" Varian said, surprised as the Night Elf leader entered the throne room without any fanfare whatsoever.
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The air was different within the Undercity.
Sylvanas could feel the changing of the world, with the revelations and understanding that had been gifted to her, alongside the new servants that would forever alter the path of the Forsaken.
The Valkyr, formerly minions of the Lich King Arthas, now were bound to her, through pledges that extended beyond the veil of life and death, and through them, she would finally have the strength that she needed to fend off the Dark Horde, and whoever else threatened her control over Tirisfal and the rest of the former nation of Lordaeron.
Nathanos, as well as some of her Dark Rangers, were giving her strange looks from time to time, but eventually they would stop taking note of how different Sylvanas was acting. After all, they were free from the threat of the Scourge, and their long revenge had finally been taken.
She had seen the purposes to which her people would be turned to, and in time her vision would become the guiding light that the Forsaken desperately needed in their hour of darkness.
She had seen, as well as heard the rumors circulating outward from Orgrimmar: Garrosh Hellscream would be the future leader of the Horde, and while she had little trust and care for the Mag'har, with him came opportunity.
They would be required to go back to the offensive, and Sylvanas intended there to be warriors and to spare for their assaults south, back through the now heavily contested Silverpine and even through the Greymane wall into the nation of Gilneas.
That said, she was not about to let the Dark Horde lie easy with the victories they had held over her for so many years. While their strongest weapon was now stolen from them, the blight all but banned from their use, there were other ways to achieve what she desired. And now with the ability to raise new Forsaken with perfect recollection of their former live, rather than mindless Scourge, she could acquire the talent that she required to pierce the walls of Greymane and Thoradin.
Already her Dark Rangers were picking their way south to their targets, to eliminate and bring them back to the Undercity, to be raised as her new artisans and saboteurs… Edwin VanCleef may have been a formidable engineer, but he was no warrior, and therefore would fall easily to the arrows of her Rangers.
It was at last the hour of the Forsaken, and Sylvanas was going to make sure that all that opposed them were slaughtered.
