Dreanor, a land of clashing giants and savage bounty. It is from here that the Orich Horde emerged to ravage Azeroth. Even when it was torn asunder by reckless magic, fragments of its former brutal splendor could be found among the ruins. It was not until Garrosh Hellscream, along with rogue members of the bronze dragonflight, ventured into an alternate past and formed the Iron Horde that the full scope of that world was made clear to all. And yet, in this alternate timeline, there are not just the expected old foes reimagined and expanded. There are not just new enemies. No, there are also new legends and terrors.
And in Shadowmoon Valley, long before Gul'dan would corrupt and sunder the orcs ties to the elements, has risen something grand in his size, terrible in his implications and awesome in his power. According to legend, he climbed the howling crag and dared the furies of the storm to strike him down and devoured them when they failed and his great cyclopean eye radiates with secrets stolen from the night stars. A storm rages from his heart, even as the ogres claim that the glowing marks on his skin are that of Dreanors leylines. The Draenei speak of him as a brooding presence, always watching as the thunder booms and rain falls.
He is Mallog the Storm Tyrant, greatest of the free Gronn. An enchanter, a smith, a mage and dark shaman combined with the body of a hulking half-stone demigod, it is a wonder why the Iron Horde never managed to find him. But then, he was rumored to have several lairs, from the inside of the Howling Crag, to a mystic cave in the depths of the Zangar sea or any number of out of the way caves or mountain peaks.
Others claim he is long dead, eaten by a rival, or destroyed in a reckless bid for elemental power beyond his ability to harness. And yet, as the Iron Tide rises, so does the storm gather over what is seen as his traditional stomping grounds in the space between Shadowmoon Valley and the Spires of Arak. Many a Shadowmoon orc has claimed to feel a presence watching them as they perform their rituals and they are increasingly wary of speaking of their lore while a thunderstorm rages. The presence of glowing runes freshly carved into the hills does nothing to relive their fears.
Gul'Var was completely overrun, and not by anything Razuun had any experience with. To be sure, at first glance they were a crude and simple form of Vigilants, but imbued with elemental power. Lightning rippled along iron and stone flesh and was unleashed from crude axes and polearms. Magma erupted where they were struck, melting weapons that froze and sealed over the cracks. They were tireless, they were relentless... and they were tearing the souls from his minions as they came! Which meant that they were being used for something, and that he should follow them.
Yet, the driving rain blocked easy sight and tracking, the winds howling and screaming to deafen and drown out orders, even as he chanted and invoked the spells given to him by his master. Frankly, they needed to flee, or failing that, they needed one of the higher ranking members of the Shadow Council here that could bring enough power to bear. Even as the world ripped and shadows came through, maws snapped and sniffing at the magic in the air, he could admit in the privacy of his own thought that this could not have come at a worse time.
Exarch Othaar had ordered him to hold Gul'Var and to keep quiet for the moment aside from training the orcs under his command and making ready for when they would strike at the dark portal to free Gul'dan... or more likely, to place the Exarch at the helm of the Shadow Council. Losing the outpost would not go well for him, and yet, even as the felhounds emerged, there was not much he could do at the moment. And then he noticed the ground shaking. It was not an earthquake, but the shaking of large and heavy footsteps, the tread of a giant.
He threw himself back. It was the only thing that saved his life as a pillar of lighting slammed down where had stood, evaporating the demons he had called and revealing the monster in all his terrifying glory. What was there to say, other than the beast clad itself in the crystals of the deep, while shrouded in a corona of electricity? That monster that carried an oversized lightning rod for a staff in one hand, as fingers almost as thick as his body closed around the draenei, lifting him into the air and before an eye that smoldered with the rage of heaven and earth.
Fear clutched his heart, as the giant spoke. "Razuun of the shadow council." The fingers tightened, a grip to squeeze and crush, driving the breath from his lungs, as that eye burned with dark amusement. "I expected... more." The words hurt as much as the grip, before there was a squeeze and a jerk, spine and neck breaking. It killed him instantly... and yet, why was he still aware? Why was he being drawn into a single point? The realization his soul was being trapped, harvested as he did so many others made the proud sorcerer's soul scream, for all the good it did.
And so it was, when Gul'dan escaped the dark portal, he came to his planned base of operations, only to find it a smouldering and storm tossed wreck with nothing of value or use left. He swore revenge, as he left, that the one who so hindered some of his plans would pay. And in the coming weeks, amid the chaos of the The Stormborn making their impact known across the conflict, he would gain a target and further setbacks to his plans.