You know, one the one hand, I was getting to live in Warcraft. On the other hand, I had to live in the Warcraft universe. You know, up and downsides, as there were for everything. On the one hand, my goals, such as it were, could be considered fairly simple. I had to get my hands on as many dragons as possible, for the noble goal of template and heritage creation apparently. As it stood, Azeroth had at least five flights that could be used for a number of orders. From the more mundane to the... interesting, it was not like there was a lack of targets.

But, there was one fairly annoying catch. I was not being inserted into the time period of the games, no, that would be way to simple. I was getting dropped into the time of the War of the Ancients. Which meant that things could get... interesting. Particularly if I was caught early on, due to not having loaded up on all the defences, my capture method being Tantric Arts... and the fact that I had inserted as the Warlock Netherlord, now with added elf flavor. Not quite like the infamous hunter Illidan Stormrage, but similar social circles in a fashion.

Granted, here was the thing. On the one hand, I needed points. On the other hand? I actually had some time before the whole war itself kicked off. Not very long, but I had a plan. It was not really a good plan, but it was what I had, as I spoke the words and made the incantations, luring another felhound through... and promptly got itself pummeled into submission. Not by me, but by the Ancient of Lore I had bound fairly early on. Yes, it did mean that some people looked at Deeproot with curiosity given his continued association with me, but thing is?

People trusted ancients, even ones that were getting a little interested in dark and twisted arts. It made things easier, as I checked to see how many hounds and bats I had. Because that was the thing. I got a point per capture of the Fel Stalkers and Felbats, with four more per sale. Still, it took me ten minutes to call them one at a time into the trap, and then they were subdued and locked into the prisons. Ten hours per day devoted to the ritual incantations, plus the few moments it took Deeproot to subdue them and the 'assistants' (read, human slaves) to drag them into the cages added up to eleven hours.

And then came the final two hours. Of channeling the rites after taking a cup and anointing each of the demons in turn as I spoke the words of binding, as I forced them to submit via spell and chain, slaves dragging them to 'kneel' with the chains attached to collars. Somewhat overkill yes, But all of this had a point as the rite ended and they howled, tendrils of energy flowing into a crystal as they were sold.

Because I was not just using this as a farm, sending a hundred and eighty Fel Stalkers and a hundred and eighty felbats to the blood war each week. No, rather this was all in preparation for the weekly event... and the main reason WHY I had Illidan's backing. And why I was going to need to hide my ass out after the Sundering. Because there was an option that made me... useful. Oh, to be sure, he was working on his own methods, but I provided him with ten demon hunters a week and in return I had an ally.

Granted, not one that actually DID that much, even as he claimed to be keeping the eyes of the resistance and highborne alike away from me. Yeah, I had doubts about how far his influence really stretched, given what my demon hunters were reporting to me. He still managed to provide a cover, so frankly, I did not mind all that much. It was an understanding, and it would have to be enough. Which of course is why a sudden visit from his crush and brother was... annoying. And mildly terrifying for several reasons.

Malfurion Stormrage

They had tracked the origin of the Demon Hunters to this locale, in the peaks and forests of the south. Thankfully away from the Zandalari Trolls, but uncomfortably close in other respects. Truth be told it made sense, due to the fact that it was isolated and remote, a place that could avoid the easy gaze of those closer to the heartlands of the empire, even as the demons continued to surge. In several respects, the warriors that seemed to share so much in common with their enemies disturbed him to no little end. They were becoming the very demons they fought, even as they feasted on the blood and souls of the invaders, keeping them from reforming as swiftly.

But in the aftermath, if they won, if the mad gambits they had worked... what then? Could those touched by the demonic magics know peace, or were they already lost to the bloodlust? Would they end up corrupting everything around them, twisting and defiling nature like their prey of choice? He did not know, and so he sought answers, particularly with his brother defecting. His dark warriors however, had remained and seemed to have mixed feelings for their commander.

But, was it a ruse? He was not sure... even as an Ancient moved about the vale, the leaves and shape suggesting an ancient of lore. A weight dropped from him as he considered this and moved towards the ancient, Deeproot he thought their name was. The ancient who was talking to someone that was practically a demon themselves. One who on noticing him? "Oh, no. Not only no, but fuck no. If I have told Illidan once, I have told him a thousand times, I am NOT getting involved in whatever family feud thing you two have going on."

He paused. "What are you?"

The man, who stank of the arcane and fel, gestured roughly. "Look. I don't care about whatever problems you two have, or which of you two end up with Whisperwind. It is none of my business." Now, the ancient was smirking a little, and one bush was giggling. "I just study magic and perform the rituals that make the demon slayers. And before you ask why? Oh, I wonder why having an army of demons invade, killing everyone and the world would be a bad idea. Its almost as if I live here and would rather not have my soul be consumed."

That made a great deal of sense, even as he narrowed his eyes. "And they would not spare those of you that served them if they won?"

Now that made the elf in front of him... actually, he was choking himself from the laugher, forced onto the ground. "Oh wait." He was wheezing, and truth be told? It was mildly insulting. 'You are being serious." He proceeded to laugh even harder. Frankly, that told him a great deal, narrowing his eyes. "Tell me, does the phrase, 'useful idiots' make sense to you?"

Sadly, it did not take a great leap to figure out exactly what he meant by that, even as an arrow of moonligh landed between the fel-touched elfs legs. "Tell me." Oh, Tyrande was upset. "Why are there life sized dolls of me in your workshop? Ones that seem to be able to speak phrases in my voice?"

The male stilled under a pair of glares, sweat clearly visible. "Because there are some people willing to pay the dolls weight in gold for them and I needed funding for my work?"

Another arrow, this one a little closer to his crotch as he spoke. "And the one that looks to be a replica of Mulfurion? And has those..." His love shivers, and all of a sudden his outrage is replaced by unease. "Phrases?"

The elf they were interrogating gulped. "Would you believe that Maiev Shadowsong commissioned that one?" His mind blanked as he looked at them... and as the elf said something... and started to flee, narrowly dodging arrows as he vanished. He pointedly did not listen to his love about 'how dare he not offer HER one' as they entered into his workshop, a laughing ancient at their backs.

For some reason, he had the feeling that the things relating to the demons would be the least troublesome. He was proven correct.