Much thanks to those who added reviews to the growing collection Stormreaver boasts! As a note of update, on the writing front, the Vanilla Arc is entering its final stages, and soon I hope to commence the events of The Burning Crusade, and the next arc of the story. Enjoy the next chapters! ~F

Chapter Seventy Four

Dish Best Served Cold

Onyxia was growing very agitated. The battle up above was more than she had expected, and the fact that the Horde of all factions had arrived to prevent her escape was unfathomable to her.

"It seems that your plan has come crumbling around you…" Lady Malfoy said, sitting still prim and properly amid the several days she had been trapped here. The small flashes of magic Onyxia had sensed clearly were something to the effect of cleaning and household spells. How such a complete stranger had mastered such rare magic was not known to the black brood mother, and yet still she looked the same as when she had arrived.

"Silence…" Onyxia snarled, listening carefully to the movement above, and growing more concerned. She could hear that her dragonspawn were being pushed back to the cavern entrance. Typically she would have used her magic to escape, teleport out and to somewhere safe, but her magic was tied to the earth of this very cave, and while she used to be able to also transport herself to another of her direct family, Nefarian was dead now, and while she had whelps and dragonspawn that were of her clutch, none were strong enough to handle her using them to transport herself, her eggs, and whatever dragonspawn remained from here to Blackrock Mountain.

Still, she was doing what she could, having dragonspawn subtly shifting what eggs they could into the deepest part of the caverns, and hiding to guard them if and when the fighting came to her location.

"I will not be taken like some animal in a trap!" Onyxia bellowed, her voice rocking the caves all around her. If she was going to be forced to fight to protect her own children, then she will go up to battle and fight in the open.

Rising up to her feet, she started forward, bellowing out her challenge against those that dared to stand against her.

Before she even reached the exit of her chamber however, the dragonspawn that were guarding there turned and fell back, arrows and spears flying from around the bend at them, even as an armored host of orcs, side by side with humans, flooded in.

"Onyxia!" Varian Wrynn, both of them, shouted as the pair of Kings strode to the front of the united front of Horde and Alliance troops.

It was impossible; there was no way that they arrived so swiftly, on top of joining forces with the Horde to do so. But there, in the green flesh, was Thrall himself, the massive hammer held loosely in his hand, allowing the leader of the Alliance to have his moment in the front.

"Varian Wrynn," Onyxia growled, wings spreading to reach toward the high ceiling, and lowering her body defensively, tail coiling threateningly toward where Lady Malfoy resided. "You and your force will come no closer, or she dies!" the Dragoness threatened.

There was another small burst of magic, accompanied by a popping sound, and Onyxia glared back, only for her eyes to widen in horror as Lady Malfoy was no longer there, in her clutches. "You will find that holding onto one of us is far more difficult than you could have imagined," the young man, Malfoy's son, said from the side of the two kings.

And indeed, Onyxia spotted Lady Malfoy at the rear lines of the vanguard, being taken care of by several alliance soldiers, while Horde grunts kept a protective watch around them for any interference.

But that was not the only thing that the crafty and keen eyes of the brood mother spotted. Near to the smart-mouthed Malfoy heir stood another, one who could easily exert great control over the King of Stormwind. What possessed the two kings to bring their son to a battleground was not of her concern, but it was an advantage that she couldn't pass up.

"If my line is to end here!" she roared, rearing upward and aiming her great maw directly at the boy, "then yours will cease here to, Varian!"

Magic and fire poured forth from her jaws, mixed in with the very spell she had used to separate Varian in the first place. She already knew exactly what would happen, even as it did.

Both King's turned to see their son as the target of her breath, and leapt in the way of her fury, even as the Malfoy heir threw up a magical barrier around young Anduin, shielding him from the wrath of the Black Dragoness.

Both kings were engulfed in the shadow flames, and quickly Onyxia tried to perform the final portion of the spell that she had been interrupted in so long ago, eliminating the being known as Lo'Gosh and leaving the shell of a docile Varian behind.

But something happened, a shining light emerged from the darkness of her breath, and Onyxia was startled into inaction, even as the glow intensified.

The swords in the two Kings' hands drew together, even as the stood shoulder to shoulder in one cause, and fused. In a flash of brilliant light, which even the black dragon had to look away from, there stood a single Varian, whole once more, with a sword in hand, born of the twin blades he had previous wielded.

"Your magic is undone!" the man cried, charging forward with the sword upheld. Onyxia slashed with her claws, unable to believe such a thing was possible, even as the other champions and heroes in the united army surged forward after the King of Stormwind to engage her.

Even amid the painful stings of their magic and steel, Onyxia took great pleasure in swiping the upstart Jaina Proudmoore with her tail, sending the little sorceress flying into the stone walls of her chamber.

Taking swiftly to the air, the black dragon sent a jet of shadow-fire down on the entrance, sealing off the immediate area of her lair, and preventing more reinforcements from entering to help their precious leaders.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the Horde Warchief had prepared to counter her ability of flight. A hailstorm of spears flew at her from the moment she lifted off, and even with the vents of heated steam keeping her aloft, there was little she could do to protect herself from the barbed points of the weapons.

Landing once more with a shuddering crash, she waded back into the fray, lashing out with claws, teeth, wing and tail, knocking about countless warriors and surely causing a great deal of death and carnage with her strikes.

Varian pushed his way to the front once more, and Onyxia smirked inwardly as she lowered her head to end him once and for all. Her great maw open, she took in a deadly breath, preparing to launch a final deadly assault of flames directly at the King of Stormwind.

However, she had miscalculated the speed of the much smaller ruler. Varian seemed to disappear with how quickly he approached Onyxia, and before she could alter the trajectory of her flames, he was upon her, the vile elven sword stabbing down into her skull.

Onyxia let out a wail of pain, rearing back and her flame launching harmlessly into the air, even as Varian drove the blade in deeper, cutting effortlessly through her toughened scales. The flames of the weapon burned even the Black Dragon, and soon it was over. The blade stabbed into something that it ought not to have, and Onyxia knew no more.

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Draco watched as Varian, the newly reunited King, leapt atop Onyxia's skull and drove his blade deep into the cavity of the beast, slaying her near instantly.

The dragon went slack, its head and limbs collapsing under their great weight with a shudder throughout the chamber.

Even as the warriors surrounding him cheered, Draco pushed his way to the back of the chamber, and the entrance where his mother had apparated to escape Onyxia's clutches when they first arrived. Banishing the black dragon fire with a wave of his wand, Draco engulfed his mother into his arms, never wishing to let her go again, and knowing that despite appearances, she had to have been frantic with worry of what was transpiring since she was taken.

Checking her over quickly, Draco asked carefully, "the Dragon didn't do anything to you? The baby is fine, right?" he said, growing more desperate for answers by the second.

"I am fine, my son," Narcissa answered, batting his questions aside and revealing the calm strength that Draco had known from her for a long time, "Onyxia did nothing to me while I was here, and the baby is safe, although I am somewhat hungry…"

Draco didn't even have the chance to turn and call for food to be provided. The surrounding footmen had already dug into the small pouches that they wore, and pulled forth bread, cheese, some fruit and even almonds, all offering them to Draco and his mother.

Anduin had drawn close as well, standing protectively near to Narcissa even as the footmen started to move, admitting the form of King Varain. The King, now a single being no longer affected by the sorcery that had physically split him into two, plunged the newly made sword into the stone nearby, before kneeling before Narcissa.

The only reaction that Draco spotted was his mother turning ever so slightly away from the blood flowing down the blades of the weapon, but otherwise she smiled at the King of Stormwind. "You are safe now, my Lady," Varian stated, offering Narcissa his hand, "the dragon is slain and there is none of her oppressive offspring that will leave this cavern once we are finished with it."

"Thank you, your Majesty," Narcissa replied, slowly rising to her feet with the King's aid, "But all I desire is to return home to what I know as familiar, and rest."

"This ordeal must have been hard on you, I understand," Varian replied. Turning to the surrounding guard, he charged them with seeing to Narcissa's every need, and ordered them to escort her, Draco, and Anduin back to the ship. The young prince flushed at being recognized as present, but his father paid the young boy little attention; even as Draco spotted him turn to face the hulking form of the armored Warchief of the Horde.

Of anyone in the gathering, it was this orc that Draco feared the most. The sharpness of his blue eyes and the crackle of magic around him was so powerful and yet foreign to him, that Draco wasn't sure what he could expect from such a caster. He had witnessed the power of similar magic in Merlin long ago, and that had been both inspiring and frightening at the same time.

But the guards were quick to fulfill their duty, and Draco found himself escorted away, alongside his mother and the young prince, out of sight of the leaders of both Alliance and Horde.

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Varian, King of Stormwind, Son of Llane, turned to face Thrall of the Horde, and suppressed the rage of Lo'Gosh from wanting to fight the ancient enemy of his kingdom once again. Now that he was whole again, there were many memories he had to sort through, but for the time being, he wanted nothing more than to put this matter behind them, and depart. That required; however, dealing with the Horde and the role that they had played in allowing this battle to go as smoothly as it had.

"I must thank you, I suppose, for all that you've done, and promised, Thrall…" he said, forcing the words out of his throat.

It was difficult, after all that the orcs had done to his people, his family, and his race as a whole, to come to terms with the fact that the green-skinned creatures were victims in their own right, pawns that had been used by the demons to do their bidding, and by all rights not in complete control of themselves at the time. But old hatreds burned slowly, and it was hard for Varian to even look at Thrall without remembering the black day that his father was killed, and the keep of Stormwind set to ruin.

"The Horde will honor whatever pact they make, whomever they make one with," the Warchief said, the nobility and honor paramount in his words.

"I know that the peace summit at Theramore never took place, because of the interference of the Dragon," Varian added, casting a loathing glare at the carcass, even as his men were hard at work removing the head of the great beast to display over the ramparts of Stormwind, a constant reminder that their power was not to be ignored by anyone, great or small.

"I would be honored to attend, if we were to set forth for them once again," Thrall stated, "As would most of the other leaders of the Horde…"

Varian wondered who wouldn't be included in such a talk, out of the leaders, as he figured that most of the representative of the Horde were already present, but his head was throbbing from the din of battle, and the magic that had been used on him throughout, "Yes, I will send word to you through Lady Proudmoore, I hear that she has great ability to get in contact with you when the need arises," he added, smirking slightly, even as the Sorceress passed by them.

A priest had seen to her injuries, but nothing would stop the smirk of approval on her face as she glanced at the King and the Warchief speaking together.

"Yes, she has done everything in her power to promote the peace that this world so desperately needs," Thrall said to her credit.

"Until then, Warchief," Varian stated, pulling away and starting toward the entrance.

"Until that day, King of Stormwind…" Thrall replied.

Varian pushed through the pain as long as he could, and that got him all the way to the cabin on his ship, before he collapsed on the bed there for him, the sheer exhaustion and agony of battle catching up to him in full force. Torrents of memories from his twin selves flooded in, of Lady Prestor manipulating him, to vicious bouts in the gladiator pits. He knew in his mind that such events had happened simultaneously to each of his personas, but his mind was still trying to categorize them under a single person.

Soon enough he simply passed out from the pain, although from the troubled dreams that he had, he could tell that the process continued even as he slumbered.

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Voldemort wasn't terribly surprised that Nathanos was more than capable of picking the locks holding the small portcullises in place to their location, but more upon what they found within the first court of the city that they entered upon.

The vast hordes of mindless undead minions milled about with little to no purpose aside from clogging their path, and even the pair of sentient undead had no cover from their ravening hunger. The zombies and ghouls fell upon them with reckless abandon, not that it availed them, as Voldemort quickly established a barrier of unlife around them, forcing the mindless wrenches back from them, even as Nathanos unleashed a storm of arrows from a pair of hidden crossbows.

One of the corpses, seemingly more aware than the others, started to flee from the courtyard as the pair pressed their way into the center of the square, screaming loudly, "Intruders at the Service Gate! Lord Rivendare must be warned!"

"Let it rant, the fools won't do enough good to stop us before we complete our mission," Nathanos said, directing Voldemort to a large gate on the western side of the square, opposite the small chapel that was there.

"This is the Festival lane of the city," the undead ranger informed Voldemort, even as they smashed their way through more risen shambles, "we need to circle north, through the Market Row and across that way. The entrance will be too heavily guarded to risk that route."

"As you wish," Voldemort said irritably, launching another blast of magic to send a pair of leaping ghouls flying.

It was almost pathetically too easy to eliminate the small packs of undead, but Nathanos wouldn't allow Voldemort to push too far too quickly, just in case they were overrun by a sudden swarm. Personally, the former Dark Lord was hoping for just that outcome.

They were about to cross to the northern street, passing under a pair of small partitions, when a chill crept through the air, heralding the appearance of a massive specter. The phantom wailed, reaching out icy blue fingers to Voldemort, but the Dark Lord sent a hasty trio of spells back, catching and forcing back the monster from its attempt to grapple him.

Nathanos worked diligently to keep the mindless hordes from encircling them as Voldemort fought off the ghost, raining bolts infused with dark magic upon their rotten heads even as the blade that Voldemort pillaged from Blackrock Mountain made its appearance at last, flashing brightly in the gloom of the city.

Despite its incorporeal nature, the ghost seemed to recoil when struck with the blade; therefore, Voldemort used it to the best of his ability, swinging it one-handed, while the jeweled scepter remained clutched in his other.

Finally, with a powerful upward swing, he knocked the creature's seeking arms into the air, and jabbed his truncheon into the being's center, allowing all the power of death surge through the crystal, absorbing the soul of his enemy into himself, willing it to make him stronger.

The tactic worked, and with a piercing wail, the specter vanished, the jewel atop his scepter shimmering brightly and infusing Voldemort with the power over the dead that the ghost commanded. With a roar of fury, Voldemort felt power surge through him, and the vocal sounds became a deadly force, knocking back the surrounding dead and shattering many of them as they impacted walls or other obstacles.

"Come, we cannot linger for too long," Nathanos said, leading the way into the oncoming tide of undead, and Voldemort followed, noticing silently that the will of the Banshee had diminished with his increase of power. Not so much that he could shake her off, but enough that, in time, he could absorb more foes to achieve that happy desire.

And if he could shrug off the influence of a possessing spirit, what more would he need to do to remove the ties of binding that existed between him and Potter… the prospects were limitless, and clearly so was his power.

Still, it was a technique that he had to keep to himself, not even address within his own mind, for fear that the banshee would prevent it from happening again, but for the time being it seemed that she was dormant, so long as he obeyed the will of Sylvanas Windrunner, and kept her in respectful thoughts.

A simple enough task for the time being, even though the thought of groveling at another's feet grated on Voldemort's nerves. Pressing forward through the street, he took out his murderous thoughts on the rotting forms of his immediate foes, relishing the squelch of flesh and the crunch of bone as they sped through to their destination, the courtyard beyond the Market Row.

Voldemort could sense the living beyond that point, where boxes and other materials had been piled in a pathetic attempt at a barricade. The weakless in their fortifications was apparent by the fact that those scarlet crusaders within were already locked in combat with more of the mindless scourge.

Sneaking through the melee wouldn't be an option, as Voldemort spotted that the crusaders still had fresh troops guarding the entrance of their large compound beyond; however, there was a third option.

Seizing his newfound powers over the undead, Voldemort stood tall and powerfully, exerting his will and dominion over the mindless locked in combat with the crusaders. The zombies and ghouls froze momentarily, even as their will was torn from another source and given over to Voldemort.

"Fight!" Voldemort commanded, allowing his own rage and madness surge through his new minions, compelling them to greater feats of strength. They leapt through the air, converging on the magi and priests of the crusaders, fighting like madden dogs, even as Voldemort strode toward the citadel of the Crusade.

"A Death Knight!" they cried, turning to flee back into their fortress. Voldemort was quick to start his pursuit, but the humans slammed shut the gates of their bastion, even as a ear-splitting cry was heard from the south, as well as the grate of metal being smashed out of the way.

"TIMMY!" roared a ghoulish monstrosity, lumbering forward with a skull-crowned mace in hand.

"You've got to be kidding me…" Nathanos said blandly, turning his attention and his weapons upon the creature, even as the massive ghoul charged at the pair of them.

Voldemort almost turned away, in favor of battering down the doors while the undead ranger handled the ghoul, but the massive creature barreled directly into Nathanos, knocking the ranger flying.

Sighing to himself, Voldemort turned to face the deranged beast himself. One task always seemed to lead to yet another since he arrived in this world.

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Lucius clutched his chest where the arrow had struck. The wound had been healed easily, but the poison within was causing excessive pain when he tried to move. And the amount of moving he had had to accomplish in a short time did not help that particular injury.

The undead force had turned to bombarding them with their plague catapults, layering the grass on their side of the wall with the green clouds of death, transforming it into a sickly bog of their unknown liquid and dead ground.

They had retreated a fair distance from the wall, but that had clearly been part of the undead commander's plan all along. Even now, several massive creatures that seemed to be stitched from multiple corpses came forward. Using hooks and brute strength the creatures lifted the gate once more, allowing the undead forces to change through onto their side of the wall once more.

"We need to hold out as long as we can, for the rest of the Horde to arrive," Lucius said to War Master Voone. The troll had been injured as well, bandages and green blood covering his right arm, while the other hand grasped a massive throwing axe.

"We be buyin' as much time as we can," the troll replied solemnly, turning his attention directly for the main force of the undead as they started to line up for a solid attack into the Highlands. "For da Horde!" Voone yelled, rallying those who were healer or not yet wounded to meet the attack head on.

But even as they clashed in the center of the valley, Lucius could see the catapults pulling through the now opened portcullis, their toxic green ammunition spelling death for the entire highlands.

Lucius quickly calculated their chances. Even if he was at his full ability, they would stand no chance against the numbers running at them. "Damn it, Nobu'tan, where are you?" he cursed, even as he turned to flee, unwillingly yielding more ground to the attackers.

Scouts had already reported that a Dreadlord had been spotted, leading a motley crew of various races against the Stormreavers to the north, so that front was unable to come to their aid. Lucius was about to summon a Felsteed to accelerate himself back to the stronghold of Stromgarde, when he sensed a great deal of Fel energy collecting above the battlefield.

He stopped, hoping that this could be in their benefit. Looking upward, he saw Infernals raining liberally from the sky, even as rends in the fabric of reality tore themselves open, admitting a surge of reinforcements all across the battlefield.

One opened near to Lucius, and Nobu'tan himself appeared, alongside Warchief Nek'rosh and several other clan chieftains. "Lord Nobu'tan," Lucius said, hissing as the poison in his system pained him again.

"Good work, my Lieutenant," Nobu'tan stated, looking over the field before them, "you kept the battle as long as your forces allowed, and now we are here to push them out of our new lands forever."

Nek'rosh raised his weapon and roared, charging forward alongside a group of his personal warriors, spearheading a countercharge that, from what Lucius saw, would destabilize and eventually shatter the undead's attempts to force their way into their lands.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Line Break ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sylvanas swore loudly as another demon lunged at her, and twisted out of the way of the deadly blade in its hands. Snapping off a pair of arrows swiftly into its skull, she felled the beast and dodged back. She was one of the lucky ones. The sudden surge of Legion forces, along with more Dark Horde reinforcements spelled doom for their advance, and it angered her greatly.

But she would not be daunted yet. The region would be under the control of the Forsaken once again. "Fall back!" she yelled, snatching the reins of a passing undead steed and swinging up into the saddle. A plan was already forming in her mind, a chance to even the score and thin the numbers of her enemy and possibly defeat them regardless of their reinforcements.

Drawing her forces swiftly through the wall once more, and the clouds of blight that still lingered there, Sylvanas raised her fist into the air, signaling her Dark Rangers to load their bows. The abominations had done their job well, breaking the portcullis and rendering it unable to shut again, which forced the Dark Horde to pursue them through to the Hillsbrad side of the wall.

And there they found the Forsaken waiting, "Open Fire!" Slyvanas cried, and added her own shots to the volley of arrows that cut down the earliest part of the vanguard. Following their arrows, more blight canisters flew through the air, smashing fresh waves of the toxins onto the gate and those rushing beneath it, liquefying them regardless of their mortal or demonic origins.

"Slay them all!" she cried, ordering the Dreadguards to advance, their cruel scimitars ready to make a more cautious and deadly push through into Arathi.

"You challenge me here, undead, and you will learn the might of the Fel!" cried a new voice from atop the wall. Slyvanas looked up, and spotted an old orc, holding a staff that glowed with demonic magic.

"Take him down quickly!" she commanded, uncaring of what the old one had to say. The warlock clearly was in charge of these forces, and if they eliminated him, the rest would fall all the easier.

But even as the Dark Rangers loose a trio of shots at the orc, a wave of Felfire erupted from the figure's hands, incinerating their arrows and continuing on to hitting one of the Plague Wagons.

The entire catapult erupted, plague being distributed liberally across the grasses of Hillsbrad, and denying the Forsaken of one of their few siege weapons.

"You think yourself powerful, Mistress of the Dead," the orc continued, "but I have power as well… all the power of the Twisted Nether is mine to command, and you will never see the lands beyond this wall again!"

Sylvanas snarled, but the sky was growing darker, and from what she recalled in fighting the Dreadlords Balanazzar and Detheroc, she knew what was coming. "Find cover!" she shouted, even as the Fel meteorites started to rain once more. At the same time, through the remaining fumes of blight on the gate, more of the vile, molten constructed poured forth.

But even these creatures died like anything else, "Volley, Fire!" Sylvanas shouted again, and watched as arrows surged from the surrounding area at the beasts, felling a few of them. The others started to wade into the remaining Forsaken forces, but a quick cavalry charge from some of the more daring Forsaken adventurers saw to an end of their attempt.

"If we can just hold them at the gate, their forces will exhaust themselves before long…" Sylvanas started to tell herself, only to see Varimathras and the rest of the Horde adventurers in full retreat from the north.

Without the tactical advantage, they were not nearly numerous enough to face against the full might of the Burning Legion, and learning that one among the Dark Horde was powerful enough to garner such attention from the demons was indeed troubling.

Blowing her war horn to signal a full retreat, Sylvanas led the way for the Forsaken forces to flee back toward Tarren Mill, and for good measure destroyed the main bridge across the river.

"The fight went poorly," the demon concluded sarcastically when they finally reached the marginally fortified region, and the Banshee Queen snarled at him, even as she passed through the nearest portal, which mages were already preparing back to the Undercity

She already had departed the Mage Quarter by the time the others started to flood back in from the battlefield in defeat. Retiring to her private quarters, the Queen of the Forsaken raged at the loss of vital resources, as well as her own personal humiliation.

Even as she demolished some of the less valuable objects that decorated the tomb-like chambers that she used, Sylvanas knew one fact above anything else. She would get her revenge on the Dark Horde, and personally kill the warlock that was so connected with the Legion. With a wicked smile, she thought of a very specific use for her new Death Knight.

But she stopped and calmed herself. There was no need to be too hasty in this, even if she desired a painful end to the Stormreaver. She would wait to play that card for the most opportune moment possible.

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Nobu'tan watched the undead forces as they fled from him and the might that the Legion granted him. It would prove very problematic if they continued in this method of harassing them as the Horde expanded north. Noticing the massive fortress just outside the wall to Arathi, Nobu'tan debated briefly whether they ought to just take control of this one as well, as a forward outpost.

"Chieftain Nobu'tan, your timing be excellent with protecting our boarders," War Master Voone said as he approached, the troll warlord looking far worse for wear. The war master had been part of most of the initial charges, his sense of honor taking sway over the more reasonable idea of staying back and leading his troops while safe himself.

It was a different method of leadership, one that Nobu'tan didn't completely agree with, but he saw the value in it for those beneath him. So long as his power was understood and respected utterly, then his lieutenants could do as they pleased within the Horde.

"I want this place to be our newest acquisition in this land," he said, changing the topic and addressing the ruined fortress, "this battle was costly for us, that poison gas that they used was very devastating, and I want to know if they ever come against us again from this direction."

"Scouts be leaving to keep watch on dem as we speak." The troll assured him, even as more of their troops appeared, shouldering the wounded and carting out the corpses of their enemies.

"If I ever see that leader of these creatures again…" Nobu'tan said, his eye narrowing as he stared at the road that they had fled down, almost as though he felt the eyes of that female undead on him, "It will not end well for her…"

Turning to leave, Nobu'tan passed through the blighted ground that was still rotting quickly from the last remnants of the plagued gas. "I want several samples of that collected for study…" he said as an afterthought. It would be good to understand the primary weapon of his new enemies, and work to devise a way to prevent it from affecting their forces ever again.

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Blaise couldn't believe the luck he had attained in meeting the Bleakheart Satyrs. Not only did he swiftly learn that any attempt at an overland move toward Felwood would be suicide, as both Horde and Alliance forces were warring, with the aid of various adventurers, throughout the entryway of the region.

However, the Satyrs had their own means of transportation, comprised of hidden tunnels under the mountains, which led to their fellow encampments in the blighted forest to the north. It was almost pathetically simple for Blaise to convince them to show him safely through the tunnels, as his power in the Fel was tremendous. The fact that it was merely portal remnants latching onto him as a warlock was irrelevant to them.

Once inside Felwood, it was a simple matter for Blaise to navigate around the foolish druids trying to cleanse the woods, and make his way up to the ruins where the strongest concentration of Fel energy was hidden. Allow his strength in the Fel to flare out before him, the orcs and demons that guarded the entrance of the compounds of ruined buildings backed away instinctively.

It would be sheer foolishness even if any of them attempted to approach him, as Blaise kept his blades handy. His senses led him to a large underground building, literally swarming with Legion adherents, and while he was accepted as one of them, he was still very much in danger of being recognized.

And he would not fail Master Nobu'tan in his task of ridding the world of any others that could effectively aid the Legion in their schemes for this world. The first few figures within the Shadow Hold nodded at his approach. "We were told that one of great strength in the Fel was coming," one of the warlocks said respectfully. "We will take you to Lord Banehollow, so you may swiftly be about the business of the great ones."

Blaise said nothing, staring blandly from beneath the hood of his robes as they led him through the twists and turn of the underground stronghold, past another of the strangely dressed and oddly colored elves languishing in a cage, as well as a pair of succubi tormenting a human paladin slowly.

"Hail stranger," said a large orc warlock as Blaise was escorted into the main chamber. Lazily, he brought his eyes to rest on the orc, after taking a secretive stock of the room. The only thing that caused the assassin pause was the massive dreadlord, clearly the reported Lord Banehollow, as the demon stood channeling over an empty portal.

"I am Fel'dan, leader of the Shadow Council, and all the activities of the Legion in Kalimdor," the orc said proudly, even as the Dreadlord huffed in annoyance. Blaise ignored each of them, choosing to smirk over the words that the orc had used.

"Interesting…" he said slowly, relishing the use of orcish, "as I come representing the leaders of the Legions forces in the Eastern Kingdoms… the Horde has reunited and spread its reach, and we seek a foothold here in Kalimdor…"

"I know nothing of another leader of the Shadow Council." Fel'dan said, clearly agitated, "I am the last apprentice of Gul'dan, I was selected by my peers to take over when he was slain. Who is it that you serve, so that I know who should be punished for defying my power."

Blaise's smiled never left his face, even as the pair of daggers slid easily down his sleeves and into his hands. "Lord Nobu'tan, chieftain of the Stormreaver Clan, and heir of Gul'dan… your claims to the mighty warlock are as nothing compared to him."

"That runt is dead, there is no possible… ack!" Fel'dan started, grunting in pain as one of Blaise's blades found the orc's side.

"He sends his regards to you traitors for all that the Horde stood for, and hopes that you enjoy the reward that the Legion promiced you for betraying your honor, and your master!" Blaise said, the lust of death shining in his eyes.

"Banehollow! Assist me!" Fel'dan shouted, but another thrust from the blades he held silenced the fool as the orc's throat was impaled.

The dreadlord had heard however, and turned slowly, allowing the Fel magic that it had been working with to fail. But to Blaise's surprise, the demon only chuckled as Fel'dan collapsed to the ground, gurgling out his final breaths. "It is past time someone silenced that fool," the demon said, amused… "I have heard of Nobu'tan, young assassin, and I care not about what your intentions are here. I will not interfere, nor hinder you in any way."

"And I should trust that for what reason, demon?" Blaise said, unwilling to even blink with the dreadlord in his sights. Killing the demon might be better than making a deal, but with their perceived immortality, their plans might be foiled either way.

"I will give you a gift, and send you back to your master with the knowledge that his opponents will be eliminated, and his rule over the Shadow Council secured." Banehollow said, the fel conjuring a small scrap of parchment at the slightest wiggle of the sharp claws. "These will guide you to finding some mighty Fel beasts that will aid you greatly in the time ahead." He explained, even as the parchment flew to Blaise.

"The only thing is that you'll have to fight a rival of mine, Lord Hel'nurath for them, but I think we can all agree that a dreadlord with something of use to you mortals is worth fighting for such a thing as powerful, restless steeds for your warlocks." The demon added, clearly trying to tantalize the idea.

"I will bring this back to my Lord, after I personally see to the death of the Shadow Council that is here and will not yield to my master," Blaise said flatly, turning away. He steeled himself for the attempted betrayal, but the demon allowed him to walk away and continue his work in peace.