Well, we keep trucking right along in the chapter numbers. Thanks to those who reviewed the previous chapter. it is always a delight to read what you all have to say, and you are greatly appreciated! please enjoy the next chapter! ~F
Chapter Eighty One
New Allies
Theodore was particularly pleased with the work he had accomplished over a short amount of time he had been in the dead and desolate land. The orcs of Thunderaxe Fortress were very accommodating to his wishes, and eager for the improvements that would bring them to being a true force in the area. Several Fel Centaur had been sent, along with a host of material and peons to reinforce the fortress, which was lacking severely in wood.
There was a small roadblock with the wild centaur clans in the wastes attacking their scouts on sight, but Theodore was more than ready, and sent out the Fel Centuar to capture several members of the clans for testing with the blood of demons. If they would change and grow more intelligent, then it would be far easier to corrupt and control them, adding to their forces in the area and swelling their ranks quite effectively.
"There is no possible way that Nobu'tan will continue to ignore you after this success," Theo's father said to him.
Theodore frowned. It had not been his choice to bring his father along, and in truth he was sick of the old man's hovering. It hadn't been a recent thing either, but started just before Theodore went to Hogwarts, when his mother got sick and died. The old man was clinging to his family, desperate to feel important before he himself passed away, and while it was irritating, he was the only family that Theodore had, and he was not willing to cut the man off.
And to be fair, it was helpful to have a pair of hands that he trusted to accomplished what he desired, even over the desperate fools that thought pleasing Theodore would get them closer to Nobu'tan.
Truth be told, Theodore was sure that he was one of the most overlooked of the Council of the Black Harvest, with perhaps the exception of Yaxley. The former Death Eater had yet to do anything to stand out on his own, and consequently Nobu'tan had passed the man over for either the Malfoys or his favorite assassin: Blaise Zabini.
Granted, it could also be that there were not enough fortifications to spread between the different members of the Council, but Theodore was sure that there had to have been something that he could have done earlier, even if it was just assisting others in their objectives.
Nobu'tan relied far too much on specific individuals, the ones he trusted the most, and that was going to prove problematic for him in the long run. Lucius had already nearly died once, what was going to happen when the older man finally did bite off more than he could swallow?
He wasn't about to bring that up, as he presumed well that Nobu'tan would be very touchy regarding the idea of his favored people dying, but that merely compounded the issue.
"We shall see," he finally replied to his father, turning to look down from one of the watchtowers of the fortress, and seeing a group of wolf riders returning from their patrol.
"We could always see about striking out and taking the rest of this region," his father suggested, "if we push the other Horde out of here and start to push north or south that might bring some attention from the higher ups…"
"We were commanded to be covert," Theodore countered, growing irritated.
"Ah…" his father said.
"I know what you're trying to do, and while I appreciate the help I need to lead on my own for a time," Theodore said, sighing at the fact that he needed to have this conversation with his father. "It's past time for you to let me go a bit, let me be me…"
The older man clearly deflated a bit at the words. "I just can't stand the thought of losing you…" he said, pleading in his voice.
But Theodore was resolute, "I know, and you won't lose me, but I need to come into my own without someone holding my hand all the time. If Nobu'tan is to take notice and give me a true chance to lead, I have to be seen actually leading on my own. I love you father, but you're stifling my ability to grow, and I need to step away for a time."
He said it as gently as possible, and while Theodore could tell that it hurt his father to face the truth, the man was listening. "I understand my son. I'll back off for a while…" he said, trying to be stronger than he was.
"I'll come visit you at Blackrock in due time, once my assignment here is finished. Theodore promised. His father nodded, before climbing down the tower. Theodore let out a small sigh of relief as his father did so, knowing that that was problem the first and hardest step that he needed in order to truly succeed.
"It is very hard sometimes, for parents to let go of their children, regardless of how old they get," an voice said from the back of the tower.
Theodore turned to see Tyranis, the strange elf warlock from the northern lands. "Yes," Theodore agreed, "and harder still for the child to force the parent to let go."
"This land will serve all the better now that you have free reign to do as you see fit," the elf said, looking out from the tower next to Theodore. "Although I do not know how the orcs will enjoy learning that a human leads them among the Dark Horde."
Theodore stared at the elf, wondering how it was possible for the being to have figured it out.
The elf just smirked, "you do not act like orcs when you think you're alone," he said simply, "and I've encountered enough races to understand the differences. But fret not, I will keep your secret, as those brutes below would not know what to do without a powerful mind leading them, and if it takes a human to accomplish great things here, then so be it."
The elf left after that, and Theodore wasn't sure whether he was truly safe in his disguise with the elf now well aware of the secret of his identity. Theodore knew now that the elf had a powerful weapon against him, and he did not doubt that the other being would use it to try and manipulate him. However, there was a possibility for Theodore to turn the tables. The orcs here accepted the presence of an elf, so why not a human as well?
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Teg'Ramm crushed another troll's skull beneath his club-like scepter. They had been pushing into the temple-ruins of Zul Gurub for what felt like hours, but the warriors of the Gurubashi trolls were unending.
Two hanging bridges had they crossed, encountering small villages surrounding the central altar along the way, but they found no means of getting to that structure directly as of yet. The outer edges of massive complex seemed to have other priests and powers being called upon, these "Loa" according to Voone, but Teg'Ramm wasn't sure how much he wanted to mess with such powerful beings.
At the same time, they had challenged the power of the Horde, and he was not about to allow them to survive for that threat. Following a small entrance in the ruined walls, Teg'Ramm was certain that they had stumbled into a temple to some sort of snake creature, as the crawling beasts were everywhere to be seen and even strange troll-snake hybrids guarding the innermost chamber of the open air temple.
Luckily, Loa empowered beings or not, they succumbed to the strength of the Fel just the same as any other creature, and the combined ogre and troll force pushed inward, finding a Troll priest worshipping at a large altar of some sort of poison.
The troll wasted no time in starting to cast his holy magic at them, burst of light and flares of fire from the sky assailing their group.
Teg'Ramm charged, along with several other ogre and troll warriors, while the casters spread out to prevent the holy flames from hitting too many at once. Their own troll priests and ogre shaman started to heal those that were caught by the opening blasts.
Several of the half-snake trolls were on the dias with the priest, and moved to intercept the rush of warriors. Swinging his scepter wide, Teg'Ramm knocked the first from the platform completely, and from the audible snap of the creature's neck as it hit the ground at a strange angle it was surely dead.
The troll started to conjured another massive blast of holy magic, but Teg'Ramm was upon him, forcefully grabbing the priest and throwing him from his position, interrupting his spell casting and removing him from his runes of power that he had been standing in.
Before the troll could recover, he was bombarded with a slew of magical bolts from all sides as the ogre magi unleashed their fury at the priest. Surprisingly, the troll survived, although the ground beneath him was vaporized into a small crater from all the destruction.
Raising his arms over his head, the troll hissed, "Let the coils of hate unfurl!"
In a burst of poisonous fumes, the troll changed, his body warping into that on a massive snake-hybrid. Lashing out with his tail, the creature knocked back those warriors immediately surrounding it, and began to spit poison in all directions.
Dozens fell to the ground, screaming as the poison found open wounds or sensitive eyes. The shaman and priests among their forces scrambled to heal and cleanse the wounded, but they were falling quicker than the healers could keep up.
From his vantage point on the dais, there was little Teg'Ramm could do in the way of approaching, he was simply too far, but he had a plan. The magic of this priest was connected somehow to this altar, upon which a font of poison sat.
Stretching out a hand to that cauldron of fuming bile, Teg'Ramm poured in the Fel, allowing the chaotic energies of the Legion corrupt the site, and change the ritual that the priest had been concocting.
The serpent-troll screamed, fel spikes erupting from it's body in many locations. The surge of demonic power would strengthen it in time, but for now it served as a powerful distraction, so that the remaining Horde warriors still standing could pounce upon the beast, pulling it to the ground and hacking at its toughened scales with their weapons, rending it apart viciously.
"Sssereniuty… at lassst!" the beast hissed, even amid the screams of its death throes. With the creature dead, the poison clouds dissipated, and the healers were able to finally get to those that they could save, although several of their number had indeed perished, and could not be brought back.
It was a saddening affair, but galvanized the will of the Horde warriors against the Gurubashi, and their anger burned for the blood of these trolls, and their vile Loa god. Teg'Ramm saw that Voone was smirking. This clearly was what he wanted, and that concerned the Ogre Magi more than anything.
"Dat be one High Priest down," he said, turning to Teg'Ramm, "wid him gone, da poison will be dissipated, and we be gettin' to da warrior terrace. If we be eliminatin' dem, den da Gurubashi will not be havin' any resistance against us."
Teg'Ramm nodded, knowing that removing their warrior cast would also make it easier for the Amani warlord to take their civilians for their own use. Still, they would want the warriors dead if they were going to strike at the heart of this complex, so Teg'Ramm nodded, permitting the troll to lead the way for their forces.
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Draco did not completely understand why Jaina suddenly became significantly colder toward him. The farewell at the port before the ship pulled out of Theramore was practically frosty, and not only because of the weather.
The look on her face troubled him the entire journey back to Stormwind. And he wasn't sure what it was that he had done to earn such a thing. As much as he'd rather put it aside and return to the work of aiding Nobu'tan claim and maintain their territory, this really did bother him, and the only person he knew that would give him a straight answer would be his mother and Pansy.
When he finally returned to his parents' home in the Mage District, both were present, and Pansy threw her arms around him as he entered the house, squealing in delight at seeing him.
"Draco! Welcome home!" she cried in joy, not like she wasn't waiting for him and helping his mother around the house as her delivery time grew closer.
"Welcome home, my son," Narcissa said, standing behind Pansy in the doorway, and holding her protruding belly as she smiled warmly at him.
"Hello Pansy dear, mother," Draco said, placing his lips on his fiancé's check and sweeping into the house. He places several packages at the door, gently slapping Pansy's probing hands away as she tried to figure out what present was hers, "later," he chided, jokingly, and she pouted sarcastically, before pulling him into the sitting room and all but pushing him into his favorite chair by the fire.
Narcissa carefully set herself in her own seat, and smiled their antics. "Draco, how was Theramore, tell us everything!" Pansy asked, more than a little curious of the rest of the world.
"It's a very different place," Draco said honestly, "but there are some Stormwind influences there. It is still very much a Kul Tiran city however. Jaina sends her respect, and a response to your letter mother, by the way," Draco added, pulling the missive from his robes and handing it to his mother.
She took it and set it aside for later. "And how is Miss Proudmoore?" Narcissa asked.
"She is well, but I did learn a few things about her past that I think were somewhat tender subjects, and I don't think I should share those…"
"I would just love to go and see the other continent," Pansy said, changing the subject gracefully, "people here in Stormwind have nothing but wonderful things to say about how beautiful Kalimdor is, even if there are many dangers there."
"I would love to take you there next time I go to visit," Draco said, smiling back at her. Hopefully there would be time to do that in the near future, but he had the feeling that he would be particularly busy with catching up on events in the Horde with Nobu'tan for the time being.
"That was all?" Narcissa pressed however, and Draco had a sense that she already knew what might have gone on.
"Well, she was particularly cold toward the end of my visit, and I'm not quite sure why…" Draco admitted, and after being prompted by the two women he recounted the majority of his interactions with Lady Proudmoore.
He got all the way to the second to last day he was at Theramore before the pair of them exchanged a glance and frowned.
"What?" he asked, "what was it that I said?"
"You mentioned me, sweetheart," Pasny said, taking his arm gently.
"Why wouldn't I have?" Draoc protested, not understanding.
"Jaina was interested in you from the first time you met, my dear Draco," Narcissa explained, "and when she learned that you were in a committed relationship, she grew a touch jealous of Pansy, because she might have been trying to impress you herself."
Draco just looked at both of them, not registering the reasoning behind the actions of women. "But…I…what?" he said, his brain refusing to process what they were telling him.
"It's fine Draco, don't worry too much about it," Pansy said, patting him on the shoulder, "she would have learned of it eventually. But you might have wanted to be more up front about us, and not accidentally lead her on in thinking that you might have been flirting with her by showing up personally to deliver a letter."
Draco's eye widened and he turned to look directly at his mother, who was looking very innocent indeed.
"You sent me there; you knew that this would happen!" Draco accused her.
"I sent you there Draco, but I did nothing about you failing to make mention of your betrothed until the last minute." Narcissa replied, completely in control of the situation.
"So… she'll hate me then?" Draco asked.
"Doubtful," Pansy replied, "she might be a little mad for a while, but I think she'd get over it, especially if she replied to your mother and accepted her invitation back here?"
The women shared a glance, and Narcissa took control of the conversation, "I would suspect that she will come, if only to meet Pansy and see the woman who beat her to Draco's affection."
"So you mean that I'll get to meet her?" Pansy said, growing excited again. Draco was suddenly forgotten as the two women started planning out how the get-together would take place, what Pansy would wear, and what they should prepare for food.
How he had become nothing more than an object in the midst of this conversation, Draco had no idea, but there he was… a tool that brought together the three women that apparently cared about him in various ways.
He really needed to get away from these women and back to the real work of aiding Nobu'tan.
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Voldemort was somewhat amused at the strategy that Potter had used. True, they had lost their forward momentum into the next region of land, but at the same time their forces had been tested against one of the superpowers of the world, and had found themselves quite equal with their enemies.
Personally, Voldemort wouldn't have been contented with halting the battle there, but pushed on to a more resounding victory, but he was able to appreciate the idea of keeping the moral of such a host high.
Still, there was an annoyance that Voldemort felt compelled to get closer to Potter, when he himself wanted to stay as far from the man as possible, not only for his own sanity but because he was not in a good position to try and stab his old foe in the back just yet.
The banshee trying to exert control over him was too blunt when it came to their mission, and wanted to end it as swiftly as possible. This was likely because she hoped to get Voldemort slain as well, and escape in her spirit form back to her Queen unharmed, but the former dark lord was not about to make it too easy for her.
If they were going to eliminate Potter once and for all, it would be on Voldemort's terms and in the manner that he wished. The boy would suffer greatly for everything he had done, starting all the back at the beginning when he as an infant had the audacity to simply not die.
To that end, Voldemort kept his distance, choosing instead to lend his aid to the troll forces of the Horde as they infiltrated the hinterland area just to the north of the Arathi Highlands, trying to meet up with the large congregation of their kin in those forests and persuade them to join the Dark Horde officially and lend their aid to the siege at Thoradin's Wall.
It was an uncomfortable time, as Voldemort was mostly set aside when anything of real importance between the trolls took place, as an outsider ought to be, but that kept him with his thoughts, and consequently, the thoughts of the banshee inside his body.
In order to pass the time therefore, Voldemort took to hunting the other natives of the region, predominantly the dwarves of the Aerie Peak to the northwest. He was not limited to just the stunted dwarves, as there were plenty of adventurers of mixed races that wandered the forests, but the dwarves were the predominate race that he slew as he moved like death through the forests.
That was at least until the trolls returned to him, mentioning that they had a job for him to complete, that would assist in persuading the Amani trolls of the region to ally with them. The other Horde had an encampment down at the eastern sea shore, which prevented the trolls of the Hinterlands from trading with their kin to the north and south, and they wanted that place eliminated completely.
A simply enough task; Voldemort would willingly bathe Rivendare's blade in the blood of more living creatures. Like a specter of destruction he rode down the steep slopes to the shore. Voldemort could sense the banshee within trying to resist, but his grip on the Death Knight's runeblade allowed Voldemort to throw off the attempts at control from the other undead.
It was a strange thing, that there almost seemed another voice within his mind, urging him onward with his path of destruction and death.
The outermost guards stood no chance against the Death Knight, and those that came to investigate the cries of death were ripped from their feet by powerful necromantic energies, even as Voldemort impaled then with the two-handed greatsword.
The Killing Curse flew in waves from the runeblade, almost as though it were crafted specifically for Voldemort and his style of fighting.
Rather than push into the village-like encampment himself, Voldemort casually raised the corpses of his first victims and sent the corpses ahead of him, riding slowly in their wake as the defenders of the village poured from their posts to engage his minions.
The foolish reaction to his strategy allowed Voldemort to pick off these warriors one by one, and cut down the fleeing civilians at his leisure. The village was burning within the hour, and Voldemort was already galloping back to the base of the largest troll ruins to report his successful mission.
But as he was making his was up one of the narrow switchbacks, Voldemort felt a presence invade his mind. It was overwhelmingly powerful, and seemed to be everywhere and yet nowhere at once. Before him appeared the same figure in armor he had momentarily spotted back in the Plaguelands, a massive runeblade of his own in hand, and the icy glow of the eyes under the massive helm.
Rivendare's charger skidded to a halt as Voldemort hastily pulled on the reigns, shaking himself as the vision departed once more. "What in all the annals of Merlin?" Voldemort swore, trying to remove the afterimage of the strange appearance, and clear his mind of the ringing from the tormentor's laughter that had filled his mind.
Most curious of all was that the banshee had gone particularly silent, unable or unwilling to even voice an opinion of the matter, and after a long moment of trying to make sense of it, Voldemort angrily gave up trying to speak with the hated female spirit, and vowed to look into the matter himself.
But the vision did not return, and after a long moment of silent contemplation, Voldemort hesitantly returned to the base of the troll ruins at the top of the cliff-face.
The creatures were most appreciative of the elimination of their nearest enemies, and pledged alliance to the Dark Horde, and that they would send allies to aid them whenever the need arose. The Death Knight had little doubt that such a call would come far sooner than these trolls suspected, but remained silent as those he had come with bid their farewells.
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Reagent Lord Lor'themar Theron stood on the outskirts of the rebuilt portions of Silvermoon City, breathing in the rich air of their beloved homeland.
It had been a long process, but finally with the aid of Magisters sent to them by Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider, the Blood Elves had succeeded in pushing the forces of the Scourge out of their city, or at least a vast portion of it, and begin rebuilding their once glorious kingdom.
For the first time since the war with Arthas and the Scourge, Eversong Woods was starting to grow again, the sunlight streaming through the many trees and dancing playfully on the streams that they had purified for their own use.
But focusing his attention to the west, Lor'themar frowned. A deep gorge ran into the area that was once the central portion of the city, now called the Dead Scar, and daily hordes of undead still marched along it under their master's commands.
His Farstriders, rangers and warriors of the Blood Elves who had not been weakened by the loss of the Sunwell and its magic, had worked tirelessly to push the advancing dead back to little avail, but now that the Prince had sent them aid, and new ways of siphoning magic from the world around them, they had renewed strength.
The mages and priests of the Blood Elves were stronger than ever, and used their magical might to banish the dead back to the earth where they belonged.
Unfortunate though it was that for every corpse they hewed to the ground, three more seemed to be raised out in the Ghostlands by their Scourge enemies.
"My Lord Regent, are you sure that you need to head this expedition?" a voice asked at his side, and Lor'themar turned to address the new Ranger General of Quel'Thalas, Halduron Brightwing.
"I must," he affirmed, even as a pair of stable hands brought his personal hawkstrider. "We have been far too passive since reclaiming the city, and there are many who wish to push outward and retake the Ghostlands, I intend to lead the company that will scout the far side of the river, to ascertain the best plan of attack."
"I still would feel better if I went in your place, my Lord," the Ranger Genreal continued, and Lor'themar shook his head. Too many of the Blood Elves were looking to him to lead like the kings of old, but he was not worthy of such titles or honors. Lor'themar was a Farstrider, and he would serve his people best on the front lines, scouting and killing with his bow.
Snapping the reigns in the hawkstrider's beak, they lurched forward, and the column of Farstriders followed closely, sticking to the unseen paths that the rangers of Quel'Thalas had used for countless years to swiftly navigate Eversong and avoid their enemies and other prey.
They made it to the river well before midday, and sent out scouts to spy out the nearby road and its bridge, as well as further to the east. If there was a better crossing, they would take it, but the bridge would suffice if they had no other options.
Only one of the scouts from the bridge returned, "Lord Regent, you must see this," the elf called, and Lor'themar was disturbed by the confusion in the scout's voice. Urging his mount forward he followed quickly as the scout retraced his steps to the bridge.
The bridge had been guarded, as Lor'themar had suspected, but judging from the many rotting corpses, some group of experienced warriors had fallen upon the bridge guards and slaughtered the dead with a viciousness that the Regent Lord hadn't seen since the initial invasion.
"I do not understand," he said to the scout, "who could have caused such a slaughter?"
"Could it be one of the advanced groups? Possibly some more adventurous elves thought to take the attack upon themselves?" the scout wondered aloud, even as his companion was inspecting the corpses.
"Not possible," Lor'themar replied. He had forbidden any of the Blood Elves from coming this far south, for their own safety, and it was unlikely that a sizeable enough group would make it here and cause this level of destruction without being noticed.
"Lord Regent," the other scout said, the female holding up a pair of arrows that she had pulled from the body of a ghoul. "Raven feathers," she explained, noting the black flights on the shafts, "these were made by no Farstrider, or any Blood Elf for that matter."
"Curious…" Lor'themar said, looking out at the drastically different, and far deader, Ghostlands.
"Should we proceed regardless?" the Farstrider commander asked, turning to his Regent for orders.
They had already come this far, and if there was an enemy of their enemy out in those trees, then it would behoove them to seek it out. "We go onward!" Lor'themar stated, giving the scouts time to reform and mount their hawkstriders before crossing the bridge and pushing farther south.
The strange thing was the surprising lack of undead in that northern part, even in the nearby Dead Scar. Lor'themar had been certain that they were to encounter far heaver resistance the closer they pushed to Deatholme, but as they approached the northernmost village ruins they found nothing but corpses.
On the outskirts of Tranquillien however, they started to hear the sounds of battle, and the scream of the dead that all Blood Elves left in Quel'thalas had grown quite accustomed to.
What they did not expect was to hear a bellowing cry in return. "Push them back! We are the Forsaken! And we will slaughter any who stand in our way!"
"I know that voice," Lor'themar said, drawing his bow and kicking his hawkstrider faster. Could it possibly be?
Mounting the slight rise and entering the ruined village, the Regent Lord of Silvermoon spotted their benefactors. Large contingents of undead were fighting against the Scourge, archers raining arrows down from the buildings as the ghouls and skeletons trying to break their lines and enter the village.
Taking aim from his mount, Lor'themar picked off the largest of these ghouls, just as it was about to leap at a somewhat familiar figure.
"Anar'alah belore!" he cried, signaling the Farstriders to charge into battle.
The elves roared their acceptance of the order and rushed the front lines, their own rangers and swordmen leaping from their hawkstriders into the ranks of the dead with a vengeance.
The undead turned, and Lor'themar softened slightly at the recognition in the eyes of former Ranger General Sylvanas Windrunner.
"My Lady, the thanks of the Blood Elves is yours" he said, dismounting near her and starting to pick off targets with his bow, "but I must ask why you and your Forsaken have returned to Quel'thalas?"
The Dark Lady of death frowned at him, even as she shot an approaching ghoul in the head, "Are we not permitted to still love the land that we fought and died to protect from Arthas?" she questioned, spinning around Lor'themar to line up a better shot on an approaching abomination. "Are we still not Quel'dorei even after the change of death came upon us?"
To say that Lor'themar was touched by the sentiment was an understatement, but when it came to anything to do with the dead there was always a space of hesitation. "While I do not doubt your conviction, my Lady," he said, spotting a necromancer and leeching the mana from the foul mage's body, "I cannot help but have my suspicions…"
"Wary as ever Lor'themar," Sylvanas said, pulling a blackened dagger from her boot and throwing it at a ghoul that had broken through the line of melee warriors and was charging the archer of Quel'Thalas, "There is another reason I have come, but let's discuss that after the fighting is concluded."
"I agree in the most enthusiastic of ways, Dark Lady," Lor'themar replied, focusing on the task of clearing Tranquillion and driving the scourge one step further from Silvermoon.
Pulling a small horn from his belt, Lor'themar blew it, the magic in the item signaling Romath and the magisters of his location and that they were in need.
Soon enough the air around them shimmered as dozens of the Sin'dorei's most powerful weapons against the Scourge came.
"Remember the Sunwell!" Rommath shouted, fire leaping from the Grand Magister's hands and erupting under the front lines of the Scourge.
The other mages instantly took up the shout, and together their power over fire scorched the land and incinerated every shambling corpse that dared to approach Tranquillion. Within minutes the town had been cleared, and the Farstriders charged outward, along with the mages, to push the dead back even further and create a buffer around the new forward outpost for the Blood Elves in the Ghostlands.
"Rommath, excellent timing as always," Lor'themar stated, and the hooded Magister nodded in reply, keeping silent as Sylvanas approached.
"The fighting skills of the Sin'dorei is a relief to witness," the Banshee Queen stated, "I had almost lost hope that Silvermoon had any defenders left."
"We are still fighting, and will continue to fight until all of Quel'Thalas is back in our possession." Lor'themar stated proudly, looking over the diligent warriors of the Blood Elves as they teleported in workers to shore up the village and drag out debris to make barricades to fortify the village.
"Then I believe we have the edge you need to make that a reality," Slyvanas said, the chill of her voice sending shivers down Lor'themar's spine.
"And what would you want in return for this aide, Dark Lady?" Rommath said, clearly distrustful of the former Ranger General.
"Only that which would help the Sin'dorei in the long run," Sylvanas said, "I come to offer you the chance to join the Horde, and gain the favor and aide of Warchief Thrall in reclaiming your lands."
"Again I ask," Rommath said, growing irritated, "what does this sort of bargain offer you in return, Queen of the Forsaken. I highly doubt that you yourself would have come this far just to offer aid to us without any thought of yourself…"
Sylvanas seemed to consider Rommath for moment, before retuning her attention to Lor'themar. "We would surely find a use for the arcane powers of the Blood elf mages," she said dismissively, "but we can deal with the details later. For the time being do you want our help in crushing the Scourge remnants or not?"
Lor'themar didn't need to look to see the subtle shake of Rommath's head. The Grand Magister was extremely loyal to Prince Kael'thas, and did not trust anyone outside the Sin'dorei. But the fact was that the Prince had had no communication with them since the magisters had joined those in Quel'thalas and shared the ability to drain mana from the world around them.
Even still, they were struggling to keep the Scourge off of them, let alone push them as far back as the Forsaken had managed to do. "We have little choice in the matter…" he said to Rommath, still facing the Banshee Queen, "for the survival of Quel'Thalas, we accept. Help us free our lands."
"The Forsaken, representing the Horde, will do this, and in the meantime I will fill you in on the threats that are coming from the south," Sylvanas stated, which sent another chill down Lor'themar's back.
It was clear that the undead leader knew that they would have no other options but to accept their aid, and now they were embroiled in some other skirmish south of their borders. It had been a trap to ensnare them all along.
"The Dark Horde, a faction that splintered off from the orcs long before Arthas came to these woods, has been growing in strength," the Dark Lady stated, unrolling a map of the Eastern Kingdoms and indicating the location around Blackrock Spire, far to the south.
"Over time they pushed their way north, and now lay claim to all of the Arathi Highlands. Warchief Thrall has led an army to lay siege to their boarder at Thoradin's wall, but I do not doubt that they will meet stiff resistance. If you have any warriors to spare, a gesture of solidarity would be appreciated to have them go to the front lines and inspect our enemy for themselves, offer what counsel they can regarding the strange magic that these creature wield, and petition formally to join the Horde."
She smirked, "meanwhile, my Dark Rangers and I, along with what Farstriders you have will lay siege to Deatholme, and root out the leadership of the Scourge here, eliminating them once and for all."
It was a tempting offer, and Lor'themar already knew that he had to accept. "Rommath," he said slowly, "will you lead some of our magisters in the plan that the Dark Lady has outlined?" he asked. The quiet brooding of the other Elf was testament to his control in the face of his anger.