And we're back! Many thanks to those who reviewed the previous chapter, your words are appreciated. Please , remember to relax and review (R&R), and as always, enjoy the next chapter! Until next time everyone! ~F
Chapter Ninety
Dark Words
Voldemort grew very quickly to dislike and outright hate trolls.
The interior of the sunken temple, far below what he had expected for it to go, was completely filled with trolls, a few living, and many undead or some strange state between. The hexes and chants that the creatures made were utter gibberish to the former dark lord, and he took great pleasure in slaughtering them, adding their deaths to the ambient magic that he commanded.
There had even been a chamber where flying serpents had been kept, along with a massive skeleton of some ancient version of the same creature, when once roused, rose up and attacked them. It was no matter for a powerful Death Knight and his acolytes, thankfully.
Unfortunately, as soon as Voldemort felt that they had cleaned out the temple enough to make use of it for their own purposes, a flight of deranged green dragons, and their spawn, flooded into the temple, trying to lay claim to what Voldemort had already taken for himself.
The beasts may have been an issue for those who yet lived, but the Death Knight was immune to their attempts to place him in enchanted sleep, and his blade found their hides just as easily rent as that of the trolls.
Finally, eliminating the quad of drakes that came to stop them, Voldemort purged the final chamber of a fully grown green dragon, half immersed into some ethereal plane, and utterly insane. Once the dust finally settled on that battle, the only semblances of life were his followers left in the entire temple. Voldemort allowed them to rest for a short time, while he prepared the central chamber for the ritual he had modified.
Clearing the corpses was as simple as raising a few of them to do his bidding, and in their packs and satchels lay the black candles, as well as other articles of ritual. Wood was piled on the metal grate in the very center of the room, and lit with dark magic, so that it glowed with flickering purple light.
Each candle was carefully placed in a wide circle around this central point, runes and other glyphs painted onto the ground in the blood of trolls and dragonkin that they had slain. A large slab of stone, used as an alter by the trolls, was recovered and brought to Voldemort, where he allowed the power of death to wash over it, changing the properties of the blood sacrifices that had taken place on it prior to their arrival. It would serve his purposes now.
Once all the preparations outside of his victims were in order, Voldemort produced the final ingredients, ash and powdered bone meal, for his acolytes to pain their naked bodies with. The runes made with these powerful symbols of death would allow the magic to infuse with them more easily, without destroying their souls and bodies in the process.
Each had brought a ritual weapon of their choosing with them, which Voldemort planned to transform into the soul-binding weapons that they would channel their magic through, much like the scepter that contained the combined soul fragments of his previous life.
Once they had nothing on them but these tools, and were covered in ashy-white runes from head to foot, Voldemort entered the circle of candles and spread his arms wide, "We are prepared. Enter the circle, my new Eaters of Death…"
Twenty-five Necrolytes entered the circle, surrounding the altar and the blazing fire. Voldemort glanced slowly between each and every member of the circle, making sure that they were all well aware of what was expected of them. He was met with steely resolve in return, and began.
Soul and death magic leapt from his outstretched hands, weaving through the air outward from the alter. "With these sacrifices, we usher in a new generation of beings," he chanted, the cue for each of the Necrolytes to raise their weapons. The soul magic turned and dove from its lazy circles above their heads, entering and imbuing each of the various raised weapons, charging them into powerful tools and containers for the souls of future sentient beings that they slew.
"Now," Voldemort declared, indicating at his students. The newly forged weapons needed to be sated with the souls of their masters first and foremost. As one, the Necrolytes brought their weapons to their own throats. With lightning quick slashes, the bladed weapons spilled the blood of their owners as they were cut from ear to ear.
The bodies fell in heaps all around the circle, and Voldemort smiled. The next stage of the ritual could now commence. Raising his arms once more, the overwhelming power of Death washed over the newly felled corpses, siphoning the remaining life from them in order to transform their forms into undying servants of destruction and pure fonts of the same magic that Voldemort himself wielded.
Slowly, the twenty-five figured stirred, and rose back to their feet. Blood stained their bodies, but no more flowed in their veins. Chilled air swirled from unneeded lungs, and the glowing eyes fused forever to the powers of the grave.
"Rise, my new servants; rise Death Knights," Voldemort declared, relishing the victory of his plan. Over two dozen new warriors of death had been fashioned to serve the Dark Horde, and him specifically. "This temple will become our base of operation," Voldemort indicated, looking lovingly around at the damp walls of the former troll site. "We will bring all Necrolytes from the Dark Horde here to learn, grow, and ultimately join us in undeath."
The newly formed Death Knights cheered, the near wailing cries echoing strongly off the walls around them. Voldemort smirked, the skin of his face stretching over his bones. He would have a force all his own, free from control from Potter, the Banshee Queen, or any others. There was a tingling in his mind, almost like the stirring of the possessing banshee trying to exert control, but Voldemort had more power than she now. She could not control him unless in the halls of her Queen.
And if Voldemort had his way, the next time he entered those halls was to destroy them utterly.
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Nobu'tan was not concerned with Lady Proudmoore joining them as they marched on Silithus. It gave the Alliance soldiers a moral boost to have a known hero with them, and it allowed Nobu'tan to spend all the time he needed consulting with Garona. He learned much of the Twilight Hammer Cult that they were hunting.
Foremost on his agenda, he had learned the name of the Forsaken mage that he had confronted. Stasia Fallshadow, the same corrupting creature that had mind-controlled Garona and captured the half orc's son, Medan.
Nobu'tan did not know the origin of the young creature, but he had the respect for his old mentor to not ask. If the parentage of Medan had been important, she would have told him, therefore he chose to not concern himself with it. He would save the boy, to be sure, but more so he wanted revenge on Fallshadow, and the pursuit of Cho'gall.
Whatever plan they had in the desert would be stopped by his hand, he swore it to Garona, even as they passed into the southern reaches of Kalimdor, and crossed beneath the numerous spires of Thousand Needles.
Moving in such a large company, they were not accosted by any force of sentient creatures. Wildlife fled before them, and even patrols of the Horde's forces stood aside and let them pass. Clearly Proudmoore had sent word ahead that they were coming, and Nobu'tan spotted that the Horde members that saw her nodded their respect.
The moral of the Alliance soldiers; therefore, was very high as they entered the first section of the desert, a land Garona called Tanaris, and they turned to the east. Camping near to some sand troll ruins, Jaina joined Nobu'tan in the camp. It shouldn't been far now to Silithus, just through the Un'goro Crater and up the far side."
Nobu'tan nodded. While Nobu'tan knew he had little to fear from the sorceress, he was still somewhat guarded around Proudmoore, and did not fully with to discuss their journey with her. She could clearly tell his intention, but whether she was intentionally sticking around him as added pressure, or else waiting for him to open up to her, Nobu'tan could not tell.
"Why did you choose to come with us…" he said at last, when the silence became unbearable.
"To help you and Garona in rescuing her son," was the initial reply, but Nobu'tan had a suspicion that there was more, and waited.
"Also," Proudmoore admitted after a moment or two, "because I want to make sure that Cho'gall is stopped."
It still wasn't the truth, but Nobu'tan figured he wouldn't get all of it. "I see," he said dismissively. "We ought to get the column moving again soon," he added, when it seemed that Proudmoore was waiting for him to speak again.
"I… true, I'll inform the commanders," the woman said, standing and departing.
He narrowed his eyes at her retreating form. It was painfully clear that the Sorceress wanted to keep an eye on him, primarily out of her distrust of his power, and some human need to offer a connection to someone who supposedly had gone through similar aspects of life as he did. But Nobu'tan knew that Lady Proudmoore wouldn't be able to influence him. She had no idea the things he had done, or what he had sacrificed in order to attempt to regain what he had as a child. And then, to find out that he had shattered an entire world, when his father-figure had been dead nearly all of the time he had been away, it was cruel in its own irony.
Nobu'tan understood that he had been pushing himself on pure duty for the longest time since his return to Azeroth, the only true emotion being his bursts of true rage and anger at those who had wronged him and his people. He felt lost, and while he kept a strong façade to those who were closest to him, he was aware that it was starting to become obvious in his actions and personality that something was amiss.
But there was something inside him, something that had broken, and Nobu'tan did not know exactly how to even begin fixing it. His motivation was scarily present, as it had been when striving to open the portal back on earth. The only thing that drove him was revenge, but Narcissa had talked him out of pursuing that to its uttermost, as it would destroy everything and likely everyone that he remotely cared about.
Fighting the Legion was so daunting of a task, and with their weak influence here on Azeroth, it seemed even impossible to work toward. As he stared into the fire, Nobu'tan thought of what he honestly could do that would reignite that spark that the Malfoys had seen, that had drawn all his followers to him readily. The concept seemed to slip from his grasp like smoke on a cloudy day.
The commanders signaled for them to break camp and resume their march, and Nobu'tan stood. He had brought only the bare minimum in equipment with him, and therefore was ready to go far sooner than most. Jaina nodded to him once as he joined the command group, even as their map holder outlined the last leg of their journey, which was to be by far the most dangerous.
The primeval crater was home to massive lizard-creatures, and they were fierce predators. Even a mighty host as what they had might not be sufficient to dissuade some of the larger specimens from attacking.
"There is a way we could bypass it altogether," Nobu'tan suggested, the thought of trekking through such a massive jungle displeasing to him. "I could open a gateway to the opposite side of the crater, and proceed from there…"
"How long would that take, Lord Banu?" the commander of the Stormwind military regiment asked, genuinely curious rather than skeptical.
"I would need to scout a destination for the portal, but after that, a few moments to power such a Fel Portal, and then however long it takes to move our forces through it…" Nobu'tan responded with a casual shrug of the shoulders.
Proudmoore looked like she would rather risk her life in the crater, but said nothing. "Do it," the commander requested, "the fresher our forces, the sooner we can locate and deal with these cultists. I would much like to return to Stormwind as quickly as possible, and I bet most here would wish the same."
Nobu'tan nodded, and withdrew a short ways from the company, along with Macnair and Yaxley, as well as the other warlocks that had attended him on the ship. They were indeed a curious lot, and very eager to see the power of the Order of the Black Harvest. Generating a trio of eyes, Nobu'tan sent the fiery orbs over to the west, skirting swiftly over the dunes and rocks.
He found the crater easily enough, as it was extremely difficult to miss. The eyes separated, scanning the outside edge, circling to the opposite side to find the exit into the Silithus desert. Minutes past as they flew at top speed, observing many things both extraordinary and downright bizarre, until at last Nobu'tan spotted a rocky switchback that led up to another long patch of open sand.
"I can see the exit of the crater now," he said to those around him, even as he burned the image of the location into his mind. Raising both hands, while still observing the destination, he started chanting the Fel spell of the gateway, seeing the target of his choice start to shimmer with the supernatural rift.
He slashed a hand forward, rending a hole in space to that place, and used the Fel to widen and strengthen the gap. Dismissing the eye with a thought, Nobu'tan stared into the portal he had created, seeing the same spot from a new angle. "Summon the commander," he instructed those around him, "the way is clear."
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Draco stood proudly on the deck of the largest ship the Dark Horde had produced thus far. Named the Stormreaver after their illustrious clan, it was significantly large enough to transport many armaments and soldiers, but still small enough to fit through the Thandol Span, navigating carefully under the trio of crumbling bridges and slip to the eastern ocean beyond their territory.
The strategy had come to him in a rush of inspiration. To route these Horde fools from their shores, he would lead a two pronged attack on their encampment. A land force would attack from their precious cave network, bottling up their advance into Arathi properly, while a larger group would sail in all their completed ships, and strike at them from the south of their ocean locked position, cutting off their retreat by sea.
Between the two, they ought to at least crush their encampment, although Draco expected their leadership and most of their warriors to escape to the north. He had no intention of pursuing them. The Dark Horde's ships were too valuable at this moment to waste in a prolonged sea conflict.
For the little skirmish they were heading into; however, they had several surprises in store for the Horde. If they loved the defenses of Thoradin's Wall, then they were going to absolute adore what Draco had done to their ships. "We've commenced our attack," a voice whispered in Draco's ear, and he turned to see an Eye of Kil'rogg vanish from existence.
Nodding to himself, and checking the time with a quick swish of his wand, Draco raised his voice, "Full speed ahead, attack! For the Dark Horde!"
"For the Horde!" the orcs around his roared in reply, and the sails of their ships spread to catch every gust of wind, propelling them faster and faster through the water.
They were to arrive just as their ground forces punched through the cave network, and start harassing the ships resting in port. They were specifically not to bombard the land, to preserve as much of the infrastructure as possible for their own use.
The Stormreaver was the first to round the tight corner of mountain that separated them from sight of the little eastern port, and Draco waved his wand, "Protego Maxima, fianto duri, repello inmigotum, salvio hexia…" he chanted, conjuring a powerful shield before them as they charged from the south. His preparations were rewarded as catapults, ballista throwers, and spells immediately launched from the various elven ships and the land, splashing harmlessly over the rapidly growing shield.
"Fire!" he shouted, and from the rear ships, their trebuchet launched, aimed at the docked ships. Of the three projectiles, two missed, splashing into the water, but the final sailed straight through one of the lesser masts of a side ship.
Elves scrambled along the shore, many retreating to their ships, as they had expected, while more contended with their land force. There was also a large number of undead, but Draco could not spare the time to observe the conflict on the shore, as he had to concentrate on maintaining the chant empowering the shield around their ships.
It seemed that none of the Horde weaponry had the vertical firing power to get over the initial rise of his shield, which was to their advantage. These races had barely scratched the surface of siege weaponry, relying on their magic and alchemy to cause damage over raw machinery. Once upon a time, Draco might have agreed, but seeing the clear advantage that it gave them now, he wouldn't trade what they had learned from the muggles of earth for anything.
But they were not totally safe behind the shield, and Draco spotted the grappling hooks sail up over the deck, "boarders! Defend the deck!" he shouted, and the Dark Horde warriors drew their weapons, ready to fend off the incursion of elves and dead.
Leading them was a particularly tall elf, with an eyepatch, drawing the bowstring of a massive longbow. And Draco realized that it was aimed directly at him.
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Lor'themar knew that if they were to hold this beach, they needed to sink the ships of the Dark Horde. And with the strange magic user defending them, that could not happen. Lining up his shot on the orc, he released the string, already dodging the Witherbark troll that was trying to stab him while his back was turned.
Cursing slightly, the Regent Lord glanced back, even as he drew his own sword and cut down the troll. A pair of massive orcs had closed ranks around their leader; massive shields having blocked his arrow. Meanwhile, the leader kept chanting, his magical shield swelling and growing to stretch over the water.
A pair of magisters appeared over the deck, flames conjuring in their hands, and Lor'themar smirked. "Let's see the Dark Horde deal with the flames of the Sindorei!" he shouted, moving to guard his own casters.
But even as the pair hurled magical molten spheres at the knot of orcs, the leader whipped his little stick around, conjuring a massive blast of freezing water, which upon contact with the twin blacks of flames, sizzled and evaporated, but extinguished the fire magic of the elves.
"Avada Kevadera!" the figured cried, and one of the magisters fell as a brilliant green bolt of energy struck her. She stared, wide eyed, from the ground where she had fallen. Lor'themar could not believe that she had been killed so swiftly.
Their forces were in full retreat, the ships pulling out of the harbor loaded down with as many troops as could fit. The remaining magister seized Lor'themar by the shoulder and pulled, sending them both hurtling through a hastily conjured portal, and escaping another deadly green jet of magic.
They landed heavily in Silvermoon, and Lor'themar rolled, coming to his feet and looking around wildly. His adrenaline was surging, but they were far from the conflict. His mind raced trying to process what had happened. They had clearly been spotted, and followed to their encampment on the eastern sea. But how the Dark Horde had managed to mobilize so many so quickly, without their knowledge, was terrifying.
Unfortunately, this defeat also meant that the Dark Horde now had full control of the Arathi Highlands, and nothing short of a total siege would oust them from it. "Send word to the Undercity," he told the nearest elf, "We've lost our advantage, and the Dark Horde now has a small fleet, and the eastern port."
"Yes, Lord Regent," the elf said, hastening away. Sheathing his sword, Lor'themar grimaced, the pain to his pride far worse than any injury he had sustained. It ought to have been a simple victory that ensured their respect among the court of Thrall, but so much for the gallant entry of the Blood Elves into the Horde's good graces.
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Draco watched as the elves and undead fled on the bright crimson ships. "Do not pursue," he ordered, lowing the shield around their fleet. "Storm the beach and kill any stragglers."
Draco doubted that there would be many left, aside from those killed the combine Horde force had fled rather efficiently, abandoning their fortifications and harbor without even sabotaging it behind them. The second of the Council of the Black Harvest could already envision the superior upgrades that they could implement to fortify the new harbor, which would allow them to store many more ships in dock without having them in the little cove near to Stromgarde.
The stone would be easily quarried from the mountain range separating the port from the rest of the Highlands. That would make defending the new harbor easier without the narrow cave network funneling any reinforcements by land.
"I want these ships docked here and remaining to defend this area from any returning enemy ships," Draco ordered, gesturing for the ship to pull up to the new docking platforms they had just captured.
The Stormreaver nudged up gently to the dock, and orcish sailors quickly got a gangplank in place. Draco waited for the eager warriors to storm off the ship, ready to plunder and slay any remaining enemy before disembarking himself. He was busy planning the new constructions that would be needed, and with his wand made small marks in the empty dirt to signify what image he wanted from his mind.
Two large towers would be needed on either side of the actual dock, with a wall covering the rest of the coast to protect from random landings by their enemies. Then they would reinforce the buildings already here, and create a significantly large barracks to hold defenders and temporary housing for passing troops to and from their fleet. Finally a small portal in a large command structure would be useful to connect back to Stromgarde directly, so that any commander of the region could shift positions quickly to defend any attack.
Pulling parchment out of his robes after he had made a once-over of the relatively small plot of land, Draco sent an eye of Kil'rogg up into the air to observe from a bird perspective, and sketched what he had seen, adding small details of the future construction he desired. Duplicating the parchment as he walked, Draco made his way to the commander of the land forces.
The large orc was not unintelligent, and had suspected what Draco desired from this area when commissioned for the attack. "My Lord, what are your further orders?" the orc asked, turned as Draco approached.
"Send all but those you feel are needed to defend this area back to Stromgarde, they've earned their rest." Draco said, handing him the copy of his blueprint, "and send for peons, I want this place fortified against any future attack. The ships will remain until the wall is completed."
The orc studied the map, understanding some of what was written there, but nodded all the same, "I will also summon a goblin engineer to head up the construction," he added, to which Draco agreed. Better to have the best heading every possible task.
His orders discharged, Draco apparated back to Stromgarde, eager to add this new location to their maps of the area, and start preparing for the next attempt at their new holdings by their enemies. With the wall and the coastlines now protected, the warlock suspected that they would next have to contend with the massive bridges, and their leading down to the Wetlands. The dwarves had been particularly silent since being forced out of the Searing Gorge so long ago, and Draoc suspected that they were plotting something big in retaliation to that loss.
If the Wetlands hadn't had so many extra resourced for them to plunder, Draco would have been in favor of demolishing the bridges completely, but sadly that was out of the question. Smirking to himself, he realized that perhaps there was merit in simply making their enemies believe that the bridges were destroyed.
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Jaina had figured that Garona would want nothing to do with her, and to an extent she had suspected that Nobu'tan would feel the same, but it still didn't soften the sting that went with nearly every interaction with the warlock. It was strange, on the one hand Jaina could tell that the young man was going through something deeply troubling and personal, often walking off on his own and looking for all the world as grim as death itself, except when someone came and interrupted his internal struggle. There would be a flash of something akin to irritation, and then Nobu'tan would deal with the individual as needed, before swiftly returning to his mood.
The other warlocks who were with him, clearly others of his kind, aside from the Stormwind human and gnome that followed like sycophants, worked to buffer Nobu'tan from the rest of the army.
It was not inspiring to the men, and Jaina's presence alone seemed to be what motivated them to keep pushing forward. If Nobu'tan didn't snap out of his mood before conflict erupted with the Twilight Hammer, there might be a serious detriment to the effectiveness of their soldiers and adventuring mercenaries.
But Jaina could see now means of actually getting through to the warlock. Sadly enough, she understood a partial possibility that the man was going through. If she guessed correctly, he was still suffering in a near mourning state. She herself had gone through a terrible year of that same emotion over her father, after the battle of Theramore.
It had taken ages for her to finally come around, and even then there were still things and places she could not go without the memories assaulting her and threatening to revitalize the deep depression she had suffered under.
In a strange way, despite the high likelihood that Nobu'tan was her enemy, Jaina felt a kinship to the young man. If she had opportunity, she wanted to speak with him alone, tell him of her time in Dalaran, and the loss of her own mentor, Archmage Antonidas, at the hands of Arthas during the Third War, and show him that she understood his pain. But time as it was would not permit it. According to the field commanders, they were swiftly approaching the first of several large camps of the Twilight Hammer Cult, and they would need to focus on their battle strategy to eliminate and capture as many of the cultists as they could, to have someone to interrogate about what exactly they were up to in this far-flung desert.
The sun was nearing its zenith when they came upon the outskirts of the camp. The tents and small banners were decked with the violet color and blackened hammer symbol of the cult. Nobu'tan was beside her and the field commander of the Alliance forces, and upon setting their sights on the small encampment, Jaina could feel something shift in the air.
Glancing around, she found her eyes drawn to the warlock himself. The man had changed, his eyes now full of steel as he gazed with anger at the camp before them. "I want the camp encircled," he said slowly, a keen and tactical mind blossoming in sinister glory, "every avenue of escape closed down, mages working to prevent teleportation. Not one word of this attack shall reach the other camps. I will lead the initial strike team myself. My allies will lead similar forces at other angles, to catch them in a three pronged pincer."
"I find no fault in this plan," the commander said, nodding his agreement, "we will follow your instruction then, Lord Banu."
Nobu'tan nodded gruffly, turning toward the massive column of soldiers, who were gazing at the enemy camp with no small amount of hesitation.
"Warriors of the Alliance!" Nobu'tan shouted, so that all could hear, "Before you lays one encampment of the Twilight Cult! The same forces that ambushed us at Theramore, in Alliance held territory! These fiends wantonly slew your brothers-in-arms, all in a strike against an individual. This vile act will not go unpunished! We will be the hammer and the anvil of retribution! These monsters capture children, brainwash honorable and loyal warriors and turn them against those they considered family, and make a mockery of all that is good and peaceful in this world! Will we allow it?!"
"NO!" the assembled force roared as one. Jaina stood there, amazed at such a profound leader. She had had no idea that this was lurking just beneath the surface of depression and moody despondence. What had managed to rile up the orc-raised warlock she did not know, precisely, but she feared what might occur if either Horde or Alliance finally were set against him as enemies, at his full faculty and power.
Nobu'tan produced and drew a sword from within his cloak, "Warriors, Brothers, Friends! We will wipe these curs from the face of Azeroth! For the Alliance! Attack!" to roared, and the column cheered in response, surging forward.
"You men, with me!" one of the other warlocks called, mirrored on the other flank by a third comrade, leading splinter factions of the main column around to encircle the camp and attack from other entrances.
"Cavalry! Charge!" Nobu'tan called, aiming his weapon at the camp, and the Knights of Stormwind leapt to action, hooves of their mounts kicking up sand and dirt as they pulled ahead of the column.
Adventurers sprinted behind, some taking to their own mounts, and a menagerie of beasts and creatures took to the field, carrying the mercenary forces and champions of the Alliance forward. A call was sounded within the camp, moments before the Alliance soldiers struck, rending through the canvas and cloth walls that shrouded the camp. Jaina forced herself to tear her eyes away from the display of martial prowess, and focus her arcane abilities to their advantage.
She readied herself, preparing a burst of magic to overload any portal that sprung up inside the camp. She had no love of violence, and Jaina was actually very pleased that she did not have to directly participate in the bloodbath.
Granted, her worry did compound when she felt the spike of Fel magic erupt within the camp, directly in the center of the sea of tents, obscured from her vision.
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Nobu'tan felt alive again.
From the moment he set eyes on the Twilight Hammer encampment, he sensed something waiting there for him, pulsing with greater purpose. He couldn't place what it was, or why it felt like he was being called to it, but his blood seemed to be on fire as he sprinted across the sand toward the cloth, surrounded by fellow warriors.
It did not matter that they were not the Horde of old, that he had known and loved, but one united force with common purpose. The same cause of justice and single-minded purpose shot through him like wildfire, and he rode that wave of destruction to its course. Blasts of Felfire shot from his hands, igniting stray tents and knocking cultists from their feet.
The Alliance warriors were just as deadly and skilled as those of his Dark Horde, and Nobu'tan could respect their prowess. There was no sign of Cho'gall in the camp, nor that of Fallshadow, but the Void magic abounded in many of the cultists. But they were sorely outnumbered and outmatched against the army of the Alliance.
Breaking into the inner circle of tents, Nobu'tan sent away his guards, and started sweeping the commander's tent himself, searching for clues or information. He felt hyper aware of his surroundings, and collected many writings and scrolls. Most of these seemed to be inane babblings, or what the cultists must have considered prophecies or religious texts, but anything could be a potential clue to their objectives.
The central-most tent; however, had quite a number of other objects and writings: diagrams of ancient-looking weapons, and stone tablets with etched writing, appearing significantly old. The topmost one froze Nobu'tan's blood as he saw it. The writing was nothing he had ever seen, and therefore it was indecipherable, but the handful of pictures that were distinct and vivid.
Nobu'tan felt his hands tremble as he ran his fingers over the stone, interpreting what he could slowly. There were human-like figures emerging from a large circle, "Wanders will come from a distant world…"
Another figure, with magic radiating out from their center, "embodiments of magic," Nobu'tan guessed. The next was a similar figure, but with horns on their head, kneeling before some sort of massive eye. Nobu'tan did not know what it could mean.
"They're leader will submit to the great C'thun," a voice spoke behind him. Nobu'tan whirled, snarling as he spotted the rotting corpse of Stasia Fallshadow. The undead was acting far too casual.
"Everything our master has predicted has come true thus far. Your people, the catalysts of magic have come and integrated into Azeroth, and here you are, the demonic leader of these creatures, to this place, where the great C'thun will show you all that you miss, and you will become his avatar."
Nobu'tan growled low in his throat, utterly rejecting this prediction. "I serve none but whomsoever I choose…" he seethed, letting the tablet lie where it was.
"You will change your mind, in time. C'thun has foreseen all… if you think you can stop us, and save Halforcen's little brat, then come to the temple of our master and prove it…" Fallshadow said, smirking.
Nobu'tan swung at her, but the image of the undead shimmered and faded. Nobu'tan raged, Fel power surging through him. Rings of flames launched out from him, incinerating the heavy cloth of the tent, sending everyone nearby scattering for cover.
Calming himself somewhat, Nobu'tan realized that this was what they wanted. If he charged off angrily to confront them, then he would fall into their power, just as Garona had, and her son, and likely every other fool that had succumbed to the madness of this creature "C'thun."
Gathering the tablets behind him that had survived his outburst, Nobu'tan turned and exited the ruins of the tent, and started for one of the exits of the encampment. He needed to confer with those more aware of the delicate nature of this world, and he had to admit to himself that he had missed a great deal, and was a stranger in a strange land despite considering it his home.
The battle had gone as swiftly as he had presumed. The Cultists had supposed falsely that their isolated location in the harsh deserts would prevent any large force from finding and attacking then. Therefore, Nobu'tan was able to walk out of the camp unmolested by the handful of captured survivors. Nobu'tan would allow the Alliance commanders to interrogate these prisoners. He had enough to figure out with these tablets.
Quickly, he located Jaina Proudmoore. As much as he did not want to have too much interaction with the Sorceress, she was the best choice for him to figure out the full scheme of the cult. "Lady Proudmoore," he said as he approached, drawing her attention and that of several Alliance adventurers that were conversing with the famed Mage. "I have need of your expertise, if you'd care to assist me…"
The woman's featured softened, and inwardly Nobu'tan cringed at the look of understanding that the mage was giving him. "Certainly, I'm here to help however you need."
Gesturing to the tent that he had set up for himself, Nobu'tan led the way, passing by Macnair and Yaxley, who had also returned and were guarding the entrance.
"I found these tablets in the main structure of the camp," Nobu'tan said, withdrawing the heavy tablets and setting them on tables around the tent, "and I was wondering if you could help me translate their meaning."
The Sorceress did not reply, and Nobu'tan turned to find her gazing around the tent in awe. "This place is magnificent," she breathed, not referring to the scattered ornaments and other magical items strewn about, but the magic of the tent itself.
"The use of magic here is so unique, and fascinating." She said, refocusing on Nobu'tan himself. The warlock sighed, understanding that the other residents of Azeroth would not recognize the magic of the wizards of earth, and therefore found it delightful and refreshing to witness. And the extended interior of the tent Nobu'tan used would certainly qualify.
"About these tablets," he said after a few moments more, refocusing the Sorceress attention to what he had found. She nodded, abashed at her distraction, and joined him at the table.
"I've seen some things like this before," she said, tracing a hand over the writing, "I believe Aegwynn would know it, but I cannot read it myself."
Nobu'tan sighed. He had not wanted to use more wizarding magic if he could avoid it, but that seemed to no longer be the case. "There is one thing I can do that may help," he said, drawing his wand.
He could tell that the Sorceress was watching him closely as he intone the charm to translate languages, and was amazed by the show of magic as the orcish words appeared on the blank parchment.
Both leaned in to read the words as they appeared, and Nobu'tan felt his anger returning swiftly.
"When the wanderers from the stars appear, magic blossoming within their breasts, then the great C'thun will rise, and within new vessel usher back the Black Empire."
"The last thing I wanted to see, was another blasted prophecy regarding me and my people," Nobu'tan seethed, disgusted at the crude threat to his friends and pseudo-family.