Chapter 105
The Red World
The dark clouds overcastting the light of the sun felt appropriate, as far as Draco was concerned, for this dreary event. Rather than join King Varian and Lady Proudmoore as they made their way to fight at the Dark Portal, Draco led those who wanted to go home back to Stormwind. His reasoning was slightly different than those weary soldiers however. He had an important task to fulfill, and a grieving family to meet with.
Lord and Lady Parkinson had been devastated when they heard of Pansy's death, and the lack of her body to tend to was even worse. Therefore it was his duty to bring her back to Stormwind, and see to it that she was laid to rest with dignity and proper ceremony.
While it was no happy event to return her body to the sorrowful parents, there was closure, for them and for Draco to a lesser extent, and the funeral had been planned rather swiftly. Every refugee from Earth had come, from as far as Lakeshire to the east and Duskwood to the south.
They gathered in the cemetery behind the Cathedral district, all witches and wizards of an ancient culture. No advocates of the Light, and no Druids of the Moon Goddess were officiating this, but they were gathered in the name of Merlin and because of their shared heritage.
"We are gathered here, in the name of Merlin and the sight of our peers, to lay to rest one of our own," Lucius said, taking the front of the gathering. The long black coffin, enchanted and sealed to prevent any attempts of tampering, and most certainly any attempts to raise Pansy's body in unlife again, sat at the side of the dug grave, in a place of prominence where all would be able to see it as they passed.
"Pansy Parkinson was a brave, intelligent girl, and the love of my son's life," Lucius said somberly, and in the far back Draco heard Lady Parkinson burst into tears again. Their gathering seemed to be attracting the attention of those who lived in Stormwind, and slowly the citizens of the city were appearing to investigate, realizing the sadness that permeated the group of magical people.
"She was strong in life, and fierce, like all her people," Lucius said, extolling the virtues of the young woman they had all known and loved, "and she will leave a hole in our hearts for many years to come."
Those who had been selected to bear the coffin stepped forward, Draco included, and raised their wands. The coffin levitated upward and moved slowly toward its final resting place.
"As we commit this young woman to the soil of this strange land, let us vow to never forget her memory, and the strength that she had in facing down the Scourge of undeath." Lucius said.
"Never forget!" the crowd echoed.
"Let us never forgive those who caused her death, the vile Necromancers of the Undead Scourge." Lucius continued, his balled fists showing the only hint of anger in his body.
"Never forgive!" the crowd repeated.
"May this place be forever enchanted to protect her body, and indeed all those buried here, from the same dire fate." Lucius asked, raising his own wand as the casket settled at the bottom of the grave. Every witch and wizard in the crowd copied his motion, and they as one caused the soil to flow over the grave, beautifying and decorating it with greenery and a massive stone marker.
Lord and Lady Parkinson approached, the wife leaning on the arm of her husband, and together the parents etched the words they wanted upon the grave of their daughter. "Pansy Parkinson - Lived as green and beautifully as her name; cut down in the prime of her life. Never Forget. Never Forgive."
The crowd stood for a long time, allowing their magic to soak into the spells they had cast, before dispersing to retire to the place set aside for their wake. The Slaughtered Lamb tavern had willingly reserved itself for their use in this matter, but Draco was not going to be departing for a while.
Taking a seat in one of the conjured benches, courtesy of one of the onlookers, he hung his head in his hands and sighed deeply. "I failed you, Pansy…" he said, anguish of soul seeping from his mind.
Soon the entire group of onlookers, both wizarding folk and Stormwind citizens departed, after a great many gave their respects and deposited small gifts to surround the site. Draco knew that he was not entirely alone here, but he did not care, the pain flowed over him and there was no comfort for him to find elsewhere.
His head did snap up as a flash of Fel power heralded the arrival of Nobu'tan, extremely late and face covered in sweat from the battle at the Dark Portal.
Draco rose slowly, concerned that the leader of the Dark Horde would come here in human disguise so soon after the battle. But the Grand Warlock held up a hand to forestall him as Nobu'tan approached the grave.
"Pasny," he said, kneeling down in the fresh soil and bowing his head, "We never really knew each other, but I feel responsible for your death…"
Nobu'tan seemed to pause, as though listening, before slowly revealing his personal relationship with the Lich Lord Kel'thuzad, and that his bringing them all to Azeroth was the exact cause of her death.
"I cannot undo death, nor will I torment you with the curse of undeath again just to bring you back." The warlock said, punching the ground in his anger, "but I swear I will avenge you. The Lich King, and all those who follow him will pay dearly for disrupting the peace that I had promised you all." He rose sharply, and turned to Draco for the briefest of moments.
"I'm sorry…" was all he said before departing once more, opening a nether gateway and disappearing back to the front lines of the battle in the world beyond the Portal.
Draco slowly sank back on the bench, now deeply in thought. He blamed himself for Pansy's death, and Nobu'tan blamed himself as well. It forced him to think long and hard over whether either of them was even in the right to place blame.
Another whoosh of magic brought a second late figure to visit the grave, and Draco looked up to see the hooded cloak of Lady Jaina Proudmoore. She spotted Draco, and went to him instead, "How long has it been since the ceremony?" she asked.
"Not long," Draco replied, even as the Sorceress sat beside him.
"Nobu'tan was here I gather," she said, not really asking a question, but Draco nodded anyway.
"I figured he would," Jaina said, "he carries the burden of responsibility a bit too close to the heart I think…"
"He's not the only one, in this case," Draco admitted, struggling to prevent fresh tears from spilling from his eyes.
"There was no way you could have known what the Scourge was planning." Jaina said, taking his hands with hers. "There was no preventing this, and from what tales I hear, your Pansy went down like a warrior, defending others with her own power."
"She was always a fighter," Draco said, smiling at some of the memories of their time in Hogwarts, arguing and Draco eventually backing down to her demands, "even when we were children."
"Then that is what you need to remember," Jaina said, squeezing his hands, "not how she ended, nor what was left in Naxxramus."
She paused for a long moment, seeming to work up the courage to continue speaking, "When Prince Arthas of Lordaeron turned on his own kingdom, I was devastated, and I blamed myself… I still blame myself…" she admitted slowly, "but he was no longer himself, and I couldn't stand by him anymore."
She paused again, but Draco did not interrupt, just watched her as Jaina spoke.
"Sometimes I wonder if I could have stopped his madness, if I had remained at his side, and prevented his total fall to becoming the Lich King, or whether I too would have been consumed by the madness…"
"I wouldn't wish that fate on anyone," Jaina breathed, "to lose themselves in anger and revenge."
The warmth of her hands on his made Draco remember some of the more intimate moments of his and Pasny's life, and they softened his anguish. She had never thought he had listened to her talking about their life together back in Hogwarts, but he had hung on every word, wanting to understand how to make another happy. At first he wanted to make sure that he himself was happy, but as he grew older and started to understand, he saw the love that his father and mother had for each other, and wanted something akin to it terribly.
So many Purebloods were married for political reasons, and he was one of the lucky ones, being so close to Nobu'tan and with Lucius Malfoy as his father to avoid all of that madness. He would marry for love, and nothing less. But Pansy was gone now, and it had been as though his heart had died with her.
But Jaina's words, and the warming effect of her presence seemed to be the jolt required to make it beat once again, and Draco felt the rush of emotions wash over him afresh. Pain and sadness washed out of him.
"You would not have become lost," Draco said, gripping the Sorceress' hands back, "You are strong, and true, and courageous, and you know what is right with all your heart." He said truthfully, "whether you could have saved anyone else, I cannot say, but you would have survived such an ordeal. Much like the many you have already survived, and made roses bloom from the midst of a terrible marsh."
Jaina smiled, and Draco knew she was remembering the small rose garden she tended in Theramore. "You carry so much of the world's burden upon your shoulders," he continued, "much like Lord Nobu'tan, but you need to remember that you are not alone in this; neither of you."
Slowly, Draco rose, and Jaina's hands slipped from his, "Will you come and attend the wake with me?" he asked, "I suspect you have to return to the front soon, but another hour won't change much?"
Jaina smiled sadly, "unfortunately, I do need to depart. I've already overstayed the time I was allotted, and we need to push the demons away from the Portal. I'm needed to help establish portals to Orgrimmar and Stormwind for reinforcements to help the defenders. They're managing for now, but they need stronger ones to require fewer mages to maintain them."
"I understand," Draco said, watching as the Lady of Theramore took up her staff, "Will you visit us again soon?" he asked, feeling compelled to do so.
"As soon as I have the time to." She replied, and Draco nodded, waiting as she teleported away before starting off toward the Mage Quarter to join the small party to remember Pansy.
His heart was still heavy with the loss, but he felt as though there at least was a path forward now. He would honor Pansy's memory with every action he undertook from this time forward.
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Blaise look out over the endless waves of demons that assaulted their position on the Dark Portal. The ranks of wrathguard spilled over the far hill, and every so often the Pit Commander would summon infernals down to challenge them, but thus far the three factions had worked as one and held their ground.
On the left of the massive stairs leading up to the Portal, the Alliance had marshaled their forces, consisting of Stormwind Footmen, Darnassian Archers, paladins from the Dwarf realm of Ironforge, and mages from Theramore. They were led by another Paladin, Justinus the Harbringer, which, from what Blaise had heard, was a member of the race called Draenei. Some of the oldest among the orcs knew of this race, but they had apparently just recently arrived on Azeroth by a crashing space ship.
On the right, the Horde had a combination of grunts, Darkspear Trolls, Forsaken mages; all led by a massive Tauren shaman named Melgromm Highmountain. They were far more familiar to Blaise, having walked among those races countless times, but to still see them all fighting as one was a little strange.
Finally, their own forces plugged the center of the stairs, refusing to be separated from the action. High Warlock Xi'lun led their force to hold the portal here, with a combination of orc grunts and ogre warriors, supported in the rear by warlocks and Amani axethrowers.
After checking that their defenses were holding strong, Blaise returned to the small nook along the side of the portal that the Dark Horde shared with the Alliance. Two more warlocks were holding a permanent gateway to Blackrock Mountain, and a steady stream of reinforcements was pouring through to keep the demons on the back foot. Nobu'tan was there as well, speaking with Lady Jaina Proudmoore and King Varian Wrynn.
"My Lord, the line is holding," Blaise reported, bowing in the presence of the two Alliance leaders.
"Thank you Tenebrous," Nobu'tan replied, making certain to use the man's orcish name to couple with his disguise.
"We've sent some scouts ahead by griffin," Varian continued as Blaise fell silent, "and we've found an old Alliance Expedition stronghold. We believe it is still manned, but we cannot tell by whom.
"The Horde is going to the opposite side of the peninsula," Jaina added, "and they will be building their own fort there."
"Which just leaves us to find somewhere to set up a base camp in this place," Nobu'tan said, thinking, "Tenebrous, I leave that to you, take Garona and find us a suitable location to take for our own, possibly on the southern side of the region. It would be best not to remain too close to the Kalimdor Horde, especially if the peace between us all does not extend beyond the area around the portal."
"As you wish," Blaise said, stepping back and turning to find Garona only a few steps away, listening in. How the half-orc managed her powers of stealth still remained a mystery to the warlock, who used a combination of magic to aid himself in deceiving those who'd observe him.
"Let's head out then," Garona said, turning toward a pair of Amani Dragonhawks. The trolls had been more than eager to bring their pets back to Blackrock, and with Nobu'tan hesitation to reveal their alliance with the black dragons too soon, they had been adequate for use in transportation and scouting.
They took off into the sky of the devastated world, angling to the south west from the Portal, and easily seeing the fort that the Alliance were attempted to make contact with. Farther still in the same direction, huddled up against a ridge of mountains was another, far more orcish ruin.
"That might be a good location," Blaise shouted over the wind of their movement.
"Let's check it out," Garona agreed, and they swooped closer.
There were figured moving around inside the rotting and damaged wooden walls, and upon towers that seemed to have been burned at some point in the past. And from what Blaise could sense, there was a great deal of Fel magic being performed down there.
They circled the base twice, before landing on the mountains where they had an excellent vantage of the entire open area.
Dismounting and approaching the edge of their overlook, Blaise studied the movement of the orcs far below, "What clan are they?" he asked Garona, who was far more knowledgeable of that sort of thing.
"Bleeding Hollow, judging from the colors and banners," she replied, "But they are acting more like regular Fel orcs than anything to do with their clan's culture."
"Would they be possible to ally with, or will we need to conquer them?" Blaise asked.
"Depends on who their leader is," Garona said, "but we may be able to convert some of them with Lord Nobu'tan assistance. If there are warlocks down there, they are sure to be impressed by his visage and power."
"If I recall correctly, the leader of the Bleeding Hollow is Kil'rogg Deadeye, the same whom Nobu'tan named out scrying spells after." Blaise said, recalling the information.
"That is correct," Garona agreed, "but it had been many years, and Kil'rogg was old. I wouldn't bet that he has survived this long, nor would he allow his clan to become to mindlessly similar to the others."
"We had best report this location back to Nobu'tan," Blaise said, looking around in all directions. There weren't any other suitable locations, unless they built their own base, and they lacked the resources and time that the other Horde did to do so.
Quickly they remounted the dragonhawks and took off for the massive portal foundation. The next assault from the Legion seemed to be ramping up, and the defenders were already harrying the demons as they approached the structure as Garona and Blaise landed close to the Alliance and Dark Horde portals.
Nobu'tan was not there, but they had already known that Nobu'tan would be returning to Blackrock to organize their expedition into the rest of Outland. Both the Alliance leaders were also missing, presumable off attending to their own business, but Blaise only cared about getting back their information to Nobu'tan, and therefore led Garona into the Nether Portal to the heart of Blackrock mountain.
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Nobu'tan stirred furiously in his private Alchemy lab. After returning from the Dark Portal, he had checked the status of their important prisoners. Aside from some dwarves and Horde warriors from the handful of battles they had waged earlier, both Theodore and the Dreadlord were still in fine form.
The young human was thoroughly twisted to believing he was destined, no matter the circumstances of his imprisonment, that he would lead the Dark Horde in the path that the Legion wanted them to go.
Lord Banehollow, on the other hand, had changed his song and dance utterly.
The Dreadlord was more than eager to leave his prison, even if he remained bound to the Dark Horde as an advisor and helper in all their endeavors, be that against the Legion, the Scourge, or whatever else.
It was a tempting bargain, and if not for the massive deception that the Nathrezim was well known for, Nobu'tan would actually have been forced to consider it. But as it stood, he would never trust any of the agents of the Legion. There would always be some sort of power play in the background, and having the demon locked away and powerless was the best bet that he had for keeping control over the situation himself.
There would be ways to take the information he desired from the Dreadlord if that ever became necessary. He was so frustrated with the nonsense that the demon had tried to lure him with that, in effort to clear his mind of the lies and half-truths, Nobu'tan had retired to this private sanctum. Combining the potions knowledge of his homeworld with the skills of alchemy that he had gathered from Azeroth, he was singlehandedly spearheading methods of brewing and creating new potions and elixirs for his armies to use.
Currently, he was attempting to formulate a way to mass produce a strength enhancing elixir for the Dark Horde's warriors, artificially increasing their strength and stamina to supernatural levels. The potion changed colors, frothing slightly at the vigorousness of his stirring, and Nobu'tan grinned. This would be perfect.
Blaise and Garona entered, the latter holding her nose at the smell of the boiling ingredients. "You've found a suitable location?" Nobu'tan asked, dumping a diced goldleaf root into the cauldron, causing the fumes to dissipate and turn a shimmering silver. The magic of combining both processes together had done wonders for Nobu'tan's brewing, and he was certain that if Severus Snape hadn't hated him with a passion, he would have been proud at the accomplishment.
"We have, but there is a catch," Blaise said, idly watching the simmering cauldron, "There is a bastion of Bleeding Hollow south of the Alliance base, overrun with orcs already, and we believe that most of them are empowered with the blood of a second Pit Lord."
"So they're red…" Nobu'tan said, measuring out the spleen of a freshwater eel, "I wouldn't have thought Kil'roog would have gone that deep into the Fel, but I suppose anything is possible with how long we've all been gone…"
"It's also likely," Garona added, "that Kil'rogg is dead…"
Nobu'tan paused, before nodding and scraping the spleen into the potion, setting his tools aside as the potion tuned a bright crimson. "I hope not, but you may be right." He said, cleaning his hands and knives. "Either way I presume you want me to attend to taking this base personally."
"Shock and awe would be the best tactic I think," Blaise said, smirking, "then crush those hold outs that refuse to fall in line."
"I understand." Nobu'tan said, "I'll see to it immediately…"
Waving the Elder Wand over the potion, then pointing at a rack of vials, he watched for a moment at the cauldron's worth of potion measured itself out and bottled on its own for distribution among the grunts. Once it was finished he departed, stowing the wand away and retrieving Aetish. The Guardian's Greatstaff hummed with magical power, and Nobu'tan was eager to see it in action once more.
He transported himself to the Blasted Lands with a wave of the staff, foregoing the portal that was established in the mountain. The Fel infused air was stimulating, and he wanted to gather a little extra power before venturing into the magically dead planet of Outland.
It was sad really, Nobu'tan mused as he entered the Dark Portal. The view from the Outland side took his breath away, even though he had seen it less than a week prior. The land was simply so devastated that it shocked him to see.
Sighing, Nobu'tan ignored the soldiers of both Alliance and Horde that were there to greet the adventurers of each faction, and permitted part of his human disguise fade away. Unfurling the wings that had recently become part of his body, he leapt into the air, catching a current and soaring upward to see the dilapidated orc fortress to the south.
Yes, he thought, smirking, it was perfect. It was just out of range of the Alliance fortress to allow their forces to move without harassment, and very far from the Horde and the possibly all out war that could spring up at any time.
"Remember… Shock and awe," he told himself, smirking. The urge to totally obliterate any opposing denizens was tempting, especially as it was clear these orcs were loyal to someone.
Flying low, he swooped over the heads of the orcs, before landing in front of their Great Hall. A pair of grunts started to rush him, axes raised. Sighing at the futility of the poor fools, Nobu'tan waved the Guardian's staff, throwing them back and out of his path.
"None of you have the power to hinder me, so it would be wisest to allow me to see your leader, now!" he barked, sending the two scampering like frightened children.
Curiously, only one ran for the interior of the Great Hall. The other sprinted for the gate, and turned to scale down the ridge that the base was built atop.
Letting the matter slide for the time being, Nobu'tan waited for a moment, until the roaring of the angered warlord reached his ears. "You!" the orc bellowed, great fangs covered in spittle as he raged, eyes blazing as crimson as his skin, "You dare enter my fortress and demand to see me! I ought to cleave you in two!"
"I would love to see you try," Nobu'tan rebuked, spreading his arms wide and showing off the tabard of the Stormreaver Clan. The orc stopped short, eyes widening with shock and fury at the insignia.
"I am Nobu'tan, chief among the students of Gul'dan, returned from my long absence to reunite the Horde of old to its former glory." He introduced, allowing his black robes to fall back into place, "I wonder if the Bleeding Hollow Clan is still interested in such things, or if the Fel Blood of your master has turned you into loyal sycophants that need extermination…"
"What you say rings of the truth, dark and sordid of a history it seems," a voice rasped from behind him. Nobu'tan glanced back to see a far older orc, with one eye covered by a patch standing with several guards and warlocks behind him. "We seem to have much to discuss, Nobu'tan… although I find it difficult to believe a human with the wings of a demon could have possibly been the apprentice of Gul'dan."
"That is a long tale, and one that I am sure you will recall if you ventured into Azeroth alongside Kil'rogg… What happened to the old chieftain anyway?" Nobu'tan replied, curious.
"He died honorably in battle," the Warlord replied, solemnly, "Our clan has suffered much since his passing and the sundering of this world."
"My condolences," Nobu'tan said honestly, "I respected Kil'rogg very much as a child, although I doubt he took any more note of me than others did. After all, a human runt among Gul'dan's playthings was not the most interesting of objects…"
"Please, enter, and let us share a meal together," the old warlock invited, stepping past Nobu'tan and guiding the entourage to escort him into the Great Hall.
Carefully, and keeping his eyes on the warlord and his guards, Nobu'tan walked toward the building. With some careful wordplay, he hoped to gather all the information he needed about these orcs and judge whether to slaughter them or turn them to his way of thinking.
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Varian jolted slightly as his gryphon landed in the middle of the fort to the south of the massive citadel dominating the center of this red region of Outland. Lady Proudmoore was at his side soon after, her snowy mount seeming to handle the landing with significantly more grace.
Looking around, Varian was surprised to see a combination of men and women that seemed to have a mixture of Stormwind and Lordaeron heritage, as well as dwarves, and even a handful of High Elves in their number.
"Greetings sir," one of the men said approaching and offering to take the reins of Varian's mount, "Who might you be, so we can announce you to the commander?"
"I am Varian, King of Stormwind," he announced, which seemed to send a ripple of surprise through the assembled Alliance Expedition forces. "Who is in command here?" Varian asked.
"Send for Danath!" the man called, sending a pair of messengers running for the main keep, "You should come with me, there seems to be much to discuss."
Exchanging a glance with Jaina, Varian followed swiftly as they approached the main structure. The white-haired man that greeted them at the entrance of the fortress seemed to have a boisterous spirit, but somewhat subdued by wisdom and age, "Little Varian Wrynn," the man said, "I suppose you don't remember me, but I am Danath Trollbane."
"The tactical advisor of General Turalyon and the Alliance Expedition," Varian replied, "Yes, I vaguely remember you."
"Hah!" Danath laughed, slapping Varian on the shoulder, "Glad to know I'm not forgotten next to the rest of the Sons of Lothar! Welcome to Honor Hold!"
Varain paused, realizing what fortification this was based on the name, "This is Honor Hold? Where the Expedition held out against the Horde while Khadgar closed the portal?" he asked, suddenly feeling the prominence of this place in Alliance history.
"Indeed, your Majesty," Danath replied, "Although Khadgar is not here at this time, and both Alleria and Turalyon have been missing since that dreadful day."
"Tell us everything," Jaina demanded, and Varian found himself agree whole-heartedly with the Sorceress.
"There's not much to tell," Danath said with a shrug, "We chased the orcs across the region, kicked the green-skins at every turn and took back the artefacts they had stolen. Khadgar started the ritual to close the Portal even as the world started to blow up. We were saved by some creature made of shiny light and lead back here to live. Most of us have been waiting and hoping that the Portal would open again in time, but at the same time the longer it remained closed the longer we knew Azeroth was safe."
"All has not been safe in Azeroth," Varian said, and slowly they started to catch the commander of Honor Hold up on events that they had missed being on the remains of the Red World.
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Thrall looked over the red, lifeless ground of the world his people came from.
Long hours had he spent listening to old Drek'thar speak of the orcish homeworld, its beauty and dangers, and longed to see where he had come from. But now that he had seen what the demons had done to it, he grieved. The elements of Outland were reeling in constant agony, crying out for vengeance against those that had betrayed them.
And that was not even to mention those orcs that had remained. Thrall had seen some from afar as their new fort was being built. The crimson of their skin was sickening to behold, and Thrall knew that there was a madness in their eyes that he had seen before the Battle of Mt. Hyjal, reflecting in those of his spiritual brother Grommash Hellscream.
Nazgrel, the leader of his Kor'kron, and now commander of the new Horde fortress in the Hellfire Peninsula, approached, "The base is completed Warchief," he reported.
"Good," Thrall said, eager to return to Orgrimmar and send out the news to the scores of Horde adventurers waiting eagerly for the word to venture into the harsh world. "What has been chosen as the name of this stronghold?" he asked.
"The men have decided upon Thrallmar," Nazgrel replied with a grin. Thrall raised an eyebrow, noting the loyalty that the Horde forces had shown him, personally for so long.
"Keep your eyes open for anything unusual," he warned, "and be on the lookout for orcs that are not corrupted by the Fel,"
"We will do so Warchief," Nazgrel said, "And what of the Blood elves that already reside here in Outland?" he asked.
Thrall though hard. It was an unusual set of circumstances. Many of the Blood Elves that came from Silvermoon under the Horde's banner were greatly desirous to follow their lost prince into the wilds of Outland, but they had found many elves already present here in the wastes. They had attack anyone, even their fellow elves on sight, and proved themselves very powerful warriors.
"Be wary, and admonish those from Silvermoon that not everything is as it seems out here," he said, knowing that it would do little to curb their enthusiasm.
"Understood Warchief," Nazgrel said, turning back to the massive Great Hall, even as Thrall approached a blood elf Magus, who obliged the Warchief's request for a portal back to Orgrimmar.
The rush of power that accompanied the world of his birth was refreshing, and Thrall mourned all the more for the devastation that he had found in Outland. As soon as he had word of other orcs he wished to return personally to meet them. But until then he had to remain in Kalimdor, running the Horde and making sure that the supply lines into Outland were not hindered in any way.
Not exactly the role of a Warchief from ages past, but it was what Thrall could do for his people, and so he would do it to the best of his ability, regardless of his personal wishes.
"Send out a Horde-wide notice," he ordered the nearest scribe, "the Dark Portal has been opened, and the lands of Outland are laid bare. Go forth, adventurers of the Horde, and explore this new land. The challenges and trials that await you will be harsh, but with the strength of the earth at your back, the Horde will triumph."
"It will be spread throughout the cities and villages of the Horde, Warchief," the scribe said, finishing copying the words of Thrall and hurrying out of Grommash Hold.
Sighing, Thrall sat in the fur-covered throne. "You seem troubled, Warchief." Saurfang said from his side.
"I should be there, leading from the front," Thrall admitted, "but I need to allow our warriors to shine for themselves, regardless of what I personally desire. I want to know of the homeland of my people, but if it is nothing but that destroyed wreck I found, I do not know if I can tolerate it."
"I can think of one area that may yet survive," Saurfang said, "the shaman of Garadar would not allow those in their care to fall to the Fel corruption, in Nagrand."
"Tell me," Thrall said, eager to understand more of the history he was denied knowing by the actions of Gul'dan and Lord Blackmoore.
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Khadgar emerged from the small dwelling he used in Shattrath City, looking up curiously into the sky. He sensed something different in the air of Outland. Scratching his white hair in thought, the Archmage of the Sons of Lothar was distracted by the summons of A'dal in his mind.
Hurrying to the center structure of the Draenei city, Khadgar gazed upon the leading Naaru of the sanctuary. The being of pure crystalline light had not moved from his location at the very center of the city, and Khadgar approached, permitting the Naaru access to his mind.
"The Dark Portal has opened once again, the time draws near where those cursed by blood will come forth to be redeemed," the chief Naaru said.
Khadgar was not certain what the Naaru meant by this strange prophecy, which had been spoken by A'dal long before this time, but whatever was being referenced to it must have been important.
In any case, the opening of the Dark Portal meant one important thing. The Legion would be attempting to use the gateway to assault Azeroth once again. And where the Legion's forces were, Illidan's armies were sure to follow.
"We shall ready our defenses against the Illidari and the Legion," Khadgar affirmed for A'dal.
"The child of two worlds approaches as well…" A'dal casually mentioned, but the Naaru did not elaborate. This was new to Khadgar. He had heard nothing about such a person, and could only wonder what the Naaru was speaking about there.
Turning to give orders to the Draenei that guarded the city, Khadgar felt a familiar, yet altogether foreign flash of power from far away.
It was Fel in nature, but something deep and resounding, quite unlike the manner of the Fel orcs or any of their masters. If Khadgar didn't know better, he would have thought an Eredar Sorcerer had set foot on Draenor, but that was impossible.
But there was a taste of something familiar alongside the Fel magic. Something that Khadgar remembered rather vividly. "Aetish?" he asked, wondering what possibly could have brought back the staff of his former master Medievh to this desolate world.
"I want some scouts to probe into the Hellfire Peninsula," he added to the Vindicators, "we have new visitors to Draenor, and we need to know if they are friend, or foe."
"Of course, Archmage," the Draenei said, preparing to depart.
Glancing back at A'dal, who remained silent on the matter, Khadgar set out for his rounds about the city, hoping to hear something about their new guests from the countless refugees.