Many thanks to those who've reviewed over the last two weeks! Progress on the PotDS rewrite is agonizingly slow, and I do not expect that to be starting anytime soon. mixture of life, the job hunt, and other more important projects are preventing me from finding the time I would like to push ahead with that rewrite. Nevertheless, I will continue to plug away at it when I can, and we will get that rolling as soon as possible. that little update out of the way, on with the next chapter! ~F
Chapter 110
The Pitlord and the Prophet
Khadgar had no idea what he had expected to find here. The idea that Velen, the Prophet of the Light would be visiting an encampment of the Horde, and not even the newer version that Khadgar had only heard rumors of at this time, but the ancient Horde that had long scourged Outland of the Draenei.
Then only to arrive here, and be welcomed into their stronghold without so much as a hissed word, to find a demon sitting in their place of leadership with the Greatstaff of Aetish at his side. It was almost too much, even as the demon spoke with a human's voice, and knew Khadgar by name. He almost lost his cool.
"I do not believe we've met…" he said, trying to break the heavy layer of tension with a smile at the demon.
"Oh, we've met… a long time ago," the demon replied, shifting in his chair and fondly handling the Greatstaff.
Khadgar flinched. If he had met a demon before, then the fighting would break out quicker than he expected. "Southshore, just after the Horde landed and moved to bring their second war to the northern lands of Lordaeron…" the demon said, smirking at Khagdar as the wizard strained his mind to recall.
"You offered a young child a recommendation to go to Dalaran, just as my Master had hoped you would… it was a most enlightening journey, although not without its own problems…"
"Not possible…" Khadgar said, knowing the young child that the demon referred to, "I met no demons throughout the Second War…"
"My transformation occurred much later, but you knew me when I was significantly more human…" the demon stated flatly, and Khadgar grinned sheepishly. Of course this was a transformed being into a demonic state; that ought to have been obvious.
"Tobias Banu…" he said, mentioning the name that he had heard all about after the war had ended. The child, who had stolen from the Kirin Tor and vanished into the night, with Kel'Thuzad hot on his heels.
"Yes… although that was merely the name I gave you…" the demon stated.
"Kel'Thuzad was most distressed when you did not return," Khadgar said casually, "I was impressed that he fought Gul'dan to a standstill trying to rescue you."
"Heh," Nobu'tan replied, "so much for what that old Lich desired eh?"
Khadgar did not know what the human-turned-demon meant by that, and said nothing. "You've been gone this whole time, then?" Nobu'tan asked, "There is much for you to catch up on…"
"Unfortunately, I do not have the time for reminiscing," Khadgar admitted, "We need to escort the Prophet back to Shattrath City. A'dal wishes to commune with him regarding what we can do to stop the Burning Legion and Illidan…"
The Draenei Prophet furrowed his brow in contemplation, "The Alliance, Horde, and now the Dark Horde will see to both threats in due time. My presence is far more of a detriment if I go to Shattrath. A'dal will understand that I must return to Azeroth, where the Legion will not be able to seek me out…" he said.
The alabaster Draenei turned toward the sitting demon, "I had hoped to take a small detour through the Burning Steppes on my way back to the Exodar… I sensed a powerful surge of the Light in that region, and I suspect you know what I refer to."
"I do…" the demon replied, "and I will gladly facilitate a portal for your convenience…"
"But Prophet…" Khadgar said, however the Draenei did not reply, already moving toward the shadowy portal that had been opened as the simplest gesture. Khadgar had to turn away from the blinding merging of Fel and Arcane.
"Consult with Lord Nobu'tan, I'm certain that A'dal will be just as eager to meet with him as with me," Velen said.
Before Khadgar could say another word, the Prophet and his attending Vindicators disappeared, and the shadowy gateway sealed itself behind them. "Honestly I have to say I'm as surprised as you…" the demon, Nobu'tan, said, "Alas, I cannot come directly to you at this Shattrath City, although I know of it and its location…"
"So I just return to A'dal empty handed?" Khagdar said, even more confused as the leader of the Dark Horde rose and started weaving a new portal.
"From what I've understood about Naaru, they are nothing if not patient…" Nobu'tan said, walking toward his conjured gateway, "I trust you can see yourselves out without incident?"
Khadgar watched as the warlock vanished, leaving him and his guard alone in the structure. So many questions raged around his mind, all without answers. "Come, we have nothing left to accomplish here," he said, turning to depart. Whatever this one had planned, the Archmage of the Sons of Lothar was not sure if he wanted to be around when they started to come to bear fruit.
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Nobu'tan breathed easier once he was out of the presence of the Archmage; the only student of the Guardian Medievh. The probing questions and convolution of emotions were more than he wanted to tolerate at this present time.
Meeting with a being of pure light, again, was not terribly high on his list of desirable activities, but Velen seemed insistent that he ought to go in the old Draenei's place, so Nobu'tan would eventually oblige the old creature's wishes.
But first, he wanted to finish his investigation of the Hellfire Citadel, with the prison cell for their massive Pit Lord friend.
The Shadowmoon warlocks had already been informed of the change of ownership from the Fel Horde to the Dark Horde, and bowed as Nobu'tan entered their midst through his nether portal. "The Prisoner is prepared for you to speak with," one of the orcs said, gesturing toward the downward ramps that led around and into the cell itself.
Surrounding the demon were five powerful artifacts, which Nobu'tan had learned were called Manticron Cubes. Apparently they were the Fel orcs answer to the same dilemma that the wizards of Earth had conquered with runes. They magnified the power of a single warlock one hundred fold, allowing a small number to keep such a powerful being in check without the need of a ritual.
"How long do you think this pathetic Sorcery can hold me?!" the beast roared, as Nobu'tan entered the massive, enchanted cell.
"As long as it needs to," Nobu'tan said, looking up at the massive creature, "but it could be shorter than you expect… if you are willing to cooperate…"
"You think to bargain with one of the Annihilan?" the massive demon sneered, haughty even in its position.
"I do, because I know what the Legion will do to you when they realize that you did not die at the hands of their greatest traitor…" Nobu'tan said.
That stopped the Pit Lord's laughter in its tracks. "I'm listening…" the creature grumbled.
"I know who you are, Magtheridon, former Lord of Outland, and you're hatred of Illidan must run deep because of this humiliation…" Nobu'tan explained, "I serve the Legion. They want Illidan removed from the playing field. I trust that you'll want to earn you way back into our master's good graces…"
"Whatever your plan is, I agree…" the Pit Lord rumbled.
"I'll need more of an assurance than your word, if you understand my lack of trust for your kind…" Nobu'tan countered, causing the Annihilan to angrily mutter. Raising an arm, Nobu'tan felt the power of the Fel surge to life, quickly outpacing the power of the five cubes. The massive, double-bladed polearm that was the weapon of Magtheridon appeared and crashed to the ground.
"Take it, as my bond with you, warlock…" Magtheridon rumbled, "I will do as you command until this little scheme of yours is complete, and then I demand my freedom."
"Good…" Nobu'tan replied, reaching out to touch the massive weapon, which shrunk immediately as he grasped the warm metal. The Grand Warlock felt the Fel-infused weapon bind itself to him, before fading into swirling green embers.
He smirked. Should he ever need the powerful double-bladed spear, he could conjure it at a moment's notice now, much as Magtheridon had done in order to gift it to him. "The extractions of your blood will cease as of now," Nobu'tan said, looking up at the Pit Lord, "but for the time being we will keep you here, while the perfect location for the expression of your strength is found."
"I am not known for my patience, warlock," Magtheridon said, crossing his arms over his massive chest, "I trust that haste is among the greatest skills of your servants…"
"It will be, mighty Magtheridon…" Nobu'tan said, appeasing the might beast as he stepped away, "I shall oversee it personally."
"I wait with baited breath…" the Annihilan hissed as Nobu'tan turned out of sight.
Quickly, he tore open another portal to the southern area outside the Citadel. The outside arid air blasted his face, and Nobu'tan turned to the south. He knew roughly where this Shattrath City was located, and if he was to get there with some manner of subtlety, he needed to not make a spectacle of using his typical means of stepping through a massive Nether Portal.
Reaching for the connection that he had formed to a Dreadsteed of Xoroth, Nobu'tan quickly mounted the fiery beast, weaving a powerful illusion around himself of a typical orcish warlock. He would travel on the ground for the time being, in order to slip past the eyes that watched him, both of his task masters and those of his enemies.
Turning the steed with the dark leather reins, Nobu'tan set his mind to his destination, and leaned into the sudden gallop as the horse-demon leapt into action, kicking up the red dirt of the dying world as it sped toward the southern mountains.
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Med'an was surprised at the comradely within the Horde at Orgrimmar. The Orcs, Trolls, and Tauren all seemed to live in perfect harmony within the Valley of Wisdom, where he would go daily to participate with the other initiate shaman to make a connection with the elements.
This day was no different in its beginning. After a light breakfast at the local inn, where Med'an was gifted a room by order of the Warchief, he headed across the Valley of Strength, and cut through the Drag to reach the area where the shamans were training.
It had not taken the young part-orc to tap into the powers of the elements, just as he had quickly picked up the secrets of the Arcane when his grandmother had started teaching it to him. Therefore, Med'an was quickly pushed through his lessens and already had made contact with the spirits of earth, water, and fire.
But even as he started to go through the motions to attune himself to the element of air, Med'an was distracted by the sudden appearance of a Darkspear Mage. The robe-wearing creature appeared out of a hastily conjured portal, and set off at a dash toward Grommash Hold. Interested, Med'an glanced at his Tauren instructor, who nodded permission for him to investigate, before starting after the troll.
Once inside the darkness of the Warchief's seat of power, Med'an sidled to the side, staying out of the way, yet near enough that he could hear as the Mage started repeating the message he was sent to deliver.
"Our scouts be findin' a part of Outland that be preserved from da sundering o' da planet." The Troll said, "Da plains o' Nagrand are still as dey were before the corruption o' Gul'dan."
"There is still part of our homeworld, untouched by the Fel and shattered by the energies that ripped the planet apart…" Thrall said, sinking down in disbelief and shock at the news.
"How did we learn of this information?" Thrall asked quickly, leaning forward with intensity in his eyes.
"Adventurers found a remnant of the orcs o' Draenor, called da Mag'har." The scout explained, "Dey told da Horde of their lands, where dey still honor da old ways o' da Orcs before da formation o' da Horde."
"How far is this place from Thrallmar?" Thrall asked, rising and descending from the hide and bone covered throne.
"Some ways…" the troll replied, "But I be sure dat da Mag'har would take ya dere, ta meet wit deir leaders."
"I wish to go there, now," Thrall said, taking up the Doomhammer from its place at the foot of the Warchief's throne, "Open a portal back to Thrallmar."
"Warchief," Med'an said, stepping forward quickly, eagerness in his eyes, "I wish to join you, and see the homeworld of my ancestors."
Thrall clapped a hand on Med'an's shoulder, "Yes, I can think of no one else more needing to understand where they came from. We shall go together, and see this place Nagrand, and find what is left of our orcish heritage."
The portal tore itself open, revealing a dusty landscape of red ground and glowing sky. Thrall stepped through, with Med'an on his heels. Several Kor'kron followed behind, guarding both Med'an and the Warchief in the event that they were attacked in the wilds of Outland.
"Warchief," the guards at Thrallmar said, slamming their fist on their chests respectfully as Thrall started toward the stables in the base.
"Windriders, or wolves, Warchief?" the stable master asked, and Thrall glanced back at Med'an, "You've not ridden a wolf before, have you?" the Warchief asked. Med'an shook his head, somewhat intimidated by the towering riding wolves of the Horde.
"Probably not the best time to try and teach you right now, if we want to get somewhere with haste. We will take windriders, as they handle new riders much gentler than our wolves." Thrall said, and the stable master nodded in agreement.
After an awkward few minutes where Med'an received a crash course in mounting and strapping himself to the Wyvern's saddle, he was led to where a very old beast at the back of the stables. "He may not look it, but Longmane here is steady and the most forgiving of inexperienced riders. Just point him in the direction of the others, and he'll get you safely where you need to go."
Med'an nodded, approaching the Wyvern gingerly. The creature seemed to sense his apprehension, and approached, nudging Med'an's hand with his head to relax him, before sauntering out of the pen and waiting for the stable master to attach the saddle and harness.
The creature was near perfectly still as Med'an mounted and strapped his legs to the wyvern's sides, and slowly walked out to join the others in the open area at the center of Thrallmar. "We are first going to where these Mag'har orcs are located here in Hellfire," Thrall said, "and from there we will procure a guide to led us to Nagrand."
The Horde Warchief kicked his beast into the air, quickly followed by the Kor'kron's mounts. "Follow them," Med'an said gently to Longmane, and gently tugged the reins in the direction of Thrall. The Wyvern kicked into the air, surprising Med'an with the height that it achieved with a single jump, before unfurling its wings and catching a current of air.
The feeling was exhilarating, soaring over the ground faster than anything Med'an had experienced before, and he couldn't withhold the whoop of pure joy that escaped him as Longmane flapped his wings to catch up with the rest of the Horde wyverns. One of the Kor'kron glanced back at him, and Med'an caught the indulgent smirk on the orcish face.
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Lucius looked up from the paperwork he was shuffling through, trying to finalize the last bit of construction requests for the Arathi Highlands before leaving to spend time with Narcissa, when a portal shimmered to life in the wide throne chamber of Blackrock Mountain.
The magic was that of Nobu'tan, but Lucius could tell instantly that the Grand Warlock was not passing through. The uneasy sensation of Light magic was drawing closer, and Lucius wondered who would rank so high to both be in Outland and be permitted to enter their lands through Nobu'tan personal magic. The first few creatures through the portal did little to ease Lucius' confusion.
The blue-skinned, hoofed creature resembled the Eredar in nearly every way, but the alabaster leader of the group of paladins shattered any resemblance to the leaders of the Legion. The Light radiated off of the creature, and the shimmering eyes took in everything with a depth that Lucius did not feel comfortable gazing at for too long.
"I gather than you are welcome here, if Lord Nobu'tan himself has sent you through his magic…" Lucius said, "How may I be of assistance?"
"I am Velen, Prophet of the Draenei," the white-skinned creature said, "And we are here to investigate the blossom of Light magic that occurred in these lands some time ago."
"They are here to meet with us," another voice said from the doorway. They all turned to see Bannok Grimaxe, Chieftain of the newly formed Dawn's Hammer Clan, "I sensed a great Light coming to the mountain, and came to meet it." Bannok said, stepping closer and kneeling before the Draenei, "The Light shines within you…"
"An orc… blessed with the power of the Light…" the Draenei said, even as his guards shared looks of disbelief, "In all my years; we had never thought such a thing would happen."
Velen stepped forward, resting a hand on Bannok shoulder and urging him to rise, "Anyone that has embraced the power of the Light is an ally of the Draenei, regardless of their past." He said, "And you say there are more that have embraced the Light's blessing. This I must see…"
"I will escort them down to out camp," Bannok said, turning to Lucius, who nodded in return.
The group departed, and while Lucius was very curious as to just what had happened to attract so much attention from outside forces, much more he desired to be at his wife's side, and therefore quickly returned to approving the final details for the harbors in Arathi, and commissioning another handful of ships so that the Dark Horde fleet would be that much closer in size to the fleet of Stormwind. From what spies they had fleeting through the northern part of Lordaeron, they had learned that the Forsaken undead, as well as the Blood Elves were building up their own fleets, and it seemed that naval combat would soon be very important to wage in order to hang onto, or expand, their territory.
Stamping the document with the seal of the Stormreaver Clan, Lucius quickly rolled and sealed the scroll, setting it aside where a courier would pick it up later in the day for delivery, Lucius departed for his personal chambers. Once inside, he dispelled his orcish disguise and clenched the hearthstone he had acquired in Stormwind, which he had tied to the wards of his home.
With a small gust of wind, he was taken back to that location where his heart resided, and heard the touching gurgling of his little daughter, and the smell of homemade food wafting into his nose from the kitchen.
"Narcissa," he called, leaning over little Aurora as the child turned to face him, arms outstretched and begging to be lifted into her father's arms. Happily scooping the child up, Lucius followed the sounds of his wife working in the kitchen of their small home. Lucius paused in the doorway, smiling at the novelty of the sight before him. Despite the two years that they had been in Azeroth, it never ceased to amaze him how quickly Narcissa Malfoy nee Black adapted to being a part-time house wife.
Here she was, hair tied up in a working bun and an apron around her waist as she kneaded dough by hand, and a pair of pots bubbled merrily over the enchanted hearth. True, the work that she'd have to do was significantly lightened by the help of their magic, but there were some touches that doing things like the muggles had proved to be a great luxury, and Narcissa's homemade bread was one of them.
"Lucius," Narcissa said, turning at the sound of his steps, and leaning in to accept the peck on her check from her husband, "You're early."
"I may have rushed through the last of my paperwork to get home faster…" Lucius admitted, smirking at the loving look from both his wife and daughter. "Where's Draco?" he asked, glancing around for any sign of his son.
"At the Keep," Narcissa said, stuffing the kneaded bread into a pan and settling it on a grate over the flames of the hearth. "I believe King Varian is planning to commit more troops to the realm beyond the Dark Portal, and wants Draco to accompany them…" she added, frowning.
Lucius understood her displeasure. She was a mother, and therefore did not approve of anything that potentially put her children in danger, no matter the need of the Alliance under which they lived.
"I have to say it still surprises me that the Wrynns still allow us to work so closely with them," Lucius said, sitting at the small table they had for meals, "It's clear that the leadership of the Alliance here know the connection between us, Nobu'tan, and the Dark Horde… and yet they do nothing…"
"Hmm," Narcissa hummed, which betrayed that she suspected something about the situation, but wasn't sure if she should say.
"What do you know?" Lucius pressed, momentarily distracted as little hands tugged at his robes, demanding his attention.
"I feel that they are waiting to see where we will fall once the eventual fighting between the factions flares up again…" Narcissa said somberly.
"Think about it," she added, placing a bowl of spiced stew in front of Lucius, along with a small plate of soft food for Aurora, "The Dark Horde and the Kalimdor Horde have been fighting since you moved into Arathi, but so far Nobu'tan's gone out of his way to avoid the Alliance controlled lands and forts… eventually something will get in the way, or someone like misguided Theodore Nott will launch an attack of their own on our oft time allies."
"And once that happens, King Varian will do everything in his power to make sure that we are put in our place," Lucius concluded, "But they have absolutely no idea how great our armies have grown during the time they've let us be."
"Nobu'tan would turn on the Alliance in a heartbeat then," Narcissa agreed, sitting and taking Aurora from Lucius to feed her some of the semi-solid food. "I've tried to bring his attention to these things, subtly, but I don't not believe he's put sufficient thought into the threat that we pose to each other."
"I can guarantee he hasn't," Lucius said, "Ever since the Dark Portal has opened, I suspect that the Legion came and demanded more of Nobu'tan…"
"That would explain his fanaticism in being out in that place, that Outland," Narcissa speculated.
Aurora looked between her parents, not understanding but sensing that they were less that as brightly happy as she wanted. The two parents noticed this, and let the subject drop, focusing their attention on spoiling their daughter with the affection that she deserved as their youngest child.
But Lucius kept all the things that he and Narcissa had discussed in his heart. There was more than a glimmer of truth in them, and it frightened him that his wife, who was about as disconnected from what was going on in the Dark Horde as one could be not only sensed this, but flat out speculated the dark road that they were unknowingly following.
Something had to be done in order to free their leader from the need to cater to whatever new overarching threat that came from beyond the portal and finalize their uneasy position in the Eastern Kingdoms once and for all.
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Velen was positively radiant as he laid eyes on the entire clan of Light-wielding orcs within the Dark Horde. It was a shard of hope inside what could easily transform into a sea of shadows. These orcs, so new to touching the power of the light, seemed to sense Velen's presence as he approached their encampment and flocked out of their tents to meet him.
Velen had grown accustomed to being adored by his own people, but seeing the same looks of awe and reverence on orcish faces was a combination of off-putting and endearing all at once.
There had been a time, long ago in the history of Draenor, where he could have walked freely among the orcish clans, and they would have respected him, asked blessing of the Light from him and the Vindicators of the Draenei, and freely shared their own embrace and mastery of the elements of their mutual world. Velen had feared that he would never have such a relationship with another race again after Kil'jaeden had warped the orcs into the ravaging Horde, but here, in this ashen valley, his own hope sprung anew.
"Peace be upon you all, and the warmth of the Light that you bring," Velen said, the orcish tongue flowing from his lips as though it were yesterday that he entertained Farseers and Chieftains in Karabor.
"Ah, we have visitors." A human voice said, even as several members of the Alliance races emerged from the cluster of tents. This puzzled Velen, although he had to presume that the orcs learned the power of the Light from somewhere. Odd though, that it was their former enemies that taught them.
"Greetings," the Prophet said, "I am Velen, leader of the Draenei. Who might you be?"
"I am Gregor Grestone," the human replied, "Knight of the Argent Dawn, and the trainer of these fine beings in the ways of the Light, under direct command of Officer Pureheart and Lord Maxwell Tyrosus, at your service."
"Intriguing," Velen replied, "and how is it that you've so easily grasps the language of the orcs. I suspected it was not readily taught in the human circles?"
"Duke Nicholas Zverenhoff, one of the leaders of the Dawn, is a master linguist, and taught me most of the basics in preparation for this assignment," the Paladin replied, "the rest is just practice…"
Velen nodded, "It does this old heart good to see the Light spreading through the world…" catching the knowing look from one of the Vindicators, Velen knew that they did not have the time he would have liked to see with his own eyes the progress of these orcish paladins and priests, but he wanted to do something to show that old grievances could be mended in time.
There was some amount of difficulty in that. Many of the Draenei still bore the weight of lost loved ones from the first Horde's attack, and the fact that this was the remnant of that society, even more so than the Horde of Kalimdor. There would be many Draenei that would want to fight these orcs out of revenge, or justice in their eyes, and resent that the Light would bless even those that they saw as enemies.
But at the same time, the Blood Elves wielded the Light, and Velen alone of his people knew where that road was going to lead them, very soon. If they had even more allies that bore the standard of the Light's grace, they would be all the more prepared when the Legion did finally come in force for Azeroth.
"I wish to have some of our Vindicators and Anchorites come, and help accelerate the teachings you have begun here," Velen said after a moment of thought. Whether his guard found that wise or not, he did not care. The future was already in motion from the decision, and mixing in with the countless possibilities that the presence of Nobu'tan set before the Draenei Prophet, he wished nothing but the best for these wayward children of Draenor and Azeroth.
"All the help possible would be welcome," Gregor replied, "it seems as though members of all the clans here are coming, most in curiosity, but some with real desire to learn, and we are vastly overworked for the number that came to fulfill the bargain between the Argent Dawn and the Dark Horde's leader."
"Indeed?" Velen said, genuinely surprised. Lord Nobu'tan facilitated the bringing of paladins into his Horde. That was unexpected news, but most welcome. "That is intriguing…"
Turning away, he prepared to follow the Vindicators as they began the long road to the south, where Alliance lands awaited their return, "I will send the best of my people who will come swiftly, to help relieve the strain."
It almost seemed that the orcs would ask of him to remain, if only to dwell in the Light that exuded from him a while longer, but Velen knew that they could not remain among them too much longer. Things were in motion already, augmented and in parts accelerated by their leader, and Velen had to prepare what was needed for the coming conflicts. He had already seen that the Legion wished to attack soon, and the avenues that they had to do so were slowly being constrained.
This was in a large part thanks to Nobu'tan himself, acting from the shadows, but Velen and the Light had to make their own mark, and shore up those places where the strange warlock could not go.
It was almost as though they were destined to be the opposite sides of the same coin. Velen the Light, and Nobu'tan the dark Fel-shadow, each standing against the madness of the Legion, and worse still, the encroaching powers of the Void.
"Come," he said to his guard, "We must return to Stormwind City. The Cathedral of Light there requires our attention…"
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Voldemort idly wondered how long they had spent climbing the twisting ramps of the tower of Karazhan. After liberating what turned out to be the Guardian's personal library, and setting a watch on the door to prevent the other intruders here from pillaging it, the other Death Knights, Necrolytes and moved onward.
The following landing had held a more shelves, containing a more generalized collection of tomes. Additionally, these were guarded by some random demons, which struck Voldemort as particularly odd.
There had been no influence of the Legion throughout the lower levels, and after slaughtering the lesser imp-like creatures and their handlers, a brief examination had revealed a secret passage behind the massive bookcase.
Sensing the stench of demon-born down that passage, Voldemort did not even both setting foot therein. "Clear it out…" he ordered, and a trio of his Death Knights leapt at the chance to prove their worth to him. It was just like the old days, and if he was a sentimental creature, Voldemort might have smiled as he turned away to push onward.
Eventually, the high pathways split, one half heading up to what appeared to be some sort of observatory, and the other onward, seemingly to the outer towers attached to the main structure.
Half a dozen Necrolytes were sent to check out the observatory, while Voldemort went for the outlying tower. The outer ledge, connected by a small bridge was blocked by a large wooden door, beyond which Voldemort sensed powerful arcane magic.
"Prepare for anything," he told the remaining warriors that followed him, and kicked the doors open with a massive crash. Whatever he had been expecting was forgotten when Voldemort stepped into what seemed like a living chess set.
It brought back memories, so many years ago, when he had unsuccessfully tried to remove the Philosopher's Stone from Hogwarts. The only difference was that, while the figures were aligned much like the game back in his world, the actual enchanted golems appeared with the faces of humans and orcs, as well as other creatures that seemed to have held some manner of importance to the previous owner of the tower.
The far side had a door, and Voldemort didn't have to try it in order to suspect that it was locked until a game was won. Standing in the center of the checkered board was a faded ghost of a man. His features were somewhat similar to Aran, but this figure was significantly calmer and more aware as the Death Knight entered the board.
"If you wish to pass, you must best me in a game…" the ghost said, "Choose your side, Horde or Alliance?"
Glancing from the massive orcish pieces to his left, and then at the humans to his right, Voldemort chose, "Horde…"
"So be it… make your first move…" the memory replied, floating to a place above the human pieces.
Voldemort thought for a long moment, even as his people fanned out to watch him test his mettle against this echo of the tower's guardian. "Pawn to E4," he ordered, even as a mockup of an orc grunt marched forward, before standing at attention.
In response, a mounted Stormwind Knight leapt over the line of the opposing pawns, landing threateningly on F6.
"Pawn to D3," Voldemort said, moving a second grunt to guard his initial move. If the Knight wished to make a kill, it would be in for an undesirable outcome.
One of the ghost's pawns shuffled forward a square to E6, and Voldemort spotted what was being planned before it could happen. With a gap to his King, the orc Warchief, opened, the ghost was hoping to make an early check with a bishop, modeled after a human cleric.
To prevent this before it would be committed, a third pawn was moved to A3, where the bishop would be immediately threatened if it left the protection of its back row. A human footman sprang forward to B5, opening a pathway for the other bishop, likely to apply pressure to Voldemort's front pawn.
"Knight to C3," he ordered, and a wolf rider charge into place, threatening the newly moved pawn of his opponent, and adding a second layer of protection for the front-most grunt.
D5 became occupied by another footman, directly threatening Voldemort's first pawn, and preparing to cause a chain reaction of pieces being taken. As it stood, the exchange would not be to his favor, due to the possibility of his Queen being exposed, so he moved the orc warlock to E2, further protecting his pawn.
"Ah, the wheels have begun to turn," the shade said, even as it struck. The attack occurred, just as Voldemort expected, the enemy pawn taking his at E4, and he was face with three options to retaliate: pawn, knight, or queen. To use his queen was folly, with the enemy knight waiting there to take it, but at the same time the pawn would open a channel all the way to his King for the opposing queen. Therefore, he took back E4 with his knight.
"No matter," the shade replied. Unfortunately, it seemed that the echo was not willing to push the exchange further, and rather defended his now exposed Knight with a Bishop at E7.
Quickly, Voldemort turned and ordered a pawn to B4, to open a second channel of attack if needed, to which the guardian replied by moving his other knight to C6, although what he planned to do further with it, Voldemort was not as of yet certain.
A Bishop, resembling an orc necrolyte, was sent to B2, pressuring the Knight to finally take Voldemort's at E4, consequently being taken by his pawn. "Yes… all according to plan…" the ghost-like human stated, thinking. The echo moved a Castle, appearing as a Water Elemental, to B8, and Voldemort countered by moving his own to D1. The hulking Doomguard grinned at the human conjurer that represented the opposing Queen, until it was guarded by a Bishop at D7.
So far, each had played extremely conservatively, not risking much and only shuffling what they wanted around to counter each other's moves, but Voldemort wanted this game ended as quickly as possible.
Voldemort decided that it was time to change up how aggressively he was playing, Even as he thought this, the Shade spoke again, as though reading his mind, "Perhaps a change is in order."