My goodness the last two weeks felt far longer than they actually were. Massive Update, I've created a discord server for my fans, linking my youtube and twitch channels to them, and included sections to talk about fanfiction, and otherwise be social about stories and the art of writing. Link will be in profile, modified to not be auto deleted by this site. please join and come hang out from time to time. I stream regularly so you can potentially chat with me directly while i play world of warcraft or minecraft. With that out of the way, on with the new chapter!
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Chapter 115
Rumblings
Voldemort was not terribly pleased to be mingling his Blightbringer Clan with the Fel Centaur for this operation. The brutes were less intelligent than they had been before accepting the Fel into their systems, and their takeover of the centaurs of Azeroth had not assisted in that regard. However, Nobu'tan had insisted that their speed and viciousness would be useful for the location that they were assigned to explore.
Now that Voldemort laid eyes on the ruined dome in the large empty waste, he had little choice but to agree. There were plenty of remaining creatures milling through the ruins, but Voldemort was interested in only a few of these locations. According to their intelligence that Nobu'tan had shared, there was as sect of the Shadow Council holed up in the deepest parts of the ruins, set right on top of an ancient crypt from the former owners of the location, exiled Eredar called the Draenei.
The chance to tap into the magic of death that this powerful race discovered in the madness of this ruined world was tempting, and the idea of slaughtering more demons and their sympathizers was tantalizing enough for the creation of new creatures, all bound to the will of Voldemort and his Clan.
It was strange that he found himself actually caring about those under him, and that in death he was more human-like than he had been in life. Voldemort had never brought this up with another living soul before, but he suspected that it had to do with the piecing together of his soul at the time that Nobu'tan defeated him. In hindsight, it turned out that splintering his soul into fragments to live forever had done little in preserving the sanity and cohesion of his mind.
They stood in the ruins of an old orcish fortress, which had been repurposed by a motley collection of demon-followers, consisting of all races. Voldemort had happily ordered their destruction, as the ruined base would serve as their staging ground before pressing into the southern wastes.
"We will take over this tomb-filled place," Voldemort said to the combined Dark Horde force, "and make an outpost here for its research and rituals."
Luckily for them, there was only a small scouting caravan in the wastes, scavenging for what they could bring back to the city of Shattrath, located in the thicker part of the woods, but the Dark Horde could move in on their location from any direction, as the ruins were pockmarked with dozens of potential entrances.
True, there were dozens of Cabal demon worshippers lingering around to try and siphon the power from the ruined place, but they were of no concern to Voldemort, and could be slaughtered without thought or remorse.
Edgran pawed the ground, more than eager to get started with their plan to clear the outermost portion of the ruins. Resisting the urge to sigh at the irritation of working with demi-humans, Voldemort nodded, "Proceed," he said, watching as the Fel Centaur whooped and charged forward.
They had selected the northernmost entrance, despite it being congested with more of the Legion fanatics, even as they summoned and bound demons to them to serve, but clearing out this small band of reinforcements would allow them greater strength once the Dark Horde forces made it inside the ruin, and strove to expunge them utterly from their holes.
The Blightbringer necrolytes and Death Knights followed swiftly in the wake of the centaur, eager to add more mindless undead to their ranks for cannon fodder in upcoming conflict. Voldemort was already keenly aware of the lack of advantage that their hoofed allies would suffer inside the tombs and narrow corridors of the ruins, and therefore had ordered for them to clear the outer rings of foes while he and his clan delved into the inner chambers to drive out their targets from their hiding places.
Upon setting foot within the rings of the outermost shell of the ruin, Voldemort could sense the untapped power of the generations of dead that had been interred there. The sheer amount of ambient soul-based magic was something that tantalized the imagination of the Death Knight, and rivaled the magical strength of Karazhan in terms of what would power Voldemort's being.
From this place, he felt it was safe enough to utilize his newest weapon, taken by Nobu'tan from the deep catacombs beneath the Guardian's tower. His strength was such in this form that he needn't care about the fact the weapon was built for two hands to wield, and gleefully he took Blightbringer in one hand, and drew forth Apocalypse in the other.
The sword gleamed with deathly green light, and seemed to draw upon the soul magic of the ruined crypt, empowering itself as Voldemort spurred his steed toward the last collection of Cabal warlocks, who were trying in vain to summon a doomguard to protect them from the charging forces of the Dark Horde.
Both blades sang as they flew through the air in Voldemort's hands, carving limbs and snuffing the life from the idiotic fools that thought to repel Voldemort's clan and allies. Apocalypse drank in their deaths, and with a swing of the blade overhead, Voldemort casually caused the bodies to leap back to their feet, taking on ghoulish properties as they tore into their former friends with a madness of the grave.
"None of you demon-fanatics can match against my might!" Voldemort declared, glorying in the death surrounding him as the terrace on this side was cleared of all who opposed him.
"Take your centaur and lap this ring, kill all in your path, while we descend to the ground floor and find the path forward," Voldemort ordered Edgran, and while the Death Knight could tell that obeying was the last thing on the Fel Centaur's mind, he nevertheless did as he was bidden.
This was only the beginning of what his weapons desired for this place, Voldemort could sense, and if in the process of empowering himself he fulfilled Nobu'tan's design, then so be it…
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Sylvanas was not pleased with the lack of progress that Nathanos was reporting from Silverpine. It seemed that wherever the Forsaken pushed forward in their attempts to take control back in the forest, the Grimfang Pack seemed to be one step ahead of their forces. Apparently they would strike from the trees and disappear back into the forest, never to be found.
The Banshee Queen was at the end of her rope when it came to this. All her plans had taken the control of Silverpine as a given, both for its resources and strategic placement to the rest of the northern portions of the Eastern Kingdoms. Now however, she had to consider alternative options for reclaiming that which was rightfully hers.
The Apothicarium was her least favorite place in the Undercity, despite the Royal Quarter being stationed in the midst of it. The alchemists and apothecaries were among the most free-thinking and downright dangerous of all the Forsaken.
She understood that they were only as loyal to her as they had resources to experiment with their plagues, and with Varimathras whispering secrets into their ears at all times, it was more than likely that cells of treachery awaited there. She would deal with them in due time, but even now she found herself craving the power that the plagues they made.
She found the individuals she sought fairly quickly. Putress and Varimathras were observing the massive undead worm that fed blight into the moat rings that swirled around the canals of the Undercity.
"Good, you're both together," Sylvanas said as she approached.
"And what are you seeking us for, my Lady?" Putress replied, bowing slightly as he and the demon turned to greet her.
"I am tired with the slowness of our retaking Silverpine. Nathanos needs support from the plague doctors. Unleash the blight on those woods, and transform them back into something that we can control. I want those loose Worgen and their Dark Horde allies to flee back to their fortress with their tails between their legs." Sylvanas commanded.
"As you wish," Putress replied, "but it will take time to manufacture and spread that much plague to cover the entirety of Silverpine."
"I don't care," Sylvanas retorted, "So long as we secure that region for the Forsaken, it can all die and become like the Plaguelands as far as I am concerned…"
Without another word, she departed, wishing to escape the sickening visual of the massive worm vomiting the green slime in the background of the two figures. Sylvanas would drive those fool from her domain, and secure an iron-like grasp on the former lands of Lordaeron. No one, not the Worgen, nor their warlock master, would stop her plans to get revenge on Arthas, and all those that contributed to the devastation of Quel'Thalas.
It was unfortunate that most of the Forsaken's bravest and strongest adventurers had heeded the Horde's call to Outland, rather than rally around their Queen to defend their homelands, but such was the necessity of being part of a larger group.
It was obvious to Sylvanas that if she had not petitioned to join the Horde, or cast herself on the merciful nature of the Tauren to get in, that the Forsaken would have be universally hated and attacked on all sides. Sure she would have had the same potential in recruiting her former people, the Blood Elves, to aid her, but they would have been isolated here.
Once back in her personal chamber, Sylvanas called a plagued bird to her, and wrote a quick message to Nathanos, telling the ranger that she was sending Blight to aid him against the attacks of the Worgen, and to use it liberally to slowly hem them in on all sides in the forest. Only then would they be able to build new structures for outposts all the way down to the Greymane Wall, and Sylvanas' newest goal.
The people of Gilneas had isolated themselves from the rest of the world for a long time, and surely the rest of the world would not notice if they were absorbed into the ranks of the Forsaken. The fights with the Dark Horde, the Legion, and the Scourge had weakened her people drastically. It was far more than Sylvanas was even willing to admit aloud, but they were desperate for a fresh influx of Forsaken to join them. The methods that they were forced to use were marginal at best, causing more than three fifths of their potential converts to become mindless Scourge rather than willed Forsaken.
Something had to give soon, and the Banshee Queen was sure that if she did not find an answer, it would be the end of her people. Her revenge, all that she had worked toward, would crumble around her, and that was unacceptable.
Still, she had plans in the event of their loss here. A fleet was already being prepared and stocked, in secret, which would carry the Forsaken to Northrend, and they would flee there to fight their true enemy if forced to depart this continent. Sylvanas preferred to have the area of the Undercity to fall back to and support their offensive front, but in a pinch they would up and leave to take the fight to Arthas directly.
"All ends lead back to Icecrown," she said to herself, stroking the rotten feathers of the undead raven, before sending it out of her chambers up a twisted series of pipes that led to the surface, "and in the end, it will be your end, or mine Arthas, I swore it the moment that I awoke as your slave, and so help me I will see it through to the end…"
Closing her eyes, Sylvanas remembered the horrid memories of her former life, like a repeating cycle of torment that was her final moments. It haunted her, how she had been so easily overwhelmed in the end, and she refused to be that weak ever again.
Turning back to a map of the regions of Lordaeron, she set once again to seeking another route to destabilize the Dark Horde's advance on her lands. Scouts had told her extensively of the possibilities of pressing fully into the Plaguelands, and while she had wanted to do so, she had delayed in light of the attacks on their southern and western fronts.
Perhaps at last it was time to turn her attention to the east, and strike while her enemies were all distracted with Outland, and their attention split between worlds.
Andorhal was set at the head of the river that ran straight through Hillsbrad, and would prove useful to circumnavigate Silverpine completely, and strike at the Dark Horde from another angle while the Apothecaries prepared the blight from this end of the forest.
Allocating what troops she could to this mission in her mind, Sylvanas smirked at the prospects.
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Teg'Ramm breathed in the stale air of the Blade's Edge Mountains, and relished the scent of magic that spiraled up from the deep ravines. Ogres dwelled there, he could sense it. And where there were ogres, there was the challenge of extending the influence of his Clan and the prestige of the Balefire.
Tenebrous had business further to the north, and had departed from their swiftly, after telling Teg'Ramm of all the dangers that lay in the mountains for them, including a bastion of Legion surrounding a functional demon portal.
The demons would be dealt with, but Teg'Ramm's priority was the ogres, as with their combined forces the Legion outpost would be crushed without any major threat to them. The ogre warriors and warlocks quickly descended from the high rise they had entered the mountains from, seeing more architecture of their brethren as they neared the canyon floor.
It seemed that at this southern end of the canyon was some manner of outpost, with many tall towers and excessive amounts of stonework adorning the buildings. Wood seemed to be scarce in the gulches, and what little that these ogres had was used for sharpened pikes or firewood, and little else.
Still, it was defensible enough that the ogres who dwelled there could see the Balefire Clan approaching long before they arrived, and a large group was present with weapons in hand to meet them.
The large, armored one-head that led them snarled as Teg'Ramm approached, figuring the massive axe in his hand. "Stop right there, outsiders. The Bloodmaul demand to know, who do you serve, and whether we ought to crush you here and now!"
Teg'Ramm chuckled, "I'd like to see you try and stop us…" Teg said, while Ramm called out, "We serve the Dark Horde, and our own clan, the Balefire."
"We know not this Dark Horde, nor your clan," the ogre warrior shouted back, "be gone, or face our might!"
"We have come to unite all ogres into a great clan, for the glory and honor of ogres everywhere!" Teg'Ramm bellowed, "You will unite with us, or be destroyed, and your successor will think on the same choice."
The other ogre seemed uneasy at the resolution in Teg'Ramm's voice, "Grimnok Battleborn does not speak for, nor lead the Bloodmaul Clan…" he admitted, seeming to shrink a bit from the front, "Dorgok is Chieftain. We will not follow another unless you win in Mak'Gora against him!" the warrior shouted, motioning for his warriors to fall back.
"Then where shall we find him?" Teg'Ramm demanded, and the ogre gestured vaguely to the north, before retreating behind their buildings and disappearing from sight.
"Shall we attack, Chieftain?" one of the warlocks asked, his second head smirking at the thought of bloodshed.
"Unnecessary," Teg'Ramm replied, "They are weak, and will fall into line when presented with the head of this Dorgok… we shall go north and find the Blood Maul Clan Chieftain, and destroy him…"
Signaling for the ogres to turn northward and move out, Teg'Ramm led the way through the nests of strange clawed beasts, as well as a raiding part of another sect of ogres. These were unwilling to converse with Teg'Ramm, and launched an attack on sight of their numbers.
Teg'Ramm wasted no time in ordering his forces to destroy them utterly, and personally bashed in the skull of the lead warrior. The coloration of their banners was such that it was clear that the Bloodmaul were not the only ogre clan in these mountains, which pleased Teg'Ramm to no end. The more ogres he could unite under his banner, the better.
Soon enough, their northward journey came to a halt as the canyon split into two forks, driving northeast and northwest respectively. Set at the very point of the fork was a massive arena. Drawn by the strangeness of the placement of the building, Teg'ramm called for a halt and a rest from his forces, and approached with only a few of his selected inner circle.
Curiously, as they approached the massive circle of stones, another ogre mage appeared, beckoning for them to approach with one hand as a burst of cheering erupted from within the circle.
"Welcome, strangers," the ogre mage said, "I can tell from your colors that you are not from Outland. Where do you hail from?"
"Azeroth," Teg'Ramm replied, feeling that there would be nothing to gain by lying to this ogre.
"Ah, I see," the mage said, closing his three eyes and nodding, "You are part of the rising factions that have returned to free us all from the powers that be. Yes, you could help us greatly."
Teg'Ramm said nothing, but followed as the mage turned and walked to a small, secluded nook off to the side of the stone structure, which the warlock recognized as some manner of arena for bloodsport.
"Don't mind the location," the mage said, noticing Teg'Ramm's distraction, "The Circle of Blood is one of the few locations here that neither the Bloodmaul or the Bladespire clans would dare attack, out of fear of reprisal. Their Gronn overlords hold no sway here, and the cowards are superstitious enough to think that the dead of the arena would avenge any murder attempted on these grounds."
"Gronn?" Teg'Ramm asked offhandedly. The term was something familiar, but he was still not fully sure to what it referred.
"My, your clan has been gone a long time, to forget the Gronn," the mage said. "Come, have a seat, and Mog'Dorg the Wizened, of Ogri'la, will fill you in on the situation here in the Blade's Edge Mountains."
But even in his introduction, Teg'Ramm already had more questions.
"I'll get to all your questions, in due time," Mog'Dorg said, again insisted for Teg'Ramm to sit with him across a small fire.
Sighing, Teg'Ramm obeyed, seating himself across from the older ogre, and listened as the well spoken and rather wise spellcaster told of the time before the shattering of Outland, when the great empire of ogres ruled over the lands of Gorgrond and Frostfire Ridge. That was, except for the one race greater and older than the ogres.
It was suspected that the Gronn were the ancestors of the ogres, as old as the mountains and just as devastatingly powerful.
"These days, only Gruul the Dragonslayer remains, along with his children, of that mighty and proud race. The old Horde hunted the Gronn to near extinction, seeking to subjugate our race to their needs." The ogre said, jumping back to the present.
"We of Ogri'la secreted ourselves in the northern mountain range, where the Apexis crystals flourish." He added, gesturing to the northeast mountains, "we settled there, and I believe that our power was magnified by the presence of those powerful crystals. We are the last peaceful group of ogres in all of Outland, and that is why we are hated by Gruul, his sons, and the ogres that they have subjugated to their will."
"So you wish to overthrow these Gronn," Teg'Ramm supplied, "and liberate the clans so that they can eventually find the same peace that you've attained."
"That is the ideal," Mog'Drog replied, nodding, "and with a recently arrival of an unaffiliated force of ogres to the mountains, it would be an opportune time to commit to such plans."
"Ah, so you think that we are to be your tools for this little revolution?" Teg'Ramm said, a wry smile on both his faces, "What in it for the Balefire clan?"
"Our gratitude, naturally," Mog'Drog replied, "but I suppose you'd have to come to Ogri'la and see what we have to offer you and your people in means of payment."
Teg'Ramm thought quickly. There was no harm in a slight delay to their plans, and if it meant that they had an ally with these 'enlightened' ogres, all the better toward the ultimate goal of his clan. "We would be delighted to come to Ogri'la and see what plans you have…" he said, much to the delight of Mog'Drog.
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Varian frowned as he looked out over Stormwind Harbor. This was one of the places in his entire city that he enjoyed most, the sea breeze and peaceful lapping of the waves able to calm the raging storm of his mind in dark times like now.
But with the concept of war with the Dark Horde on the horizon, even in this place he found little in the way of tranquility. The Dark Iron, along with their Bronzebeard and Wildhammer cousins, had mutually agreed that they would launch attacks on the holdings of the Dark Horde, both in Arathi and at Blackrock, in retaliation for the multiple attacks on the kingdoms of the dwarves over the last two years.
Varian did not want to commit troops to such a fight. While indeed the Dark Horde had made threats, and actually provoked the wrath of the Alliance multiple times in the Hinterlands, along with other minor skirmishes here and there, with the focus on both factions on Outland, Varian did not feel it wise to try and split their forces by infighting when the Legion, and others unknowns, were plotting beyond the Dark Portal.
The dwarves did not care at this time for such advice; however, and Magni was being easily swayed by the mutterings of his daughter, now Queen of the Dark Iron Dwarves, and the King of Stormwind had little chance against the close ties of the Dwarven Clans.
Jaina was sympathetic to his situation, but Varian was King, and he had to make a choice. Go to war with the Dark Horde and support their allies to the north as members of the Alliance, or defy the call to arms and focus on Outland, possibly leading to a split in the Alliance from within, between Stormwind and Ironforge.
SI:7 operatives had already confirmed that the bastions of power for the Dark Horde were still well defended, and short of a full scale assault there would be no means of cracking their hold over the regions. The dwarves alone stood no chance of achieving this, and even with support from the Alliance they had a moderate chance at best to even make an impression on the Dark Horde.
If not for the manipulation of the Dark Irons, Varian was certain he could have convinced Magni to not resort to violence, but rather diplomacy and threats against Nobu'tan to prevent further encroachment on their lands, but Varian suspected that the warlock was not even in Azeroth at this time, which meant that the response to any action would be to fight first and ask questions later.
"Lothar…" Varian said to the sky, wondering what his deceased hero would have done in this situation. The leader of the first Alliance's armies, and the hero of Stormwind, had wanted nothing more than to seek for an end to the wars between the old Horde and the Alliance, but when it came down to it, after the sacking of Stormwind and their citizen fleeing north to Lordaeron, the man had become hard as steel in his retribution on the Horde, striking at them from every advantage he could.
But it was not the voice of his old mentor that he heard in his mind, but that of his son, named after the old war hero, 'there must be something that can be done to pacify both sides, and prevent war altogether.'
Peace was the optimal goal, all things considered, Varian agreed. But for all the idealism that the statement conveyed, things were harder and more complicated than that. They would need Nobu'tan and the leaders of the Dwarves in one room, to even begin to hash out a compromise that all sides could accept…
And with the strike like a bolt of lightning, Varian knew what he had to do, the only option he had barring choosing a side. Rising to his feet, Varian started toward the Dwarven District, knowing that the SI:7 agents that guarded him would follow swiftly, yet remain out of sight.
It was time for him to speak to his old friend, King to King.
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Nobu'tan felt eyes upon him as he and the Bonechewer warriors approached the ruined fortress on the edge of Terokkar Forest. This was supposedly the largest garrison of the clan, and Tagar was confident that they would fall in line with the rest of their clan once they learned of the sacking of Hellfire Citadel and the turnover of control to the Dark Horde.
Nevertheless, Nobu'tan was cautious with his hopes, and kept more or less to himself as they entered the fortress. Fel orcs of the Bonechewer Clan were there in moderate numbers, and it pleased the Stormreaver Grand Warlock to see the other clan's warlocks intermixed with their warriors liberally. If they submitted, there would be a great boon of power to the Dark Horde in Outland, as well as a strategic location for their push into Shadowmoon Valley.
As they approached the only suitable structure, a dilapidated barrack, Nobu'tan sensed a different variant of magic within. The arcane was present among all the Fel of the warped orcs, and Nobu'tan could catch the scent clearly. "There is a Blood Elf in their midst…" he said casually as they entered. The elite guards around him stiffened, ready to fight their own if needed to defend Nobu'tan, but the warlock doubted that it would be necessary.
Inside the only usable chamber of the barrack, the Blood Elf was in the process of giving order to the Fel orcs, but stopped as she caught the presence of Nobu'tan's magic.
"What is this… thing?" she asked, eying Nobu'tan demonic form.
"I think the better question is why you, a scrawny elf with marginal magical aptitude, are giving orders here to proud warriors of the Horde?" Nobu'tan shot back, allowing his aura to expand a bit, and smirking as the elf cringed back at the power of it.
"Lord Illidan gave the Firewing control of these forests, and seeing to the destruction of Shattrath," the Elf retorted, trying to retain some measure of control.
"Enough!" Nobu'tan commanded, silencing the small Elf. "Illidan has no more power here. I am in command of the Bonechewer Clan in Hellfire Peninsula, and master of the Citadel there. The Fel Horde is no more, and the Dark Horde has risen. The orcs will no longer serve anyone but themselves!"
"Lord Illidan will hear of this treachery!" the Elf threatened, and Nobu'tan smiled.
Leaning closer to her, and watching fear ripple across her body, the warlock hissed, "I am hoping that he will… I look forward to running him through myself…"
In a flash of arcane magic, the Blood Elf teleported, but Nobu'tan did nothing. He wanted his foe to know that he was being hunted. The surrounding orcs looked confusedly between their fellows that attended Nobu'tan, and each other.
"Rejoice," Nobu'tan declared, throwing his arms wide, "you have been liberated by the Dark Horde, and welcomed into our ranks with open arms. No more will the orcs permit demons or elves to command them at their whim. The Horde will see to its own, and protect all that fall within their bounds."
"Who… what are you?" one of the Fel orcs asked, braver than most.
"I am Nobu'tan," the warlock replied, "heir of Gul'dan, and chieftain of the Stormreaver Clan. The old Horde of Azeroth has returned, to unite all the clans once more into a mighty Horde, and take back what is ours here in Outland. Rally with us, and merge your strength with ours as we drive usurpers and betrayers from our lands."
With a casual wave of a clawed hand, Nobu'tan opened a portal, admitting peons and other warriors of various clans into the camp, "We shall fortify this location, and make this land the new home of the Bonechewers, which shall never be taken from them again. Your long search for the old ways has returned, and we shall never abandon you like so many others." Nobu'tan promised, seeing the awe and beginnings of gratitude in the eyes of the red-skinned orcs.
Eventually, Tagar Spinebreaker himself appeared, shaking his head at the reaction of his clan to Nobu'tan's words. "Do not think that you have earned their loyalty with flowery words and pointless gestures," He warned.
"I know," Nobu'tan replied, "Our legacy is that of strength. Until I show them that I deserve their respect they will always have doubts…"
Whatever the Fel orc was thinking regarding his response was delayed, however, as Nobu'tan continued on the preplanned course of action to take from this new outpost. "And I shall do so, by launching a full attack on the Blood Elves to the north of this place. Their reign over the Fel orcs will end, and whatever scheme that they have for this forest."
"I urge caution when dealing with those Elves," Spinebreaker said, "I cannot guess what arcane madness they are scheming, but it is strong."
Nobu'tan nodded, taking the advice for what it was. He could sense the truth of it from here, something was siphoning large amount of magic and storing it in the Blood Elves' camp, and he intended to find out what.
"I want scouts to observe their outpost," Nobu'tan ordered, "and recall the rest of our forces from the road, we shall make this a staging ground if they try to pressure us here."
"Yes, Lord Nobu'tan," one of the Blackrock orcs from the portal said, running off to see to it.
"We shall have to stall the push into Shadowmoon Valley for the time being," Nobu'tan said, pulling a small map of the region from his robes and unrolling it, "but between this ruin and the Blood Elves' encampment we could control all access by land into the valley, so this may work to our favor."
Within minutes, Aisha and the Feltalon arrived, strutting into the ruined barracks with smirks on their faces, "I see that you've won over the Bonechewers with ease, Lord Nobu'tan," the leader of the Fel Veela crooned.
"And now we shall show them our might, by taking the Blood Elves' base as well." Nobu'tan said darkly, "Take your people and cover the skies over to the north. Let nothing move there without your knowledge."
"As you command, my Lord," Aisha said, bowing gracefully, then turned, her talons clicking on the stones as she and her sisters departed.
"Meanwhile, we'll prepare a ground force to show these elves who they are truly messing with…" Nobu'tan said, smirking at Tagar as more of the Dark Horde's warriors poured from the portal.
"But first I need to understand just what they're up too," the warlock reconsidered aloud, drawing his wizarding wand and thinking quickly. A few quick charms cleared out the center of the circular floor, and another started etching light runes into the stone.
"It'll take too long to use typical spells," Nobu'tan explained to the puzzled Fel orc, "some runes will strength the spell and allow me to blanket the entire area with a scanning charm." Silently, Nobu'tan thanked Lucius for the extra tutelage in wizarding magic and its usage. While he had more or less been forced to lock away his people's history whenever he worked with the Dark Horde, it warmed him to know of the power that his own race had achieved, and how it had some superiority to the magic of Azeroth.
Once the small circle was prepared, Nobu'tan poured magic into it through his wand, chanting the spell in the old Earth's language, allowing the small circle of stones to glow and melt into a pristine mirror. The view within the mirror shifted quickly to the center of the Blood Elf encampment, allowing a clear image of what was inside the cluster of the buildings.
"Oh my…" Nobu'tan said, recognizing the intense orb of barely restrained magic.
"What is it?" Tagar asked, clearly put off by Nobu'tan's discomfort.
"A Mana Bomb…" Nobu'tan replied, feeling the weight of the situation fall heavily upon him. They had to be stopped immediately.
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Med'an was disappointed to leave the Mag'har village so soon, but he understood that Warchief Thrall had much to do in managing the affairs of the Horde, and could not take as much personal time as even he would desire.
It was curious, though, that the leader of the Mag'har, Garrosh Hellscream, accompanied the Horde group back to Thrallmar, and even through the portal back to Orgrimmar. Med'an had not had the opportunity to speak with the rough-looking orc, but once they were in the capital city of the Horde in Kalimdor, it was clear to see the expression of awe and amazement on the brown-skinned orc's face.
Med'an had a sense of what was going through Garrosh's head. The sheer size of Orgrimmar was impressive, and to think that so many orcs lived there with other races in harmony only compounded the notion.
And just as Garrosh was taken in by the sight of Orgrimmar, the people of the city were too awed at the sight of the Mag'har. Many would stop as they passed, or peer out of windows and doorways to catch a glimpse of Garrosh as the Warchief's group made their way to the Valley of Wisdom.
When they entered the area where Grommash Hold resided, Garrosh paused at the large tree just outside the structure. Med'an had seen it many times, and knew the story of the armor that adorned the massive wooden trunk.
"This is the armor and tusks of Manneroth…" Garrosh said, stroking it with a hand, "the demon that my father killed?"
Thrall stopped at Garrosh's side and placed a hand comfortingly on the younger orc's shoulder, "Yes," he affirmed, smiling proudly at the tree. "It stands here, at the place of honor for all to see when they come to see the Warchief of the Horde."
"Warchief," a troll said, catching Thralls attention.
"Excuse me…" the Warchief said, leaving Med'an and Garrosh at the tree as he stepped away to hear a report from the shadow hunter.
"I still have a hard time believing it," Garrosh said to no one in particular. "My father, the hero of the Horde…"
"I've come to understand that what we know of our forebears is often a great surprise to us…" Med'an said, smirking at the knowledge that his Grandmother had shared with him.
Garrosh looked at Med'an, curious at the wisdom that the younger part-orc had shared, but seemed unable to muster the nerve to ask. "I am the son of Garona Halforcen," Med'an supplied, feeling a small burst of pride at being able to declare his heritage after so many years. "and of the Guardian, Medievh."
"The Guardian I know not," Garrosh said, "but tales of Garona, the master assassin were well known among the Mag'har. She is a great warrior." Garrosh said, nodding in appreciation.
"I hope to make her proud…" Med'an added, seeing the small smirk of amusement on the pureblood orc's face, "to learn of who I am, and what my destiny is…"
Garrosh grew sober, "I agree… we need to live up to the legends that our forebears placed before us…"
"Come, I think they're going inside the Hold now," Med'an said, catching the sight of Thrall and some other leaders of the Horde departing. "It wouldn't do for the Warchief's newest advisor to be late to his first meeting."
Garrosh chuckled, and followed Med'an as they entered Grommash Hold, into the firelight that cast shadows across the large throne room of the Warchief of the Horde.
Med'an however was still thinking of the words just spoken moments ago by Garrosh. He had to learn what legacy was left to him by his parents, and to do that, he had to know more about his father. Aegwynn had told him some, but there were still so many questions.