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Chapter 118
Shadows of the Past
Garrosh strolled through the covered shopping district of Orgrimmar, called the Drag, eyeing the various shops that lined each side of the canyon.
The stuffy interior of Grommash Hold was unable to keep his attention for long, and Garrosh had to admit that he had a lack of interest in the statecraft that Thrall was engaged in as leader of the Horde. In order to make himself useful, therefore, he sought out the beating heart of these Azerothian cousins.
What he found… was disappointing.
The orcs of Azeroth were honorable, to be sure, but their spirit had been broken. Even their strong warriors stood with hunched shoulders, as though bearing a great weight of the shame of their forefathers.
It pained Garrosh to see orcs in such a state, and while Thrall was doing his best to bolster them up, Garrosh had learned of the orc Warchief's background, and knew that he was out of his depth.
Thrall had been raised by humans. While he was orc, he did not have the heart of an orc, and couldn't understand.
Garrosh paused midway through the canyon. The stink of Fel magic wafted from the underground area known as the Cleft of Shadow. Garrosh sneered at the thought. Thrall permitted warlocks to continue to live among their people, despite all that their foul devotion had done to the Horde.
Garrosh was powerless to countermand the order, naturally, but he had no good will for warlocks of any sort, and yearned for the chance to deal with the demon worshipers once and for all.
He frowned further as he spotted Med'an emerging from the cavernous entrance. The younger part-orc was frowning, nose wrinkled from the Fel stench no doubt, but he brightened as he spotted Garrosh.
"Out for a walk?" Med'an asked, smiling.
"Can't say that listening to the business of the Tauren and Trolls interests me enough to stay at the Hold," Garrosh admitted with a shrug. "What were you doing down in the Cleft?" he added casually, resuming his progress toward the Valley of Strength.
Med'an fell into step beside him, "There are some mages down there, Darkspear and Forsaken, who've agreed to continue my tutoring in the Arcane from time to time," the son of Garona explained, grinning.
"I thought you were a shaman," Garrosh said, perplexed. It was rare enough for the orcs to be magically inclined. But to have access to multiple types of magic was downright unheard of.
"I suspect its part of being of mixed races," Med'an said, sobering and looking thoughtful, "I never really knew my father. Garona hasn't had the chance to tell me much of him. She's away, and my grandmother only told me a small amount."
Garrosh nodded. It was something that they shared, in their lack of knowledge about their forebears. Despite the radical differences between himself and significantly younger Med'an, Garrosh felt that they were extremely similar because of that regard. In Orgrimmar, they were both uprooted from the place that they had considered home, and struggling to find their way in a suddenly much larger world.
A thought struck him, and the impulse was overwhelming, "Lets take wolves out and go exploring in the Barrens," he said suddenly, stopping mid stride.
Med'an almost stumbled as he tried to halt as well. "Like, right now?" the younger part-orc asked, "are we even allowed?"
"Why not?" Garrosh replied, "I am advisor to Thrall, and you are an honored guest. We're both the sons of Horde heroes, who would stand in our way if we desired a bit of adventure?"
He could see the struggle in Med'an's eyes. The young spellcaster was torn between some desire to stay where it was safe, and the prospect of excitement that heading out on his own would achieve.
But then a fire blazed to life in his eyes, and Med'an smirked, "let's do it." He said, eagerly following as Garrosh turned around and changed course for the Valley of Honor, where the wolf stables were kept.
He didn't even need to make the request of the stable master. The old orc took one look at the pair of them, and barked out an order to a stable hand, grinning widely at the two younger orcs, "I was wondering when you would turn up, Garrosh, son of Grom…" he said in a booming voice, "need a bit of freedom to roam at your leisure I suppose."
The stablehand returned, guiding a pair of strong, young wolves toward them, already harnessed and saddled.
"Skyrun," the Wolfmaster said, patting the first, who had blue eyes and light tan fur, "and Duskmane," he added, touching the other's dark fur. "They are young, but powerful and fast."
"Thank you," Med'an said, stepping forward and allowing Skyrun to sniff his outstretched hands.
"They are fine beasts," Garrosh agreed, ruffling the thick mat of fur that gave Duskmane his name.
Within minutes the pair was dashing swiftly across the western bridge of Orgrimmar, exiting the Valley of Spirits to the narrow strip of land before the mountain boarder of the Barrens and Ashenvale Forest.
Garrosh didn't know what to expect in this rugged land, but he was eager to see more of what Azeroth had to offer.
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Garona snarled as the Naga leader focused her lightning on their siege weapons. Another towering trebuchet was decimated in flame, sending the engineers scattering in panic as their weapon was incinerated.
Nevertheless, their casualty count had all but stopped with the arrival of the Dawn's Hammer Clan. The Paladins and Priests effectively and swiftly took command of the front lines, and were holding the Naga back.
But with the powerful casters at their rear, there wasn't much that the Dark Horde could do to stop them, unless some drastic steps were taken.
"Voone!" Garona shouted, getting the attention of the Troll Warlord, "we need bat riders to shatter the lines of their casters, to clear the way for our shaman to open a path!"
The Troll laughed, "You be getting' what'cha want, assassin!" the troll threw his head back, and bellowed a sharp cry, which echoed over the din of battle. Their reserves, kept hidden just in case of this sort of emergency, heard and rallied to them, upon the wings of their bat mounts.
Flaming concoctions were hurled down on the heads of the Naga, even as the bat riders circled the battle, whooping and shrieking their native language with fervor.
"Go, now!" Garona ordered, and several troll shaman stepped forward, channeling their gifts over the natural elements, commanding the earth to rise from the depths of the water and create a bridge for them, leading straight toward the central Naga surrounding their Sea Witch leader. Caught trying to shoot their fliers from the sky, they had little means to stop their new route of attack.
"Push forward!" Garona called, even as the forward ranks of the Dawn's Hammer formed a battle line and charged, their divine magic protecting them from ranged attacks as waves of grunts and wolf riders followed in their wake.
Garona joined the charge, her daggers flashing as she eagerly made her way toward the Naga leader. She was going to enjoy ending her superior attitude.
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Nobu'tan felt the power welling up around Shadowmoon Valley. The Fel was powerful here, echoing from both the outposts of Kil'jaeden's forces, as well as the massive Black Temple where he knew Illidan Stormrage commanded his armies from.
But there was something else, something familiar that resonated with him personally, as though he was being beckoned toward some unknown destination. The human warlock was not terribly surprised. The strong warlocks of the old Horde, and most of the original members of the Stormreaver Clan had heralded from this valley, as former members of the Shadowmoon Clan, Gul'dan included.
The familiar magics from decades of casters would call to him, as the heir of their power. The Dragonmaw Fel orcs, following signs that had been left for them by loyal Shadowmoon orcs from Hellfire, quickly found a hidden campsite off the road just past the Legion stronghold.
"Finding refuge for our forces between here and the Dragonmaw Fortress will be extremely difficult," their guide stated, addressing Nobu'tan. "Both the Kalimdor Horde, and the Alliance have already staked their claims here, both to the north and south of our position, and with the exceeding number of Blood Elves, Naga, and demons loyal to Illidan, there is a decisive shortage of space to make any sort of fortified encampment."
"Our portal magic will make the need for additional outposts unnecessary," Nobu'tan replied, "however, there is something I need to investigate here, what is that there?" he asked, pointing to a massive volcano of green Fel in the center of the valley.
"The Hand of Gul'dan," the scout replied, "the monument that the warlock made to prove the strength of the Fel over the old ways of shamanism."
"How appropriate," Nobu'tan mused, thinking swiftly, "that will be our next destination, and from there we will venture to the Dragonmaw stronghold," he decided, "I wish to bask in my old master's handiwork."
"As you wish, Lord Nobu'tan…" the Fel orc said, submitting to the will of the Stormreaver Chieftain, "we'll head out after a short rest."
Nobu'tan nodded. Slipping through the raging battle as the Kalimdor Horde and the Legion's wild assault had been stressful. Had they taken a larger force and decided to actually invade, there wouldn't have been such a need for such stealth, but Nobu'tan had felt that the scattered nature of their armies wouldn't warrant such action at this time.
While the others relaxed and allowed their energy to recoup, Nobu'tan gazed out across the dead and wasted landscape. The Fel reigned supreme in this place, and he wondered what ties to his former master lingered in the desolation around the mountain that now shared the old orc's name.
The wind changed, and Nobu'tan tensed as he sensed something he hadn't expected. Necromantic energies were flowing from the base of the mountain, like lingering essences from long ago.
Curious, he withdrew the wand he had been given on earth so long ago, and muttered a spell to open his eyes to the typically unseen. Spirits, echoes of one living beings, flooded the open valley, slowly making their way toward a point near the base of the Hand of Gul'dan.
"You see them as well?" the Dragonmaw guide said, joining Nobu'tan at the edge of their hidden camp, "the ghosts of the fallen."
Nobu'tan nodded, even as the far older orc leaned against one of the large slabs of stone that worked to shield them from view.
"Something that happened long ago, a ritual of the Shadowmoon Clan, tore the fabric of our world dangerously, and caused the dead to wander restlessly. Additionally, shades from the past, from the times before the Dark Portal appeared, driving many from this place with the horrid memories."
He glanced at Nobu'tan more pointedly, "I don't think you'll like what you find if we venture nearer the Hand of Gul'dan."
"Nevertheless I must go." The warlock replied, bowing his head, "If I am to fulfill Gul'dan's true goals, I must know everything he stood for, without the influence of the Legion guiding him."
The orc paused, disbelief in his eyes, but Nobu'tan was firm. He would discover the secrets that his master had kept hidden from all others. In his heart of hearts, Gul'dan wanted the Horde to survive, and beyond his greed and the power that was promised him, there had to be dreams and goals that had been unfulfilled.
Nobu'tan would find them, and put everything to right, the Legion and their machinations be damned.
It didn't take much longer for the rest of the Dragonmaw Fel orcs to regain their strength, and soon they were setting off again. Weaving through the rocky ground infested with Fel-warped creatures and enemy forces, they made swift progress toward the volcanic formation.
Nobu'tan followed the increasing congregations of ghosts, all converging on a small ruin near the base of the mountain. Once the spirits entered the area surrounded by crumbling pillars, they vanished, leaving only a scant handful within that seemed to be caught in a loop of events long past.
"Guard this place; I will not take too long…" Nobu'tan said, stepping forward. He was drawn to enter the ruin, and see what lay within for himself.
The Fel orcs nodded, knowing that he was determined to have his way, and spread out around the ruined structure, keeping a close watch on the surroundings.
Nobu'tan entered, shedding his orcish disguise and submitting to the intense Fel energies that surrounded that place. Cracked and dried land crumbled under his feet, even as he started to hear the ghosts that were bound to this place.
"Do not do this Gul'dan! The elements will never forgive us!" the farthest from the front shouted, although out of the others it was drowned out the most.
"Be silent! The shattering is soon to come!" Nobu'tan's eyes were pulled forcefully to the front of the ruins by the voice. There, before the altar, stood a memory fragment of his old master. Gul'dan was significantly younger than when Nobu'tan had known the old orc, but the stance and aura was the same.
This meant that the memory was long after his association with Kil'jaeden and collaborating with the Legion in exchange for the promise of power.
"Tear the land asunder, Gul'dan! Sever the tie!" another of the spirits called, cheering as the memory of the Grand Warlock summoned massive amounts of Fel power around the altar.
"Bear witness to the undeniable power of our dark master!" Gul'dan declared, and Nobu'tan felt his heart panged at the sight of his father-figure in the throes of demonic lust.
The human warlock understood the moment that was being played before him now. He knew that the orcs of old had once embraced shamanism, but they had let go of that religion long before Nobu'tan had been placed with them.
It had always been something that he had not fully understood. How could a society have completely change their rituals so radically so quickly. Now he witnessed the truth.
The spell that Gul'dan was casting would shatter the connection that his people had with the elements. "You have damned us all… We are lost." Another spirit mourned, and while the real surroundings didn't change, those trapped in the looped memory looked on in horror as something occurred.
"With his gift, I shall raze this land and reform it!" Gul'dan shouted triumphantly.
"Stop! You must stop!" another memory fragment begged falling to his knees. "Think of our younglings Gul'dan! You will destroy us all!"
"Watch!" Gul'dan declared, pointing out toward the mountain, "See the ground shatter before us! Watch as the energy flows! It will feed our armies…"
Turning back toward the other ghosts, Gul'dan spoke again. "We will never be without power! I have secured our future! Bask in my glory!"
Slowly, Nobu'tan approached the altar and his master's specter, amid the calls and shouts of the other spirits at the climax of Gul'dan's spell.
"We will take from the land if it refuses to give!" one shouted.
"They have abandoned us! Do not forget!" another called.
"What had the demons done to you?" Nobu'tan said softly, gazing into the wild eyes of the memory of his master… his father…
"It… is… done…." Gul'dan said at last, sagging on himself as his spell was completed.
Rapidly, the ghost surrounding the altar started to fade away, until Nobu'tan was left with only the shade of Gul'dan.
Nobu'tan almost turned away, but the ghost of his old mentor fractured, splitting into five parts spread around the ruined chamber. The warlock could sense that these fragments were some manner of emotional manifestation, reacting to his presence.
It was confirmed when the shades of Gul'dan started advancing on him with the massive sacrificial dagger in hand, chanting spells of binding and control to try and immobilize him.
Resisting the five-fold spell thrown at him, Nobu'tan refused to hesitate as he counterattacked with Felfire, incinerating one of the ghosts of his former master.
However, as the shade was annihilated, Nobu'tan felt a surge of foreign emotion wash over him. Unadulterated malice filled his being, a desire to destroy everything before him, barring his path to power. As quickly as it surged, however, the emotion passed, leaving Nobu'tan with four remaining shades bearing down upon him.
Shaking off the aftereffects of the disorienting sensation, Nobu'tan blasted a second ghost with a burst of Arcane magic, before being swept up in a torrent of pure hatred. Rage at the indignity over his lowly position in the Shadowmoon Clan swelled up in him, and the jealousy over the Beautiful One selecting Ner'zhul over himself to lead their people to power.
Hatred was something Nobu'tan was familiar with, and he was able to shake off the foreign emotion much faster, and step away from the approaching weapons on the remaining shades. The third fell with a surge of fire, and Nobu'tan felt the lustful greed for power rush through him. The strive to be recognized as how great he truly was, and respected for the heights that he would achieve through new power.
The next ghost unleashed a torrent of towering pride, in his achievements, in the magic that he attained for the orcs, and the coming destruction of their enemies. And finally, shattering the last ghost in a torrent of frost magic, Nobu'tan felt the shuddering rush of Fel power course through him, whispering greatness in his mind and transferring the direction of his demon masters directly to his mind.
Once the spirits were all defeated, Nobu'tan felt his legs slump, and in realization that his master was raised up specifically for the demons to manipulate, he felt despair wash over him. There was nothing to salvage of Gul'dan's legacy. It was a constant route of destruction and evil.
"He was a monster…" Nobu'tan muttered, struggling to accept the terrible truth for what it was.
"…Not so..." a voice said.
Nobu'tan glanced to the side, spotting another ghostly figure in the corner of the ruin, watching him closely.
It was strange enough for one of the memory spirits to interact with the living, that the warlock found himself drawn to this new ghost, "What did you say?" he asked, hoping against hope that he would find something redeemable of his master.
"Gul'dan was many things, but you do not know his heart, and where his drive for power came from…" the ghost said cryptically.
"And you know more?" Nobu'tan questioned.
"I was there from the beginning… I knew Gul'dan in life, and the means to find his secrets." The ancient spirit whispered.
"How can I find these secrets?" Nobu'tan demanded.
"You must consult those closest to him. Teron Gorefiend knows the truth." The spirit informed him.
"Teron Gorefiend is dead, lost to the world…" Nobu'tan said sadly.
"Not while the artifacts he held in life still endure…" the spirit countered, "Come to the Altar of Darkness, and you will learn more of what you seek."
Knowledge filled Nobu'tan's mind, showing him a forlorn altar at the edge of the world, and the spirit waiting there for him.
Blinking quickly, he found himself alone, and the ruin deserted for good. Exiting, Nobu'tan felt drained as he rejoined the Dragonmaw orcs.
"We can continue to the Dragonmaw Fortress," he said, "I am done here."
"As you command, Lord Nobu'tan," the guide replied, starting to gather from their posts and prepare to move out once more. Nobu'tan had to ponder this new path, and piece together where this Altar of Darkness was located.
Perhaps he would learn more after recruiting the Dragonmaw fully into the Dark Horde.
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Voldemort sensed a strong pulse of power as he set foot within the dark tunnels below the shattered dome. The foolish warlocks around the edges hadn't poised any threat to his Death Knights, and now he felt strongly that there was something waiting for him toward the bottom of this place.
The necromantic energies that the handful of living Draenei within seemed a good sign, and Voldemort ordered his forces to take command of their tunnels, slaughtering anyone that stood in their way. Additionally, they gathered anything that held magical value.
Strange talismans, depicting creatures of light were chief among these, and became more common as they pushed deeper into the crypts. Minor undead occasionally shuffled from isolated corners of chambers to fight them, but nothing hindered the progress of the Blightbringers.
Even a hulking creature, floating in the air and sapping the ambient magic from around it, stood no chance against the mastery of death magic that Voldemort had achieved. Yet not until the final chamber did anything truly catch his eye.
The far side of the large room, a large Draenei stood with blood-red armor, holding a shimmering, purple-black crystal in one hand, and a large sword in the other. "You have defiled the resting place of our ancestors. For this offense, there can be but one punishment. It is fitting that you have come to a place of the dead... for you will soon be joining them." He shouted, pointing the weapon at Voldemort.
The Death Knight did not care; however, his eyes were focused on the crystal, which was singing with power as it drew upon the last vestiges of life that the countless corpses of this place had to spare.
It was power, pure and simple. And he would take it for himself. Drawing his runeblade, Voldemort stepped toward the Draenei, who opposed him unwavering. "you have something that I want…" Voldemort said slowly, watching for the first movement from his opponent.
"There's no turning back now!" the Draenei said, charging, slashing with his weapon for Voldemort's neck.
The Death Knight dodged, sweeping Blightbringer around to cut through his foe's midsection, but the hoofed creature spun, bringing his blade around to block.
The crystal surged with power, and Voldemort watched as spectral shades of dead Draenei appeared around them, "Rise, my fallen brothers. Take form and fight!" the leader shouted, even as the shades drew weapons and charged the rest of his clan.
Blades clashed once more between the Draenei and the Death Knight, and the mad creature hissed at Voldemort as they battled for dominance, "The Horde took our land, they butchered our people. Their warlocks defile all that they touch. You will not take the memory of the dead. I will not allow it! By D'ore's name I swear it!"
"Then you swear in vain," Voldemort countered, shoving the Draenei back and advancing into a high slash.
"These walls will be your doom!" the Draenei yelled, his own madness starting to take control of his actions.
The Draenei rushed him again, and Voldemort was forced onto the defensive, parrying and blocking the multitude of strikes.
Voldemort grew tired of this situation swiftly, especially after the Draenei's blade caught his shoulder. Taking a free hand from his blade, Voldemort channeled death magic into the rotten limb, and clawed forward.
Clawed fingers caught the Draenei in the face, and his screamed as the flesh started to melt away at the Death Knight's touch.
The crystal dropped from his hand, even as the shades that the Draenei summoned vanished back to the darkness they came from.
Voldemort towered over the Draenei, who had fallen to his knees, clutching his face with both hands. "Now you see the failure to hold onto the past," the Death Knight said, raiding his blade, "once something is destroyed, it ought to be let go…"
"I…will…never…let go… of…" the Draenei started, but Voldemort had heard enough. The armor the Draenei wore did nothing to protect his neck from the Death Knight's blade, and in a flash his life was snuffed out.
Turning from the dead body, Voldemort scooped up the crystal affectionately, turning it over in his hand. He marveled how such a small object could hold such immense necromantic and dark powers.
The question was, how best to put it to good use. Voldemort knew that they had to clear out other chambers of this place, as the presence of the Shadow Council warlocks around the area indicated some sort of coven nearby, but he would take the time now to use the power of this place to enact a special ritual.
Drawing a circle of magic with his runeblade, Voldmort sheathed the weapon and drew out a ring from an inner pocket. He knew it from his life, the ring of the Gaunt family, that he had taken when avenging himself of his muggle father and pinning the blame on Morfin Gaunt. Initially he had found it odd that Potter had not destroyed it utterly, as it had been one of his Horcruxes. But quickly he learned the true nature of the little stone that he had once thought near meaningless.
"Power over death itself…" he muttered, quickly spinning the ring in his hand three times, thinking of the soul he wished to call back from beyond the grave. She materialized the greatest of his former servants, more than willing to return to a form of life and serve her master once again in death.
There was no body for her to take command over, but weaving the magic of the crystal with his own necromantic energies, Voldemort watched in appreciation as his most faithful was bound to this world, as a spiritual manifestation.
"Arise, Bellatrix, and serve your master once again!" he declared, reveling in the waves of power from the crystal as the eldest daughter of the Blacks rose into the air, her voice piercing as she shrieked in delight.
"My Lord!" she crowed, ghostly arms embracing him as she floated by his side, "what has become of us?" she asked, oddly calm at the sight of him as a rotting corpse.
"Much has happened, and some things will take time for you to fully comprehend. But come, we have enemies to destroy." Voldemort said, turning away from the fallen Draenei's body.
Bellatrix gave the fallen only a glance, before following her master, robes billowing about her spectral form as she glided effortlessly in the air.
Voldemort knew that it would be a long road catching up his servant to the changes that had occurred since the fall of their world. But there would be time enough after they routed the last of the Shadow Council in this ruined tomb.
"You are going to enjoy this new world we've come to…" Voldemort said, smirking.
Bellatrix could only cackle in her delight for the future.
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Garona dodged another coral arrow from the Naga leader, spinning as a Dark Horde paladin charged to take her place fighting one of the elite guards blocking their pathway to her.
The female Naga was cowardly using her minions to hem the way of the Dark Horde's advance, while peppering them with arrows and magic.
"Death to the outsiders!" she shouted, encouraging her warriors onward.
Garona had to end this, and confront her directly if they were to secure a victory in these swamps. Pulling several tricks from her toolbelt, she flung small pellets onto the ground around her, vanishing in a pillar of smoke.
Amid the confusion that was caused, she darted through several gaps that the combatants left, making her way swiftly through the ranks of hulking Naga warriors. Her speed was enough that she was already leaping at the Naga leader by the time the sea witch tracked her movement.
The bow flipped around and caught both of Garona's daggers, throwing the orc back even as the Naga reared up, extra hands crackling with lightning, "I'll split you from stem to stern!" she cried, unleashing her magic at the assassin.
Evading the jagged bolts as quickly as possible, Garona wove her daggers in front of her, deflecting the arrows that the Naga witch loosed in the midst of her magical attack. "You're not going to stop me that easily, witch," Garona spat at the Naga, smirked as she pushed off from the ground, launching herself at the aquatic creature with a flurry of blade strikes, trying to score even the slightest hit to allow her poison to start working through the Naga's body.
Despite being improperly armed for combat against a melee attacker, the Naga seemed more than adept at defending herself at close range. But there was one thing that the witch was overlooking. Garona spotted the notches being carved into the coral bow with every hit that was deflected.
Even as she landed on the far side of the Naga, Garona lashed out again, aiming precisely for the same weakened spot on the weapon as the witch used it to defend herself. The dagger lodged snugly into the notch along the bow, and Garona twisted sharply, splintering the section and causing the entire bow to snap from its string's tension.
Striking again while the Naga was shocked at the loss of her weapon, Garona sunk her poisoned blade into the female creature's chest.
The Naga fell backward, clutching her wound as blood started to pool beneath her hand. Garona knew it was finished. She had prepared that poison to be extremely effective against Naga, none of them would survive without healing magic, which she had taken great precaution to eliminate all their restorative casters before engaging the commander directly.
But even as she stood over the Naga female, thunder clouds started to gather once more.
"You may want to take cover…" the Naga said snidely, lightning crackling from her free hands.
"Fall back!" Garona shouted, sensing the overwhelming magic that the Naga was building. The enemy commander was well aware of her fatal wound, and was planning on taking as many of them with her.
The Dark Horde forces started to fall back, even as Naga dove beneath the water, all fleeing as lightning started to strike from the gathered clouds.
"Seek your mark!" the Naga shouted, and a massive lightning bolt shot from the sky, heading right for Garona.
A bubble of holy magic erupted around her, cast from Bannok, and absorbed the devastating magic.
"Lord Illidan, I… I am… sorry," the Naga screamed again, before a massive series of bolts struck the ground around her, incinerating her corpse and everything around her.
Or so she had initially thought. The clink of glass on stone drew her attention downward, where a glowing vial of water was clattering toward her from where the Naga had self immolated.
It was clearly something powerful, and Garona carefully scooped it into a pouch at her waist. It was strange that the vial itself was cool to the touch despite being electrified by the same bolt that obliterated the Naga who had held it.
Garona had a passable understanding of magical items, but this was well beyond what she was familiar with. She would need to take it to Nobu'tan for study, but later. For the time being, with the Naga routed, the Dark Horde could finally set up a proper outpost in the swamps.
What the Stormreaver Chieftain wanted with so many outposts in across Outland, she could only suspect, but likely it was to stake claims over the homeworld of the orcs, and they would do so until recalled for other conflicts.
"Heal the wounded, gather and bury the dead, and call up the peons," Garona ordered, "These ruins along the shore will be a good groundwork for a stronghold here."
"As you wish, Lady Halforcen," Bannok replied, turning to spread the word of their further plans.
Meanwhile, the others of their allies started to celebrate their victory over the Naga, looting the dead creatures and withdrawing to their camp. They deserved a small respite before the work of construction began.
Garona wondered if they would end up having to hold this place against a retaliatory strike from the Naga, or else the Kalimdor Horde or even the Alliance… they had to be watchful as long as they remained in this forgotten place.
In the meantime, she would seek out Nobu'tan to deliver the vial to him directly.
She suspected that it was particularly important if the Naga commander under Illidan himself was holding on to it. According to Bannok's presence, it could be supposed that the Grand Warlock had moved on to the next phase of his overarching plan.