As pointed out to me by one gracious reader, many people like to listen to my fic as audio, and the line breaks were, to say the least, tantamount to chewing gravel on the ears. Having listened to my own story, I do agree with this notion, and am taking measure to change the line breaks to something that will be more pleasant on the ear, even if I must sacrifice the clear visual line that the breaks were originally purposed for. I am not as of yet going to retroactively change previous chapters at this time, but if and when we reach the point of completing the story and engaging in a full remastery of it, I will make the changes at that time. Thank you for reaching out about this, and please continue to enjoy the story, even with its flaws. ~F
Chapter 182
Iron and Wood
Tyrande was not certain exactly what she had walked into.
She had only decided upon landing in Stormwind that it would be proper to bid greetings to the King of the city, and inform him of the Kaldorei's quest in the shadowed forests to the southeast, but upon entering the Keep, the tense looks that the human guards were giving had forced her to pause that line of thought.
Something was afoot, and she felt obligated to find the underlying cause of it. Seeing the dwarven princess, as well as the human woman that had commanded so much strength of character as to stand her ground against the High Priestess herself, apparently locking heads in a verbal debate had done little to dissuade her from intervening, especially when the debate seemed to center on the part-time allies of Alliance: the Dark Horde.
"I have information regarding the Dark Horde, and their motives, if you must be so satisfied," Tyrande said at last, after surveying the gathered humans in their finery, nobles of some sort. They reeked of the same energy and sentiments that the Highborne had as they surrounded Queen Azshara so many ages ago, that she instantly distrusted their motives for being here to discuss this matter.
"The Dark Horde seek to rid themselves of the brand the Legion had placed upon them so long ago, much like the Kalimdor Horde of Warchief Thrall," she began, keeping herself to the facts as she understood them from observing the actions and desires of the part-demon Nobu'tan. He was no sympathizer of the Legion, even if he was a dangerous and powerful creature in his own right.
"While they are different from the Horde of Kalimdor, they seek to uphold their honor and unbind evil where they find it, be it demonic, void-laced, or even political," this she added with a glance at the conniving dwarf, whom she could tell was already squirming under the gaze of one much older and wiser than her.
"I would not attempt any assault upon their lands without true justification, nor would I find it wise to even think of it without tens of thousands to back up the long siege that it would require foisting them from the mountain," she finished, able to determine easily the object of the princess and her advisors. Even as far as Darnassius had the pleadings of these Dark Iron dwarves reached, and Elune's chosen would not heed them, not did she think Varian wanted to either, if not for the far closer alliance that the humans had with their dwarven neighbors.
The princess bristled, but it seemed that Lady Malfoy was able to take the helm of the conversation at that point, steering it away from violence and strife. "If it is justice that the Dark Irons truly seek, and not vengeance, then we must find another way to avoid needless bloodshed. Retribution can be found without needing to drag the factions down the path of another costly war, so soon on the heels of one that has killed so many."
It was in that moment of the dwarf's fluster that Varian pounced like the lion which emblazoned his kingdom. "I am inclined to agree with Lady Malfoy and High Priestess Whisperwind," he said quickly, "there can be no successful move against the Dark Horde through force of arms…"
It seemed, at last, the crowd of aristocrats and nobles were cowed into thinking of the damages that they would cause if they sided with the dwarven princess rather than their own potential gain, likely promised to them by the same. The muttering stirred by Varian's words would not be silenced again, and Moira knew it.
Without a word, she turned and departed back toward the entrance of the Keep, her Dark Iron advisors hot on her heels. Tyrande watched her leave, the glower on her face only visible as she exited the line of sight of the others in the audience chamber. Soon afterward, those others of Stormwind were also dismissed, and only the Malfoy's remained alongside Tyrande and her entourage to speak with Varian.
"She will not be deterred so easily," the High Priestess said, stepping closer to the dais where the King's throne sat.
"No, I think she will be back sooner than we'd all like," Varian agreed, rising and stepping down to meet her on even level, "but so long as we can delay her, the possibility of a peaceful resolution becomes more and more real."
Tyrande was not as hopeful of the situation, from what she could see. However, it was not her place to make judgments; she would only offer advice as she saw things. And, so long as they had a plan, she would not fault the own path through this problem they sought to walk. She nodded, more eager than before to depart Stormwind and continue her hunt for Malfurion in the Dream portal in Duskwood.
"With that business deferred to a later date, however," Varian continued, looking questioningly at Tyrande, "What can we of Stormwind do you for, Lady Whisperwind? Surely you have not come all this way to aid us in politics…"
She pondered for a moment on how much of her quest to share with those present. Typically, Kaldorei business was kept strictly private, but in light of the sincerity that King Wrynn expressed, as well as the looks of true concern on the faces of the Malfoys, she decided some allowances could be made.
"We seem the Dream Portal that lies somewhere in the forest of Duskwood," she said, "there have been disturbances within the Dream, and I have heard the cries of my Beloved within them. Something prevents him, and many of our druids, from awakening. Three other portals have opened across the world, and we have scoured them all seeking Malfurion. This is the last of them, and I intend to find him, and bring all our people home."
Varian stilled for a long moment, seeming to ponder the information. "Stormwind will give you whatever you need to accomplish this, be it manpower, or guidance." He said firmly, "Lord and Lady Malfoy, can I trust this to the care of your people? Perhaps the magic of your kind will help shed light on the darkness that has befallen the Night Elves?"
Tyrande was uncertain about the two and their now direct control of the aid offered her people, but the unhesitant nod from the woman assured her that their intentions would at least not be intentionally malicious. "There are several of our people's families in Darkshire that we can contact quickly, and they will have time to prepare for our arrival, even start scouting for this portal that you speak of." She said. "Our people are gifted with sensing and locating magical sources…" she further explained at the High Priestess' skeptically raised eyebrow.
To further add mystery to her motives and offers, Narcissa produced a simply wand of some wood unknown to Tyrande. With a flourish and a flick, she sent a stream of silverly light into the air, which coalesced into a small, silvery bird before it flew through the walls of the Keep and out of sight.
"Our message is away, and place will be prepared for us all once we arrive," Narcissa said, nodding at Tyrande, before returning her attention to Varian, "By your leave, your Majesty, we will depart."
Tyrande herself started to turn and follow, as the woman and her husband moved to lead them out of the Keep, but the child in Lord Malfoy's arms started to squirm, determined to be set down on her feet. The father obliged, clearly doting on his daughter, but all were surprised when the girl dashed around the man's legs and right up to the High Priestess.
Puffing out her cheeks as she looked up, the little girl raised up a hand, demanding without words that the Night Elf hold it as they walked. "Aurora…" her father said warningly, but Tyrande found the humor in the situation. Rather than simply hold the girl's hand, however, the Night Elf stooped slightly and scooped the girl into her arms, starting after her parents as they continued out into the cool air of Stormwind.
Tyrande had never considered children of her own before. With the long sleeps that the druids took, and Malfurion being one of the greatest, always needed within the Dream, it had been nearly impossible for them to have opportunity to conceive, let alone the demands of leading her people giving time to raise a child. Fostering Shandris had been the closest that she had come, but the current Gerneral of the Sentinels had nearly been an adult by the time she had entered Tyrande's life.
Now however, holding this small human in her arms, the impression of rightness that washed over Tyrande was palpable. Moreover, the small child simply glowed with ambient magic, radiant and eager to be shaped like nothing that the High Priestess of Elune had seen among all races of this world.
Distraught though she might be at the loss of Malfurion, this was proving to be a most enlightening venture to the Eastern Kingdoms, whatever awaited them beyond the Dream portal.
|…The Stormreaver…|
Remus had refused to take no for an answer.
Fenrir Greyback had allies in the forests south of the Burning Steppes, part of this wolf cult, that were systematically sweeping the forests in search of their artifact.
Nobu'tan first attempt to delay his expedition had been his last. The herald of the Stormreavers been sent scampering back through the portal he had come from without even the dignity of delivering his message, as Remus had known that it was no spellcaster sent to him.
It had been mere hours later until the desired magi were sent to see to it that his Worgen were transported as close to Duskwood as possible. The desolate land were just one mountain pass away, and that suited Remus just fine.
He did not want to give the wolf cult any prior notice of his arrival before they were under claw anyway.
Loping along with several of his more promising students, Remus quickly found the road that led through the narrow pass and into the forest properly. Many smells assaulted his nose, but straining his senses he sought for a whiff of fellow wolves, allowing his connection to nature to enhance himself.
The village of humans, nearly directly west of them, held nothing remarkable. Remus had presumed this, as any wolf allied with Greyback would not have had the control to live among uninfected humans for long without being discovered. North of that however, there was a distinct change of the air, and the matted smell of fur that only the canine sense of smell could detect.
"We go northwest," he said, his only gruff command since they started their journey.
It was grim business, this mission, and while Remus wanted nothing but to free his people from the shackles of their curse and those that would abuse their feral nature, he had no doubts that killing of fellow worgen would be needed this night.
Following the scent, and blessing the wild that they were currently downwind, Remus led his druids off the road to the north, and around a series of cliffs toward what appeared to be a small manor house, dark and shabby in the woods.
It was well away from other human dwellings, which isolation made it the perfect place for worgen to hide out, while still being close enough to provide the comforts that were needed for extended residency.
Effortlessly, Remus abandoned the lupin form for the feline, and stalked into the shadows of the dead and dying underbrush, slinking closer to the grounds of the dilapidated manor with his apprentices flanking him and following in his wake.
There were little doubts that the wolf cult was here, the scent was heavy in the air, and the motions from the darkened building hinted at their presence inside. There were a scant few sentries, but they neither saw nor smelled nothing as the druids wove their way nearer, keeping downwind and out of direct line of sight with practiced ease.
These worgen had grown lazy in their vigil, and Remus knew it would cost them dearly.
Leaping silently, he crashed into one of the outer guards, fangs tearing the throat before even a whimper of sound emitted from the transformed worgen as he fell. Remus did not linger, even as his apprentices saw to securing the area and eliminating the other sentries, the Archdruid went for the destroyed doorway of the manor.
"Greyback hasn't sent us any new supplies for weeks," one of the interior guards growled, even as others prowled inside, looking ready to snap at each other in their discomfort.
"This isn't like him. We cannot keep searching for the Scythe without food or gold to buy it from Darkshire…" another complained.
"Quiet… we have other means of getting what we need," a third said, this one looking large and imposing, but not clever enough to be the actual leader. Some manner of enforcer, the iron fist of the Alpha more like, but nothing Remus couldn't handle.
"Its equipment that we need," a smaller, more intelligent wolf stated, looking down at a table of parchments and scrolls, "keeping that mine from collapsing as we search is more important than your bellies… once we have the scythe we can raze Darkshire and take all that we want before returning to Kalimdor."
"Why the blasted elf couldn't die in a more accessible location…" one of the wolves continued to complain, but he was silenced with a meaty thwack as the brute backhanded him.
"Shut it I said," the enforcer stated, before cocking his ear, listening for something. "Something's wrong, I haven't heard the sentries for some time now…"
"Go check it out," the leader ordered, and the two complaining wolves were sent out into the darkness.
"Idiots, the lot of them," the enforcer said, turning back to the leader.
"Yes, but that is what we're forced to deal with. Why Alpha allowed that human mage to spread the curse so long ago I will never understand…"
Whatever else they were planning to say was interrupted when a throaty howl was bellowed outside, before being abruptly cut off.
"We're under attack, deal with it!" the leader shouted, starting to swipe at the papers and collect them into a bag as the enforcer turn toward the doorway.
Remus blocked the doorway, shape shifting into the form of the bear and roaring his challenge at the brute. The surprised Worgen could only stagger back as the massive forepaws of Remus' form slammed into him, leaving deep gouged in the matted fur.
"You cannot stop us, druid," the leader said, beginning to channel shadow magic in his paws, "The Wolf Cult will free our brothers from the Nightmare, and take vengeance on all your kind."
The surprise on the leader's face was savory as Remus changed back to his natural shape, brandishing his staff at the fellow worgen, "I will not let you, or anyone else, drag our people down into darkness." Remus said flatly, before releasing a blast of lunar magic, interrupting whatever dark spell the other was trying to cast and flattening him to the ground, covered in burns.
The brute rose to his feet, eyes flittering between Remus and the doorway, clearly judging his options. The air of an Alpha wolf clung to Remus, now that he was public accepted as leader of the Grimfang, and this one was more of a coward than he appeared. To fight an Alpha proved too great for him to consider, and he attempted to flee, only for several druids to pounce upon him as he exited the building, tearing the frightened worgen to shreds.
Closing one clawed hand into a fist, Remus stepped up to the table of half-gathered papers, unconcerned about the leader as roots pushed through the wooden floor and wrapping tightly around him.
Finding a map of the area in the pile of scrolls, Remus spread it out over the table and started to pour over it. The area of Duskwood was pockmarked with crosses, marking the areas where the cult had searched for their precious artifact. There was a spot near the southern tip of the region that was circled, clearly some place of importance, or the next location for their search.
"Roland's Doom…" Remus said slowly, reading the same of the location. Glancing back at the bound leader, who could not even speak with the tightness of the growth binding him.
"Do not worry…" Remus said, knowing that before long the roots would pierce even the hide of the Worgen, and slowly draw the nutrients from his flesh to stay alive, "your precious artifact may yet be found, but it will be beyond you and your Alpha's reach."
Taking the satchel with all its documents, Remus turned and left the Worgen to die, as something that tainted and cruel needed to simply be left behind. The war against the Legion had brought with it many lessons in the need to be as cold and ruthless as their enemies, and Remus had learned far too many of them over the countless years wandering the Nether.
"Come, we go south, to where this cult thinks they have located their precious artifact," Remus said as he exited the manor. His students changed into their natural forms as they approached, falling into stride behind him.
"It'll take time to get around Duskwood if we are going south," one of the younger worgen, who had more experience with the region, said.
"We have no time, we'll travel through the town, and use the road to speed our way to this 'Roland's Doom,'," Remus said, already seeing the lights of the town as they twinkled out of the gloom.
Well before they were seen, he shifted again, taking upon himself the old human form that he had worn for so many years, his druidic robes flowing behind him as his apprentices mirrored his actions.
They were still very green in the ways of the natural world, but their nature as Worgen assisted them with their connection to the wild. Remus hoped that the town was still securely asleep in the dim early morning twilight, and that they would pass through without incident or detour. At first, that seemed to be proven to be the case, as the guards of the town merely nodded to them as they passed, clearly unconcerned with potential threats coming from northward and the other Alliance held territory.
However, things abruptly changed as they entered the square of the small hamlet, and found a strange assortment of beings there, assembled for some other purpose but immediately taking note of their arrival.
Remus noted their powerful commanding leader first. The pale elf was strikingly out of place in her pearl-colored robes, skin almost shining in the fading light of the setting moon, and when she turned her glowing eyes upon the approaching Worgen, Remus felt as though she saw straight through their shape shifted forms, natural or not.
"Druid, where do you hail from," she said, turning to face him directly. Remus was suddenly on edge, knowing that he had little answer to give that would allow them to slip away without scrutiny and suspicion.
"He is from the same world as my husband and I," another voice said, one that Remus only scantly remembered. Lady Narcissa Malfoy stepped from the group of assembled elves, looking nearly equal in stature and authority as the elven woman, albeit less otherworldly.
If anything, the appearance of Lady Malfoy put Remus more ill at ease, as if she was here, then her husband was not far away, and there was still much bad blood between Remus and Lucius.
"Your contacts here in Duskwood?" the elf asked, looking somewhat puzzled.
"No, in fact I was not aware that he was even still alive…" Narcissa replied, her honesty coming as something of a surprise to Remus.
"While we may come from the same world," he said, suppressing the urge to snarl, "I wouldn't readily presume that we are on the same side. Conflicts ran deep on our world, and now across the Nether they may continue to burn…"
"We're wasting time here," the Elf said sternly, turning toward Remus as she continued to speak, "From another world or not, you are a druid, and pledged to the protection of the wilds. The Emerald Dream of this realm is threatened, and I call upon you to aid us in investigating an opened gateway to the realm of dreamers in this forest."
The wolf within felt the draw in the Elf's words, like some unseen authority allowed her to make such a command, and she had to be obeyed.
But Remus was his own being, not to be commanded or controlled by any, and he had his own mission to deal with in these woods. "I cannot drop everything that I have come here for to assist you, but perhaps we can lend aid to each other. I seek a location called Roland's Doom, to stop a cult of worgen that are seeking some manner of artifact in that place…"
"It would be only a small detour from your own destination, according to reports from our people here, Lady Whisperwind," Malfoy said, "I would say that there cannot be a stronger ally than Remus Lupin and his people, nor a more dangerous enemy…"
The sincerity was touching, even if Remus did not trust the woman or her words, but it seemed enough to convince Lady Whisperwind, "Very well, Worgen…" she said, glancing back at Remus with knowledge in her eyes, "we will aid you, for aid in the Dream in return."
"So be it," Remus replied, "As you said, we haven't time to waste. From the map I have acquired, this place is due south of the town."
"Then we make haste," the Elf said, even as her group of warriors turned and started to jog, matching the strides of Remus and his druids. He wasn't sure what would occur alongside these elves, but he had enough sense to know that they would not have taken no for an answer, and their need seemed as dire as his own, for their own people.
The Worgen of his pack may have found their first true ally on this world, so long as this venture remained positive.
|…The Stormreaver…|
Med'an could not have accepted the assignment that Lord Nobu'tan had for him any faster. The opportunity to return to Orgrimmar, and more so to specifically interact and assist his friend Garrosh with what could only be described as momentous situation.
To be the liaison between the Hordes, as well as advisor to Garrosh as he trained to become the next Warchief of Kalimdor was a large responsibility, and Med'an was more than eager to get started.
He could scarcily keep himself from looking as giddy as he felt until the day when he would finally depart for the Stronghold of Durotar once more, and practically leapt through the portal, only just barely remembering to bid farewell to his mother beforehand.
The flood of sunlight as he stepped into the dusty air of Orgrimmar was nearly blinding. Blinking rapidly to force his eyes to adjust, Med'an smiled at the sight of the Valley of Wisdom. The Blood Elf mage had already departed, but there were several of the old shaman that had tutored him before, smiling and greeting Med'an's return to their city, asking if he had been keeping up with his practice, or inviting him to meals when the evening arrived.
Beyond them, Med'an could see Grommash Hold, and the leaders of the Horde starting to appear to greet him in his official capacity. Schooling his emotions, Med'an adopted a more serious expression, although it was quite the struggle to keep the smile from his face as he saw all the familiar figures. Cairne Bloodhoof was in attendance from Thunder Bluff, as well as Warchief Thrall. Garrosh did nothing to hide the pleasure on his face at the sight of him.
"Welcome to Orgrimmar, Med'an, representative of the Dark Horde," Thrall said, and the young part-orc could tell that the shaman was also fighting the urge to smile. "We hope your stay among us as enjoyable and productive as the last time you visited our city."
"I hope so as well, Warchief, on both counts," Med'an replied.
The little bout of etiquette out of the way, Thrall and Garrosh approached, clasping his arms in a more personal greeting, asking benign questions and making idle chatter about how he was and where he was planning to take the evening meal.
Despite all the niceness, Med'an could tell that Garrosh at least was burning to ask several pointed questions of him. However, it seemed that he had learned already to temper his need to blurt out the first thing on his mind and wait for a more appropriate setting to vent what he truly thought and felt. It was not until that evening, when they sat around the central fire of the Hold, more or less alone among those that the Warchief trusted, that he finally spoke.
"Med'an, what is the real reason you're here?" he said, slowly at first, measuring the normal fire that existed inside his Hellscream heart with concern and patience. Med'an almost raised his eyebrows. He would have expected a much more fiery rebuke, or even vitriol spewed at Nobu'tan, but if there was any hard feelings against the warlock, Garrosh held them back for the time being.
"It's the honest truth, Garrosh," he said with a grin, "I am here because the Dark Horde is concerned about what you may choose to do if not given perspective, and because neither you nor Thrall would allow anyone fully affiliated with them into Orgrimmar or your councils, I have been chosen as a neutral representative."
"So, what, you're going to be watching my every move and reporting it back to the Dark Horde?" Garrosh added with a huff. The annoyance was there, but as before it was muted to the point of being so drastically out of place that Med'an momentarily was not sure if this was the real Garrosh or a clever imposter.
"Not necessarily," he replied quickly, "I am under no obligations to tell them anything of what transpires here, merely to present to you what their views on certain actions might be, and advise you in ways to mitigate the hazards diplomatically between both factions."
"And what, exactly, is your opinion of the Dark Horde, and their leader… this Nobu'tan…" Garrosh said, and only now did Med'an sense even the barest whiff of the old Garrosh. He truly despised the warlock, even through the control that he had maintained throughout the day.
The ripple around the circle of trusted beings at Garrosh's words was deafening. Even Thrall and Cairne leaned forward, desirous to hear the opinion of someone so much closer to the Grand Warlock than they were.
"You may be disappointed," Med'an warned Garrosh before continuing, "but he's unlike any leader or person I've met before. He is like lightning, cold and hard but at the same fiery and raw. If anything, I have seen quality of both you Garrosh, and even Thrall in him. He will fiercely defend anyone he has claimed as one of his own, and only his darkest visage will ever be seen by his enemies. He demands excellence, but he leads by his own example."
Garrosh seemed displeased, but the others were soaking in the information, clearly interested to know more of their Dark Horde counterparts. "I don't suppose you can tell us more of his leadership tactics. What are his goals, tactics, and operations?" Thrall asked quietly, probably suspecting the answer Med'an had to give him.
"Due to the neutrality I must maintain, I cannot say anything regarding the specific operations of the Dark Horde, much as I will not tell Nobu'tan about what Orgrimmar is doing, but I can say that he certainly has an unusual style in leading his people." Med'an explained.
"Firstly, while not the official leader of the Dark Horde, he is the acting advisor and strategist of their movements and plans, while Warchief Zuluhed is the public face and representative of the orcs in the Dark Horde. Frequently they are in council with the leaders of the other clans, tribes, and factions, determining how best to protect their people and advance their own individual goals," he continued.
"So they are similar to our governance, but with more community in their strategy, rather than each leader working independently…" Cairne commented.
"I suspect that is because of the closeness forced by their limited territory, rather than the vastness that separates our peoples," Thrall added.
Med'an nodded, "That is my assumption as well."
"That many people and their leaders, confined to such a limited space," Garrosh said, rubbing his chin, "it cannot be good for the nerves of their people, an inferno waiting to happen with just the wrong trigger."
"And with all the pressures from various subgroups in both the Kalimdor Horde and the Alliance, I wouldn't be surprised if that happened sooner rather than later…" Med'an commented, glancing down in the futility of it.
"Sylvanas…" Thrall growled, the irritation surprising Med'an, "She will stop at nothing to get revenge at the loss of Arathi to the Dark Horde, adding to that the pressure that the Dark Horde had been putting on Lordaeron prior to the assault of Northrend."
"Not to mention the issue of the Dark Iron dwarves and their pressure for revenge against Nobu'tan for pushing them out of the Burning Steppes altogether." Med'an chimed in, "reportedly, there was a massive movement out of Ironforge for the Alliance to take uniform action against the Dark Horde."
"Varian will not want to go to war with Nobu'tan," Thrall said pensively, "similar to how I myself feel, but I'm starting to suspect that it will be inevitable. His fixation to claim the lands that the Horde once controlled will be the causation of many problems for Nobu'tan and the Dark Horde, now that we all finally have time to see to our own affairs rather than rush about saving the world."
"So we should prepare for when the blasted Banshee starts to undermine our stance of neutrality to the Dark Horde," Garrosh stated, surprising Med'an with the measured idea. "Begin setting aside resources to smooth over whatever mess she decides to start, as well as make plans for a more diplomatic resolution, maybe even prepare options for concessions from the Dark Horde that might appease her."
"I highly doubt that there is anything short of their destruction that would appease Sylvanas," Thrall said with a shake of his head, "but through a coincided effort from all of us, we may be able to cow her into an extended state of neutrality."
"That will all well and good for the remaining duration of you being Warchief, Thrall," Garrosh said, "but we both know that she does not respect or fear me as she does you."
"Working together, we will make you into the leader that she will respect and fear," Med'an said, trying to inject as much confidence into his voice as he could.
Despite the demeanor he tried to maintain, however, Med'an was not as sure of their chances. While he had never met the Banshee Queen of the Forsaken himself, the stories he had heard, Sylvanas Windrunner was not one to be intimidated by many, if anyone.
If she was on the warpath against the Dark Horde, then diverting her wrath would taken a great effort. And to be honest to himself, Med'an was not sure about their chances of that.
|…The Stormreaver…|
Nobu'tan knew that time was not on their side.
He could feel in it the air, something dire was approaching him and his people. Not for the first time since returning to Azeroth, Nobu'tan softly cursed the nature of his birth. The magic that was part of him, so unlike the peoples of his chosen homeworld, often led him to suspect or have gut feelings that were later proven to be very real threats. From what he recalled from long ago lessons at Hogwarts, that was something akin to the branch of magic called Divination.
Still, he knew that the boarders of the Dark Horde had to be secured before whatever storm was brewing finally set upon them. With the Shadowmoon Clan taking up the role that the Blightbringers once held in the Swamps of Sorrow and Deadwind Pass, there was now enough support in the south for the Balefire Ogres to hold their pathway to the Dark Portal in the Blasted Lands, as well as their conquered territory in Zul Gurub.
Their central strongholds, from the eastern parts of Redridge Mountains up through the Burning Steppes and Searing Gorge were more than covered by the Stormreaver, Blackrock, and Dragonmaw clans, as well as the support grounds of their smaller factions. The Felblood Elves continued to maintain the demon alter and supply a continual battalion of demons for their warlocks to call upon at any time, while their dragon allies roosted in the top of Blackrock, able to ferry Dragonmaw riders anywhere in their territory for air support. Finally, the fledgling Shadow Blade Clan was still training their operatives here in Blackrock, but soon they would be spread throughout their territory to relay information and conduct their spy work.
To the north, Arathi was their one weak point, compared to the rest of their controlled lands. The Amani trolls had taken that land as their base of operation, preparing long for an eventual return from their exile from Quel'thalas. Aiding them were the Fel Centaur, who preferred the long grasslands, and the Feltalon who patrolled the skies watching for any movement from the Forsaken. Aiding them in holding both Thoradin's Wall and Stromgarde Keep was the Dawn's Hammer.
That left only two clans to guard their bases in Outland, but both the Bonechewers and the Bleeding Hollow were by far the largest clans, and had more than enough warriors and workers to service Zeth'gor, Hellfire Citadel, and the Dragonmaw fort in Shadwomoon Valley.
Everything was perfectly balanced, their forced covered and tripled covered with forces that would compliment them in case of attack, but something still gnawed at Nobu'tan.
He wished they had some location on the Kalimdor continent, an outpost that would allow them closer, but that long ago been botched by the betrayal of Theodore.
He continued to stare at the map of the Eastern Kingdoms, with the tiny flags representing the various clans and their placement. He still felt uneasy about something, and he could not place what it was.
Growling in frustration, he turned away from the chamber and started for the large balcony that overlooked the Burning Steppes. The map alone was not giving him the perspective that he needed. He needed to see their holdings from above for himself. When he still was the wielder of Aetish, he had tapped into the power of self-transformation, changing into a fiendish raven a few times. Fortunately, despite the staff having changed hands to Med'an, the rightful user, Nobu'tan retained the ability to change his shape.
Granted, he kept that secret close to his chest, as it would be a useful skill to unveil in an emergency, but for something like this sort of reconnaissance, a small raven-like creature would not be easily identified by potential enemies, or even allies spied upon unaware.
Leaping up to the stone railing of the balcony, Nobu'tan landed upon the talons of his raven form. Feeling the wind rush through his feathers, he took a brief moment to relish the sensation, and threw himself from the mountain, spreading wings and letting the wind taken him.
He still heavily enjoyed the sensation of flying, and if not for the high demands of the Dark Horde's needs, he would have taken to recreationally flying just to clear his head and think. Still, he had the opportunity, and a good reason to do so now, so he let his thoughts race as he whirled to the northern side of the mountain, deciding to head up through the Searing Gorge first on his tour of the Dark Horde's lands.
Looking down with a critical gaze, he looked over the defensive bulwarks that had been reinforced around the entrance to Blackrock Mountain, as well as the catapult nests, bunkers, and watchtowers. Nothing amiss there, and swopped onward, Nobu'tan looked over the large pit, which the Dark Horde had repurposed as a full quarry, taking the stone and dark iron ore for their various needs, especially shipping the metal northward for their ironclad ships.
The flow of metal did not appear to be defective in any way, and the guard rotation was operating as expected. Swinging around to the east and following the mountain range, Nobu'tan inspected the walls that separated them from the dwarven lands. Several times they had made attempts to tunnel through the mountains again, or else reopen the ancient tunnel that connected the two lands, but so far it seemed that none of the dwarves had yet succeeded in breeching the natural barrier again.
Dipping over the top of the mountains, Nobu'tan spied that it was not for a lack of trying, as a full tunneling operation was underway. The banner floating in the snowy wind clearly declared that the Dark Irons were once again preparing to invade the lands that they claimed were theirs once again.
A shiver of suppressed anger rippled down the feathers on Nobu'tan's back, signaling that this was part of what he was sensing in his discomfort, but it seemed that this was only the tip of the sharpened blade aimed at him. Investigating the rest of their lands would have to wait, Nobu'tan had to prepare for the inevitable attack that would come from these mountains, and how the Dark Horde would respond to the Alliance for this unwarranted attack.
Oh how he would relish the look on Vairan's face when he was told that the Dark Iron dwarves went around his authority and moved to attack the Dark Horde without their approval or allowance. The lack of any other Alliance forces working to enter his lands told him pointedly that there was no direct movement against him, not to mention that the Malfoys would have forewarned him of any direct action against the Dark Horde.