Chapter 185
Chained in Nightmares
Narcissa lingered before exiting the Emerald Dream. The magic that flowed freely from this place was wonderful, and like a warm sauna, it was an effort to make herself depart it. Thoughts of her family, waiting for her back in Stormwind were required to tear herself away, and she crossed back into the muted stillness of the Duskwood clearing.
"I can make my way back swiftly from here," she told her escort, "Your High Priestess will have more need of you than I, feel free to return to her side."
The pair of warrior elves looked between each other dubiously, unable to believe Narcissa's claims. "We would be dishonored if we neglected the duty assigned to us…" one started, but Narcissa held up a hand.
"My people have magic you know little of, as you ought to remember," she explained, drawing her wand, "that includes a version of what you would consider teleportation. I can return to Stormwind in an instant if I needed, but I wish some time to reflect on what I have just witnessed."
Understanding dawned upon the two elves, and they nodded before departing back through the gateway, leaving Narcissa alone amid the mounts that had been brought from the city. She had little doubt that the horse she had ridden would find its way back to the Stormwind stables, as the elves had to return that way to take their ships back to Kalimdor, so she would be returning by apparition, but she wanted to do one thing beforehand.
Spying the pool of water that had been bypassed when they first entered, a Moonwell she recalled its name being, she approached swiftly. There was magic mingled with the waters there, and she felt it wise to bring back at least a small souvenir of her short-lived adventure. At the least, it would help solidify that it had actually happened in her mind, rather than the dreamlike state that she felt it to be.
Filling a waterskin with the magic-rich liquid, Narcissa could not resist the urge to have a small taste herself, just to see if what the elves claimed bout the enchanted water was true. The rejuvenating factor alone would be priceless. She gasped as the sweetness of the water passed her lips, and relaxed as the warmth flowed into her very bones, making her feel as though she had just rested for hours in blissful sleep.
Nodding to herself, Narcissa placed the stopper tightly into the wasterskin and stowed it away, knowing that Lucius would want to know of this miraculous water and its properties. Not that she wished to exploit it in any fashion, but the novelty of it would be something enjoyed by all their people from earth, and Narcissa wished to share as much of their new world as she could.
Her small detour complete, and a memento of the journey obtained, she had no further qualms to delay her from spinning on the spot, returning to her home with the sharp snap that accompanied moderate distance apparition.
She truly hoped that Lady Whisperwind found her lover, and that the skills of Remus Lupin and his werewolves was of benefit to her people, however Narcissa personally felt about her, Lupin, or anything else relative to the matter. But, as she started toward the harbor, to meet up with her family and begin their travels to Theramore, she allowed the thoughts of the Night Elf to temporarily depart her mind.
She would cast herself ahead, to how best to enjoy the time on the western continent, and whether or not to keep her observations regarding Lady Proudmoore and her son to herself. Lucius may be less aware of what Narcissa had seen between the two, but in such close quarters, it would become apparent to anyone with function eyes that each of the pair was drastically similar, and drawn to each other in ways that defied even the laws of coincidence.
|…The Stormreaver…|
Remus refused to wait, his intense curiosity driven in combination to the need of the Night Elf Priestess guarding their retreat from this Fel-stricken hole. Clearly, this was the place that the Satyrs' prisoners were being held. Soon enough his people started to locate the tortured spirits, plagued by Fel dreams and something far more sinister in the background.
Tearing through vines and roots infected with the sickening green and purple magic, Remus ignored the stinging flares of rage and madness that accosted him, "Bring these back to Tyrande outside," he ordered a few of his druids, "the rest of you fan out and find the rest. We will not leave until Stormrage is found!"
Pressing forward with haste, Remus darted through the winding tunnels, lashed out at the brambles that rose up to try and block his way, and driving the inane mutterings from the back of his mind when they surged up in response to the barrier's destruction.
The farther he went, the more distraught and deranged the druid prisoners were that he encountered, but without hesitation Remus freed them all, seeing them in the same light as the old werewolves of earth. Some form of madness was trying to corrupt them, bend them to the will of a sinister force, and he did not believe that the leader of the Satyrs was the mastermind behind such an elaborate plan.
If he sought to corrupt this place, why torture the druids, and if he wished for revenge, why bother trying to twist them into servants. It didn't completely add up as the same goals of one being. But Remus schooled his suspicions, even as he neared the largest of the sources of wild magic that he had sensed from this place. A voice could be heard further ahead in the winding tunnels, harsh and taunting as it spoke to another out of Remus' sight.
"An interesting thought occurs to me," it said, "How long do you think it will take your body to die without your spirit within?"
Remus could only presume that this was the leader of the Satyrs, Xavius, or some high ranking lieutenant of him, and tightened his grip on the Scythe in his hand.
"Better still," the voice continued, "perhaps I will grow strong enough, drinking the power of your followers, that I will leave this place, take your body, and continue my Master's work through your form… What will your dear Tyrande think as I break her neck with your own hands…?"
Rounding the last curve of the tunnel, Remus caught sight of the greater Satyr, claws almost fondly stroking the gnarled form of a tree with striking features. Mildly, he realized that it was not merely a tree, but a transfigured captive in the form of a tree, the leaves reddening with corruption.
"Ah, the infiltrator has arrived," Xavius said, turning to face Remus, the horned face scowling with unrepressed disdain. "But there is nothing you can do to stop me. You are no match for both me and the great one that I serve."
"We shall see…" Remus said, hefting the Scythe and feeling an unknown rage start to build within him from the weapon.
Spotting the artifact for the first time, a flicker of concern washed over the demon's face. "What is that you hold, Druid…" he asked, although Remus could tell that the fallen Night Elf knew precisely what the Worgen wielded.
"Your doom…" Remus said, thrusting a new hand out, and channeling the power of the stars through him, searing light blasting outward and striking a hastile raised Fel shield from the Satyr.
"You power burns!" Xavius cried, "How can this be? You have twisted the Scythe of Elune to obey your will?"
Instead of bothering to reply, Remus merely raised the weapon, allowing its fury to flow through him, and unleashing a torrent of power. The Saytr dodged out of the way, but he was not Remus' target. The tree-prison was bathed in moonlight as Wild magic washed liberally over it, burning away the corruption and shattering the bonds holding its prisoner.
The tree split open, and a tall Night Elf spilled out, catching himself with a hand on the ground. Antlers adorned the Elf's head, and wing-like armor draped from his arms. Without knowing for certain, Remus was confident that this was indeed Malfurion Stormrage.
"Free at last!" Malfurion declared, his own power rising like a wild tide, even as the shadow of the Satyr's magic cowered back in terror."You are beaten Xavius, and I will correct the mistake I made ten thousand years ago!"
"You cannot defeat the Nightmare Lord!" Xavius shouted in reply, but it was as the mewling of a weak kitten in the face of a full-grown lion.
"You hold no sway over this realm, Nightmare Lord," the Archdruid replied, his voice booming as the natural world around them exploded into action. The entire cave network rumbled, forcing the satyr to retreat, vanishing in a cloud of smoke like the coward he was.
"Let us depart this place," Malfurion said, turning his attention to Remus for the first time, before pausing. "You are not one of my people, yet you wield the power of nature with a grace and talent I've only seen from the wisest… Who are you, druid?"
"Remus Lupin… a worgen from… a faraway place," Remus said, not wishing to go through the longwinded explanation about coming from another world at that moment.
"A Druid of the Pack… curious," Malfurion stated, observing Remus' wolfin form, "and wielding the legendary Scythe of Elune… I have been asleep for some time, to miss that…"
He paused, and the furrowed his brow, "The presence of Xavius has not dispersed, this isn't close to over yet. Aid me in cleansing the Dream, Druid, and then we can tlak of how another faction sprung into existence in the time I have slumbered."
Quickly they started back to the entrance of the cave network, regrouping with the other Grimfang druids, and them exiting to where the other Night Elves were gathered, holding the line against the Saytrs, who were still trying to reclaim control of the cave where their prisoners were.
"How dare you befoul the dream, wretches!" Malfurion boomed, "Anu'dorini Talah!"
The presence of their Archdruid's presence seemed to rally his people, and Lady Whisperwind seemed to freeze as the Saytrs turned and fled, her eyes locked on the form of the powerful druid.
"Beloved, is it really you…" the female warrior said, gingerly stepping toward him.
"It is, my love," Malfurion said, embracing her, "But I fear this is not the time that we can simply enjoy time together… Xavius is still abroad in the Dream, and I fear he is behind far more than we have been aware of even in the waking world."
The glower that filled Tyrande's eyes was startling, making the light that shone out of them normally seem to burn, "Xavius and his ilk defile everything they touch. What do we need to find…"
"As he tortured me, I could sense that Xavius still exists in the waking world, after forming a copy of himself here in the Dream," Malfurion said, "You need to return to Azeroth and find him where his tree is, and destroy it, while I find his Dream form and eliminate him here. Nothing short of that will destroy him."
"Where do we look? Where is he hidden?" Tyrande said, gripping the Druid's hands as though afraid he would slip out of them if she lightened her hold.
Remus felt somewhat uncomfortable, as though intruding on something very private, but Malfurion broke the moment, pulling his hands out of hers, "Azshara, somewhere on the coast. How his tree moved to that place from outside Suramar before it was destroyed, I couldn't guess, but maybe his people had him transplanted before the sundering completely claimed the land."
"Will you return to us once this is over?" Tyrande said, only a small amount of the desperate wish in her voice.
"I must," Malfurion replied, "There is much that I have missed, being captive by Xavius, and it is past time to become accustomed to the rest of the world once agin."
Tyrande seemed to fight herself to pull back and depart, but duty had a great pull on her than her own feelings, but Remus was prevented from following by a meaty hand on his shoulder. "Druids of the Pack," Malfurion said, turning to address all of Remus' students at once, "I know not whence you came, but it is imperative that you lend me your aid once again, to hunt down the traitor to our world, Xavius, and assist me in eliminating his foothold here in the Dream."
Remus didn't see much of a choice, even if he wasn't inclined to do so. These Night Elves seemed a decent sort, albeit passionately opposed to those who would harm their world. Remus felt a kinship with that sentiment. Despite failing to protect old Terra, there was something about Azeroth that was inviting to Remus and made him feel like he could make a home here.
Idly he wondering if Nobu'tan had always felt that, and that feeling had been the original cause of his betrayal of their world to the Legion. Irritably he shoved that thought aside, unwilling to think of the Betrayer of Earth for the time being and focusing on the present. "Where shall we begin our search?" he asked.
"There is one that knows this realm better than any," Malfurion said, "We will go to the Emerald Dragonshrine and consult with Ysera, Mother of the Dream…"
With the air of familiarity with this realm, the Archdruid turned and shifted intot he form of a stag, cantering into the woods with the wolves hot on his heels, seeming to Remus to be heading toward the heart of the Wild magic.
|…The Stormreaver…|
Teg'Ramm sat in the bowels of Blackrock Mountain, where the Balefire clan had made his seat of rule over them. The hulking stone throne of the former Dwarven Emperor reasonable accommodated his bulk, even with the Fel changes that had occurred over the course of the assaults on both Northrend and Outland.
The ogre mage lord knew what had been asked of his people, and forces had been sent to reinforce their outposts north and south, but the primary task from Lord Nobu'tan had him somewhat puzzled. Ensuring that the Balefire Ogres were placed into power in Dalaran would be a supremely challenging feat. The fact that Lords Malfoy had browbeaten the wizards into admitting their kind as Mages fully was one thing, but the final seat on the Council of Six was still unfilled, although Teg'Ramm knew that plenty would seek for favor from him by trying to murder their way into the seat.
However, it was clear that Nobu'tan did not want this, nor did he care if it was a Balefire Ogre that held the seat, merely an ogre mage to further normalize their people's inclusion in the workings of their world.
To that end, Teg'Ramm knew of an ogre that he would trust to be both neutral and fair in representing their people in Dalaran. Rising from his throne, Teg'Ramm swiped the Fel claws through the air, effortlessly rending a hole in space to a plateau overlooking the razor spines of the Blade's Edge Mountains.
"Lord of the Balefire Clan, you have returned to Orgri'la," the voice of Mog'dorg the Wizaned said, each of the older ogre's heads smiling as he approached, "What can we do for you?"
"There is nothing that I personally need," Teg said, even as Ramm nodded in agreement, "But there is something that all of Ogre kind would ask of you, and I am here on our people's behalf."
Mog'dorg appeared interested, both his heads eagerly listening as Teg elaborated, "The mages of Dalaran, long managed and peopled by the other races, have started to recognize ogre members of their neutral faction, however there is yet to be a worthy leader to represent the needs of ogres in their leadership. I myself am both too connected to the Dark Horde, and as a warlock am unqualified to petition for a seat in their council, nor is there any of my ogres that I would trust not to let the power go straight to their heads."
"So you wish for us, the leaders of Orgri'la, to come forth as leaders of our race, and have one of us sit on this council of mages," Mog'dorg surmised, and Teg'Ramm smiled.
"Surely this is something that you would desire as well, to be able to help shape the world as far as our people are concerned." Teg continued.
"This is true, but the question we have is what do you, and the Dark Horde, get out of this arrangement?" Mog'dorg replied, smiling knowingly.
"Well, the majority of the ogres currently affiliated with Dalaran hail from the Balefire clan, and function as the Dark Horde's representatives in the mage city…" Teg'Ramm answered, willing to be open and honest with this ogre above any other.
"But then why do you wish for a neutral leader rather than placing one of your own in the seat of power…" Mog'gorg pressed.
"Simple," Teg'Ramm countered, "because while ogres are beginning to be accepted, and the Dark Horde as well, we are still not trusted, and therefore we need to show that we are willing to humble ourselves for the trust of the other factions associated."
"Reasonable…" Mog'grog said, "We'll have to consult among ourselves regarding the offer, but we will send you our answer quickly…"
"That is the most I can ask for," Teg'Ramm replied, already opening another gateway back to Blackrock. The leaders of Orgri'la would not reject his proposal. They had too much to gain in affecting the world for the lives of ogres across Azeroth and Outland.
Realistically, however, Teg'Ramm knew that most of their people were too stupid or brutish to really see the value of having one of their own in the mageocracy of Dalaran. And, while Mog'dorg and his Orgri'la supporters would waste their energy and time trying to unify their people across two worlds, the Dark Horde through them would have the ability to manipulate the direction of the mages to supporting the Dark Horde, or at least not openly surrporting the other factions if the inevitable war broke out that Nobu'tan foresaw.
It was almost too simple of a plan to have needed one as wise and forward thinking as Nobu'tan to concoct, and Teg'Ramm was pleased with himself for finding a suitable patsy who would eagerly take the bait to be their scapegoat in such matters.
"Dalaran will soon have an Ogre helping to lead them, one that will be more than open to the Dark Horde," Teg'Ramm said, as he settled himself back on his throne in the deep underground halls. "And slowly, carefully, we will work our way deeper into their fold, ready to strike for whatever endgame Nobu'tan has in store for those mages…"
|…The Stormreaver…|
Varian watched from a high tower as the ship carrying the Malfoy family, as well as his son Anduin, across the sea to Theramore with a heavy heart. He had been honest with Draco, that he did not believe that Anduin yet had the heart that a King required, albeit Varian hoped that his son would grow into the man that Stormwind needed him to be in time.
Additionally, he had be honest that he would be dealing with the enmity between the Dark Irons and the Dark Horde while they were away, or at least he hoped that the matter could be over and done with before they returned. A sign and sealed letter was already sent by special envoy from Stormwind to Blackrock mountain, bearing Varian's royal seal and detailing the charges that Moira had levied against Nobu'tan and his people.
Varian had not so much demanded, as pointedly requested that Nobu'tan come to Stormwind, to hear these charges and present himself for a defense against them. Varian did not know how well this would be received, but had done everything in his powers of eloquence to describe how a neutral party would hear both his and Moira's words and make a judgment regarding them, to end the feud for the last time.
He had also sent similar missive to Ironforge, as well as the Exodar, each to bring for their respective members, the former for the prosecution, and the latter for the neutral judge of things. The Prophet Velen was well respected in both alliance and Dark Horde, and Varian hoped that his words would be treated as law when he had heard of these matters and might settle things without bloodshed.
Truthfully, Varian was continuing to stall. The Dark Irons wanted their mountain, and the heads of the Dark Horde as retribution, and nothing would stall them forever from it, except full blown war or the threat of being thrust from the Alliance. And with Moira so closely attached to Magni, there was little that he could think of that would separated father and daughter regardless of the hazards that she presented unless they were brought fully into the light.
It pained Varian to plan this, but Magni had to be forced to choose peace or his daughter, and it was a cruel thing to place someone he considered a friend in such a position, but to save their world from infighting and countless lives from being thrown away, Varian had little other option.
That was the second reason that he had elected to request Velen to be the arbiter of this matter. The Prophet of the Light had the longest vision of all the Alliance leaders, and knew that there were threats outside of their world that far exceeded the petty injustices between factions.
He could only hope that it would be enough to keep everything together enough for his plan to work.
|…The Stormreaver…|
Garona exhaled in frustration as she overlooked the deserted campsite. Nobu'tan had been irked to receive no response from the band of masons that he had contracted to work on the Dark Horde's defenses. They had last been in the Alterac Mountains, scouting the ruins of that city for a forward base against the Forsaken, but they had just disappeared, no word, nothing.
Therefore, she was sent here to find out what had happened, and bring them back if she could. However, it seemed that there were none left to recover. Garona checked the abandoned tents and makeshift workshop, and there was not even a body left behind. The wildlife of this place did not wander this far, for fear of the ogres that used to occupy this fortress, so the lack of bodies meant only one thing.
The Forsaken had taken them. Alive or dead, it did not matter at this point. Garona alone wouldn't be able to rescue them, let alone discover if and where they were held. But with the aid of their new clan, perhaps something could be put together to find out what exactly the Forsaken were up to.
It was not beyond her notice that they had been extremely muted in their movements, keeping their forces out of any region south of Silverpine Forest, and that told Garona only one thing. They were marshaling their forces for a surgical push against the Dark Horde, or else trying to build themselves a stronghold in the north.
With what she guessed, the young pup was planning, especially in response for the Elves in Quel'Thalas, war would come in time, and the Forsaken understood this as well. Their goal would be two-fold therefore. Locate Vancleef and his missing masons, and scout the movement of the Forsaken, what they were planning and where best to hit them when it came to it.
Pausing outside what had to have been the master mason's tent, Garona spotted a small pocket watch made of silver and heavily tarnished. Quickly fiddling with the clasp, Garona studied the picture of a young girl hidden inside the watch, before a sound outside snapper her around. Her hands drifted to her daggers, even as she scanned the surrounding area. Garona was certain that she had heard the faintest rustle of grass and as some other sentient being neared her.
From constant training of the Shadow Blade Clan, she was well aware that she was being observed, but whoever was doing so was skilled in the arts of concealment, even more than just the adaptive magic that rogues used to weave shadows around them and disappear from scrutiny.
Taking a skill she had learned by observation of the one called Tenebrous, she allowed herself to relax, slipping nearly into a meditative state to maximize her senses of the world around her. She slowly started to identify the breathing of half a dozen individuals, all surrounding her position, and having the cautious readiness for violence if it became needed, but no outright malice against her.
"I know you're there," she said in the human's common, taking a chance at the identity of those closing in on her, and to her surprise they appeared in a shimmer of shadowy magic.
"What is your business in Altarac?" the leader demanded, and Garona understood. These were not affiliated with anything to do with her being here, they simply were concerned with the dramatic changes and whether their own interests would be interfered with.
"Locating missing persons," she replied therefore.
"Edwin Vancleef and his Defias you mean…" the leader clarified, revealing that this group of rogues was aware of recent events in these mountains.
"And if that is who I seek?" Garona challenged, already sizing up her chances of fighting her way out of here if need be.
"Forsaken Dark Rangers came and cleaned out their camp, taking the bodies away to the northeast," the assassin leader said.
"And why are you so freely telling me this?" Garona challenged, genuinely wondering what their play was.
"We know who you are, Garona Halforcen, and who you serve. Tell Lord Nobu'tan of the Dark Horde this… Leave the Alterac Mountains to the Ravenholdt, and we will do business with your Dark Horde, in information and eyes on northern Lordaeron, for your destruction of the Syndicate and for you to keep your war with the Forsaken from our mountain."
Garona saw the exit for what it was. These simply wanted to be left alone, and surprisingly she suspected that in exchange for free enterprise and a ready-made spy network, overriding the need to stretch the newly made Shadow Blade to its limit, the Grand Warlock would easily consider this proposition.
"I will carry your message, as well as that of the deaths of the masons. Should others be sent to return with his answer, We will come to this location to meet with you."
"We will be keeping watch, and know what you determine to do at that time," the leader said, and Garona turned to depart.
"My father's watch, if you would, Lady Halforcen," another of the rogues, a young woman, said.
Glancing at the younger human, Garona could see the family resemblance to the old Mason, and the anger that blazed in her eyes. The ire was not directed at her or the Dark Horde, therefore she did not feel concerned about it, and gladly tossed the small timepiece to her. "My condolences for your loss," she added, for politeness' sake.
"Thank you," the woman replied tersely, clearly working furiously to repress the grief that she to be feeling.
The others waited until Garona had passed out of their sight to start picking up the rest of the camp and heading out their own way, but Garona chose not to try and circle around to learn more about the other faction of assassins.
The better choice of thought for the half-orc was on how she was going to break the news to Nobu'tan, and whether the pup would go on the warpath with the Forsaken immediately or use caution in regards to making aggressive moves against the undead to the north.
The question of whether they would be fighting them at all did not even enter Garona's mind. Revenge for people under Nobu'tan's protection would demand his action in that matter, and one way or another the Banshee would be made to pay for Vancleef's death, along with all the other insults and injuries that she and her people inflicted on the Dark Horde.
|…The Stormreaver…|
Tyrande was pained in heart and soul to have to leave her Beloved so soon after being reunited, but she understood the threat that they faced.
Xavius, former high councilor to Queen Azshara, was one of the more powerful Fel users of their people's long history, and for him to be polluting the Dream with the Legion's vile magic, or worse, would spell doom for all of the Kaldorei if he was allowed to continue in his pursuits.
Retracing their steps through the groves, Tyrande led her sentinels back to the gateway to the forests of Duskwood. It would not be a swift return to Kalimdor, but if a message could be sent ahead to the orcs of Durotar, Tyrande was certain that they could land on the eastern side of the continent, rather than circle all the way to the north as they normally would to Teldrassil.
As much as she remembered when all the lands of Azeroth belonged to her people, the High Priestess of Elune was not so vain as to believe that the younger races had no claim to those lands they had populated. It was clear that the Horde wished to expand their habitation to the ruins of Azshara, and while that place was once held in strong esteem for the Kaldorei, they were memories they could readily let go of when it came to their former Queen.
The nightsabers rumbled their pleasure as the Sentinels returned and mounted, leaping into a swift run behind Ash'alah, even as they tore their way out of the grove and turned west, toward Stormwind and their ship.
"Send a message forward to King Varian," Tyrande called to the swiftest of her scouts, "and have our ship made ready for when we arrive!"
"Yes, Priestess," the sentinel replied, veering off the road for a more direct route that the lithe form of her mount could navigate far swifter than the rest of their company combined.
Instead, Tyrande urged Ash'alah faster, even pulling her bow to snipe down a pair of rotting husks that lumbered out of a graveyard nearby as they passed. There was no time to deal with any delays the undead would cause. Thundering over a bridge, the elves exited the Duskwood into the rolling golden plains of Westfall, and turned northward to ride along the river to maximize their speed back to the walled city of Stormwind.
Malfurion's words rang in Tyrande's mind as she leaned heavily into Ash'alah's rocking strides. They sought a tree on the coast, something that would be corrupted with Xavius' magic. She had not set foot in the lands east of Ashenvale for countless years, so she would have been completely unaware of such a thing, but if she knew Xavius and his machinations at all, there would be many of his devotees wherever he was hidden away. Their best bet was to hunt the satyrs and eliminate them wherever the horned betrayers were discovered.
"Make way!" she demanded, even as her Frostsaber rushed across the stone bridge to Elwynn Forest. Several citizens of the human nations leapt to the side to avoid the Night Elves as they blazed past, watching them in surprise and curiosity.
They would encounter a great deal of congestion and traffic if they entered the city from the front, so Tyrande made a radical decision, and turned them off the road before entering the clearing at the front of the city, making for the waterfront directly. Granted, there were cliffs and ridges that defended their access to the beach far below, but for Ash'alah and the nightsabers bouncing from one rocky outcropping to the next down to the sand and shallows was a simple task.
Kicking up a flurry of moist sand with their paws, Tyrande led their group toward the city at full speed, extensively grateful for the handful of fisherman that needed smaller piers than those fo the hulking ships farther out in the sheltered bay next to the city proper.
They were easily able, therefore, to spring from the sand and land heavily on the wooden piers, starloing several fishermen, but otherwise able to dart around the supports back up to the larger docks, heaving toward the ship that had brought them here scarcily a few days previously. The purple sails were already being fitted into place, meaning that their scout had already beaten them there, and made their excuses to the King of Stormwind.
Briefly, Tyrande promised herself that she would bring a token of apology the next time she came to Stormwind, and give the full explanation that the King may require for her swift departure from his lands. She just hoped that that meeting would also be the opportunity to introduce her Beloved to the leader of the Alliance, after so many years he had slumbered.
|…The Stormreaver…|
Khadgar couldn't help but smirk at the assignment that Rhonin had given to him. the far younger Archmage had been very hesitant to exercise the fact that he was leader of the Council of Six over Khadgar, and the former apprentice of Medievh was certain that, should he have wanted it, Rhonin would surrender Dalaran to him if he only asked for it.
But Khadgar was happy to serve as advisor and member of the Council under him, alongside Archmages Modera and Ansirem. The fact that they were in fact a Council of Four, rather than the needed Six for the full authority over Dalaran was something that weighed heavily on Rhonin, and Khadgar knew it.
That tied back into his assignment, he was to go and convince by any means nessessary one of the few that Rhonin absolutely knew needed to join them on the Council, despite her reluctance and wish to stay overseeing her small domain.
If anyone could help the Kirin Tor bridge the racial gap that existed between High Elves, Blood Elves, and now Ogre Magi that had joined their ranks, it would be Lady Jaina Proudmoore.
The more that Khadgar learned of the esteemed sorceress, the more he respected her and her ideals. A devotee to peace between factions, yet she was more than willing to fight against all threats to their world, even their former allies such as Kael'thas and his Blood Elves from Outland, or even the Scourge. The fact that her teacher was the legendary Archmage Antonidas only added to her status as ideal to take up the seat that his death had caused.
Nevertheless, Khadgar knew many of the causes for her hesitation. As a member of the Kirin Tor, Jaina would have fewer opportunities to truly see her works of peace through to their hopeful ends, and the needs of Dalaran would supersede even her own city of Theramore.
Still, he had to try, and would be teleporting to Theramore in due time, but before that he had a few things he wanted to clear up as personal business.
That business was what led to him here, in the Deadwind Pass, staring up at the tower of Karazhan, and feeling the shifting magic of death that now permeated its halls. Dark Horde necrolytes and Death Knights, all flying the banners of the Shadowmoon Clan, milled about in the still ghost ridden town, somewhat rebuild and changed to fit the themes fo the orcish clan rather than the ancient human town that had once been here many years ago.
"Things have drastically changed since I last laid eyes on this place," Khadgar said, striding forward confidently, and nodding genially at the orcs as they stopped and glared at him in surprise, and neturally held contempt. There were many that still had the old hatreds, both orc and human, Khadgar noted, but he did not let that stop him as he approached the tower that had for so short a time been his home while he learned from the Guardian of Tirisfal: Medievh.
"What do you seek here, Mage?" said one of the robed Death Knights guarding the entrance of the tower. If the undead was trying to intimidate Khadgar, the Death Knight would be sorely disappointed. Khadgar had encountered some of the best, and this was a lame attempt compared.
"I wish to retrieve a few items from the tower that I had left here many years ago, and I wouldn't mind speaking with your chieftain about caring for the tower." He said cheerily.
"And why should we admit you?" the Knight replied, the wheezing voice grating in sound, albeit Khadgar would not show it.
"Having used to live here while the true master of Karazhan was alive, I could provide some information and a few secrets that you may not have discovered as of yet within, and I would hope that courtesy had not departed the Dark Horde altogether, especially for one that is on relatively friendly terms with Lord Nobu'tan…"
The Death Knight tilted the shrouded head for a long moment, as tohugh listening to something not detectable on a mortal level, then nodded, "The Gorefiend has granted you an audience. He will be in the primary dining hall, awaiting you…"
"I thank you," Khadgar said, even as the portcullis raised with a metallic squeal and the door swung open before him.
The surge of necromantic magic was not a pleasant one to detect here, in a place so chalk full of memories dear to Khadgar, but he took what he saw in stride. Fortunately, there was no blood sacrifice going on at this time, and he was able to ascend to the former ballroom without incident.
It seemed that this clan had only recently taken command of the tower, and were still settling their people in and take up what the previous managers had left behind. If Khadgar's information was correct, the Blightbringers were originally the masters of the tower on roders from Nobu'tan, but with their leader taking up the mantle of the Lich King, and departing the Dark Horde completely, changes had to have been made.
"Ah, Archmage Khadgar, it has been a long time," said an eerily familiar voice to Khadgar.