Chapter 188

Fault Lines

Tyrande grunted as she leapt from the back of Ash'alah, dodging the swinging blade of one of the pair of doomguard. The frostsaber whirled away, before diving atop one of the minion felguard and tearing into the demon's throat, leaving the High Priestess to fend off the more powerful foe.

The hulking juggernauts of the Legion weren't as stupid as one would initial thinking, seeing their bulk and slow movements. One had foregone its sword entirely, hurling ranged spells of chaos and shadow while simultaneously summoning in battalions of fodder to keep the Night Elf forces occupied. Meanwhile, the other had charged straight for Tyrande, keenly aware that she was the general in charge of this hastily assembled army.

The toughened Fel hide of the beast made it immune to her arrows outside of vital locations, and its bulk allowed it to harry her and slowly drive a wedge in their assembled attack.

If anything, the beast would singlehanded halt their attacks, and prevent them from destroying Xavius' grip on the world of reality, and Tyrande could not have that.

"Mother Moon, aid me!" she cried, feeling Elune hearken to her pleadings and endow her with renewed strength. She leapt, flipping over the next swing of the burning Fel blade, and took up a fallen dryad's spear, driving the Dream-empowered tip deep into the demon's flesh.

The creature bellowed in rage and pain, flinging her away as Tyrande was too slow to release her weapon, and she landed in a tight roll, springing back to her feet several yards away.

They were being pushed back by an endless tide of their enemies, and Tyrande could not see a way to outmaneuver them on this rocky cliff. Xavius' minions had known what they were doing to set up the defenses of their master here.

Horns blared from behind, and she froze, knowing that sound from long ago.

"Tor ilisar'therea'nal! For justice!" cried a figure Tyrande had thought long dead.

Maiev Shadowsong thundered forward to battle, a host of wardens and watchers at her back, their crescents and glaives eager for the blood of demons to coat them.

The ranks of the felguard finally broke under the wrath of the Wardens, and Maiev herself went against the doomguard Tyrande had been battling, the Warden seemingly having lost none of her grace or lethality from the last time they had met.

Heavy metal-bound cloak flying about her, the Warden danced, swatting the overlarge blade away with her crescent and scoring multiple deep cuts along the legs and lower body of the doomguard, who crashed to the earth with a bellow of surprise.

"Ashal thera'das!" Maiev shouted, driving a small dagger through the eye of the demon, killing it swiftly.

"How can this be, Maiev?" Tyrande said, approaching and retrieving her bow, marveling at the swift return of one of the Night Elves' fiercest.

"There is time for questions later, Lady Whisperwind," the Warden said chidingly, "we have a battle to win and a tree to fell, from what I hear…"

"For Kalimdor," Tyrande replied simply, calling Ash'alah back to her side and mounting. The Warden was correct. This was not the time to look for fault in returning allies. Xavius had to pay for his treachery, and they now had the force trained for that exact purpose.

Without his fellow out holding the front lines, and the lines of felguard being torn asunder by the rage of the watchers, the remaining doomguard was could linger in the rear no more, and took up its own weapon, a crackling whip of fel fire.

Together, Maiev and Tyrande charged, arrows flying freely from the High Priestess bow as the Warden used her own brand of magic to teleport under the guard of the flailing line of green flames, throwing daggers into the vital weaknesses of the demon's armor.

It collapsed within moments, before being swarmed over by the spirits of the fallen, and a cheer arose from those haunted by their ten thousand years of unrest as the remainder of the ghostly army savored victory in battle at long last.

"Thank you, Lady Whisperwind…" one of the ghostly Kaldorei said, turning to Tyrande as in small groups they started to pass onward, fading from their world and traveling to the place where their people would go, now that their bond with Nordrassil was severed.

Tyrande did not dwell on the ruminations of that fact, but kept herslf grounded in the present, as they finally had their way cleared to the hideous tree, little more than a naked rotten thing, that was all that remained of Xavius…

"So this is him," Maiev said, kicking one of the corrupting roots with her metal-clad boot. "Do we just end his misery and burn him here and now, or whittle him down and use him as a lovely chair for Malfurion when he returns?"

The moment of levity from the normally stern and grating Warden caught Tyrande off guard, and she chanced a quick grin at the thought of Xavius reduced to a seat for her Beloved to recline upon. But practicality overtook her, and she shook her head.

"He will burn, so that those still in the Dream can defeat him there, and hurl him from any version of our world forever." She said, drawing an arrow, and setting it alight with the wrath of the Goddess.

The corrupted wood burned very easily, and soon the entire rotten trunk was in flames, ash and putrid smoke flowing into the air and out to sea.

"I pray that it will be enough…" Tyrande said, before looking again at Maiev, "but we have other questions, like how you knew to come to our aid, and where you have been for so many years?"

"That is a fairly long tale, and one I do not wish to repeat too many times," the Warden said, "If it would be possible to defer my torture of reliving it, might we wait for Shando Stormrage so that I can tell you both together, and have it over and done with in one swoop."

"I suppose that is agreeable for me," Tyrande said, "Shall we return to the Moonglade and await his awakening then?" she said, eager to see her Beloved once more awake in their reality.

"As you wish, High Priestess," the Warden said, allowing Tyrande to take the lead of their remaining forces, as they made preparations to return to their lands and duties.

Soon all would be as it ought to, Tyrande thought. Their people reunited at long last, and then everything out in the wider world wouldn't seem such a threat.

…The Stormreaver…

Moira Bronzebeard Tharussian thought that she held in her heart the pain and vengeance to shatter stone and upturn mountains on her road to avenge her people of the Dark Horde.

The fact that the Alliance stood defiantly in the way had galled her to no end, and her father still continued to take council from any other than his own daughter. So she had done what any mother and wife must do, she pushed, and stood her ground when the world pushed back. She would have the judgment that her people demanded, and the satisfaction of seeing the murderer of her beloved, and the father of her son brought before her on bended knee.

But seeing the man standing there, bold and arrogant across from her, even as King Varian and even the Prophet Velen seemed to be uncertain of how to address him had sent her over the edge. Her rage had flowed like the lava beneath the mountains, and she flung their acidic words at the fiend, expecting him to fold before her righteous vindication.

Now… now she understood.

Pain seared behind those emerald eyes, agony that she could only scarcely comprehend. The illusion of his form shimmered, and for the flicker of a moment the Princess of the mountains saw what truly stood before her. A decrepit, demonic twisting of a man, his form constantly in flux from the wild magic flowing around him in droves, summoned at the barest whiff of his anger.

The peril of her situation now dawned upon her, and all the warnings and council that she had ignored flooded back to her tenfold. Nevertheless, she was in the thick of it now, and like a badger in a trap, there was no graceful means of her to slink away without major repercussions.

"You throw your meager anguish around like a trophy to bludgeon those around you, Princess…" the demonic leader of the Dark Horde seethed, his rage tempered after his single eruption, but the man turned fully toward her, and Moira's eyes were bound by his own.

"I will show you the meaning of true anguish, bought and borne by those greater and far more foolish than yourself!" he said, and in a lightning flash a wooden stick was in his hand, pointing at her. Her guards yelped, as there was a jolt of light, along with unintelligible words spoken by the man, before the Dark Iron Regent felt a darkness wash over her, and she fell to the cold ground.

However, the darkness did not last more than moment, before she was floating in a place she did not recognize, among humans that were strangers to her.

"My Lord Nobu'tan," one of the humans said, and Moira turned to watch an older noble-born human, vaguely familiar, speaking not to the demonic man she had just seen, but a mere child, barely into his late teens.

"The Legion has crushed most of the major muggle citys on the continent," the man said, "Archimonde has departed, but Jaraxxus has taken up in his stead and his returning to push their crusade onto the magical world once more."

"The Eredar will spare no one who will not bow to their might…" the boy said, bowing his head in what Moira could clearly see was shame. "How many have we been able to save by diverting them elsewhere?"

"Aside from those acting in open defiance of the Legion, perhaps three hundred families…" the man reported, "less than a fifth of magical Britain alone… alongside our other allies, I cannot fathom we will reach many more before they are all consumed."

"And the defenders," the boy asked, hopeful, "How fare their spirits? Can they hope to succeed after we depart?"

The older man refused to answer.

"I see…" the boy said sadly, "Thank you Lucius. I need to think, and I'd like to be alone for a time…"

The older man withdrew, and Moira, floating there unseen and unheard, watched at the boyish stern face of the man who would murder her husband broke.

"So much death… could it really be worth all this…?" he pleaded to no one who could hear.

On and on the images played, of death and the horrors of an endless war across an entire planet, and the boy, who swiftly grew to a man, became cold and emotionless to the damage he caused, but inwardly she could see every twist of the knife that the destruction wrought upon his soul.

This was not the fate of a born killer, but a survivor, who had made a terrible choice and had to live with the endless consequences of one selfish action. Moreover, she empathized with him, understanding their mutual sorrows and mistakes.

Then the company of Nobu'tan the warlock departed their world, and crossed the Nether to Azeroth, before finally returning to where the man had thought was his home, only to find ruins and a lazy people that had all but forgotten who they were.

In another flash, they were back in the throne room of her beloved, and she watched from the man's back as his minions destroyed her husband, all so they could rebuild what the man had lost in his sojourn over so many years. And even as he did so, the savages that surrounded him had turned their eyes upon Moira, preparing to strike her down as well, but the man had withheld their wrath, seeing her as she truly was… a fool who had loved someone who despite everything, had cared for her and who she was.

And he let her go… knowing that this end of vengeance and pain could be the result of it. This man, who had wontedly killed so many Dark Irons, had seen one in a situation much like his own, and in the faction of a moment had the mercy to give her a chance to find something other than the anger she had burrowed herself with.

In that moment, Moira knew true despair, and that all her revenge had been nothing more than lashing out at a world that would not recognize her for who she was. Dagan had not been a good man, aside from the care he had shown for Moira, and it was that love and care that she devoted her revenge to, even if the man had been a vengeful and petty ruler.

If the Dark Horde had not slain him, it would have been someone else, perhaps even her own father and a army of Bronzebeards coming in their minds to rescue her.

She had not tried, in her position, to do anything but act for her own interests. She could have been the bridge to mend the rifts of the Dwarves, but her own jealousy was even now on the brink of sundering the Alliance, and driving them to a collective war with the Dark Horde.

At last, the prison of her mind released, and she was permitted to drift into blissful blackness, and recover from the horrors imposed upon her mind.

…The Stormreaver…

Narcissa had been extremely hesitant at the idea of them touring the wide expanses of the Horde controlled Barrens. However, Anduin was very eager, and with him, Aurora had pouted until both Lucius and Draco had broken and agreed to chaperone the pair of them through a brief dip into the wide plains beyond the swamp. Narcissa could not in good conscience be the only one not to go, and agreed when Lady Proudmoore offered to provide a carriage for them to the edge of Duskwallow and back, and a picnic for them to have on the edge of the Barrens as they observed the landscape.

The road was comfortable as they rode along, and while the two youngest members of their group watched and chatted about the passing foliage, Narcissa rested her head on the shoulder of her husband, just enjoying their peaceful time together, before what she had been made aware of would descend upon them.

She trusted the reports of the good faith effort being made by the future Warchief of the Kalimdor Horde, both from the young man Med'an as well as Jaina herself. Still, she would keep her wand on her just in case, and she knew that Lucius would be on edge until they saw the back of the orc, having had experience with him previously.

But there was nothing to be done about it now, and meeting the other races of the world would be good for Aurora's development. They did not have the same rules and impositions of Pureblood behavior that had been instilled by so many generations, and while they may view their own people as separate and secretive, they were done hiding who they were and not trying to intermingle with the rest of their new world.

Nobu'tan had done more than physically saving their people from extension; he had prevented them from becoming so isolated that they atrophied as a society. It was one of the few things positive that could be said about the invasion of the Burning Legion, it forced their people to adapt, and quickly, especially when they saw the fight that the muggles had put up against the demonic Legion. They had at first not been prepared for the mechanical war machines that the millions of muggles had possessed, it had taken a concentrated effort as well as deception and manipulation to finally bring down the powerful nations, and even then countless demons had been destroyed in the process.

Despite the sheer difference in weapon technology, the denizens of Azeroth seemed to have something more backing them in resisting successfully the threats around them, and once they arrived in the vast landscape of the Barrens, Narcissa could feel the raw magic of the earth that held sway here, and saw firsthand another example of Azeroth's power.

The land seemed like a slumbering giant, waiting for the right moment to heave upward and crush anything that opposed it, or at least the subtle rumbling of magic in the land seemed to tell her. Narcissa was sure that she was not the only one of them to sense it, but her family was more focused on making sure that Anduin and Aurora were safe to comment on the strangeness of the land and its magic, although the little girl had frowned once as she looked out over the flatland.

"I've always wanted to see the Barrens," Anduin said, as they sat upon a large blanket and enjoyed some cool sandwich foods as the dry wind passed up the long valley. "But now that I'm here, I only want to get closer to Orgrimmar, and really see where the Kalimdor Horde live."

"Someday perhaps, you will have the opportunity to see their gates," Draco said casually, and Narcissa recalled that her son had actually been inside the city once already, not that they were going to casually speak of their business among the Dark Horde.

"You've met this Garrosh Hellscream, haven't you Draco?" Anduin asked further, all boyish eagerness and relaxed from his normal aura of reserved royal. Narcissa couldn't help but smile at the sight they must have made if any from their old world would have seen them now. The normally stoic Malfoy family, along with a prince of a human realm, sitting and joking, all smiles and expressions of mutual affection that before would have been reserved for behind family wards and away from prying eyes.

"I have, and unfortunately what I know of him does not match what has been reported with his desire to come and meet with us for a time," Draco continued, "He can be headstrong, and very brash with both word and action, but in a fight there are few that I can think of that are finer fighters…"

Adnuin seemed to ponder the idea of such a warrior, Narcissa observed. She knew that the boy's father was a powerful warrior in his own right, but it seemed that the boy had not as of yet thought about the idea of anyone on Azeroth being the King's rival.

Whatever more they might have said about the warrior soon to visit them was forgotten, as the group turned to watch as a group of the large pack beasts, the kudos, appeared from the north and seemed to be heading for the line of cliffs at the southernmost end of the long valley.

"Rare to see Tauren in the Barrens these days," Draco said casually, unable to keep himself from sharing knowledge he had gained from their allies in the Dark Horde.

Narcissa glanced over at her daughter, who was watching the approaching lines of beasts, her eyes wide as the grey and brown creatures grew in size with every step.

Upon seeing the Tauren astride them, the girl smiled widely, waving and jumping up and down in order to be seen. "Look at them, they're huge!" she said excitedly, before suddenly darting away toward the roadside. Despite knowing of the peaceful nature of the minotaur-like creatures, Narcissa still felt her heart chill, and both she and Lucius rose swiftly to follow.

They had no hope to stop Aurora before she arrived at the road, but they would be close by just in case, well within range of magic should it be needed.

"Hello!" Aurora called, hopping on her feet as the Kodos lumbered past. The Tauren waved back, and one of their numbers turned his mount to come nearer to the little girl. "Ish-ne-alo por-ah, young one…" the elderly bull said as he slowed his beast. "What brings a human so young into the Barrens." He said, smiling in a genial way as Lucius and Narcissa approached.

"Visitors of Lady Proudmoore, just sightseeing outside the swamp for an afternoon," Lucius supplied, giving enough of the truth to not have to engender follow up questions.

"Ah, I see," the bull said, glacing up at Draco and Anduin as the pair joined the rest of them at the roadside. "If only we all could have the peaceful times to take such leisure. My people have need of us to the south, problems with the centaur. Take care not to linger here too long, just in case the creatures try to come northward after we halt their attacks in the Thousand Needles."

"We will take the advise gladly," Draco added, smiling at the Tauren, "and hope that you pass with all swiftness, Chieftain Bloodhoof."

Whether the old Tauren recognized her son or not he made no sign, but nodded with a shake of the many braids atop his head. "It'll be a quick ride, but the long part will be once we arrive. If it were less serious circumstance, we might have stopped and feasted with you, as there is only so rare a time to be able to sit down with the Prince of Stormwind," he added, old eyes piercing as he glanced over at Anduin.

"Someday, perhaps," the Prince replied, his diplomatic side sudden back and solidly in place over the boyish features, "Thunder Bluff is a peaceful place, so I've been told."

"One day I would adore the opportunity to show you, and your father, the bounteous visage of Mulgore…" Chieftain Bloodhoof said, before a horn further south drew his attention. "Alas, that needs must, and we must depart. May the Earth Mother smile upon you all…" he said in farewell, before with a lurch his Kodo retook to the road, rumbling down the path at a speed Narcissa did not think the creature capable of.

"Well, that was certainly an interesting meeting," Lucius said, drawing their attention back to their location, and the picnic that was still waiting for them.

"It would be best that we heed Carine Bloodhoof's advice," Draco said, "the Tauren Chieftain cares for all life, and if he suspects that a centaur threat might come this way, there is a good chance that they are driving them out of the lands southward altogether."

"We shall return to Duskwallow as soon as we conclude our lunch," Lucius agreed, and together the small group returned to the small rise under the spare crop of trees that they had claimed at the marsh's very edge.

Even still, long after the Tauren had departed, Narcissa felt a wave in unease wash through the area they were staying. Something felt like it was moving in the air around them, and it didn't bring with it anything pleasant or peaceful.

…The Stormreaver…

Teg'Ramm sat impassively upon the stone throne in the depths of Blackrock Mountain. In front of him, upon a dais of stone that the ogres had carved themselves from the rock walls of the lowest section of the Dark Iron's mines, leaders and champions of the various warrior castes fought for his prestige.

In previous eras, under different leadership, it was likely that these bouts would have been lethal, but Teg'Ramm had taken some dues from the various human civilizations that had once existed on their old world, and demanded that the fighting be nonlethal, and that the first to fall from standing, or out of the dais completely, was considered defeated.

Many would probably have judged his stratagem as weakness, but Teg'Ramm had a greater vision in mind at keeping as many of his powerful fighters alive, while still allowing them to test their prowess at each other, and inspire those beneath them to greater boldness in battle.

Therefore, the main mode of combat was grappling, with two battlers trying to use brute strength alone to heave or trip the other from their feet or off the dais.

Of the main four former clans that made up the Blightbringers, the current combatants were championing the Spirestone and Fire-gut tribes, with banners and colors representing their old allegiances proudly displayed, even as their designated champions slammed their bodies against each other, hands flying to slap at throats and arms to try and gain advantage over their opponent.

It was more than their ogres that came to watch these contests, many of the members of the Stormreavers, as well as other beings that lived in and around the mountain. Therefore it was of no surprise to Teg'Ramm when the assassin of their forces, Tenebrous, appeared at his side, calmly waiting for the current bout to be ended.

Much like many of their contests in this fashion, it was over quickly. With a vicious sweep, the Fire-gut champion seized the sash and belt of his opponent and heaved backward, sending the Spirestone warrior crashing to the stone dais to the wild cheering of the crowd.

"Teg'Ramm, some of your warriors are needed to deal with an imminent invasion from the Dark Irons, which we have been watching on orders from Lord Nobu'tan." The assassin conveyed swiftly.

Teg'Ramm nodded, gesturing for one of his aides to come and fulfill the needs of the assassin. While he would have desired to attend and crush the invaders himself, the tournament of his people had only just begun, and he was required to oversee the various fights as final judge to prevent any infighting from breaking out.

"Crush the dwarves swiftly, and take their heads to Lord Nobu'tan," the Ogre Lord said to the assassin, knowing a smidge of what the plan the Grand Warlock had in store for these fools and their puffed up princess down in Stormwind.

Thoughts of what the Lord of the Stormreavers was doing even now did tug at the ire of the ogre. He did not like the idea of Nobu'tan alone in the capital of their enemies, dealing with this Dark Iron issue for the last time without any protection at hand.

Still, just because he had to stay here and oversee his own people, it did not mean that Teg'Ramm could not monitor things remotely. A subtle gesture and an eye of Kil'rogg was speeding its way up and out of the mountain, Ramm's one eye watching critically while Teg kept his two on the matches in front of him.

The eye zoomed upward from the mountain depths, heading off the small force that would be joining the newly made Shadow Blade assassins. Even from a good distance, knowing where to look for the location that the Dwarves would be burrowing out from, Ramm could already see their initial scouts trying to survey the changes that the Dark Horde had made over the years to the land.

They were completely unprepared for the decent of death that fell upon them from above. Assassins appeared out of the shadows, or literally fell from the rocks above onto the unsuspecting scouts, blades and magic flashing as they were slaughtered. Nevertheless, more dwarves were pouring in, their angry yells muted by the eye's distance from the pitching battle.

But by then the ogres were already arriving in their full battle armor. Gone were the days of the brutish warriors clad in nothing but animal skin with rudimentary clubs for weapons. Through the efforts of the plundered metals of the mountain, as well as the ingenuity of their goblin allies, the Balefire warriors were clad in full armor, suited for their girth and movements, as well as a menagerie of highly refined weapons from great swords to massive mauls of the slightly enchanted metal.

The rumble of their charge was the death knell of the dwarves advance, as their position was instantly overrun, the hulking warriors sweeping countless dwarves aside with their powerful armaments.

There was a moment when they might have turned the tide, when casters erupted from the tunnel with their fire-based magic blazing, but the assassins were already among them, and their blades found quick work of the heavily under guarded casters.

The route was complete within minutes of its beginning, and soon the dead had been piled, waiting to be burned, with Tenebrous already cutting clean the head of their leader from the females body, and wrapping it in a blood-soaked cloth.

He spoke to the leader of Teg'Ramm's battalion, and disappearing with a crack of the wizarding magic of the homeworld, allowing their force to burn the rest of the bodies and move to guard the new entrance to their lands. They would need to find yet another way to seal their boarders if the dwarves were willing to continue assaulting their lands in this fashion.

Or, more accurately, Teg thought as Ramm dismissed the eye and returned to their physical location, they could just bring the battle to the Alliance held lands in retribution. Their champions of the Balefire Clan would relish the chance to attack their enemies, rather than continually run defense and training efforts.

…The Stormreaver…

Nobu'tan knew that his display of power would cause an uproar, but the impudent princess needed to be put in her place, and understand that she was not alone in her righteous anger, no matter what consequences she wanted to drive her people to after the fact. Nor was she the only one to suffer that level of pain.

"What have you done to our Regent!" the Dark Iron bodyguards demanded, weapons drawn and poised as though ready to rush the warlock.

Holding up a hand toward Varian, who had started to rise and call his own guards, Nobu'tan nodded toward the princess, who had already exited the spell and was shaking her head sadly as he took her feet again. "I showed her the truth, and the fact that she is already awake again means that she had understood what horrors my people have faced over the years…," he explained quickly.

"I… yes…" Moira said, her voice already subdued in her realization of the depths that Nobu'tan had already sank in order to protect his own, and even a taste of the pain and anguish that he experienced. The dwarf looked at him with new eyes, the anger and resentment overwhelmed with sorrow, and even pity.

Nobu'tan did not want her pity, just her understanding, and his frowned back. "But even still, I understand that Moira Bronzebeard Tharussian alone is not the engineer of this threat against our factions," he said, sweeping his hand over the other Dark irons, who crowded around their figurehead like a gaggle of hens protecting an chick. "The Dark Irons themselves want to take their own lands back by force, and are likely unwilling to see reason that it was a war that they rightfully lost."

Sensing the appearance of Bliase, Nobu'tan turned as the assassin approached, much to the consternation of the spymaster of the Alliance, and took the bloodied bag from his close ally. "I hold in this bag the head of a leader of the Dark Irons, who once again, even now as we stood here and spoke, invaded the Searing Gorge and tried to begin a siege to take their lands by force, and in so doing push our factions into open war." He declared, confirming for himself the severed head within and tying the back tight before tossing it to the floor in the direction of the Dwarves.

The attendants, clearly traitors to their official leader, looked angry while Moira looked aghast at the grisly sight before them, in addition to what Nobu'tan hoped was a dawning sense of the betrayal around her. "Your people have hid their motives well, Princess," he said, refusing to grace her with the titles of the Dark Irons, even to her face, "and while you were trying at least the political and proper way to seek reparation for your pain, they were trying to undermine your rule and take matters into their own hands."

"Prophet," he added, turning back to look at Velen, "I move that the Alliance regard the simple truth: the Dark Irons are not members of the Alliance, even as much as their Regent is the daughter of the King of Ironforge. Their presence among you is circumstantial at best, and they have made no moves militarily or politically to affirm entering the Alliance officially. Therefore, their war with the Dark Horde is not the business of the Alliance, and they are on their own, despite whatever charity their Bronzebeard cousins are gifting them in shelter or provisions."

Velen was unreadable, but Nobu'tan could tell that Varian was suppressing a smile of triumph. However, Nobu'tan was just getting started. "Furthermore," he said, sweeping to stride across the room in a great circular pace, "They have attempted time and again to instigate founding members of the Alliance into a war with a faction that they have been in truce with over the last two major catastrophes of our mutual world, both Outland and Northrend. If anything, their affront to try and push Ironforge into open conflict with the Dark Horde over their personal grudges constitutes an offence to both factions, for which recompense ought to be rendered."

"And what would you suggest that they give as this recompense?" Velen asked.

"Surely they brought treasures with them out of Blackrock when they fled. I will gladly accept a token amount of that and call our business concluded, while the Alliance is free to demand whatsoever they choose from their guests, that is of no concern to me…"

The Dranei exchanged a glance with Varian, before closing his eyes in concentration. "I am hearing a large amount of blame placed upon the Dark Irons for their involvement in the aftermath of these events, but we must remember that the initial blame does reside with the Dark Horde for invading this world, albeit as tools of the Legion and not wholly under their own control."

Nobu'tan was prepared for such a backlash, and nodded, accepting the harsh truth that they indeed were the initial cause of all these hostilities.

Looking back and forth from Moira and Nobu'tan, the Prophet made his judgment. "The Dark Irons are, as clearly pointed out, not as of this time members of the Alliance, and therefore not at privilege to thrust their grievances upon the rest of the members of that faction. However, the Dark Horde is not without blame in the manner of their removal from the dark Iron's ancestral home. Naturally, as the Dark Horde will be unwilling to surrender even a part of the mountain, which they did win in war, as a compromise, I determine that the Dark Horde should find and secure a suitable location for the Dark Irons to resettle. They cannot in good faith continue to reside in Ironforge, having proved to be active instigators in trying to spur our factions into war."

The Dark Iron delegations seemed ready to voice complaint, but the aged Dranei heard nothing of it as he pressed onward. "Moira Bronzebeard Tharussian, and her infant son have free reign to move between this as of yet chosen location and Ironforge, at the will and whim of her father, King of Ironforge, with what guards she needs for her own protection, but no armies are permitted to move across Alliance lands to continue harassing the Dark Horde."

The Princess seemed too passive accept whatever fate befell her, although Nobu'tan felt that Velen's decision was the perfect balance of justice and mercy for her behavior.

"Nobu'tan, and the Dark Horde, will seek no recompense, in either gold or blood from the Dark Irons, or the Alliance, for the many attacks on their land, but continue in their truce with the Alliance, with hopeful prospects for a lasting peace treaty between the factions."

"Accepted," Nobu'tan said with finality.

"Accpeted…" Moira said softly in answer, muted and seemingly utterly defeated in all her former schemes.

"That leaves, King Varian, only the location that the Dark Irons are to be relocated to. I trust you or they have a suitable location in mind?" Velen said, offering the floor back to the High King.

"I know of a place, which will prove something of a challenge for the Dark Horde to capture and then release back to the Dark Irons, but has been a thorn in all our collective sides for a long time." Varian said. "Will the delegation of the Dark Irons accept the liberation of Grim Batol as their new home?"

"Much of the hostility of that land is already secured, with the Dragonmaw forces part of the Dark Horde and withdrawn from the Wetlands entirely," Nobu'tan supplied, earning a nod of appreciation from the King, "However the fortress was abandoned, I do not know what may have taken over that place. Nevertheless, we will accept the task of clearing it for the Dark Irons if they are willing to relocate there, and then to leave us be. We have our own means of traveling northward that will not have caravans or armies marching through the Wetlands, and so we will not instigate anything without prior provocation."

The delegates seemed desirous to reject anything short of their won mountain, but Moira spoke up, her voice clear and cutting off the angry mutterings of her handlers, "The Dark Irons accept Grim Batol as their new home. We will have scouts approach to access the situation in preparation for the Dark Horde's strike force to clear out anything that will threaten our people from settling there." She seemed like she had more that she wished to say, but the public venue won out and she fell silent.

"Then I declare this settlement made, and acknowledge by the High King of the Alliance, as well as the Grand Warlock of the Dark Horde," Velen said, spreading his arms wide, "return to your lands in peace, and let us have this mattered ended within these halls."

"Gladly," Nobu'tan said, turning to leave without a further word.

The Princess seemed desirous to speak with him, but he doubted that they would ever have the chance to do so again, especially if she now had to go about purging her own people of those who would undermine her rule, and possibly the line of her son to their throne.

Still, that was not his problem to be concerned with. Nobu'tan paused only long enough for Blaise to join him as they exited the Keep. "Your timing was perfect, I take it that their incursion was exactly when we expected?" he asked.

"Indeed," the assassin said, "And I am not sure that we can trust this forced treaty to hold for very long."

"It only needed to separate them from trying to call down the Alliance upon us, nothing more," Nobu'tan affirmed. Anything else, they would take care of with methods more brutal than word.