Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft or any of its characters. Seeing as this will be several chapters, please let this disclaimer serve for them all.

A/N: So, I know I said look for this around the end of June, but here's the first part of it. Hopefully, it will be finished by the end of July. As always, reviews are loved and I thank you all for reading!

…-…

"How many times am I going to have to talk to you about this? My patience is growing thin."

Warchief Rend stopped in his tracks, backing up a few paces to peer into the supplies room. It seemed silly, but there, amidst the satchels of grains and crates of trade goods, stood Nefarian of the Black Dragon Flight, one hand crossed over his chest to support the elbow of the other, that hand pinching the bridge of his nose. His eyes were squeezed shut and it was quite possibly the only time the warchief had ever seen the dragon lord lose his composure.

The warchief could honestly say that, while he was glad for the alliance between the flight and his people, the dragons had always kept to themselves somewhat. That is to say, they were 'happy' to deal with blackrock problems (most were rather easily fixed with either fire breath or a quick snack), but dragon problems were always handled behind closed doors.

And apparently said doors led to the supplies room.

Nefarian was not alone, though the human figure standing before the dragon lord had his back angled toward the door, so the warchief couldn't tell who he was. Not that he probably could have if he'd seen his face. Those soft skins all looked the same. Even the ones only pretending to be soft skins.

The presumably second dragon shrugged his shoulders lightly, long dark hair shifting over his puny shoulder blades. Well, puny by an orc's standards. No doubt human women would label him quite the catch. Humans had such low standards. Did they even care if their mates could tear enemies apart with their bare hands?

The warchief was drawn from his thoughts as the creature spoke, his voice weak, like silk.

"Dearest brother—"

"Brathrion, don't," Nefarian snapped, glaring. His eyes flickered darkly and Warchief Rend considered going about his business lest his eavesdropping be discovered and he angered both dragons, but then…what orc let a little fear deter them from the chance to even out the power balance in an alliance?

If he could get something on the dragons…

Nefarian was still talking. "Our sister is embedded with those creatures! If you keep provoking them, they're going to demand attention and resources be used against us. Even if that didn't put our sister in a position where she'll have to strike against her own kind just to avoid suspicion, it will draw adventurers' attentions to us."

"So we'll have a good meal." The other dragon dismissed, before adding, "And that's what Arulion who ate those villagers, not I."

"Arulion, the fool who looked up to you? Arulion, who was hunted down this morning? Arulion, whose scales are now likely adorning some pitiful mortals footwear?" Nefarian growled. "That Arulion?"

"He shouldn't have gotten caught eating people," the other dragon shrugged. He reached out and drummed his fingers against a crate, the claw like tips pricking holes into the wood. "If all you wish to do is complain to me about our fool brother's passing and that our sister has bitten off more of the kingdom than she can rule, I don't' see why you needed me. Couldn't you have hunted down Zaercia for this little heart to heart? I hear she's quite interested in all that sharing and caring nonsense."

"We have been working for a very, very long time," Nefarian took in a slow breath, as though trying not to snap. The warchief frowned as he realized the air had grown warmer and he was beginning to sweat. However, just as he was about to dismiss this dragon drama as something akin to what humans constantly bickered about—seriously, how could humans have such a skewed view of the world?

Only last week, the spire had been infiltrated by a small group of adventurers from the Alliance and they could have done some serious damage or in the very least reported how well armed and the like the Blackrock clan was. However, instead of focusing on the mission and putting it above all else, they had fallen into petty infighting. Apparently the mage, Becky, had accused the warlock, Tiffany, of sleeping with her lover, their group's warrior. The resulting catfight had alerted the nearby sentries and on their way over, they'd seen the corpses of their brethren littering the path and had wisely gone for back up instead of simply charging after the group. Even General Drakkisath had asked Warchief Rend about the fight, having heard echoes of the drama all the way in his chambers.

The warchief wasn't sure what was more annoying, the fact that the dragons seemed to think the orcs would be interested enough to be able to regale them with tales of what had happened, or the fact that a few of his orcs actually could.

As he considered that he should probably leave the dragons to their 'catfights', whatever those were, Nefarian's next words recaptured his attention.

"If they focus on us, they may learn of our father's condition or they may find solid leads on the cult. If even one fool can infiltrate the cult, years upon years upon centuries of plans will be overturned." Nefarian reached out and gripped his brother's arms. "Even you cannot be so foolish as to throw all that away. After all, you've invested your time into this, same as the rest of us."

"That I have, brother dear," the other dragon scoffed. "And I would appreciate if you'd remember that before accusing me of trying to sabotage it all."

With that, the dragon turned on his heels and sauntered out of the room, pausing to smirk at the warchief as though he'd known the orc had been there all along. Warchief Rend glared after him, though he froze for a moment when he realized that Nefarian had come to stand beside him, leaning in the doorway as he watched the other dragon disappear around a corner.

"Nefarian, I was…" the warchief trailed off, not sure why he was bothering to explain himself. After all, that would almost be like being afraid of him. And was Warchief Rend afraid of some giant, scaly beast?

He frowned as he realized that even in his soft-skin form, the dragon was still taller than he was.

"Warchief," Nefarian spoke the word in such a tone that made it sound like the most noble title one could bear. "I am…ashamed to ask it, but do you think you could help me with a rather…personal matter?"

The warchief stood at attention, his curiosity piqued. "Of course, dragon lord."

Nefarian offered a quiet half laugh, putting his arm around the orc's broad shoulders. "Walk with me."