Thunder quaked, loud enough that it rumbled the complex in which Jarrod, Tyrande and Malfurion sat around a marble table and discussed events of the past and future.

In Jarrod's eyes, it could have gone better. Malfurion was no more happy about Jarrod's choices than the rest of the druids and, to trouble matters further, lacked the sense of awe most Kaldorei had when dealing with a legend of the War of the Ancients. Jarrod hated the hero worship of course, but it did make others more reluctant to yell and lecture.

That was gone from here.

"For aeons we Kaldorei have lived in harmony with the Wilds. Both benefit. Our children can walk in its boroughs without fear and our people live in abodes grown as a result of the bonds rather than the mutilation the other races utilize. No other people have ever lived in such symbiosis with nature and just as the forests provide for us, we have held the protection of these groves as a sacred charge for the past ten millenia. "

He stared at Jarrod, Malfurion's superior height giving the general the impression he was being looked down upon. Tyrande looked on by her husband's side.

"I remember our past discussions- the Emerald Concord holds no more value to you than it did the Highborne. In the name of reuniting our fractured people-"

In the name of civility, Jarrod refrained himself from exclaiming aloud "A people you fractured!". But only just.

Jarrod- rattled by the death of Broll, exhausted by the retreat of the previous days and frustrated that he was forced into a battle he never should have had to fight in the first place- was more than ready for an argument. But he wasn't quite ready to plunge to such depths.

Meanwhile, the Archdruid had continued.

"I no more hold this archaic belief against you than I do them. Furthermore, as I always will I acknowledge your skill in military matters and that our people owe you for it. However, what I cannot tolerate is this duplicity. Our own people rejected your callous plan and so you used outsiders and outcasts to attempt to go through with it anyway. "

The speech ended a decibel higher than it had begun

It seemed like one of his adjutants had talked. He gave an inward sigh- he supposed he couldn't blame them. No, he wouldn't blame them. Whoever had leaked his plans was just following a sense of morality that had been ingrained within them since childhood. No, others deserved the scorn.

"I took my position with reluctance, Malfurion, as I always have. My only vow was to do my best to protect our people. I saw a path that would enable victory without sacrificing Kaldorei lives and I offer no apologies for trying to take it in spite of your wishes. "

Malfurion's eyes narrowed "Our people's wishes, Jarrod. That, included, Broll's."

It may have been true- Broll had in fact argued alongside the other druids- but having his name invoked like that simply aggravated Jarrod further. That Malfurion said it with the slightest quiver in his own voice did not calm him. Instead it exasperated him further, a stress not helped by the fact that his report had only stated that Broll 'was gone'.

It was true. It was false. It was somewhere in-between. So was Jarrod's response

"No, your wishes, Archdruid. Our people are just echoing the beliefs you instilled within them for millennia.. "

The other Night Elf shook his head irritably.

" You have been apart from Kaldorei society for too long." There was a pause, as the unspoken 'by choice' hovered in the air. Malfurion continued " My Shan'do and I may have forged the Emerald Concord, but it was supported even then by our people- including yourself- at the time. Now? Children as high as our knees play happily with wild and friendly squirrels and rabbits. Kids on the cusp of adolescent raise seeds that will be their future homes, while young adults raise the panther cubs that will be their bossom companions, not as broken beasts as with the other races. All of this...harmony comes from the honor we give our sacred pact with nature. A trust you would betray, because you are unable to view the health of nature as something worth protecting! "

"What!?" Jarrod was incredulous "I took this damned position to protect this province from the enemy! I have never sought leadership or command for its own sake, Malfurion. Never have, never will."

Malfurion inclined his head " No one would ever accuse you of being power hungry, Jarrod. But your statement contains a falsehood. You took up your position not to defend the elves of this province, not the province itself."

Well Jarrod couldn't deny that, even if Malfurion likely meant it to highlight his cruelty. When Jarrod spoke, there was a subtle note of old irritation in his voice
"I do not deny the benefits the Emerald Concord brought our people. Never have, only that the costs to our people,all our people" he emphasized heavily "outweighed what good the pact did." He paused, before looking Malfurion in the eye "And between the lives and wellbeing of our race, and that of the animals and plants of the forest that we share, I will always choose the former.."

The distant thunder was back again as Malfurion responded, his hands- which were a hybrid of a bear and elf's- outstretched.
"Again, just as before, you show a disturbing lack of empathy for all things you see as beneath you. What lesson would you teach the younger races? Lives that you view as lesser-"

Jarrod had to fight not to stand up.

"Wrong, Malfurion! I have never tolerated the discrimination towards the other races within any of the forces I command or commanded in the past. Indeed, I think our people claim too much credit for the salvation of the world "and believe overmuch that they were responsible for the damnation of it, but Jarrod held his tongue once more "for without the Tauren and Earthen and dragons and even our time-displaced friends, we could have never prevailed against the Legion long ago. And yet that does not mean that squirrels and chipmunks and trees are the equals of elves and humans and dwarfs!

"On what basis, Jarrod?"

Jarrod felt a headache coming on again. This argument, this Old Argument, had been rehashed to death.

"'On what basis'? On the basis of self-evident logic, Archdruid! Where is the council of squirrels, the religion of birds, the arts of does or concord of beavers? Where are the Bear-Clans, the family ties that extend past immediate kinship and into traceable lines? Where is the Order of Boars? While I despise cruelty to anything, sapient or animals, and dearly prefer the creatures of the forest to live I will not sacrifice a sentinel cadre or a squad of our human SI:7 allies to evacuate creatures who cannot even understand the concept of evacuation!"

At least, that was what the druids had admitted early on. The beasts could understand the concept of 'predator comes, flee" but not "you need to evacuate far to the north, past the old temple and across the river". Indeed, to most the concept of 'permanently fleeing an area' could not be translated over, as by instinct they would return to an area when predators were gone. They couldn't differentiate between 'friendly' humans and those of the enemy which led to, on one occasion, a sentinel cadre stumbling upon a terrified band of Brandensbrook Gilneans based on the panicked cries of some squirrels, carried through the forest by the trees. Prey and predator animals wouldn't coordinate together, each animal seemed to speak a different 'language' from one another (A word choice Broll, when he was alive, didn't agree with, but said it was the closest Kaldorei approximation) and a hundred other problems.

He would not deny that the druid's ability to commune and, in some cases, command (or, as the druids insistently called it, 'guide') the beasts had benefited the campaign. The creatures had thrown enemy logistics into chaos, provided information of a sort, and even inflicted causalities. But they had caused him immense headaches, made all the worst by the fact that, even when faced with danger, many druids refused to retreat and even defended their charges in the face of death. Above all else, Jarrod hated having unnecessary deaths on his conscious...which were the only type he suffered recently.

"And what need do our forest brethren have for asinine concepts? These things do not even matter to the majority of the races you call 'sapient'. The Westfall Farmer has no more use for expensive art than a doe or buck. Lines of heritage are about as unimportant to bears as they are to a Gnome. And you are well aware of the damage power-maddened monarchs such as Azshara or Arthas or Lei-Shen have inflicted upon this world. Their evil was enabled by the constructs you mentioned-"

"-And were defeated by such." Jarrod's patience was gone, at this time. "Yes, I know civilizations are capable of great evil. Yet for every example of a tyrant, there is a hero, produced by these same societies, that has defeated them. The good of civilization has conquered the evil. "
Tyrande, who had hereto remained silent (as she often was in this particular debate), intervened impatiently.

"This is an argument tread so deep into the earth that it could breach Deepholm. Lives are wasted having to repeat it. Jarrod " she turned to stare directly into his eyes " if ethics do not move you, then the larger...consequences you could have inadvertently invoked should. ."

For a moment Jarrod visibly blanched- he knew exactly what the priestess was referring to. He had judged such a possibility unlikely, but...

He met her gaze evenly.

"At no point did I ever suggest abandoning all of the forest, only a sliver of it. Given your own command in the Third War, where countless miles were left before the Burning Legion, I would think you would be familiar with this point. "

Malfurion's voice bit in.

"Then we had no choice- the Legion was unstoppable. The Lords of the Forest understood this, for they were in as much disarray as we were. If not for Mount Hyjall,... "

Tyrande took over

"The Legion could not even be delayed without massive effort, and it took the might of three nations to even manage that. From your own reports, the situation here is nowhere near as desperate. "

Reluctantly, Jarrod conceded that much was true. These invaders might be threatening and numerous, but they were not demons. And in his most recent reports, he had expressed confidence that the enemy could be beaten on the field when the Darnassians arrived. Still, the others were missing the point; confidence was not surety. Why bet on a battle in which victory seemed likely but not certain, when you could fight a campaign where it was?

He decided to hammer that point in.

"The enemy has a startling lack of sorcerers, that much is true. The SI:7 and the Shal'Serrar were able to identify just four dozen individuals that possessed clear magical affinity, half of whom we have managed to kill over the last month. Moreover, their force is as fractious as the Troll Kingdoms of the Azsharan conquest and far more cumbersome. We have outmaneuvered and pricked them at every juncture and bled them in almost two dozen major ambushes. And yet..."

He took a deep breath, and gestured his hand to the ledger that lay on the table before him.

"Even counting our reinforcements, the enemy still outnumbers us almost three to one. More concerning is that, for all their fracture and strife, the enemy has not yet demonstrated fear or hesitation en masse and fights with a fanatical bloodlust I haven't seen since the Burning Legion itself. I highly doubt they will flee until the overwhelming majority of their force is dead. ."

"The enemy is, as I stated, more a race of frothing lunatics than humans as we know them. In fact, Sentinels who have served in Outland compare them to the fel-corrupted Orcs of that place. The only joy they seem to derive from life, as far as I can tell, is the act of jabbing a blade through another being's gut. If they can't find one of us; they will gladly murder each other. "

(Another reason I had hoped to delay the invaders another couple of weeks, Jarrod thought bitterly to himself. Get them frustrated and marvel at how they turn their rage on the only other things in reach.).

He reached beneath the table and pulled out a foot high model. Then another, and another. Though the height was quite obviously lessened for scaling purposes, the rest of its proportions were unique enough to draw upraised eyebrows from Malfurion and Tyrande.

The craftsman had captured the gist of the enemy well enough to portray their distorted, oversized muscles and the deadly intent in their eyes. Moreover, the third model actually had his arm ripped in twain horizontally, splitting into two flailing tentacles of a deep-sea monster. The latter sight was enough to cause the Kaldorei leaders to glance at each other in concern. This was not the first time they had seen such mutations

"Unfortunately, as can be shown, these creatures- I do not feel comfortable calling them humans anymore- are almost orcish in musculature. They are strong enough to break bones with a simple grasp of the hand, tough enough to run around for a while with half a dozen arrow shafts in their chest, and fanatical enough to not be heedless of their own losses. In our previous battle, the Sentinels suffered great losses against them."

Tyrande's surprise was palatable

"Our Sentinels have spent more time training for combat than any other on this planet, Jarrod. Are you suggesting that they are outmatched to creatures that could not possess more than a decade or two, at most? "

Jarrod shook his head

"One on one, in a forest or plain, I am sure the Sentinel would prevail, High Priestess. Our people are as superior in finesse as they are in brute strength. However, this won't be a battle where I expect single combat to come into play. It will be a battle of massed infantry, just as the battle of Fol- "The Heights" was. There, limited by space and their light leather armor, our forces were unable to utilize their greatest strengths even as the enemy brought in theirs. "

It had been ugly. He had lost more during that hour of melee fighting than any previous raid.

"Massed infantry? With only a dozen or so mages, a handful of archers, and some corrupt form of Dwarf's artillery to back them up?" Tyrande spoke quizzically. Then she shook her head "I must question the wisdom of the enemy commander. "

"I came to a similar conclusion. To repeat myself, I do not believe we will lose the upcoming battle, merely that we can lose. "

"I know of the dangers of arrogance, Jarrod. The lessons of Azshara must never be forgotten. However, in this instance history is one our side.. "

Ironically, it was Azshara who provided the history here, albeit as a teacher, rather than as a cautionary tale. Before she was queen she was a commander, one who's admitted brilliance saw the then Kaldorei-Empire triple in size. Many times her enemies' attempted to use mass and weight of numbers to overwhelm her small army. The conflicts always began and ended the same way- with her melodic laughter echoing across the battlefield; the location had turned into a charnel ground during the meantime. Assaulting several thousand Moonguard and Highborne sorcerers head on, it turned out, was a terrible idea.

"With enough time, I am confident that our spellcasters and missiles will break them, or even annihilate our foe completely. However, that does not take away from a simple fact- our ranged forces cannot destroy such a large force entirely before they close the gap. Even Azshara had her indulgently titled Zindo'Serram to protect her spellcasters during her conquests. "

Jarrod paused and ultimately couldn't help himself. He cursed loudly, drawing upraised eyebrows. "These tactics are going to require me to put our allies in undue danger, Tyrande. Those same Humans and Draenei that heroically helped us in Ashenvale are going to be placed, by necessity, to the front, where they shall take the brunt of the barbarian's wrath.

We simply do not have enough Shanerrar and Druids of the Claw to hold our front lines with Kaldorei alone. It will be another great shame in the history of our people, but we will need to rely upon our allies for this. "

Malfurion was the one who responded, his tone gentle but wary.

"Their losses will be mourned Jarrod, but this reaction is unlike you. You know better than I the costs of war. Noble allies have fallen defending our people before, just as we have for them, in Draenor and Pandaria and other places."

"I know full well that 'people die in wars' Malfurion. I have accepted that, no matter how well devised my plans are, someone who I would rather save will perish for it. However, what I do not tolerate are needless deaths. Not only are we asking them to serve in a role we ourselves cannot; we are doing so for a situation that could easily be avoided in the first place. "

"Avoided through the sacrifice of hundreds of thousands, you mean." replied Malfurion with a note of sarcasm "If it can feel, if it can think, if it can suffer then it deserves your consideration. If it is part of the greater whole of nature, then it is your kin in spirit if not flesh. Through our acts, a ten thousand year ecosystem was preserved and will be able to endure long after these invaders are a bad memory."

It was more madness on Malfurion's part, Jarrod thought, and he wasn't having it.

"Please tell me, exactly, how many trees and chipmunks a single Kaldorei or human life is worth? Would you sacrifice the entire the Alliance if it meant to keep all the trees of this province safe?"

"That is enough, Jarrod." Malfurion's voice carried an undertone of thunder. "The forests are as much our home as towns and cities such as Goldshire and Ironforge are for the humans and dwarfs. Kaldorei blood has been shed defending those places, too, and whole regiments of Sentinels were lost evacuating Gilneas. Don't you dare insinuate that I take their lives lightly. I grieve for all those lives lost , both to come and those that have been lost to us already. I-"

Malfurion's voice failed him for a second however his wife answered for him, her voice tight.

"We grieve for Broll's death too. He was Malfurion's greatest student and one of our family's closest friends. There is a reason why, together with Shandris, he stood by our side at the wedding. I have mourned the loss of many throughout the long Millenium, and will so again, but Broll's death will be a particularly bitter sorrow."

Jarrod grimaced, swallowed, and made a decision.

"I...may have left something out of the report regarding Broll Bearmantle. "

For the first time since the beginning of the campaign, the Kaldorei had been soundly bloodied. Forced by unsound planning into a battle that their commander resoundingly believed should have never been fought, the Kaldorei had lost thousands and only slowed the chaos horde by mere days, instead of weeks as had been originally intended.

Jarrod was disgusted by the turn of events and in his meeting with Tyrande and Malfurion lashed out at them both for putting 'squirrels and does' ahead of their own people. The Kaldorei general was normally a man of self-control and mellow temper- it had been frayed to the breaking by what Jarrod considered a totally unnecessary loss. Malfurion, too, was annoyed by what he considered the callousness of a man who he once considered a close friend and now viewed as being stuck in the social attitudes of the pre-Azshara time.

The debate echoed those of the long distant past; words spoken were repetitions of arguments that had occurred back when the Kaldorei were ruled by a post-imperial Triumvirate, rather than theocratic duo. Jarrod, then as now, acknowledged importance of the forest but refused to put the lives of its inhabitants before his own people. Only Malfurion's invocation of the Emerald Concord, and the implied consequences of the breach of such an ancient pact, gave Shadowsong pause, and even then it was Tyrande who had to butt in to change the subject to more pertinent military matters.

Fortunately, going over the staff officers' ledgers gave more cause for optimism.

Between what arrived on the Darnassean fleet, the remnants of the previous battle ( "The Battle of Folly's Height", he had internally taken to calling it), what he could gather up from the province he had over 18,000 Sentinels available to him split between archers, sentinels, huntresses and lancers. There were a couple thousand more he could scrounge up, if he wished it; however those Sentinels were either attached to civilian refugee camps, helping evacuate those villages that lay ahead if the Temple fell, or were otherwise occupied.

More potently, he had several thousand druids at his command, hundreds of treants and dyrads and a couple of dozen Ancients. Nearly two hundred glaive throwers were in service, pulled from across the province or else taken from transport ships. Many hundreds of priestess novices and full-fledged Sisters of Elune resided within the temple complex itself as fitting as one of the holiest places in the Kaldorei lands. Even the Moonguard- their numbers reduced to less than one percent of what they had in the time of Jarrod's youth- had pooled together nearly a hundred magi and apprentices, ready to defend the kin who had exiled them. This moved Jarrod enough that he publically proclaimed his desire to see the Moonguard reintegrated into Kaldorei society once more- a move that Tyrande and Malfurion seemed receptive too, if unhappy with the means of delivery.

The Gilneans, king and people feeling indebted to the Kaldorei, had sent along four thousand and two hundred Gilneans, to which could be added roughly 400 militiamen from the nearby town of Bradensbrook. Roughly half of these were Worgen and their ships had brought their own cannon. Already fifty had been brought ashore, a number that Jarrod deemed more than sufficient for the battle ahead.

They were led by one Lorna Crowley, the daughter of Darius and arguably the most important figure among the Gilneans outside of the royal family. Despite the notorious rivalry between Crowley senior and Greymane- one that had resulted in a small civil war for that nation- the two families had managed to repair their divide once the Forsaken invaded. Lorna was the instrument of that rapprochement and had raised high in Gilnean command- even if much of that was subordinated to Stormwind or Darnassus. When Gilneas was restored, some thought she might become its general.

The Draenei, the least of the Western half of the Alliance in terms of population and navy, had nevertheless sent over one thousand and two hundred of their Vindicators, 80 Elekk cavalry and two dozen of their repeating ballista. Several local Furbolg tribes and moonkin had mustered what they could and provided a couple hundred warriors and three score shamen for the upcoming battle. These were led by Vindicator Kuros, second of the Hand of Argus and well known for the zeal he showed in battle.

Finally, though the Western Alliance had not been able to muster its fleets- split between holdings in several different continents- in time, they had mustered piecemeal proportions nevertheless. Four ships had joined the Kaldorei armada from the base outside of Theramore, carrying three hundred Dwarfs, Gnomes and men along with three steam tanks. The magi of Dalaran had used their mastery of portals to amplify the leylines running beneath Val'sharah and portalled in hundreds more champions and specialists such as the SI:7 or the Gnomergan Covert Ops.

All in all, close to thirty thousand troops were available to the Night Elf trio. The upcoming battle would represent the most Kaldorei seen on a single battlefield since the battle of Mt. Hyjall itself. Though their force was still outnumbered two and a half times over, they had faced greater odds then, and with less preparation too.

And the Kaldorei, and their allies, took advantage of that valuable time.

The SI:7 planted imported Goblin or eccentric Gnomish mines in certain sections of the field, predicting that the enemy would likely charge forward heedless of casualties once more. In certain other locations, experimental seaforium charges were planted. Sniper nests were created of tree top platforms grown by a druid in an instant.

The shamans, both those that came with the Draenei and those few of the Dwarfs, maneuvered and molded earth nearest to the temple, creating elevated platforms where the cannons would sit, whose range was between two to three times greater than the ballistae. Attached to each battery was a huntress veilgazer, individuals who could mind-link with their trained owls and use their aerial view to provide accurate coordinates to the crew.

The Kaldorei had garnered a reputation for being slow to adopt new technology- but the Veilgazers were proof that they could, and were considered effective enough that allied regiments abroad had requested their aid.

However, if technology was a newfanged thing to the Kaldorei, their mastery of the forest and nature was timeless.

Preparations were undertaken in a manner both familiar and unfamiliar to observors of other races. Trees was cleared to provide archers and artillery with a clear shot; however, the act was done gently, through druids persuading the trees it would be in their interest to leave and then blessing them with druidic energies to do so. It was an inefficient process compared to the slash and burn method of other races, and indeed more than once the druids had to forcibly compel the trees to move, for the simple minds were either unable to grasp the danger posed by the invaders or were stubborn and dismissive of any threat that wasn't a forest fire.

It was time extensive and taxing, taking days to what another race could have accomplished within a day. And yet, the druids proudly pointed out, patience and virtue towards nature had its own way of rewarding its caretaker and the ranks of treants swelled as some trees, their simple minds incited towards wrath, decided that fire needs to be fought with fire, rather than fled from.

Other druids cultivated poisonous flowers, while druids of the moon and the priestesses worked together to bless two dozen new moonwells whose healing energies could revitalize troops. Trails of the forest that could not be altered were seeded with lasher plants to constrict and thrash, along with flowers that would erupt in a burst of poisonous pollen upon close proximity to a non-Kaldorei or Gilnean Worgen. As could be surmised, the dwarfs/gnomes/humans of the expedition were restricted from these sections of the forest.

Yet, it must be said that not all preparations were completed flawlessly, or without controversy...

While the magi of the moonguard and certain SI:7 specialists had certainly made use of the leylines across the province in their regional campaigns, the Kirin Tor sought to widen and expand them in order to turn the zone into a 'temporary' Ley-highway. Such a maneuver would, in theory, allow hundreds of troops to pass through per day from Stormwind along with cannon and ammunition for rifles.

Of course, the local druidic orders complained vehemently about such a move, for the rearrangement of leylines was a rather messy affair. While the mages of Kirin Tor were the most knowledgeable of leyline manipulation among the Alliance, they were still comparative novices when placed against the titanic watchers of old or the blue dragon who had long stood guard over magic. While the Kirin Tor counted amongst its ranks the former Aspect of Magic himself, Kalecgos, the blue dragon was unavailable, helping his kin in Azsuna survive in a province overrun by monsters led by madmen followers of a dead lord. It was worse there than here. Moreover, the Kirin Tor magi had to undo the enchantments the druids themselves had long ago put in place to dampen the unnatural arcane. Such a process, they conceded, would be messy...

With great reluctance, Jarrod kept the leyline limits in place. It was still useful when it came to sending reports from the field, but only a couple dozen per day could safely cross over from Stormwind.

All was not well in the Host of Ruin. To say that the camp had been thrown into chaos would be a misnomer, for such a place was ever and always a festering swamp of competing schemes, titanic egos and fateful ambitions stretching from the petty rivarlies of the lowliest marauder to the compulsive scheming of the Faithless. Yet, until now, there had been an odd sort of stability amongst the highest echelons in the form of Tamurkhan.

It was not the stability of Tamurkhan's own leadership, to be certain. The Maggot Lord was prone to wrathful displays and executions at the best of times, constantly sought the favor of his patron through sacrifices that he demanded of his lieutenants through a 'tithe' and often made decisions deliberately detrimental to his subordinates.

Even his fellow Nurglites were not spared for, though Tamurkhan outwardly called them his 'brethren' inwardly he imagined himself as Nurgle's 'favorite son' and grew resentful of any that could theoretically challenge such a favor. It was an echo of the bitter familiar jealousies that had so consumed his mortal years,only now he had the unquestionable power to do something about it. Certainly some of the up and coming Nurgle champions had died mysterious deaths; been sent out on questionable missions or, during trying times, had the 'honor' of 'ascending 'to be with the grandfather on a sacrificial altar- a blessing that more often than not, the champion had to be dragged kicking and cursing too.

Rather, it was the character of Tamurkhan that offered stability. For bound by body, bound by mind, bound by spirit. Though Tamurkhan was physically stronger than he had ever been before, he was bound both mentally and spiritually by the form he had stolen as his own. Food became not just a matter of substance for him, but a physical desire, a burning and unquenchable need. Matters that would have annoyed Tamurkhan in another form drove him swiftly to wrath even as the Maggot Lord's capabilities for higher thinking declined.

To the mightiest of warlords amongst Tamurkhan's army, this offered predictability and, thus, stability. Though only the boldest dared tried to manipulate him, most were content to fashion their own schemes in secret; plans that would inevitably feature betrayal or at a minimum putting their interests to the forefront at the cost of the Plague Lord's.

With his new body, that calculus had been bitterly upended. Gone was the spiritual and mental malaise that had so crippled Tamurkhan for nearly a year. In its place was renewal, of a sort, as Tamurkhan could now think clearer than he had in years. Moreover, he could recall the full memory of his life- all six thousand years of it and now had the facilities to do something about.

Tamurkhan wasn't the brightest of his brothers- that was unquestionably Subotakhan. Yet his advantage in experience could not be denied- he had lived through more malicious schemes then numbered the years of his life. Twisting spider-minds the likes of which would find Sayl simple had tried to ensnare him in their webs and malefic entities from beyond sight had sought to use him as a pawn in their ceaseless games. Tamurkhan had survived them all and, more often than not, saw the demise of his mortal foes in turn.

Subotakhan included.

The warlords today stood in the shadows of myths and legends yet had learned nothing from them. Ambitious, desperate individuals with grasping minds and delusional souls, they looked at those who came before and sneered at their failures even as they walked the same paths to damnation at the same stride. It had become, during Tamurkhan's long life, repetitive and banal even for a lord of decay.

Here Scarzod the Ruthless attempted to spread snide insinuations that the Plague Lord's strength came solely from the bodies that he possessed, and that his current form belied weakness. Tamurkhan confronted him on the whispers and dared him to make good of that boast in front of his entire host causing the pride-strung warrior to lash out. With tooth and claw Tamurkhan's new shape-shifting form tore out his foe's heart.

There, Aarazamos Scrymad attempted to subtly influence a Nurglite ritual to the glory of Tzeentch. Had this succeeded, the act would have spoiled the Nurglite sacrifice, turning the blessed decayed flesh of the vessel into a randomly churning mass of mutations and forms that a Tzeentchian would love and a Nurgling loathe. Giddy with glee, Tamurkhan subtlety had the ritual altered. The Plague Lord laughed loudly as the unfortunate Tzeentchian sorcerer found out that just as the flu could spread on the wind, so too could the Rot spread on the Winds.

The panic of the Tzeenchian magician was heard across the Winds of Magic, his despair and was palpable as the mage whispered agonizing prayers to his lord for release. Yet only the gift of eternal life could conquer Nurgle's Rot and while the Changer of Ways was notoriously unpredictable even he was constant in his contempt of broken tools (or, at least, most of the time he was). In love with his own life too much to take it, the Tzeenchian sorcerer would ultimately be broken in by the illness's symptoms and turned to the glory of the Grandfather

Of course, those were just the individuals Tamurkhan could afford to take his wrath out on. To go after Sayl or Drazhoath, the former seen as the informal leader of the opposition still while the other making up the second most powerful contingent of his army, would claim at least ten thousand lives. Tamurkhan cared not for the lives of his men but he did care greatly for his own life, his own ambition, his own destiny. He was more than aware that, in this case, squandering their lives would cost him all three.

And so he cowed them, by annihilating lesser malcontents and proxies, with a particular eye on Sayl and his unseen 'friend' (for, blessed with Broll's knowledge, Tamurkhan could now make a good guess as to the source of Sayl's own). He needn't have worried, for though Sayl's popularity had risen in the horde as a result of his 'triumph' against the Kaldorei, his Dolgans had seen their numbers halved. Though he had the secret pledges of nearly a fourth of the Chaos Horde, Saly trusted it no more than he would sulfuric air. Opportunism was, now and always, the only form of currency the scions of the Chaos Wastes recognized and all would be giddy to see him fall.

The camp grumbled, as it always did, and grumbled some more as Tamurkhan inexplicably ordered the pace to be slowed to a crawl for no clear purpose. Rumors spoke of strange lights within the Plague Lord's yurt and of plants being uprooted- rather than hewn down- and carried and planted within. His rivals were again suspicious, but none dared move.

In fact only two groups caused Tamurkhan issues in those formative days.

Surprisingly, the first of these groups was they who Tamurkhan had been positive he could rely upon- the Plague Ogres. In the year since Tamurkhan had claimed their lord at the battle of Hell's Pass, many had taken worship of Nurgle just as so many Northmen had. Many, but not all, for of all the creatures of Tamurkhan's nurglite horde, the Ogres were the most resistant to its touch. A portion had kept their souls through their own pure stubborn yet simple nature, instead opting to follow Tamurkhan because they either believed him to be (somehow) the same tyrant they had always followed or simply respected his strength.

When Tamurkhan returned to camp clad in his new elf-skin, many of these unaffiliated ogres looked on in disbelief as their corrupted fellows bellowed approval and sublimation. Bereft of the ability to physically see Nurgle's spiritual corruption, these Ogres wondered aloud how their corrupted fellows could follow something so puny and scrawny? One dared say of Tamurkhan that he was hardly worth eating - the ultimate ogre insult.

The ensuing riot between loyalist plague ogres spread like fire across kindling, even as the original cause was forgotten. The Northmen needed no real excuse to fight after all. Eventually, Tamurkhan himself bellowed into the fray to restore order however hundreds of men and ogres lay dead by that time. Those remaining Ogres not in the dominion of Nurgle were forced into it via the rot.

More concerning were the Dawi Zharr, who had become, if anything, more hostile. Even in the best of times they were contemptuous of their umgi hosts, subtly mocking in their domineer and adverse to doing tasks outside of their contract without compensation. Now, they were slow to respond to any of Tamurkhan's requests, haggled bitterly over even the most minor request and gave off an aura of not just contempt, but hostility. They had provided Tamurkhan headache after headache back when he was an Ogre, and somehow had just gotten worse since he had taken up this new sleeve.

However, if the first had been a source of consternation to Tamurkhan, the latter was a source of giddy amusement. Indeed, he was more than aware of the reason behind it and found that reason to be utterly hilarious, enough that it actually took self-control to keep himself from laughing at the resentful Chaos Dwarfs.

To Drazhoath it was not so humorous. Ancient Dwarf pride rankled and sizzled like magma over a slave's back. Physically, of course, the simile might not be appropriate, but spiritually, the knowledge dragged his mood to the depths, his every thought dominated by this newfound shame. Indeed, he actually felt a compulsion of the soul that demanded he step down from his position and enter the Infernal Guard to it. For, in a vainglorious instant, Tamurkhan had robbed him of all his dignity and self-respect.

For the fact was he, a proud son of Zharrdom was, by technicality, in service to...an elf. He, who had railed against the corruption of the Dwarf-fleas of this land and their weakling elgik masters, was now following the orders of one. Oh he knew well that the soul in command of the elf's body was very much a...well, not a manling, but at least once was that. Excuses were the refuge of cowards, and thus the fact remained he was in the service of an elgik.

It wasn't that alliances between Zharr and elves (Druichi)i were impossible to conceive- indeed, they had happened a handful of times in the past, even if the two trusted rats and daemons more than each other. But Drazhoath had already concluded (and written) in the sacred and inviolable book of debts in front of his nearest subordinates of the innate corruption of this particular breed of elgi, in a document of stone that the Chaos Dwarf lord would be obliged to send to Naggrund to be recorded in the annals of their race.

There, the lords of Naggrund would read of how this strain of Elgi was a particularly corruptive and cowardly breed, of how it would pervert even the timeless values of Dwarfs and subvert them. They would debate Drazhoath's recommendation that the race, and its pitiful vassals, be designated ' " - a ranking shared with rats, which would cosign their race to be worked to death upon capture in the mines rather than remaining as designated slave stock.

They would then read of how Drazhoath had served under one...

And yet, he was trapped into this ignominy. He had a written accord with Tamurkhan, signed in blood, that bound his fortunes to Tamurkhan's. He may haggle, he may scheme, he may wring out whatever he could of the cursed oath, but Drazhoath was obliged to support Tamurkhan's dark designs and destiny. To become an oathbreaker- through either breaking his bond with Tamurkhan or altering the sacred book of grudges- would be far worse than the mockery he would face or the prospects of being all but forced into the Infernal Guard.

The fate of an oathbreaker in his society was considered one 'too cruel' to inflict even on slaves.
He had no choice but to continue his service, and he hated it. Only his malicious thoughts of revenge gave Drazhoath any sort of comfort. After all, he had recently recorded a grudge against the elf whose body Tamurkhan inhabited- why should the fact that it had a new inhabitant change things? Moreover, it had been Tamurkhan's choice, after all, to take such a form...

The wheels in Drazhoath's mind were already awash with new grudges he could enter, of vengeance to be taken once his deal ran its course.

Another sleepless day awaited the commander of the Alliance forces, who was where he had been for the last twelve hours- hunched over his command table, as he moved around figurines and considered possibilities. Even now he idly fingered the figurine of Muaaruk Doombane, a mighty Draenei paladin who had earned his title single-handily hacking down two dozen doomlords in the sixth Skirmish of Hun'aan , in Tanaan. He represented a squad of ten or so other champions, each with their own achievements and legends, placed within the forces of the main Draenei forces.

There were close to two dozen other champion squads placed around the board, intermixed with various conventional forces, usually to shore up perceived weak points. Jarrod had only had the privilege of seeing Azeroth's latest batch of heroes in combat twice since he came out of his exile and both occasions had deeply impressed them. He had no doubt they would become the focus of all sorts of myths one day, just as he and Tyrande and Malfurion and so many more had become for his own people.

Gently, he put the Draenei down and moved over to the enemy's side. He analyzed the figurine of the barbarian's leader, who was now known to be called Tamurkhan. The figurine was still of an ogre sitting on an enormous flightless dragon, and Jarrod felt no urge nor desire to have it updated to reflect Tamurkhan's current form.

Idly, his heightened hearing noted the presence of approaching boots- human steps, by the sound of it. Doubtless another SI:7 messenger or an emissary from the Gilneans. He would hear them in time, but would not pause from his ruminations.

Strategically, Jarrod felt his foe was limited in options. He could not hide a force from him, as the sheer number of spies (Kaldorei or allied creature) would quickly defeat such attempt. He could not flank, for the druid's mastery of the forest was sublime. He could not put the Temple under siege, bombarding away with his artillery, because Jarrod's air force and own magical support would eventually neutralize the machines of the corrupted dwarfs. And though the sheer number of allies present were significantly straining his logistics, between the portal network and the masses of druids present the enemy would run out of supplies far quicker than his own force.

Moreover, the Western Alliance was mobilizing, their forces having made the journey from the Black Portal to join with those awaiting at the docks of Stormwind, or Menethil Harbor. If the enemy commander wanted to delay this by weeks and months then he may well find that his advantage in numbers slips away.

The temple lay in the center of the only major highway through the province. Cutting any other meaningful path large enough to drag the Dwarf's machinery would take weeks- and that wouldn't count the time needed to bridge the river beyond. Given the damage Jarrod had already managed to inflict in raids with just his previous paltry force, he was confident that twenty thousand more would wear his foe down utterly within the time necessary to build another highway.

Any magical superspell of the enemy's, presuming it operated under similar rules as the various magics of Azeroth, would take significant time to be set up, and be easily detectable given the sheer amount of eyes fixed upon the enemy's movement. Even if it were not, Tyrande and Malfurion were confident in their ability to contest it, claims that Jarrod wholeheartedly agreed with. He remembered well, after all, the power that the two had showcased even as mere novices of their respective orders. Now? Good luck to his foe.

No, the enemy really only had one recourse that offered success- attack and overwhelm, hoping to overpower with mass of bodies and melee savagery rather than finesse or creativity. In a calculus that accounted for masses of bodies only, his foe could do it to be certain, as the reports by the SI:7 and Shal'Serrar indicated that the Kaldorei had only faced the least of their foes at Folly's Heights. But it was most banal and predictable of strategies and, moreover, the enemy commander had to be aware that the Kaldorei expected it. Because, Jarrod bitterly thought, Broll had been aware, though by Elune's grace he did not know all of Jarrod's specific preparations.

The footsteps were close now, but Jarrod continued to stare at the figurine. He had to concede that his foe had him at one disadvantage and that was in battle dispersement. The Kaldorei did not fight in massed formations- indeed, few did. They had all received training in certain 'theoretical' aspects of warfare, but not much and almost never in active combat. Moreover, Kaldorei tactical doctrine ran with organized lines like wold and panther- not at all, in other words. In clustered formations, without much room to retreat, his people would have difficulties.

And yet, as Tyrande had said, there was a reason why no one on Azeroth generally bothered with massed infantry assaults...or no one not Sillithid or Scourge. They had been used again and again throughout history and been found wanting the majority of it. What did Tamurkhan have to stop Gilnean cannons or Kaldorei Glaive Throwers from raining down ceaselessly upon their ranks, or the sheer breadth of magic the Alliance forces would unleash upon them? Jarrod understood that his foe placed little value in the lives of his men, but surely Tamurkhan could glean what was placed against him was more than enough to wear his force down?

Which meant either his foe was simply that confident, that self-assured of victory, or there was something missing here.

The boots stopped and Jarrod decided it was time to address his guest- a human by the sound of their footsteps.

He turned and peered at her, gleaming immediately from her clothing that she was a mage of some report. A tall one, also, by the standards of humanity (even if, compared to Jarrod, she was only up to his chin). Undoubtedly beautiful too, by elven and human standards alike. Then his eyes focused on her hair and he immediately knew who he was dealing with.

He gave a slight bow, as had been customary for generals of his rank to give to a head of state. Truth be told this was their first direct meeting and Jarrod felt some shame he wasn't in a better state.

"Lady Proudmoore, your visit is unexpected! Please, allow me to apologize for my rudeness and find you a seat and a drink!"

She waved him off with a smile

"No apologies are necessary, Commander Shadowsong. I am the one who is interrupting you after all. And don't worry about finding me a seat or water- I can just conjure my own."

That much was true.

"Though I wish the circumstances were different, I am glad that we could finally meet, Lady Proudmoore. I have heard much about you from Tyrande and Malfurion. You are counted amongst the greatest allies of my people."

It was diplomatic but true. The Kaldorei leaders had spoken a lot of the kindness, fortitude and overall strength of Jaina's character. She had earned a reputation as an idealistic and sincere diplomat and Jarrod knew she had been instrumental in forging the coalition that stood off the Legion on the slopes of Mount Hyjall.

And yet, the pair had also spoken of the darkness that had come over Jaina's heart as of late. Of how a maiden of peace had been replaced by a woman of war. Not that Jarrod blamed her, given what had happened to Theramore.

"Thank you, commander. Though if you don't mind, Jaina would suffice. I was never one for formality."
He nodded, happy to skip such things himself.

"Agreed, though only if you call me Jarrod."

"Those are acceptable terms. Well, Jarrod, if you wouldn't mind could you fill me on the state of this campaign? I have read the reports but I have found they are often lacking a commander's insight."

He felt a small stab of annoyance at this request- couldn't she see he was in the midst of planning said campaign? And yet, he mentally conceded, perhaps a break might be in order. He had been at this, after all, since the dawn of the previous day.

Briefly, he gave a brief rundown of the campaign- speaking quickly of the overwhelming numbers of his foe, of how the Kaldorei had attempted to bleed them at every occasion even as they sacrificed mile after mile of land. He spoke vaguely about the decision making behind the Battle of the Bridge, not wanting to speak of internal elf dissention about this act, and trying nobly to hide his own irritation of it. He mentioned, in hushed, glum terms of Broll's horrific death and corpse possession.

In general, Jaina kept silent as he discussed tactics, though her eyes were downcast when told Bearmantel's fate. On magic, however, her questions were pointed and plenty. She wanted descriptions of the way enemy sorcerers cast their deadly magic's- did they sway and move, gesture, shout loudly? What effect did the magic have on the sorceror's own bodies? How had the dryads faired against them?

Truthfully, Jarrod could not answer many of those questions and he had to direct her to his moonguard, who had surely noticed such things. All he knew was what he had immediately observed in terms of effects- that the magic was as ranged as any on Azeroth. He had had fire spells hurled at his men, elemental lightning and winds and, more than anything else, strange bile producing plague magic that reminded veterans of that conflict of the Scourge.

At the end of the discussion, Jarrod couldn't resist indulging in his own curiosity- and concern. He inquired about Azsuna.

"The situation in Azsuna is..." she sighed "Is worse than here. We- the Kirin Tor- have tried to help where we could, but the Azsunai aren't as united as you are here. The hordes of those terrible creatures have overrun much of the eastern half of the province. Worse, some of our spies are reporting strange arcane alterations among the waves and none of the elementals we sent to check them out have returned. "

There was something else Jarrod wanted to ask her; something personal. Yet, the thought caused Jarrod a tinge of guilt, and to hesitate. Here was confirmation that two provinces were suffering from the despoilment of these otherworldly invasions. What right did he have to ask about-

"Your sister and her wardens are alive, Jarrod. They have been surrounded for weeks, but Khadgar and Modera are with her. The Kirin Tor will honor our alliance with the wardens- you can count on it. "

Jarrod felt his worry deflate- somewhat. It had been years since the last meeting with his sister and to say it had not gone well was a dramatic understatement. He could still faintly feel the edge of her glaive on his skin.

His sister would never have done any of those horrible deeds if she had not been under some foul influence- doubtlessly, a remnant from whatever torture she had endured from Illidan's hands. He had been a bad brother, abandoning her for eight thousand years with nary a word sent back. From what he could discern from the muttered undertones of the Hyjall Shadow Wardens, Maiev had come to sincerely believe he was dead.

"Thank you Miss Proudmoore.. You have brought me no small level of comfort. Rest assured that when we have finished off these invaders, I will lead the Alliance forces down to Azsuna to help you and the Kirin Tor liberate the province."

Jaina smiled faintly at him, though her eyes were tinged with trace amounts of sadness and regret.

"Commander, I think you might be misunderstanding why I came. Kalec, Khadgar and Modera are heading the Kirin Tor efforts in Azsuna- I am here to do so in Val'shara. The Kirin Tor- and I- may have been….mistaken in our handling of the Frozen Portal, but we shall make up for it."

Hope surged upward like a sapling fed on Nordrassil's nectar. Only a handful of mortals on Azeroth could claim to be a peer of Malfurion or Tyrande in power, individuals who, alone, could determine an entire battle.

By every account he had ever read, Jaina Proudmoore was one of them.

Alone on his traveling yurt, mounted on the backs of dozens of enslaved ogres, Tamurkhan sat in his new body and brooded. The center of the makeshift house was a pool of bubbling, frothing swamp water infested with all manner of diseases and aliments. The biting, acidic pool would have devoured the flesh of any normal living thing in moments like a flesh eating school of fish.

Tamurkhan found it incredibly relaxing. He leaned back against the living of the pool, his stolen face momentarily taking the form of bliss.

In fact, for the first time in over a year, Tamurkhan felt he could think with clarity. Or, at least clarity as he would recognize it- to anyone not of the Faith, they would think his thoughts incoherent, the subject of an affliction inflamed brain and mad beliefs.

Over the millennia he had worn hundreds of different forms- puppets of flesh that he had bent to his purposes. Yet the old adage about being what one ate held some degree of truth. Tamurkhan was a creature of Nurgle through and through, but, in what the Maggoth Lord considered a final act of rebellion, the last echoes of his flesh puppets would try to assert themselves.

Against Tamurkhan's own will, he turned into what he ate.

When he had commandeered the skins of bloodthirsty Khornate, he found that his thoughts had always turned to physically forcing fetid things down the throats of his enemies and of the extinguishment of his followers so that he could bathe in their polluted blood. When he had occupied a Slaaneshi sleave, he would find himself unnaturally discerning of the plague-gifts he would give out, wanting only the finest contagions for his victims. And when his priests would point out that Nurgle loved all things, and all aliments were equal in his eyes, Tamurkhan would merely say that some were more equal than others, before slaying the others for daring to question their magnificent lord.

He had taken over the flesh of a Tzeentchi just once during his long life and had readily vowed to never do so again. His own flesh had revolted time and again, accepting Nurgle's blessings (read diseases) and then morphing them a thousand-fold, such that he was bloated even by the standards of his faith, filled with so many diseases and pus that even his toad dragon had trouble supporting him. At other times he would awake to his body having a single poxmark or two across his faith and so inadequate were his blessings that Tamurkhan's own followers had attacked him, thinking that the Maggot Lord had abandoned the true faith. Of course, such disruptions were nothing compared to the effect the sleave had on his mind, which was torn between a thousand different competing schemes that he felt compelled to alter anytime he started to pursue one.

The non-humans were almost just as bad. He had taken Dwarfs- both kinds- and felt an unquenchable ache against anything that even slightly wronged him, aches that only blood would satitate and which usually led to him getting bogged down against what felt like half of the Wastes at once. Ogres were all creatures of gluttony and rage, suited for fighting and little else. Orcs were even dumber brutes, and when he wore them he felt the implacable and insecure need to 'krump' any upiity subordinates- which, to the greenskin mind, included just about any minor transgression.

Tamurkhan frowned; like the Tchar-skin, he had also possessed the skin of an elf only once before. In the aftermath of the Battle of Dzaarkchen's Teeth, when his force had been reduced to a paltry dozen, he had come across one of their caravans, far from home. Near death already, Tamurkhan had been chained and taken but, alas, like the elf whose skin he now wore, this other pale creature did not lack for confidence And, just like this Broll, the other elf had paid for it.

Briefly, his face scrunched in concentration as if he was tasting some new form of wine and trying to remember how it compared to the old. He thought this form duller compared to the other like a blunt to a newly forged blade. However, if that blade was sharper and deadlier, it was more brittle and fickle by far, prone to involuntary excess that more than once attracted the eye of things Tamurkhan didn't want upon him. For that reason, Tamurkhan reckoned he liked this elf's body better than the Druichi's.

No blade in the world- in any world- was as sharp and double-edged as that of knowledge, however. And even as the maggot Tamurkhan began the process that would inevitably corrode Broll's brain, the elf had yielded much knowledge. Knowledge of the likely source of Sayl's own mysterious insights, even if Broll had thought such source dead. Knowledge of the vast world that awaited him outside of this land, of dozens of races and more nations. He- and his brothers, he supposed- were yet mites on the mammoth's back; irritating but still only a dim notice to the great beast.

Good.

Alone of all the gods, Nurgle could prevail in such conditions, for who was better than the Plaguelord at perverting large things with the small?

Armed with the knowledge of that realm, Tamurkhan recognized the Emerald Dream was the real prize. He could not grasp its purpose but the Nurglite recognized that it was a realm of pure magic, one yet innocent of Nurgle's touch. That colossal tree that the Grandfather had shown him in his visions was not the sacrifice, but the doorway to the sacrifice. Just as that strange portal had opened a new realm for Nurgle to spread his joy, so too would Tamurkhan honor his master.

He forced a concerned frown onto his stolen face.

Unfortunately, his enemy recognized the importance of the Other Place.

While the elf he possessed did not know all the details, it did know that tens of thousands of reinforcements were arriving from some distant oversea stronghold. And among them, more magic users than he could ever conceive - and the enemy had already stunned him in the quantity of their skinchangers. And among those, stood priestly figures of repulsive and bestial faiths, individuals who Tamurkhan both longed and loathed to tangle with.

The frown turned into a grin.

Fortunately, his enemy recognized the importance of the Other Place, too. After all, what value would this land of trees and mud hold compared to the very heart of such things on this virgin world? What would the 'guardians of life', the so-called Druids, choose to protect, their charge or their people?
After all, the druids and Nurgle both claimed to value life, but only Nurgle could claim to value all life equally. The Grandfather, in his bubbly fashion, loved the plague spore as much as the deer whereas the druids picked and chose favorites like parents. They would gladly 'purify' millions of plague spores, fungi, viruses and even venomous insects from the land to save a thousand or so panthers and doe. The thought nearly brought a tear to Tamurkhan's jaded, stolen eyes- such atrocity!

Did not the Nurglites, too, seek harmony with nature, the true nature, by offering their own bodies as temples and breeding grounds? Did not the Nurglites seek to propagate and support life in all lands they walked, as the druids merely claimed to do?

"My kind is just yours without the hypocrisy" he spoke softly, even though no one else was there. Indeed, the Maggot Lord's audience was none other than his own body, to whatever lingering echo of its former occupant still lingered.

Broll had given him the knowledge. Broll had given him the answer. And now, Broll had given him the means to that answer.

And, just like the druids, dreams were sacred. A holy means to commune with the divine, to walk amongst them or, even, to call upon them.

Tamurkhan leaned back and closed his eyes.

And opened them to be met with a world of purity. A world of vibrant trees and leafy greens met his eyes, greater in intensity to the previous world the way the sun was brighter than the moon. Tamurkhan's spirit soared above the canopy to get a better view
His stolen eyes widened until the golden irises appeared as miniature suns. He had never seen such an abundance of life! As far as the eye could see, flora prospered and fauna roamed, the plants vibrant and the animals content. Through Broll's eyes Tamurkhan recognized species that had long gone extinct on Azeroth yet which nevertheless persisted here in some form of eternal afterlife. Spectacularly, handfuls were even unrecognizable to the druid's stolen brain!

And yet there was something...off about this place. A perversion that Tamurkhan knew within his maggot heart, but which plumbing the stolen mind of the druid yielded little to determine it. To the druid, this was heaven. In fact, it was probably thanks to the druid's lingering echoes that Tamurkhan cared at all, for when had a Chaos warlord of the wastes ever cared about the environment.

Yet care he did and unease made the maggot quiver within Broll's chest. The druid's eyes adjusted, the maggot making still-unfamiliar lips fumble about until a spell of life detection was cast, and then approximated. Tamurkhan directed his stolen form to fly through the tree's boroughs.

He saw butterflies moving across fields of flowers- he saw ants marching across the trunks of trees. He saw moths and worms and centipedes and more.

So few. Such a bountiful land should be a endless metropolis of insects and fungi, yet there were so few. Moreover...

The golden irises widened once more- this time in horror.

Where were the gifts of his Grandfather? Where were the Pusburn mushrooms, whose fecundic growth spread across every tree in Nurgle's garden, slowly dissolving its host in brackish water that in turn served as a host for innumerable small organisms? Where were the tiny gifts of plague that hung hazily in every air pocket and breath of the other world, and which could be found even in the elvish jungles on Azeroth proper? Neither existed here; they were gone, and Broll-turned-Tamurkhan didn't think they ever existed in this place at all.

This place was wrong. It would foul. It was corrupted. It needed...salvation.

At the spirit-elf's command a scroll appeared within his hand, a gift of the Pox-Mother of the Gallows Tree. It was his most prized possession by far and though he had once dreamed of inflicting it upon a city of man; he knew this place needed it more than any other realm he had ever seen. Fortunately the scions of Nurgle were generous with their gifts- indeed, there was nothing they enjoyed more!

In a slow sonorous tone, he read from the scroll.

Syllable after syllable poured from his lips, each word striking the air like a spark in dry brush. He spoke a language that never should have been echoed here- never should have been uttered even in his own homeworld.
The effect of the dark tongue was immediate.

The unreality of this place controrted and bent itself further around him, stretching and straining as if struggling to prevent something from getting through. Space began to expand and like cloth overstretched to its limits, holes began to appear.

And then something poured on through.

It was gigantic- its arm alone the size of the trunks of nearby trees. It was massive, with folds of girth that almost seemed to provide it a skirt in a parody of the latest fashions of human cities. Tiny forms circled the internal lining of these rolls like bats hanging from a cavern as they suckled on the form like leeches. The behemoth's legs were short and stubby, its arms flabby and wrinkly, its smile menacing and wide enough that a man could fall in.

To any sane mortal, the form before him would be seen as a should-not-be, a horror from the depths of nightmares. To those warrior-paladins of the divine, she would be regarded as an abomination to be purged. Even its own kin regarded this particular daemon as untrustworthy, duplicitous and insane. Yet, to Tamurkhan, the creature was the most beautiful thing in this world or, indeed, any worlds.

For in a certain sense, she was his mother.

"My beautiful maggot-child! Nurgle loves you, I love you….and now, I know you love us back!"

The Great Unclean One's wide arms reached out and enveloped Tamurkhan in its embrace. Daemonic screeching and happy squeals could be heard from under the mother's gluttonous folds even as some were crushed between the body of their mother and her favorite son. Neither of them cared.

Though his new flesh-skin blackened and molded at her touch, though her crushing grip threatened to break his ribs, though the elf's finely attuned senses retched at the creature, Tamurkhan savored it, as he always had since that first time.

"Oh what is this now?" The Pox-Mother moved her face away from her flesh-child, her son in rebirth if not the initial delivery. Her eyes focused more clearly on the mortal cloth that her son wore- the stolen skin that was his latest fashion! She pouted like any mother flummoxed by some ridiculous antic of her child. "My sweet sweet pestilent boy. Why must you persist in covering the beautiful True You in those mortal peels? "

Drunk on the toxic fumes that permeated from the creature, Tamurkhan had trouble mustering a coherent response.

"I-I-I needed it to bring Grandfather's glory to this realm, blessed mother. It was the only way, mother. "

Her frown turned into one of concern and daemonic pity. Tears flooded down her cheeks- bubbling droplets that burned the earth below her like acid.
"Oh my dear child- my beautiful boy. Don't be ashamed of who you are! Remember, it's what's inside that matters! "

And with that she- with a mouth easily wide enough to swallow him whole- delicately planted an enormous kiss upon his brow.
The effect was immediate; His flesh squirmed, almost as if it was trying to get away on its own accord. Tamurkhan's iron will (combined with the daemon's grip of steel) held it at bay. The Flesh revolted anyway and, as the Pox Mother gently put him back on the earth, it began to mutate.

The daemon paid this no heed. Instead, the Pox Mother lovingly bent over and ripped a branch off a nearby tree, smelling it contently the way mortals would flowers. The tree limb molded into ruin within a moment, crumbling to the earth but this just made the creature's smile brighter still. She peered beatifically into the surrounding scenery, taking it in with a hunter's appreciative eye. Then the smile waned, like an artist who saw potential but was ultimately dissatisfied with the product.

"What is this? Why have they taken something that could have been so beautiful and ruined it? Where are my little ones? My measles and ivies, my ticks and suckers? Oh no no, this just won't do!"

Her enormous flabby arms moved to her fat folds and with a heave she lifted them up, like a courtesan lifting one's skirts. Dozens of tiny little forms fell like apples from a tree. They giggled as they bounced and then bounded free, veering off into the forest to no doubt create mischief.

"Run little ones- spread the love of the grandfather to this realm. I shall bring you more friends to frolic with soon! "

"Yes" Tamurkhan's voice was different- deeper now. He also stood about two feet taller on cloven hoofs and several stones heavier, as the blessed mucous expanded his body outward nearly double. His antlered head had expanded into curving horns and his mouth had grown wider like his pox-mother's. He wasn't quite the size of his old ogre form, but was at least comparable.

Yet this girth belied a surprising mutation – he had become a host of life. Poisonous, foot long centipedes ran down his arms and legs, mushrooms grew along the pus filled sides, deadly mosquitos incubated within the hidden nether regions, sickly green wasps dug into his chest laying their eggs and maggots writhed within a hole in his stomach. And that was just the organisms that could immediately be seen- he had no doubt he played host to a thousand more creatures beyond mortal ken.

He was a horror of the gods; he was a horror of life.

Do you approve elf? He asked himself, knowing that something, somewhere was listening. See how we bring blessed life into this world!

He glanced outward in triumph, his gaze taking command of the still unmolested jungle beyond him and imagining the glories the Grandfather would gift them. Gift him.

"Choose Kaldorei! Choose between your goddess or your home! Choose between your charges or your lives! Choose, but know it's a false one, for I shall claim them both in the end!"

AUTHOR NOTES-

YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT- TAMURKHAN

So to open up about one of the reasons this chapter took so long, which I hinted at last chapter, is that I wanted to be absolutely methodical in my analysis of both sides. To the point where I reread Tamurkhan: Throne of Chaos and had to re-arrange my entire plot based on what I found.

In my first reading of Tamurkhan: Throne of Chaos, I was not impressed with his character. He seemed more like a useful dupe than a mighty and feared chaos warlord. He seems disconnected from the politics of his camp, he appears increasingly dull-witted as time moves on and is played repeatedly by others. I was honestly surprised such a creature could have lasted for a few decades; much less the millennia he was supposed to be around for.

But then, upon a second reading, I found evidence that Tamurkhan was heavily influenced by 'what he ate'. I.E when he took the form of Sargath, he seemed to have inherited the Slaaneshi's voice and the gift of sadism, given that he is described as loving the decay of his own body. When he took the body of the Ogre he became very strong but wrathful and increasingly dull-witted.

The way I see it is that since Tamurkhan isn't a daemon (indeed, his whole arc is about trying to become one!) he cannot spiritually possess someone the way Be'lakor did in an accompanying short story. He can do something else to the soul, that ill get to in a minute, but he should not be able to devour the soul the way daemons can. Thus his possession mechanic is physical- he buries his true, maggot form deep into the other person and hijacks the body of the other person.

Thus, in order to do this he must somehow be able to hijack or replace the nervous system otherwise his host's body would not work. And if he can hijack the cranial nervous system and use it to speak, then why can't he hijack the brain in its entirety, including the memory portion?

Moreover, the text hints strongly that the soul (or at least a portion of it) of the Ogre Tyrant was still there, even as the Ogre's body was rotting away, which was a reason why Tamurkhan was so dull-witted and violent. This changes everything. Because of the same applies to Broll, if Broll's soul is still in there, then Tamurkhan can theoretically use Broll's connection to the Emerald Dream to his advantage. And if he can form a pathway between his own Nurgle-owned soul (I definitely think he has almost every major blessing barring daemonhood), the Aethyr where the Nurglites reside and the Emerald Dream, where Broll's side is tied, that opens up options. Options that Tamurkhan just took advantage of fully.

To be blunt at what I hinted at a previous update if Tamurkhan acted as he did as the Ogre Tyrant against Jarrod and the Kaldorei in the upcoming battle he would lose, no question. Tamurkhan the Ogre Tyrant displays almost no creative thinking beyond 'drown them in meat and mass' that, as I have already hinted, is no guarantee of victory against a heavily magical force.

Now, with most of that magical force having to make a sadistic choice between defending their sacred charge or their people? We shall see.

JAINA PROUDMOORE-COULD, SHOULD & WOULD

I did not, until the last minute, intend for Jaina Proudmoore herself to show up. While Malfurion and Tyrande were always going to be there, just as they were in canon, I only planned a partial Kirin Tor presence, perhaps with Archmage Modera a part of it. However, when I reread portions of my story for clarity I quickly came to the realization that I had- quite unintentionally- set up circumstances and story threads that not only led to Jaina's inclusion, but practically demanded she be included.

Let's answer it in the Could, Should, Would format

Could Jaina be there? Could she of the Council of Six of a city located halfway across the planet arrive in time to partake in the battle of Val'sharah? Absolutely. She has teleported between Theramore and Stormwind and back before, teleported an entire army from Undercity back to Stormwind and, most notably, teleported within minutes to save Khadgar's life on Draenor. This is notable because it wasn't just on interplanetary teleportation, it was interdimensional. She literally hopped timelines and did so in minutes.

So no question she is magically capable enough to arrive in Val'sharah.

Should Jaina be there? This is, after all, a battle between the Kaldorei and Chaos, with some allies filtered throughout. Should Jaina, undeniably an important lore character, be pushed into a conflict that doesn't fit her aesthetics and where she would automatically become, by virtue of her fame and her power, a major component?

I am not Blizzard, who handwaves away key story components (the Vindicaar, how portals work) away because that 'wasn't the story we wanted to tell' (which was genocide, which those components would lessen or stop). If it makes sense, ill use it. And I found having Jaina being here made sense, given what I have already written.

Despite my preference for a mostly Kaldorei vs. Chaos battle, when I ran through any potential reason for her *not* to show up they all felt...hollow. Dalaran is not under attack, so she is not needed in defense of her kingdom, Khadgar is already involved in the defense of their Warden allies (and the Warden themselves, if aware of the dilemma, would tell her to go defend their people first) and she has a big personal motivation to join the Kaldorei.

While her actions were not malevolent, in this story her orders (and that of the Council of Six) are at least somewhat to blame for the current predicament. She could have told the Alliance from the very beginning about the portal and they would have locked it down as a result. Any studies into the portal's nature- and the nature of the world behind it- would have been heavily curtailed and limited by the garrison commander's presence, who also would have stopped any Sarl invasion cold before shutting down the portal.

While it is certain that if she had known about the invaders she would have went with this option, at the time there was no clear danger from her perspective. As a result, this happened and as we saw from the council meeting, Tyrande at least blames Jaina somewhat for it.

So she has the will and motivation to intervene- exorcising her guilt, healing the rift with Tyrande. Moreover, she is of the Council of Six, which means that if something does happen to her, her nation will not collapse or enter turmoil and still have the leadership to fall back upon. I realize every Alliance leader *could* be here by the nature of portals, but the more you have in one place the more you risk turmoil from potentially losing them. That is why Genn isn't here, as he really is the only Gilnean with experience running a kingdom left. I know Tess is the heir, but this was only recent, and, as Calia's background shows us, old school monarchies in Warcraft did not expect women to rule. Thus she is unlikely to have the training and lifegrooming that her late brother had in running a kingdom, and would still be in the 'training' process.

If things go disastrously wrong for the Night Elves here, Shandris (who is the only other Kaldorei with significant leadership experience not here) and Greymane would be expected to rule the Kaldorei and their Gilneans refugees.

Also the Draenei without Velen is...not a pretty picture. Something which might be explored in another place, at another time.

Now for the final question.

Would Jaina be there? Well, though she loathes fighting she is far more active than she was in the past and has stood at the frontline before against multiple evil foes (the Legion, Scourge). This is highlighted again in Battle for Azeroth, where she was a major participant in two major battles plus several skirmishes (and, from the Shadowlands preview, seems to be involved there as well).

Oh, and no Tamurkhan does not know Jaina will be there, as Broll had no idea Jaina would be there. He'd certainly recognize her power though.

MISC POINTS

1. Each of the four brothers had/has a daemonic sponsor, with Tamurkhan's being the Pox-Mother (and whose relationship I have expanded upon from canon). Each of the four brothers had/has a means to cheat death, withTamurkhan's being the maggot possession mechanic. Though certainly none of these means are fullproof, as one brother already found out.

2. The Kaldorei have...unique views towards other sentient life. As shown by the Shandris's own words to John Keeshan
""Shandris: Elf, human, we are all equal, Keeshan. No one of us is more valuable than the other."

There is a lot of room to play around with this and certainly many Kaldorei do not agree with the de-factor heir of the Kaldorei's position. The Kaldorei's attitudes towards other life is remarkably liberal compared to even known sympathetic High Elves like Teclis (who I can't imagine ever uttering such a sentence) and though there are certainly going to be Kaldorei who don't feel human/dwarf lives are equal to their own, you won't have many that agree with the Wood/Dark/Most High Elf philosophy that other races have little to no value (and those who utter such words are going to be ostracized). That said, there is a lot of nuances, with some agreeing exactly like Shandris while others taking a more calculative view ("If all life is equal, then it would take forty orc lifespans to measure up to my own!"), while still others viewing other sentient life as to be 'guided' away from their destructive impulses (i.e. arcane magic) or even culled for being a threat to nature the way we would a species of invasive rats. The latter is a viewpoint some Warhammer elves might even agree with.

Again a lot to detail in the Kaldorei codex, though most of those other views don't have power

REVIEW RESPONSE

Mallador9000
Well thank you for saying so! Though with fourteen chapters and almost 230 reviews, I can't say I am displeased (and two of them were just updates, to technically twelve story chapters).

Dasgun
:)

Aburg76

And I can't wait to show you...

In 2030, when i finally get to all the interactions the Alliance/Horde and Warhammer Order factions have :P*

*In all seriousness I sincerely hope it does not take that long.

JawsOnYou67

As I mentioned in chat, I am open to the possibility of minor OCs running around throughout the world, setting up shop and trying to enact their own goals. I think that can provide some lore relevance to the rampant adventurers that appear everywhere as background characters.

That said, I am not willing to make adventurer OCs major characters at this point. Particularly not one capable of challenging a superpower, as is implied by your statement of them potentially driving out the Dragonmaw, who are allied with the Horde. As for the Dwarfs (by which I assume you mean Dark Irons) as Anduin embarrassingly acknowledged they are already in the Alliance in all but name, and indeed in Warlords of Draenor they appear in quite a few Alliance quest zones.

There is certainly a lot of room to expand in the Badlands and I would imagine, in that barely policed land, many minor factions are flourishing and floundering; forging alliances and warring with one another. Also Wraithion's information and assassination network is shown to be formidable and those who are his enemies tend not to live long (as shown by numerous quests to that affect). And seeing how trying to revive Nefarion would automatically make a character Wraithion's enemy...

Guest

Actually, I would wager this is is a case of flowery text saying one thing and cold hard statistics saying another. In this case, a failure to pass an initiative roll from a Medusa's gaze inflicts a strength 4 wound with no armor save allowed and the killing blow rule attached...which, per the eight edition codex, does not apply to large targets. So against the, for example, Hydra two pages later it might wound the beat (or might not. The Hydra has a Strength rating of 5) but will almost certainly not kill it.

Translating this to lore maybe a Medusa gets really lucky or is exceptionally powerful and manages to kill an approaching Megladon shark in such a manner- but I personally wouldn't bet on this. More likely, the Megladon shrugs it off and just swims up and chomps her.

Regarding the minor races

-I have already written a couple of thousand words of the Naga of Khuresh. .

-Gnomes I plan to feature, as do Zoats. Zoats are, per the Storm of Magic story " The Hour of Shadows – C.L. Werner" connected to the Wood Elves.
-Maybe Fishmen, though I am uncertain in depth. I'll probably include at least a scene but hmmm. They'll definitely appear in at least the Khureshi Naga codex but past that I need to be sure I can get a handle on underwater civilizations first. I am interested.

-I have been advised to avoid Pygmies entirely. Look up their history to see why.

Dios

I aim to overachieve!

Reed
Thank you!

Spartan Commander

Lorewise, it was the Legion who revived Ravencrest's army at Black rock and as they haven't arrived in this province yet there are not undead soldiers at the keep. Nor do I think Tamurkhan's army would fall for an attempt to redirect him to the fortress. They know, roughly, where they have to go and have magical means of scouting. If this tactic was tried, it would slow down Tamurkhan's army some but also drain the druid's energies away from other things . Nor would it work- Chaos would just have to spend extra time trying to clear the brush in front of them. Between the giants, Chaos Dwarf machinery and tens of thousands of warriors it would be an annoyance at best.

Warcraft has done stranger things yes, but their enemies are not idiots who are going to fall for an obvious redirection attempt. They have their own ethos too which demands the destruction of the works of rival gods. As Tamurkhan knows, exactly, the importance of the Temple of Elune and Elune herself to Kaldorei culture he is looking forward to the despoilment (and the grandfather's reward for such an act).

Indeed, even if the average footman does not wield mithril or thorium and just steel they still posses armor on par to the elites of Brettonia or Empire. I do not understate the importance of this, though I will note Stormwind's involvement is limited at this juncture. GIlneas is here, however.

As most Norscans don't wield plate at all, the Gilneans(both Worgen and ordinary human) obviously have an armor advantage. Regarding the Chaos Warriors...from stats in the book, I believe their armor rating is more or less even though Chaos armor provides numerous other advantages that probably makes it overall superior in other aspects such as making it so its wielder does not need to eat, sleep, feel tired or the like. It can also be 'customized' to take into account mutations and blessings. Of course this comes from the curse of never being able to take it off...

Information on the Azsuna campaign goes into spoiler territory. I have provided some hints this chapter, however.

Carre

3-4. Indeed I have read that RPG section and will feature gnomes (Warhammer) in some capacity. Though their numbers are such that even with their losses Warcraft gnomes are common compared to them.

Rhinoabc

Indeed, the differing mindset between races of both settings is not going to be handwaved away. It will be important- very much so. Humans, Dwarfs and Elves of both settings have almost incomprehensible viewpoints to one another, but with enough similarities to leave almost an uncanny valley like echo. As detailed above, I think the philosophy of the Kaldorei would give any Warhammer elf an anuerism.

Regarding the Empire specifically it must be noted that there are differing mindsets between the various classes and factions of that immense place, some of which the Alliance would find more palatable then others. For example, I think Balthazar Gelt has the mental flexibility to acknowledge that Draenei aren't daemons or that Pandaren are fundamentally different from Warhammer beastmen. Doesn't mean the majority of the populace would and I would imagine only humans, dwarfs, elves and gnomes could travel the Empire openly, and of those only the first two with relative comfort.

For their part, given the Draenei were already having trouble dealing with the less-than-savory elements of humanity in the prophet's short story, I would imagine they would be aghast at most of the specimens they see in the Empire.

Regarding the constant war setting while I am aware that is overall true for Warhammer's Empire, it varies by portions. For example I imagine the population of Nordland is properly paranoid of the spectre of Norscan raids, while Riekland farmers are, for the most part, living peaceful lives (though obviously some areas have beastmen infestations). Warcraft has lived mostly in peace until the last thirty years, and even then they had more peace then war until the last ten.

However, the last apocalyptic event that occured in Warhammer (as of this time) was the chaos invasion during the time of Magnus the Pious- for Warcraft, it was about two years ago with Cataclysm.. They also are going to be far less bothered by the prospect of 'random invaders from another planet another dimension invading us' since that's the initial premise of the series.

On a positive note, all the leaders of the Alliance are invested in diplomacy while Karl Franz's whole background features him going to one regional power after another to forge bonds. He did so to Brettonia (Prince of Altdorf novella), the Wood Elves (Wood Elf 8e codex), and Kislev (Gutrot SPume's background). Relations with the Dwarfs have always been decently good and though I don't remember anything specific, I don't think he has any problems with the High Elves. Now imagine this new big faction arriving on the scene, a defensive pact between over a half dozen nations whose membership are guaranteed to join battle if attacked (and had proven to do so many times in recent history). And not just perfunctory forces- full expeditions with rampant spellcasters, advanced technology and the like.

On the other hand, Horde diplomatic efforts would simply result on death of the emissary on sight with the sole exception of the Blood Elves (and I guess Nightborne too).

Evowizard25

Thank you. Yea, I don't agree with how Chaos is frequently portrayed either its prowess lies within its endurance and the mechanics of a crossover, any crossover IMO, limits its initial power. See my response to Rommr in Chapter 5, Swov in Chapter 8, Dios Chapter 9, and Harkuyuu chapter 10 and probably a few others I forgot. I still want to emphasize that chaos is a powerful, corruptive force comparable to cancer, but they are in a crossover here and whereas in their universe everyone else suffers in that all the metaphysical stuff comes from the Realm of Souls/Aethyr/Warp, here none of it does. A Light paladin isn't going to suffer from the risk of spell blockback (and thus demonic possession) a light wizard of Warhammer Fantasy would.

I wish I was a faster writer to get to the Scalies and Ratsies faster.

Harkuryuu

I certainly do not intend to abandon it!

Hmm, I think either your or my translation software is off- I do not take joy in anyone else's suffering from this virus.

Well, a preview has been provided for Subotakhan.

My single greatest inspiration for this fic is probably Logical Premise's Mass Effect rewrite. His world-building is breathaking in scale and probably outdoes the actual MassEffect writers significantly in terms of total content. That is what I ultimately want to emulate and think the world-building would benefit my story.

Tobi 14

Oh yes, the Skaven don't have the Dwarf underway to appropriate. That said if they dig deep enough that might find the tunnels the minions of the Old Gods used though who knows what is left there...

TheHappyVampire
Thank you for the review though, unfortunately, I absolutely cannot comment on any of it due to going into spoiler territory. I assure you though, I have the next couple of arcs planned out in full. There will certainly be surprises in store...