User:Xavius69025/The Death in Ice, Part 2

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Chapter IV: Behold the Icecrown

All hope seemed lost. The weapons of the warriors could hardly dent the thunder-spewing pillars, and the shaman had to use all their resources to shield the others from the onslaught. The few shaman left to the fight didn't make much difference anyway. But suddenly, when the noble Frostwolves had all but prepared themselves to join their Ancestors, a web-like substance seemingly out of nowhere began coating the spheres upon the pillars, rending them harmless. And then, from between the pillars, emerged a host of armed spider-men, the warriors of the Nerubian Empire. The arachnoid leader approached Nitor and Marneth.

"Greetings, friends," he said. "I am Anub'thune, champion of the Nax'Orien Brood of the Central Nerubian Empire. I gather you are the Frostwolves, of the Earthsnow Peninsula?"

"Well, yes," Nitor answered the nerubian. "We are. If you know who we are, do you also know the cruel fate that has been bestowed upon us?"

"Of course, Packleader Elringavath. Not only that, but we also have taken the foul Mokher Agrunavid into our custody. He is no longer a treath."

"That's most certainly a relief. Was he the one behind this ambush, as well?"

"So it would seem. But these... pillars, they cannot have been his work alone. I believe he has associates."

"So he said, yes..."

"Anyway, we have already informed the Orcus Council of your need for a place to live. You are welcome to stay in their lands, at least until they can find new land for you."

"The Orcus?", Marneth interrupted. "Since when are the Orcus in league with the Empire?"

"Since some years ago," Anub'thune answered him. "Since the construction of Nax'Orien first began."

"Waitaminute, Nax'Orien?", Marneth said, confused, with Nitor no less so either.

"Oh, you Wolves never heard of it, heh? It started with a great fire that devastated the previous Orcus capital. After that, the poor beings turned to us for help. And that was when Lord Osir'thep the Magnificent struck a deal with them: the creation of an aboveground citadel, a grand new capital of the orcs, and at the same time a power generator of sorts for us."

"Citadel?", Marneth asked, still as confused, if not more so now. "Grand Capital? What are you talking about?"

The nerubian sighed.

"I will just have to let you see it for yourself. After all, seeing is believing, isn't it? Come now, the others should already be there. Our webs have put the conductors out of action, we will send a team in later to topple them and take them into safe custody in Nax'Orien. Amazing technology, wonder how he got his filthy paws on that?"

And so three other nerubians from Anub'thune's party stepped forward, and begun chanting in a, to the orcs, alien language. Suddenly, a portal of green energy appeared in the air before the host.

"Follow me, all! Come to see!

After the nerubian had done so, Nitor moved through the portal. He felt a surge of energy taking hold of him, and next he stumbled out of another portal and fell onto the ground. He lifted his head upwards, and could scarcely believe his eyes. Floating high above the ground was a humongous citadel, a nerubian-style ziggurat, but many, many times larger. At the very top of the megastructure was a very tall spire, with a huge sphere of green energy on top of it, emenating magic that streamed down on the sides of the ziggurat, down into the ground. The ground? No, the citadel was situated above a great, quadratical pit in the ground. It was like noting Nitor had laid his eyes upon before. The nerubian commander came and stood beside the fallen warrior.

"Welcome, Nitor Elringavath, welcome Frostwolves, welcome to Nax'Orien, the Icecrown.

---

A dark and damp prison, a claustrophobic, featureless dungeon, with one trapdoor in the ceiling as the only way in or out. Not that anybody would stay there freely. The trapdoor opened, and a beaten person was thrown inside unceremoniously. Mokher Agrunavid, the worgen-orc, was now under the gentle care of the Orcus and the nerubians, inside Nax'Orien. Mokher, angered at his harsh treatment, turned towards his entrance, to find it closed. All was dark, but Mokher was not particularly bothered with it, considering his darkvision capablities. He scanned his new "home" for other inmates, and discovered a hunched gestalt cramped together in a corner. The co-inmate wore a grey, dirty robe, and, strangely enough, blood-soaked bandages around his, for it was male, head. He was alive, but barely reacted to his new comrade. Was that the only one? No, Mokher could sense, but not see, another prescense in the room. A dark prescense.

"Dark master?", Mokher cried out into the darkness.

"Yes, my servant," an otherwordly, disembodied voice answered. "I am here. But alas, I have other matters to attend to. Do not worry, you will soon be out of here. I have a word of advice: listen to your cellmate. I think you may know him.

And the voice went silent. The bandaged man in the corner raised his head.

"Mokher, heh?", the wounded man said. "How... Appropriate to meet you again. You can only guess what headache I have. Are you ready for the next stage?"

"As ready as I will ever be."

---

The Frostwolves and nerubians, with Anub'thune leading them, stepped forwards to the edge of the great pit right below the citadel. Streams of greenish energy covered the space between the bottom of Nax'Orien and the abyss. The nerubian commander reached out with his talon towards the energies, and spoke some words in the nerubian tounge, seemingly to nothing. But when Anub'thune finished speaking, a shock of energy surged out of the pit and enveloped the party. Seconds later, they found themselves standing in a great hall of ornate stone: the inside of the Icecrown. They were immediately greeted by a host of elegantly clad orcs. One orc amongst them had especially ornate robes in a dark purple shade with ice-blue trims, and the symbol of the Orcus, the wolf's skull made of ice, emblazoned upon the chest.

"Greetings, Frostwolves," the Orcus leader introduced himself. "I am Lord Akhalor Zeranim, Chief of Interracial Relations."

"Chief of Interracial Relations?", a confused Marneth whispered to Nitor. The Orcus lord heard the whisper, and replied.

"Yes, shaman, it is my position. I think you will find the Orcus even more... organized than we used to be. No matter that, you two are the leaders, shaman Ardos'an and warrior Elringavath?"

"I know this may seem irregular," Nitor said. "But, as you probably know, our previous leadership was eliminated by the worgen assault that destroyed our home."

"That much I gathered. Anyway, I need you to follow me. The Council has called for an emergency meeting to determine where you shoul build yourself a new home."

And so Nitor and Marneth followed Lord Akhalor to yet another portal, at the far side of the room, and went through it, with the lord following them. On the other side was a small room with a doorway flanked by two heavily armored and spear-armed Orcus guards. The guards warily eyed the newcomers, but removed their crossed polearms from the doorway when Akhalor also entered. Beyond the doorway was a larger and more ornate room, with a gilded, rectangular table in the center. On equally ornate chairs and facing the doorway sat the Council of Nax'Orien, as Akhalor informed the two Frostwolf leaders. They were the ruling body of the Orcus, consisting of the most honorable delegates from each of the major races inhabiting the citadel: orc (a grey-haired old man with a stern gaze, who reminded Nitor of Marneth for some reason), nerubian (he didn't sit, quite obviously), furbolg (quite a vicious-looking bear), Drakkari troll (a powerful witch doctor, by the looks of her), and a race neither Nitor nor Marneth had seen before, a fish-like humanoid, which Akhalor told them was a nerglish. The orcish delegate lifted a mighty (but short-shafted) warhammer and hit it against the table.

"Let this meeting now begin," he said, and the voice reminded Nitor of Marneth as well.

Chapter V: Deciding the Future

"Let this meeting begin," the old orc announced. "Today's topic is one of great importance: the orcs of the Frostwolf tribe have, as you all probably know, lost their homeland. Therefore, it is no more than right that we, the Council of Nax'Orien, find our compatriots a new homeland. The question before us is, where should that be?

All the other councilors began speaking at once, so the orc once again smashed his hammer against the table, only harder this time.

"Silence! We have no need for riots! Now, raise your hands if you have anything to say, and we will listen to you."

Each councilor raised his/her hand, or whatever passed as a hand. The orc pointed at the nerubian delegate.

"I have an idea," the nerubian said. "What about the Verdant Vale?"

Agitated murmur erupted from the others.

"The Verdant Vale?", the orc said, surprised. "Do you really think so? I was under the impression the nerubians wanted the Vale for themselves?"

"We have... changed our minds," the nerubian said slyly.

"Alright then," the orc replied. "Who else here votes for the Verdant Vale as the new Frostwolf homeland?"

Upon the question being asked, the nerubian, orc, nerglish, and furbolg councilors raised their hands to accept the vote.

"Any particular reason you did not accept the vote, delegate Shi'jin?", the orc asked the Drakkari delegate.

"Despite not trusting dat Aqir as far as I can hex a shoveltusk, mon," the troll said, annoyed.. "Da Vale is the home of da Dormant Cold. We cannot let outsiders defile it!"

"Look here," the furbolg delegate protested. "We have scryed the Vale a thousand times, and we have not found more than isolated carvings to prove that this "Dormant Cold" even exists, no more resides in that very vale!"

"Thank you, delegate Thornmaw," the orc concuded. "Since the majority of the Council has accepted the proposition from delegate Shub'otep of the nerubians, it is now decided. The Frostwolves will, as the first ones to do so, settle down in the Verdant Vale."

"Congatulations," Lord Akhalor said to Nitor and Marneth. "The Verdant Vale has everything you could wish for. You'll just have to adjust to the warm climate."

"I'm sure that won't be any problems," Nitor said, almost laughing.

---

The view of the concluded Council meeting dissolved, and the pool of water, situated amidst a lush jungle environment, went blank. The ice troll witch doctor that had mantained the scrying turned himself towards a group of three other ice trolls at his side.

"Mon, this be bad," the witch doctor told his fellows. "Da foul orcs defiling Drakkari lands! We will not allow dis to go on! Contact da othas of da Conclave, da Dormant Cold needs to... awaken."

"Awaken da Cold?", another of the trolls said, shocked. "Is da situation really dat bad? Are ya sure we can not just evict them ourselves?"

"No, mon," the witch doctor replied. "Dey have da full support of both da orcs and da Aqir. We are going to need an edge to be able to win dis. And what an edge it be, mon. What an edge."

---

Severals hours had now passed since the meeting, and Shi'jin of the Drakkari had returned to her quarters. A stone abode filled with eldritch statues, the room had an air of mystery and dread about it. The troll delegate kneeled before a statue depicting a winged serpent with ferocious talons.

"Oh, great Soulflayer," the Shi'jin started her prayer. "Help yo humble servant, help me to overcome da Council and keep da Vale for us!"

Suddenly, a rattling noise could be heard from within the statue.

"Hakkar!", the troll said in exitement. "Are yo answering my prayers at last?"

Just when she had finished saying that, a dart shot out from the mouth of the statue and hit Shi'jn straight in the neck. She was dead before she hit the floor.

Chapter VI: In Cold Blood

A middle-aged uniformed orc stood talking to a wounded guard at the prison area of Nax'Orien, while several others were investigating the gaping blast hole in the floor.

"What exactly happened here?" the uniformed orc asked the guard.

"I'm not entirely sure," the guard explained. "There was a huge explosion, I turned arond, and was hit by some heavy object coming towards me at high speed before I had the time to react."

"You're lucky we found you in time," another orc, wearing the robes of a shaman, said to the wounded guard. "That blow was severe. Judging by the wound, I'd say it was caused by an axe, one made for combat, no less."

The uniformed orc turned towards a younger orc at his side wearing a similar uniform.

"You, check out the weapons locker," he said to his assistant. "I have a bad feeling about this."

---

Several ice trolls, and some others, had gathered at the door of the Drakkari Council delegate's quarters when Marneth walked by it on his morning stroll.

"What's happened here?", the shaman asked one of the trolls.

"None of yo buisness, brownskin!", the troll said angrily.

"It's the Drakkari delegate," one of the orcs said in a much friendlier tone. "The door is sealed shut, and she won't answer, not even when we try sending spells. I'm afraid something has happened to her, as are we all..."

It was then the room exploded, shattering the door and the wall and sending debris in all directions, hurting several of the bystanders gravely. In the following seconds, the scene became filled with both worried (or just curious) bystanders and shaman and witch doctors trying to get to the wounded. What no-one saw, however, was the grinning gestalt watching the scene from a bit away, a battleaxe in each of his half-orc, half-worgen hands.

---

Marneth Ardos'an balanced on the treshold between life and death, in a dreamstate. He saw images of his life flashing past his eyes, of his mother, and how she died, on his father, the councilor of the Orcus, and on their estranged relationship. But something was out of place: a dark figure, approaching the shaman. It wore black robes, with a black cloth mask.

"You are Marneth Ardos'an, shaman," it spoke. "Yes, I know you. I know your name. I know your past. I know your present. And I know your future, Marneth."

"But how?", the confused orc asked. "How can you know all this? Who are you?"

"Who I am is of no consequence. You need only to know that I am good."

"I... I trust you. I do not know who you are, but I trust you. What does my future hold?"

"Your blood will survive, and your blood will be greatness. Your blood will conquer realms beyond imagining. But for this, you must live, and live you will."

The dreamstate faded, and Marneth became slightly aware of the real world.

"I think he's conscious!", a voice said.

"He is in pain," another said. "Heal him."

Marneth felt a wave of relief sweeping over him. He woke up. He was on a cold stone bed, surrounded by healers, and Nitor. His head hurt. He touched it with his hand.

"Careful!", Nitor said. "You have quite a nasty wound there. You're lucky to have survived the explosion."

"What... What happened? The delegate..."

"There was an explosion. And we don't reckon it was a mistake."

"The delegate..."

"Well... let's just say it wasn't a pleasant sight. As you can imagine, the Drakkari are demanding our heads right now. Even more so than usual. Still, the Council has agreed that we continue our settling down in the Vale. We've gotten the basic tents and supplies in place already, so it won't be long until we are done."

"How... how long?"

"How long you've been asleep? Quite some time, I'm afraid. Still, you haven't missed much. Oh, and the investigation