AN: Feel free to skip this little lore lesson here, it's a long one. The image here is known as Deadwind Pass, a region connecting Duskwood, which is south of Elwynn Forest, and the Swamp of Sorrows. The Swamp of Sorrows is adjacent to a region that was once the Black Morass, but is now known as the Blasted Lands. At the center of the Blasted Lands is the Dark Portal, where the Burning Legion launched their first invasion of Azeroth. Anyway, back to Deadwind Pass. The barren, lifeless region is home to ogres and vultures mostly, as well as the abandoned tower of Kharazan. Kharazan is a huge place, bigger on the inside than the outside, and was once home to Medivh, who is recognized as the greatest mage to ever live. His student, Khadgar, still lives, and wields his magical staff, Ashkandi. Now, Kharazan is taken over by demons of the Burning Legion and restless spirits. Near Kharazan is an underground prison, abandoned and repurposed as the main headquarters of the Dark Coven.
Bellendore flew through the skies on his fire-hawk, contemplating how he was going to approach his lieutenants with their tasks. One of them, his great-great-grandson, Maedric, would readily accept the mission and follow heartily into battle, taking his many death knight soldiers as support. His other, however... he was a wild card. He had no true affiliations, excepting the Twilight's Hammer, and Bellendore suspected a contempt between he and Kaldrun - not that he had ever seen much interaction between them.
He was a powerful warlock, to say the least. A blood elf, with fair skin rather than a hue of purple or silver. His hair, too, was long and black. His chaotic tendencies were almost a direct opposite of Kaldrun's calculated power. His name was Solmar. Bellendore only knew him by his first name, and his magic. The elf specialized in destruction, hurling cursed fire left and right and summoning all kinds of demons, filling them with his wanton lust for blood.
A wild card, indeed.
Bellendore had already contacted both of his lieutenants mentally, sending them some quick signals so they would be ready for his arrival. He would be expecting privacy and guards all over the perimeter. This subject was for their ears only. "Them" referring to Bellendore and his death knight lieutenant. He had, in fact, contacted both, but Solmar he had to send away under false pretenses so as to keep him unaware of their efforts against the Old Ones. After all, Solmar had deep roots in the Twilight's Hammer Cult.
Eventually the old warlock passed over Duskwood. Adjusting his course, he quickly arrived at the trademark jagged peaks of Deadwind Pass, where the nearest center of operations was hidden near the cursed tower, Kharazan.
Deadwind Pass was home to a powerful warlock long ago known as Sataiel. She was granted a scythe by the mad Titan, Sargeras, and wielded it in the same fashion that Earth's "grim reaper" legend does; as she slays her foes, her scythe absorbed their souls, and Sataiel used the power of those souls to increase her own dark magics. The warlock methodically killed every creature in the Deadwind Pass, creating a magical aura around the place that made it nearly impossible for any life to survive in the valley. Eventually, Sataiel fell, and upon her death was consumed within Ulthalesh, the Deadwind Harvester, her magical scythe. The scythe was found by other warlocks, and all were consumed inevitably by Ulthalesh and the scythe fell into another warlock's hands, on and on until it was found by one aspiring young warlock, Bellendore Lexailen. He wielded the weapon with true mastery, and even now, nearly a century later, he has yet to fall at the hands of a warlock seeking to usurp his power.
Finally Bellendore's fel mount alighted at the base of the accursed tower Kharazan, amongst the ruins of a long-forgotten town. The large bird faded away to ash, and the dark, grey-green ash blew away and ceased to exist, residing in the Twisting Nether until it was to be summoned again.
Bellendore was immediately greeted by an acolyte that bowed and scraped and even offered to take his robes. The old warlock waved his hand in annoyance, dismissing the youngster. He instead scanned his surroundings, his eyes stopping as they made contact with a large man exiting the ruin of a building that once loomed menacingly over the rest of the town.
The large man was dressed in black plate armor adorned with the images of skulls on nearly every surface from his boots to his bulky belt, his gauntlets and cuirass. Even one huge pauldron was designed to look like a huge skull. The eyes of each skull glowed a soft purple, and several surfaces of his armor were covered in a light frost, despite it not being that cold at the moment. Hanging at either hip were two menacing blades, enchanted with a frosty blue magic, and blades that seemed to be made of ice. His artifact weapons, the Blades of The Fallen Prince, forged from the remains of a legendary weapon once wielded by the Lich King.
Bellendore clasped arms with him, and Maedric followed him down into the repurposed dungeon. Guards quickly closed and barred the iron doors, and warlocks were at hand to cast wards to make the dungeon impermeable.
He muttered commands to passing guards, ordering them to their posts and doubling of security. Eventually the pair reached the war room, where a large iron table was decorated with several maps and magical divination devices.
Bellendore called in two elite soldiers to guard the outside of the war room, ensuring no unwanted ears hear their conversation.
"Right then," the old warlock announced, "Let us begin. We have an issue regarding the Old Ones."
Maedric's always-stony expression remained stony, but he grunted attentively, signalling Bellendore to continue.
"We have threat to not only our planet, but our entire universe, as well as another. Yogg'Saron, the Old One beneath Ulduar, as if you need reminding, is slowly regaining power. He has opened a rift between our universe and that of one devoid of all magic. The only race on this planets is humans, and magic to them is but a cheap party trick utilizing sleight-of-hand and playing cards. Their technology is vastly superior, however, to anything we have. It seems to be what they rely on majorly for everything from hunting to war to everyday living. Yogg'Saron and his armies have already conquered a large section of a continent and there is no way to know how fast they are expanding or how many lives have been lost."
"With all due respect, Grand Master, why is this our responsibility? You've already spoken to both Solmar and I about your study of the rift."
"I know, but that was before I knew it had any connection to the Old Gods. There are several reasons, first and foremost being that, while Yogg'Saron may not be harming us yet, he still physically resides within Azeroth. As he gains power on Earth, the other planet, he will gain power here, and he could send his armies from Ulduar and through the rift and we could have a world war. Secondly, the rift is highly unstable. The Bronze Dragonflight has agents working to contain it, but there are multiple opening throughout the Storm Peaks. Eventually, the rifts will begin to pull apart sections of the planet and affect magic and ley lines throughout Azeroth."
The white-haired death knight nodded slowly, scratching his beard and mulling over ideas in his head. After a brief moment, he said, "So you wish to have the support of the Ebon Blade?"
"I understand many of your people are occupied at the Broken Isles," said Bellendore imploringly, "But this threat is just as large, if not larger. Kaldrun is attempting to barter for support with the Alliance, even. We need all the support we can garner."
Maedric had been staring at the war table, but his eyes shot up at the mention of the demon hunter. His glowing, ice-blue eyes flashed, and he ground his teeth, "What about Kaldrun?"
"Ahh, right..." Bellendore nodded, feeling awfully silly, "I haven't explained. You see, I finally tracked him down, through the rift, and we have come to a temporary standstill in our conflict. I assure you," assured the warlock, "he will answer for his crimes, and all will either be forgiven or otherwise answered for."
Maedric grunted and quickly moved on, "Well, I can say you were correct in your statement before. My resources are spread thin as is, but I'm sure I can find support from my own lieutenants. Each one of them oversees their own forces and wields an artifact."
"That reminds me," continued the death knight, "One of my agents, Koltira, is a member of the Horde. I could send him and Solmar and--"
"No," interjected Bellendore, "No, we mustn't. Send Koltira and your other Horde affiliates, but Solmar must not hear of this. His ties with the Twilight's Hammer are too deep. He is uncontrollable, and it seems his taste for power and destruction would greatly outweigh his appreciation for the Dark Coven. While I doubt he has any personal connection to... anything, really - being such a mad lad - the destructive nature of the Twilight's Hammer and the power he's gained working alongside them could be motivation enough to be far more attracted to them than us."
"Right. I see."
Both mulled over their next courses of action from here, when Maedric asked, "So, we're again working with Kaldrun. Do you anticipate facing Illor? Or gathering aid from the Illidari?"
Bellendore nodded thoughtfully, "I anticipate both of those things. Illor is perhaps Kaldrun's single most trusted ally, next to his pet Redrumei. However, I doubt we will be facing him. Perhaps there will be more coercion between us than previously."
"Perhaps."
"Right then," Bellendore clapped his arthritis-gnarled hands and prepared a quick debrief, "We know what we must do. I will contact you when we are preparing to depart Azeroth once more. Keep me updated as to your condition in gaining support. And remember - Solmar must remain in the dark, at least for now. Perhaps we can coax him into helping us, but I greatly anticipate a parting of ways soon."
"Unfortunate."
"Indeed."
The two exchanged good byes and made to exit the dungeon. Bellendore and Maedric gave the commands to lower security and return to duties, returned to the surface and clasped hands once more.
"Stay safe, my son," Bellendore squeezed his heir's forearm, even though he knew the death knight wouldn't feel it through his gauntlet.
As Maedric summoned a skeletal drake from the void, and Bellendore conjured his fel-hawk, a form cloaked in shadow watched closely, shifting impatiently. Soon, his master would hear of the Grand Warlock's betrayal, and all would be set right. All would go as planned. And finally, he would be rewarded.