*Skitter skitter*
A small cockroach pulled itself out a stony crag, its feeler moving every which way to determine its route. Slowly at first, it moved along the etched rocky streets in which it made its home, no natural light made its way into its cavernous abode, save for the molten glow of the lava pits deep within its core.
Faster it pitter-pattered along the ground, moving betwixt the illuminations of the hanging floodlights that hung like lynched men from the ceiling.
Suddenly, it stopped. Sounds were coming from below the streets, the clanging of hammers and forgework peppered the air. The air was rife with the music of industry, the workshops below the winding paths used the natural heat of the lava pools to heat their metals. Weapons of all makes, armor and plating, pieces soon adorning the slew of war constructs below. Gyrocopters, finished from their fitting rose up from the shops below, their rotors whirring as they lifted off to secretive caverns within the mountainous ceiling. Alas, the insect cared not for smithing and tinkering, and pressed on. Scuttling it approached something nearby, crossing the stone road until a sudden quaking approached.
Retreat was its instinct to avoid the oncoming gigantic foot that stomped the ground where it just been, freeing a sandstorm of dust from the ground to overwhelm the roach, though it would not even register to the massive being that continued down the path. A cross between man and drake, the drakonid marched down the dim streets, its brethren at its flank, their ebon scales shimmering like searing coals in the sparse light. They would tower over men as they did the roach, standing near double their height, hefting cruelly barbed and spiked weaponry decided more to maim than kill, each the size of a man itself.
The roach hid itself until the lumbering stampede passed, and skittered its way down the path they had come. The echoing slams of metal ceased, only to be replaced by grunts and war cries as the roach entered a massive room. Inside were humans and dwarves, draenei and worgen, gnome and night elf; armored from head to toe, training against one another in one-on-one combat. Their blades and shields creating flurries of sparks to fly into the air, peppering the ground around them. Upon their shield lay an emblem, a broken sword being cleft in twain by a silver fist, the same emblem decorating one who shouted above the din of combat, his dwarven voice carrying throughout the melee.
"Men, soon we'll be facin' tha greatest evils o' them all!" He bantered, strutting about a podium to oversee his platoon, his wild chestnut-brown moustache fluttering about as he paced. "Tha Grim themselves will be comin' ta our doorstep!" He stopped and bellowed even louder, somehow. "An' wot shall we do ta them?!"
"BREAK THEM!" Came the chorus of his men, still fighting amongst each other.
"AYE! For we are tha few, the proud, tha true fist o' the Alliance! We shall not stand by as green-skinned brutes an' their animals have thar way!" His spiel rang across the room, his march continuing as he paced upon his pedestal, the bellowing of his inspiring rouse to battle not gone unheard by any. The roach gave it nary a passing thought, and was already exiting the dojo as the commander launched into another tirade.
Zipping its way down another hallway brought it back into the open, a sound akin to welding filling the air along with the disgusting scent of burnt flesh. A hideous roar followed, a symphony of a hundred echoing voices collapsed into one. A goliath of fetid flesh stood upon an outcropping of the cavernous path, towering even above the drakonids, a humanoid shape of sewn flesh and sinew. Two coils of power crackled and fumed with jolts of electricity as they jutted out from his shoulder, and into the man-sized canister upon its back. Bubbling green liquid frothed within as it was distributed via a twin set of tubes into the thing's body. Its skin bubbled and boiled as it became reinforced by metallic plates and armor, grafted onto its very body. A team of workman flittered about him as they pressed the steel to his skin, held aloft by lifts and pulleys.
Another roar escaped its helmeted head, the flare of a thousand trapped souls blazing in its visor. The roach evaded another foot unknowingly set to crush it, darting to safety as a small pack approached the beast. Amongst them counted a green-haired gnome, riding atop a large felhound as though it were a pony; a night elf clad in silvery mail armor, an immaculate and jewel-encrusted longbow slung at heir back; a lanky human in light leathers hidden by a coat, his twin revolvers shining dangerously for but a moment as they caught the light; A mammoth of a draenei, muscles bulging across his wide frame, his shirtless form showing off his impeccable physique. The strange pack was led by a seemingly ordinary human adorned in shimmering fiery armor, an enormous two-handed sword strapped to his back.
They looked upon the being as another piece of armor was attached....until the craftsman botched the job, digging his blowtorch into the beast's ribcage and causing the steel to crash to the floor. Its echoing clatter proved a death knell as the enormous abomination raged in pain, its gauntleted hand seizing the clumsy worker...Begs and pleas were blubbered, but fell upon deaf ears as his body became pulped as the creature's grip tightened.
The lead human shook his head as the worker fell from the grasp, a ragged mess of crushed bone and oozing innards. The other grafters looked at each in worry and ceased their working, trembling at the horror they had just witnessed...until the leader of the small pack spoke in a tone almost disturbingly calm, yet feral.
"Continue working...or suffer worse." He spoke, his eyes becoming bestial as the threat lingered in the air. Fear seized all about the creature, and hurriedly resumed their work.
The sole other human whistled at the sorry mess lumped on the floor, poking at the poor crushed man with the toe of his boot. "Hooie...poor fella...Bad way ta go."
It was then the felhound lumbered over, sniffing the corpse, its gnomish passenger shifting uncomfortably from the sudden movement. "Wha-Hey! No-no! Bad Xelxav! You can eat later!" The creature whined pitifully in response.
Deciding that the coast was clear, the small roach scurried from its hidey hole and fled the scene. Scurrying its way across a carved bridge that spanned the great chasm below, soon coming across a new location.
A puddle of red liquid caught its attention nearby, and it gleefully skittered its way over, its feelers sensing the iron tang of blood. It dripped slowly from on high, above the roaches gaze. A lean-bodied orc breathed raggedly as various tubes and needles plunged into his skin, siphoning his life fluids. One such hose leaked his blood slowly, a minor malfunction. The orc eyed the small creature as it zipped around the pool at his feet, one eye flesh and the other a swirling greenish orb, the gaze soon shifted to his roommate. A muscled orcess sat in a contraption similar to his, her red locked intertwining amidst the devices that stole her lifeforce as well.
The roach began to sip...until a black leather boot crushed the creature, grinding it to mess to resemble the crushed workman earlier. A black-haired human ran her sole along the concrete floor to free her shoe of the squished remains, before looking onto the suspended orc. Her eyes near a mirror to his, one of flesh, and the other an artificial replacement. An eyeball formed of purple crystal, shining a tad as she smiled haughtily at her prisoners.
Another human, an exact replica appeared behind her, and another, soon, a small squad of them had formed in the room, all grinning madly as their gemmed eyes gleam. All turned to the sound of a pair of footsteps behind them, the newcomers pair of drakonids protecting a human in the center. A dark-skinned, tall man bearing intricate scaled armor, his footsteps, though lighter than those of his compatriots, had a palpable spiritual weight to them.
"Morinth." His voice said in its deep, smooth tone as he addressed the women before him, casting a throwaway glance towards the two orcs. "The process seems to be working."
"Of course it is, Serry." One of the gaggle of twins approached. "With the Alliance finally on its way into Tanaan, we can have a plethora of Bleeding Hollow blood at our disposal...my men have already begun setting up an extraction base within the jungle."
"Hrm...Good." He returned his glare to the woman who spoke. "There is also the matter of the Horde forces on its way here."
The woman waved her hand dismissively, "They will not be a problem, the Reaver is more than enough to handle any ground forces."
Her compatriot snorted, a wisp of black smoke flared from his nostrils. "As well as the trolls still being alive."
"They have information I need." She retorted. "The priestess has proven resistant...the huntress break periodically, but she must be withholding proper intel."
The woman's eye glowed dangerously...and far away from the scene, sitting high above the street and chasms within the cavernous deep of Grim Batol, a lone room sat. Its fireplace warmed its sole occupant sitting within a cushioned seat. Withered arms held tight a large spherical purple jewel, the body looking near ready to collapse upon itself, the head hidden by an intricate hooded cowl.
The head lifted, a pair of crackling eyes of violet energy surging as she spoke without saying a word. "They will break...bring them before the Matron." Morinth commanded.