"Ptah," Arax-Ithak ridiculed, "You are clearly only sub-par."
Ulrezaj sneered at the Wrathguard, his eyes returning to their beady red color. "Musta be dis red thing oveh here," an accusing finger went to Raziel the Carver, "Ah think if we needed Hakkar we woulda joined Jin'do."
The Wrathguard's nostrils flared at the summoned avatar.
The soulbinder glanced uneasily, "Dis thing going to kill de Warrior, ah jus' know it."
"...And? Are there not many Orcs? We are literally on their homeland."
Ulrezaj spat, "Now, lissen good, we ain't going to battle wit' baby Khorvis on our team. Dis be a time fo' Orcs from our age to fight der greatfathehs. Let us give him dis chance. Away from me, you almost be as detestable as dis thing ah helped to summon forth."
Shrugging, the Wrathguard contentedly left the chamber. The soulbinder stared at those around him. Akorharil was managing his pet, Borghul evidently got caught up in practicing Shadow Council swear words, Greebo was rubbing his hands together, and the unmet Warlock - Pincus the Archivist - appeared to be having a pleasant, wayside chat with his speed-talking Imp. Ulrezaj grinned, perfect! He thought. Let us in our harmonious, tranquil state serve de Mandate ... when we get around to it! Sleep well, Khorvis. Ulrezaj grabbed his serpentine staff, the Legacy of Arlokk, and gently layed it outward over the chest of the unconscious Orc. A slight chuckle escaped him. Now, now, Khorvis, be wise as a serpent. The soulbinder's eyes grew the white film back over them. Full concentration this time - even the mad cackling of Imps and untamed Orcs could not stop him - he began to mutter ritual incantations reserved previously only for the Farraki Shadow Hunters who went too deep into Un'goro crater.
Ulrezaj's mind drifted on thoughts of Draenor, contrasted them with Outlands, and found a world ripe for proper containment. If these machinations failed the other Warlocks, then there would indeed be a safety net to keep Khorvis in working order ... and a contract, of sorts. Ulrezaj's mind merged with Khorvis's in his unconscious state.
Peace! Peace! Ulrezaj cried out. Peace for de Horde, peace fo' Draenor!Khorvis wrote:The warmth of Draenor's sun beat down on Khorvis's dusky skin. Passing its zenith, the great golden orb watched over the fishing village of Zeth'kur and heated the Devouring Sea in a pleasant summer. Youthful indolence wrapped the orcs in a cocoon of carefree play while they floated upon their backs in the lazy surf. As a far flung holding of the Blackrock Clan, the dockyards saw a moderate amount of trade, especially in the sturgeon that migrated to the nearby isles every winter to spawn, and yet the land was not particularly valuable. What poverty the local clansfolk felt in possessions, they made up for in a wealth of tranquility.
Khorvis kept his eyes shut against the bright sunlight and relaxed in the rhythmic rocking of the waves. He had no fear of where they would carry him - all of the tides led away from the Skeletal Coast and the Shadowed Seas had not seen the great Abyssal Gulpers since long before his great-great-father had joined the ancestors. Time slipped away and over a distant red Spire.
Khorvis snorted. "Felmancer," he stated dryly. "What are you doing here? This is an improper moment."
"Oh, but you're so wrong," the soulbinder laughed, "Dis be de time to realize full potential! Aha!"
Khorvis shifted uneasily, observing the tranquil environment all around him. "...No. The battlefield is ripe for potential."
"Peace through annihilation."
Khorvis blinked, "Always."
The troll took his hands and lifted them to the sky, he drew an unnaturally perfect image in Nagrand's dirt: one of a moon with stars, one of a moon - shattered and ruined - and one of a full moon, but the grass was burnt and shriveled up. In the final image, the sun never quite set all the way.
"What is the meaning of this," Khorvis asked.
The troll went to full height and cleared his throat. "Each represents a different reality. De firs' reality, de moon wit' de stars, is no more den peace fo' Draenor. De Alliance have been eliminated. De second reality, in which de moon was shattered and ruined, be what happens if you let dem acquire any remnant o' dis land. De humans, especially de humans, lack discipline. Reckless manipulation kin wreak havoc. Dis is why de Forsaken encourage discipline: to conjure predictable results. De third reality, in which de grass be burnt up, dis be what happens if you do not fight de Iron Horde. De Iron Horde is essentially guaranteed to lose, so what dey lose from dis point on - Highmaul, de Blackrock Mountains, Industrial complexes, all o' dat is simply made to go. Dey may barrage all o' us wit' Iron Stars as a final act o' retaliation. How do I know dis? Simple, dey don't have Warlocks. De Iron Horde jus does not have de right edge. Finally, de sun never sets, dis is de reality if you die during ye procedures. Ah will bind you."
"Enough," Khorvis roared, "I do not need you. You need me. The Horde is built on Warriors, not Felmancers."
Ulezaj knelt and extended his arm. A nail went into the dirt to depict an image of a battered, unconscious Khorvis who lay dying on a table around the Grim's gathered shadowcasters. "You will die." Ulrezaj did not glance up at the Warrior for a reaction, "Dis be what is at stake. On dese terms, you need us. What ah'll be doing is providing you some comfort in on all o' dis, think o' it as witch docteh therapy." The soulbinder returned to full height, his metaphysical eyes drifted to the top right corner of his face as he rubbed a tusk thoughtfully. "Your session begins," he stated smoothly, "Now."