THUNDERBLUFF
Magatha Grimtotem, Matriarch of the Grimtotem tribe, stood at the fringes of the dispersing gathering, her eyes narrowing with disdain after Cairne's speech. The air was filled with a sense of unity and reverence, but Magatha couldn't help but feel a surge of disgust rising within her. And despair.
She had long grown weary of Cairne's idealistic notions and his unwillingness to take decisive action. In her eyes, the High Chieftain's talks of cooperation with other races only served to dilute the Tauren's true power and identity.
Yet after the speech, Magatha had not detected any sign of resistance in the crowd to Cairne's words. Only fervent nods and murmurs of agreement, their admiration for their leader evident in their eyes. It sickened her.
Magatha's lips twisted into a contemptuous sneer. How could they be so blind? Couldn't they see that their willingness to treat lesser beings equally was nothing short of weakness? How could they blindly follow Cairne, when there was so much more power to be grasped?
She yearned for a new order, one in which the Tauren would rise above their current limitations and take their rightful place as a dominant force in the world. They were simply oblivious to the opportunities that lay within their reach, blinded by outdated ideals.
With a dismissive snort and a flick of her tail, Magatha turned on her heels and strode away, dissatisfied with this new direction.
The disgust she felt towards the Tauren's acceptance of Cairne's speech only fueled the fire of Magatha's own ambition.
Baine Bloodhoof, the son of Cairne, stood proudly behind his father, his father's words still reverberating in his mind. However, Baine's attention was drawn to a figure on the outskirts, marching away with unmistakable irritation.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Magatha Grimtotem, the Elder Crone.
Baine had always been wary of Magatha. Her thirst for power and dominance was evident in every glance, every whisper that escaped her lips.
His father had dismissed his son's initial concerns, stating that Magatha simply had a different view of the world and as rivals their frequent disagreements were only natural.
But in this case, Baine preferred to trust his instincts, and they told him that the Elder Crone's discontentment ran deeper than mere disagreement. It was something far more sinister.
So he had played the silent observer ever since.
But as the Elder Crone marched out of view, Baine felt a twinge of unease.
His instincts again. They were telling him that Magatha wouldn't take this new direction lying down....
IN ANOTHER PART OF KALIMDOR...
AZSHARA
Azshara was a sprawling landscape of breathtaking vistas, shimmering waters, and ancient ruins. And ever-present was the scent of saltwater from the coast.
Yet, amidst the natural wonders, towering cliffs, and jagged mountains, there walked an uncaring cloaked humanoid as twilight fell. Heading unerring for the crevice containing the remaining Ruins of Eldarath.
It was completely dark by the time the figure descended into the ruins, but the lack of light provided little impediment as the Temple of Zin-Malor was soon reached.
Upon entering the temple, the humanoid finally dropped its hood to reveal red eyes and long curved horns.
Xavius, alone.
He was slightly surprised at the lack of naga considering the information he had been provided, but supposed they had proved themselves unpopular with the Horde and Alliance forces.
But it made his mission all that much easier.
Reaching the middle of the temple, he cast an unlocking rune upon the fountain and waited impatiently. Waited for the water to drain away, revealing steps leading beneath the temple foundation.
The satyr swiftly bounded his way down the spiralling staircase despite the stagnant air. Xavius couldn't bear to wait any longer. For he was so close. And it had been so long.
He came upon a set of stone doors which rumbled open at his approach, allowing his access to a hidden chamber. His hidden chamber. A secret lab onstructed well over ten millenia prior.
There was no sense of nostalgia however. Just longing as he dashed to an imposing statue. Of Sargeras, the Dark Titan. Yet despite the satyr's loyalty to his god, his focus was upon the altar situated at the base. And what lay upon it.
The Dirk of the Beast.
And finally taking it in hand, Lord Xavius felt complete for the first time in nearly ten thousand years.