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The Fate That Awaits Us

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Gul'dan surveyed the work below him from a high up within the cave. He watched as the red-skinned wyrmtongues clawed their way through earth and stone, torches burning with fel fire illuminating the demons' work. Occasionally, a succubus would crack her whip against the back of one of the diminutive demons and it would howl in pain as it dug faster.

He spent years digging through the ruins of kingdoms past for lost tomes and forgotten scrolls. Countless nights found him painstakingly putting together pieces of torn parchment. All the clues pointed to here, Deadwind Pass, the last home of Magus Medivah.

It's here. It has to be here, he thought to himself.

Though Karazhan loomed tall in the distance with its magic corrupting everything within a 50-mile radius, he could feel traces of the old power resting somewhere in the sprawling network of caves that laid deep under the ground in Deadwind Pass. The last three sites turned up empty and Gul'dan was ready to immolate the entirety of his demonic retinue if they came up empty a fourth time.

An excited gibbering mash of Demonic and Orcish followed a shout, catching Gul'dan's attention. His heart sped up and his fist clenched tightly about his staff. The hem of his dark robes fluttered about him as he hurried down from the ledge. As he drew closer to the site, the whispers of power he felt days earlier heightened to a roar. Demons parted in the wake of their master as the warlock approached. Two wrymtongues were still digging feverishly with their oversized claws, chucking clawfuls of dirt behind them.

The radiating glow of his red eyes intensified as he saw the smooth rim of a dark stone bowl sticking out from the ground. A glimmering blue light broke through the now loose soil around the bowl and Gul'dan knew.

"The forge of the guardian," he breathed, "is mine at last."

His laughter, dark and raucous, echoed through the chamber. He would sleep well tonight, dreaming of the power to finally overthrow the yoke of his masters.