Riders on black worgs swarmed across the field to meet the demon horde. The Watcher could see it all, had seen it all many times, it was as real as though he stood in that red dust under the baking sun, yet he knew he was but a wraith and could no more effect the coming slaughter than he could wrestle the wind. The Watcher shuddered in his helplessness, his great head sinking in despair.

A vicious war cry went up from the riders and the battle was joined, mortal and demon steel singing the old chorus of death. It went poorly almost from the start, the demons shrugging of blows and returning the damage with bloody magnitude. The Watcher saw grots fall by the dozen, and bit back a cry as the ranks behind him, his friends, joined the fray. He saw Crowe in the form of a mighty bear roar and shudder as his bowels were sliced out to spill steaming to the ground. Rode cried out as Babe fell beneath a wave of spears before a sword in the back ended his sorrow. He saw Malifika, his sister in death, all her rage played out, silver hair streaming and marred by blood, she disappeared under a living wall of demon flesh. Finally his gaze settled on a small goblin form before him lying still, all to still, in the dust before him, her lifeblood draining into the greedy dust of the killing field. The Watcher fell to his knees and let out a roar, but it held no fire. Unlike the calls of rage that would have been familiar echoing across the battlefields of Azeroth, this roar held only despair.

---

All around was blackness, the scene of blood swept away, tears streamed down the massive Tauren's face, only to freeze upon his cheeks. In the darkness things crawled, slithered, writhed, but he could not bring himself to look, it was all too much, had been too much, and for too long. He was laid bare, his body bore signs of torture, but no torture by man devised could so sting the Death Knight as did these visions, and he had no defense against them.

Do you submit? came the voice from the darkness, the voice of the Tormenter. Only a sob answered him. Your friends lie dead, you are forgotten, or need I show you again. You need only submit and your torment shall be abated.

A grumble came from the Tauren, more a moan than a show of defiance "No...."

Suddenly, a face thrust forth from the darkness, pale and sightless, curling horns coming from its brow and hissed at the Death Knight through pointed teeth You think you will escape me?! You are beaten, your all who knew you are dead! The Demon seemed to fade and in his place stood Smashblade, the orc seemed larger than life, towering over the Tauren.

"I left my clan in your hands" he spat in disgust"And you failed them. For vainglory did you leave! You are a traitor! And because of you, the clan lays in the dust, a feast for vultures!" The Orc roared, but in the echo that followed that roar came silence. The Tauren had stopped sobbing.

"What did you say?" The massive Death Knight's voice grumbled. "You call me 'traitor'?" In the darkness, two points of blue fire blazed as the Tauren Fixed his gaze on the apparition. Suddently, the Death Knight rose, and in the plane of pure thought, to swell. He roared "A TRAITOR! I, who would die a hundred times over for this clan?! I, who took the burden of the Necklace from your shoulders when madness overcame you!?" With every sentence the Death Knight grew and the apparition began to falter. "I, who cast myself into the breach in defense of our clan's home! You accuse ME!?" The vision dispelled, leaving the demon hissing in protest to that blue gaze. Chaoseater gestured, and a massive claymore appeared in his hand. "Very well then, DECEIVER! Let your steel be your accusations, and mine will answer them! May the Earthmother give me strength that your lieing tongue shall wag no more Fiend!!" The thunder of battle echoed across the plane of gloom as the waves of rage and darkness broke against each other.

---

The breeze blew quietly through the grasses of the Barrens as a small Goblin awoke with a start. She glanced at her hand where an odd warmth, like the glow of a sun on a summer day, was spreading. There, even in the darkness she could see the faint outline of a glyph. It pulsed with some inner light, just briefly, then the moment passed. Outside in the camp she heard the massive Death Knight Golem call "Error... Sensory data corruption. Additional input detected."

"He saw Malifika, his sister in death, all her rage played out, silver hair streaming and marred by blood, she disappeared under a living wall of demon flesh."

Just wanted to pull that out all by itself to savor its awesomeness. :D

.....we are not worthy.

:D

Pikki woke after a fitful sleep. As she became more aware of her surroundings and the stuffiness of the tower, the dream images began to fade. She stretched and scratched and moved out to the ledge where she had full view of the courtyard and beyond the gate to the Scar. Below her, the grunts talked among themselves and her glance moved to the empty shell of a once friend. Her gut clenched for a second, and she scowled, forcing herself not to return to the last images of him in his life?...death?. She sloughed it off as lack of sleep and hunger and made her way down to the fire.

She had claimed the tower as a headquarters of sorts. The information – maps, scrolls – had been gathered and she had brought in a translator who had been busy for the last week helping her make sense of the Night Elf gibberish. He was slow, and slimey. She tolerated the leers and comments, but only because he was the best around, and more importantly, he knew how to keep his mouth shut. With all they had gathered, useful information was scarce and confusing, raising more questions than answered.

She finished the meager breakfast of bacon and bread and called for her worg. A ride in the hills would clear her head, she felt. She needed the exercise and to get away from the Hold for a time. The soft wind blowing over the hills from Mulgore was sweet, without the taint of the Scar and the ongoing battle there. She could feel the heat rising from the barrens at her back. Thoughts rose as the breeze and she grit her teeth at the images. The responsibilities she had taken on; the training, the network of informants she had worked to set in place – since she had left the Island- both with no thought in mind but protection, for herself initially and now the clan.

She gulped in the air, filling her lungs and clearing her mind. She coughed as it was released, rubbing her wrist and hand unconsciously. After a moment, she realized what she was doing. She lifted her hand and released the clasp on the wristband that had been in place since the discovery at the portal in Duskwood. The rune, burned into her wrist what seemed so long ago was raised, welted. She looked closely for signs of an infection or injury, then blinked and gasped as a faint glow was seen. She lifted her head to stare off toward the west and the dream images flashed back to her mind. They had been real!

She whistled for her worg and they sped down the hill toward the Hold. The wrist guard forgotten in the dirt. She approached the golem, the shell of Chaoseater, and recalled the words now from her half sleep,

“….additional input detected.”

She grinned then let out a whoop, waking the napping grunt guard nearby.

“You! Grunt! I want a guard on dis golem night an’ day!...24 hours. Report any activity to me immediately. I see et unguarded or yer sleepin again, it’ll be yer ‘ide coverin dat ‘ole en da gate….we clear?"

Not expecting a reply and with another long look at the golum, she rushed back to the tower, her mind spinning. She pulled a blank parchment from the pile and sat. The reports to the Council would go out immediately.