The trio of travelers were silent, as they travelled through the Duskwood. They were an unlikely band, gathered together by common purpose: finding Artifact tier weapons of power to wield against the Legion.

  In the middle, was the Archdruid of the Dreamgrove, clad in crimson robes and a hood that hid their eyes. To their right, the rotting, heavily armored form of Nazgrim, an Orcish Death Knight seeking the power of the blade Apocalypse, and to their left, a warlock of the Black Harvest, who was apparently one of the only surviving warlocks remaining after a catastrophic defeat by the Burning Legion.

  The warlock hissed from beneath their armor. “He issss here…”

  Nazgrim drew his massive war axe. “Let us extract the information we need and be done with this…” He eyed his companions with suspicion. The druid, he was certain he could take. The warlock though…would be a problem.

  The Balance Druid sighed. “Just…let me do the talking. I’d rather not add another cold blooded murder to the list of atrocities in these lands.”

  The warlock gestured to the cabin, and Nazgrim reluctantly sheathed his blood-crusted axe. “Bloody Druids…”

  In a manner between composure and deadly intent, the Archdruid approached the door of the cabin. A human answered the door, Light-blessed hammer in hand. “Revil Kost?” The druid asked.

  “I am…who are…” He paused, looking past the druid, as his eyes hardened with suspicion. Before the druid could answer, the Priest shouted, “It doesn’t matter! You consort with corpses and Demon Puppets! Die!”

  The druid turned to the side, dodging the strike, as the Priest continued his attacks. The Archdruid let him, dodging gracefully, before the sudden, brutal, sparkly counter. Revil’s eyes widened, as he went sailing back into the far wall of the cabin from the Balance Druid’s sudden, and rather powerful opening spell.

  The wood of his dwelling twisted to entrap him, binding him in place, as the Archdruid knelt to his level. “Attacking strangers more powerful than you are, with no provocation, is a great way to end up Dead. We seek three Artifacts of power, to fight the Burning Legion. If we do not acquire them, the world may very well end. If you oppose the Demons, Revil Kost…then help us.”

  Revil Kost eventually nodded. “Fine…I will aid the Legion’s defeat. What weapons do you seek?”

  The warlock spoke first, “Ulthalesh. The Deadwind Harvester.” Revil blanched, but his reaction to Nazgrim’s words were far more amusing.

  “I have been ordered to acquire Apocalypse.”

  Revil Kost chuckled in disbelief. “Like a Death Knight needs more help going insane.” He focused on the Archdruid, who actually unnerved him more than the corpse and demon summoner. “And what about you?”

  The Archdruid answered with a chilling smile. “I seek the Fang of Goldrinn that was bound to a Staff of Elune by the folly of Ralaar Fangfire.”

  Revil’s eyes widened. “The Scythe of Elune!? Are you all trying to go mad and betray your comrades!? The Scythe turns people into Worgen! And it does worse to Druids!”

  The Archdruid’s eyes burned with amber light beneath their hood. “I am well aware of the Scythe’s potential, Revil Kost. Far more than you are. I will wield it…and bring Balance to the White Wolf and Elune.”

  “Very well…” Revil finally relented, standing. “If you’re all certain…our goals are aligned. I desire the Dark Rider’s end. You’re all free to loot their base in their absence.”

  The Archdruid smiled, and gestured for his compatriots to relax. “See? Talking is good. Now we’ve the aid of the Light on our side as well. Our odds just improved considerably.”

  Several Nearly Identical Fetch Quests Later… - Karazhan’s Sewer Entrance

  “So…what did you end up tracking here?” The warlock asked the Archdruid, making conversation as they stood in awkward silence outside the gate to Karazhan’s sewers.

  The Archdruid gestured to a pair of still-smoldering Worgen corpses, mangy, scarred, with all the signs of a feral life. “Nightbane Worgen. You?”

  The warlock grimaced. “Souls of those slain here, by Ulthalesh’s last wielder.”

  Behind them, the sound of hooves, of an undead charger and a living one galloping side by side approached them. “Hail, Nazgrim.” The Archdruid bowed. “What dark trail led you here?”

  The orc snarled. “The sire of Ariden, leader of the Dark Riders. They’ve holed up here.” He whirled on Revil as they dismounted. “What I want to know is how neither you nor that preachy Wizard found them before now! He could’ve just Teleported us here in the first place! Every second we waste, the Legion draws closer to victory, and all of us have been running around this cursed Felhole just to end up in the most obvious place to keep such artifacts!” He shifted to Orcish then, cursing out Revil and Khadgar as weak, pink skinned idiots not fit to care for livestock. The warlock chuckled.

  As Nazgrim approached, a fell wind howled out from the sewers. “Turn…back…the horrors of the past…will be your undoing…”

  Nazgrim grunted, in amusement. “The horrors of my past would make you mewl in terror, Ariden! Enough of this!” He drew his greataxe, and struck the sewer gate to Karazhan’s lower levels in twain with a single, effortless blow as accurate as it was powerful. Without a word, the Death Knight marched on, single minded in his quest for Apocalypse.

  His new companions followed after him. Through ghosts, through traps, through a tanky, arcane construct crafted by the former Guardian most likely, the heroes fought well together. Nazgrim’s binding curses and spells held whatever they faced in place long enough for the druid and warlock to punish it with a flurry of spells.

  Finally, they reached the relic chamber. “There.” Revil Kost said, pulling his hammer from a skeleton guard. “The relics you seek…arranged neatly before us…in a line…”

  “Obviously a trap.” The warlock added, helpfully. “Oh look, a Minor Curse ward.” The dark caster snapped their fingers, and the invisible magical trap on the archway’s stonework faded into nonexistence. “We should be able to approach, now.”

  Yet, as they approached, nothing happened. The Archdruid cast a Mark of the Wild, and smirked as nothing reacted. “It only activates when we touch them? Oh Dark Riders…that will be the end of you…” The druid raised their hands, and vines erupted through Karazahn’s stones, filling the room. “Be ready. I will hold them when they appear…destroy them quickly!”

  Before even Nazgrim could reach for the object of his quest, the Warlock moved first, snagging Ulthalesh. Energy surged into them, freezing them in place with their hand on the weapon. Sure enough, a Dark Rider appeared behind it, yet as they raised a hand to summon the weapon, they found it interrupted, by very violent foliage. Roots covered in armor-piercing Ironwood thorns tore rider from horse, causing the charger to dissipate with a shriek of terror and relief. The warlock, freed from the trap, then buried Ulthalesh in the Dark Rider’s chest, and they too collapsed into dust.

  The Archdruid nodded at Nazgrim, who reached for Apocalypse. Yet before the roots could even strike, before the materializing Dark Rider could attempt to disarm Nazgrim, the orc pulsed with power, enough power to nullify the Dark Rider’s trap. As Apocalypse’s Dark Rider appeared, Nazgrim moved like a blur, spinning and beheading his target in one motion.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Nazgrim’s eyes burned with Fel power, as he looked at his companions, and then at his weapon. “This…has Excellent reach…” Orcs kind of had a cultural obsession with axes, and though Nazgrim would never admit it, the human’s massive blades, so similar and yet so very different from those that Orcish Blademasters used, had always made him wonder at their effectiveness. Many demons would fall to him with this weapon in his hands, and the blade seemed hungry for more.

  “My turn…” The Archdruid said calmly, as they approached the Scythe of Elune.

  “So THIS is what you’re after!” Ariden’s voice yelled, as he came charging into the chamber. He only had an instant to look around, before vines surged around him…only to blacken and decay at the Dark Rider’s touch in a manner that made the Archdruid’s eyes narrow at its familiarity. The Dark Rider’s crimson eyes burned in the darkness, and with an outstretched hand, he summoned the Scythe to him.

  “The artifacts of Karazahn belong here…” His eyes shifted to Nazgrim, and Apocalypse, then the Warlock holding Ulthalesh. “I will Not allow them to be taken away!”

  “These Artifacts must be reclaimed!” Revil shouted, stepping forward, as the Light infused him. “The Legion must be repelled! In the name of the Light, Repent!”

  “Your Light does not reach here, Priest!” The Scythe of Elune carved a dark crimson swathe through the air that the Archdruid recognized immediately, and with some surprise, the Light infusing the Priest seemed quite effective against the Nightmare that Ariden seemed to be drawing on.

  Nazgrim, soldier that he was, took full advantage of Ariden’s occupied attention. One massive swing with the flat end of Apocalypse knocked Ariden from his charger, and sent him rolling across the floor. Ulthalesh drained the charger’s essence once Ariden was forcibly dismounted. With a leap, the Death Knight was above the Dark Rider, blade raised, eyes blazing. “Face the wrath of the World-ender…”

  “You are not the only one who can control the dead, Death Knight…” Ariden hissed. Large, armored skeletons rose up and around Nazgrim, their strikes powerful but largely ineffective against his Saronite armor.

  Once more, Ironwood thorns surged around Ariden, and once more, the Dark Rider cut through them with the Scythe of Elune. “You desire the Scythe’s power so badly, Archdruid? Let me show you…it's trrrrue…strrrength!”

  The Archdruid and the warlock shared a look as the leader of the Dark Riders took on the form of a Worgen, and lunged forward. The Archdruid was suddenly a cat, swift and agile; they leapt away from the heavy scythe strikes, as the Warlock lit up Ariden’s furry backside with bolts of Felfire and Shadow.

  Snarling and more reactive to pain and flames, what with all his new fur the Archdruid took the opportunity to stop playing around.

  Antlers sprouted from their skull, as crimson feathers did the same from their robes. Their features became that of a Moonkin, as a large sphere of Nature and Arcane magic formed above its ursine, feathered claws. An S pattern separated the energies in perfect halves, and as Ulthalesh locked blades with the Scythe of Elune, the explosion of balanced energies slammed into Ariden, and the warlock, sending the latter sailing a few feet away.

  Ariden’s warped Pack Form melted away as the damage sent him to one knee. “I will…ride again…” and with that he collapsed. The Archdruid gestured at the Scythe, and as it flew into their grasp, it changed, losing corruption, and gaining a light blue glow as the Artifact was brought into Balance.

  “Actually, no…you won’t.” The warlock growled, and then with Ulthalesh, consumed Ariden’s soul, empowering the Artifact. “He will not trouble anyone again.” The cowled caster said with a dark grin.

  “It’s over…” Revil Kost said, as he finished helping Nazgrim with the undead swarm. “Take your weapons. I shall return the others to their rightful owners.” He looked between the corpse-minion of the Lich King, the Demon Summoner, and the tree hugger. “I hope, for all our sakes…that we do Not meet again.”

  Nazgrim went still, as the Warlock and Archdruid nodded in agreement. His liege’s voice echoed in his head. “The power of Apocalypse has awakened within you, Nazgrim… Return. Khadgar will be informed.”

  With a growl and not so much as a goodbye, Nazgrim sheathed Apocalypse, and marched out of the lower dungeons of Karazahn. The warlock at least, had more decorum, but they too were also in a hurry to leave. Something about their order all but being wiped out. The Archdruid didn’t know for sure if that was a bad thing, but their intentions seemed genuine.

  With a swift teleport back to the Dreamway, the Archdruid of the Dreamgrove turned the lengthy task of traversing thousands of miles into a matter of seconds. Rensar Greathoof greeted him, as he approached the center of the Dreamgrove. Freshly made bear, Moonkin, and treant carvings now surrounded the area, but the one representing Ashamane was still being shaped.

  Likewise, her Fangs had yet to find a wielder, and sat upon a circular pedestal before the statue. “Now only one more Artifact remains…” Archdruid Greathoof said with a heavy sigh. “I fear without Thaon…we will be hard-pressed to find someone suitable to wield these.”

  “What of Archdruid Stormclaw?” This, came from Broll Bearmantle, who now wielded the Claws of Ursoc on each of his hands. “Is he not the eldest of the Ashen? Did he not wield them against the Qiraji to great effect?”

  Rensar pinched his brow, and the Archdruids of the Dreamgrove and Restoration Arts, who wielded a branch of Ga’hanir, sighed heavily. “He is…but as I said…we need someone suitable, who-”

  “Damn yourrr hesitations!” Broll snarled, his eyes burning with Ursoc’s fury. “Every second we delay, the Nightmare and Legion grow. The Wizard’s plan will work. Summon Stormclaw.”

  Rensar nodded. “Very well…assuming he will even answer a summons from the Circle right now…you are correct, Archdruid Bearmantle. He is the only choice we can trust to handle Ashamane’s power. Delandros is not yet ready. Keeper Remulos, if you would?”

  The Keeper nodded, silent in his judgement of the Druid he had once personally held back from mauling Fandral Staghelm. A choice, which in hindsight, had him wondering if perhaps he should have done as Cenarius instructed, and left the Mortals to their own problems. Many druids, and much of Hyjal, would likely still be intact had he not kept Stormclaw from embracing his feral side. They may have even seen Fandral’s true nature revealed, in a place as holy as the Moonglade.

  He had since repaired the rift between himself and Laronar, however. Thankfully, all it took was a bit of ‘dank’ Dreamleaf, amongst other herbs, and the ancient Feral Druid could be quite forgiving. A bird he enlisted from nearby agreed to carry the message, despite the fear Laronar’s feline form inspired in it. Omnipresent gray clouds crackled with green lightning above them, as the brave little bird sped away into the Nightmare covered forests to find the Archdruid.

  Council of the Black Harvest

  Jagganoth’s Lair - Dreadscar Rift

  “So…the little Warlock returns.” The Pit Lord, Jagganoth, started monologuing, as the wielder of Ulthalesh calmly approached the seat of their power. “You’re too late to save your pathetic friends. They now have the honor of amusing my lord, Mephistroth. He will be pleased to receive yet another gift…I will happily deliver you to him…ONCE YOU ARE BROKEN!”

  The skies of the Dreadscar Rift thundered with Fel lightning, and the Pit Lord jabbed his hands forward, charging a focused beam of Fel energy that would reduce whatever it hit to ash. The cowled warlock simply smirked, and from their pocket plane-holding bag, produced Ulthalesh, the Deadwind Harvester. The warlock swung at the beam, astounding the Pit Lord as it went askew, striking a nearby cliff, and the warlock continued walking, undeterred and undamaged.

  The scythe pulsed, still fully charged with souls the warlock had fed it before coming here. “Agony.” They snarled with hatred, and a red sigil appeared above the demon, shooting crimson lightning into it at regular intervals. The warlock then immediately began chanting, as the scythe glowed with the miasmic black power of corruption. In a cloud of darkness, it swarmed over and afflicted the demon

  The Pit Lord snarled, stumbling back as the curses affected him far more than they had before. An unstable affliction struck him next, at which point, Ulthalesh was activated. The reaped souls swarmed free, and were then consumed by the warlock as fuel. Their eyes burned with power as their Drain Life pierced the demon’s ward and began consuming its power.

  “This power you wield…” The demonic swine whined, “It’s not…possible!”

  The warlock chuckled darkly, shortening the Drain Life connection, and forcing the demon closer to him. Its panicked eyes were on Ulthalesh though. It did not want to be near that scythe. “This power I wield…was inevitable.” The warlock said, confidently. “Now die.”

  “Mephistroth…will…take you…” The Pit Lord groaned as its massive four legged form was reduced to ash.

  The warlock grinned, and inhaled the Fel power from the demon’s soul shard, manifested by dying while they’d drained Jagganoth’s life away. “I hope Mephistroth is more of a meal…now then…where did that swine put all my loyal subordinates, Calydus?”

  “First you must claim the Heart! Yes! Then, place it upon the altar!” The warlock eyed the lesser demon with suspicion, but, to their credit, so far their words had been true. So long as that remained the case, Calydus would exist quite comfortably, compared to what he’d endured before under the Legion’s authority. Such was their deal.

  Warlock by warlock, the others were dragged back from the realms of death by the one who proclaimed themself the new Netherlord of the Black Harvest while placing Jagganoth’s heart on the altar of Dreadscar Rift. This show of absolute dominance turned the local Legion forces into subordinates of the ascendant Netherlord.

  “What do we do next?” Ritssyn Flamescowl snarled.

  “Next…we acquire the Scepter of Sargeras…and the Skull of the Man’ari.”

  “And who will wield them?” Shinfel Blightsworn asked, delighting in the quiet unease she caused among the Council of the Black Harvest.

  The Netherlord did not hesitate long enough for bickering to begin. “The Skull of the Man’ari will be yours to wield, Shinfel. I leave it to you to recover. As for the Scepter…we need someone who can actually wield it. Someone…powerful. The man who founded this Council, and went mad trying to unlock the secrets of Fel Fire. Ritssyn. Zinnin. You’re with me. We need to recover Jubeka. She knew our candidate…and she’ll know how to make use of him, as well.”

  Ritssyn stared at them with an open mouth. “Kanrethad!? You…you actually want to…” Then, Ritssyn paused, and glanced around their new hold. “Well…if anyone could wield the Scepter…it would be him. Lead on, Netherlord. Your insight is sound.”