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“Get me to a healer.” He had made a mistake. He shouldn't have made a mistake. He should have been ready. He should have planned for this. The arcane vortex of the portal threw him to Orgrimmar. She was carrying him. “What the he-” The crackling of flame silenced the priest. “HEAL HIM!” She was angry. He was angry. This never happened. He was always ready. He never lost unless it benefited him. He always had a way out. Why didn’t it work? Light washed over him. He didn’t feel any different. He looked over to his arm. Pale. Still pale. Almost white. Wrong. “Shaman.” A blast of heat impacted the worshipper of the Light. It screamed as the fire tore away at its skin. She picked him up. The cave was lit. Inviting. She set him down on stone. “By the elements…” She summoned the flame in her hands again.Nothing further was needed. The Farseer set to work. Totems were placed nearby. Water. Healing rain, streams. Soothing.What did he use? Faster than normal targets. Quieter. No illusion. Smoke? Light teleportation. Useful. Intelligent. Dangerous. Weapons. Blades? Green. Fel. Warglaives? Hunter. Will have to watch it more. Distance. Use slaves. A pain seized his chest. Breath. Wrong. “Mage.” She summoned a bound elemental to her. The Shaman drowned. She picked him up. Bright stone. The Drag. Enchanting? Smart of her. Scream. Shrill. A table was cleared. She yelled. One ran. A lance of ice went through its kneecap. Its mouth froze. He was set back down. Fear. They were scared. Weak. “Purge.” The elf stammered spells. Better for her to choose those more used to this. Enchanters could help. Verify location. She was useful. Intelligent. Brutal. Resourceful. Deadly. Attractive. Perhaps. More thought needed on the subject. Would Shokkra cry? Humorous. Mother would be proud. Nothing had changed. One more option. “Fel Forge.” The Mage looked up. The other was still crying. She picked him up. The tower exploded. Dark. The sky was always dark in Taanan. Curious effect of the Fel. So strong it altered the heavens. Powerful. Draining. The forge was nearly abandoned. Bodies were strewn about. Husks. Lifeless. Warlocks remained. Drained the rest to survive the longest. They would fall soon. Just as the citadel had. She was angry. The Fel was corrupting. Wrong. It would feast on him and use him. Take away what he was. No other choice. Was she worried? Unexpected. He felt a brief rush of air. Oh. It flooded into him. Sickly green infested every part of his body. He trashed and writhed. The metal of his legs and arm twisted and changed. It burned. He opened his mouth to scream and he choked on it. It punctured his every movement with horrible pain. It felt GOOD. He felt his muscles ripple and flex. He felt the tendons and ligaments of his lost limbs lash out at the iron and form with it. He felt his bones crack, snap, break and change. He felt an overwhelming sense of power like he had never felt before. He broke the surface of the pool, leaping forward from the fount of Fel energy and roared, his howl piercing the air. The Warlocks were waiting for him. One stepped forward, arms open. “Welcome, brother. To the Stormreaver Clan.” She was watching. She looked disgusted. He didn’t care. He would tear the world asunder with the Fel. He would break them all.