User:Peregrine2976/Fanfiction/The Fall of Azjol'Nerub/Part Six

Part VI “The… The Great One is an Ancient One?” Aran’Jakur’s voice was hesitant, filled with fear and doubt.

Ajar’Zarak finally found his voice. “No,” he hissed. “No. The Great One it will be no longer. It will be the Forgotten One, for we shall never speak of it again, and our centuries of worshiping it shall be stricken from all history and pushed to the bottom of our memories.”

Still feeling sick with revulsion at the thought of having worshipped this… monstrosity, Ajar’Zarak continued reading the carvings. “These ones appear to be more fresh, though doubtless still centuries old,” he said, frowning. “The marks are clearer, sharper. It appears to be the record of some kind of war. I can’t seem to place it, though. There are monsters of some kind fighting humans… or near-humans. They appear different. And… here. Furbolgs, and bull-men.” He had seen depictions of Furbolgs before. They lived in the Grizzlemaw Hills, and generally kept to themselves. His people had had dealings with them before. However, he had never seen these bull-men before. “The Ancient Ones appear occasionally as well. It seems they had something to do with this war… And here. Some kind of… of god. There’s a name here…” His eyes widened, and he spoke the fatal name.

“Sargeras.”

They had all heard tales, of course. Young children were frightened by stories of Sargeras, The Burning One, the Lord of Chaos. It was said he commanded vast legions of terrible creatures, ruling over his fiery realm with an iron fist. However, until now at least, Ajar’Zarak had always thought such stories were mere fairy tales.

“What?” asked Aran’Jakur sharply. “Sargeras! Are you positive, overseer?”

“Of course I am.” He inhaled sharply. “Of course,” he muttered. “The War of Flame! That must be what this carving depicts!”

The War of Flame something else Ajar’Zarak had thought, up until this point, to be no more than myth. It was said that in ages past, Sargeras had grown hungry for power, and had turned his greedy eyes toward their world. The ancient Nerubians had fought his armies, though, and eventually they had retreated, though leaving a destroyed world in their wake.

“But these carvings show others fighting the hordes of The Burning One… perhaps his invasion was more widespread than the stories make it out to have been.” He read on. “The record seems to show that The Ancient Ones were somehow behind it… though how, I cannot begin to fathom. And here… a… a dragon. A black dragon.”

“What does all this mean?” Aran’Jakur asked, doubt colouring his voice.

“I don’t know… The black seems to have made something of immense power. Apparently it was strong enough that, with the combined efforts of other dragons, they were able to stop the invasion in its tracks… but then he turned on them.” Ajar’Zarak was riveted by this story – never had any other member of his race learned so much of the history of the world. “He used the object, whatever it was, to destroy a lot of the defenders as well as the invaders. Then he turned and fled with it.”

“What was it?” asked Aran’Jakur in an awed voice. “Perhaps, if we could locate it…”

“No,” said Ajar’Zarak sharply. “First of all, for all we know it could not even be in Northrend. Secondly, don’t you think the dragon would guard such a powerful artifact to the utmost? It would be suicide.” He kept reading. “It seems The Ancient Ones were behind the creation of this artifact as well.”

“But why would they want it?”

Ajar’Zarak thought he knew. “Freedom,” he said shortly. “What else could they want?”

“And this… this artifact could give that to them?”

“Apparently so…” Ajar’Zarak sighed sadly. It seemed that their god had been responsible for nearly every catastrophe in history. Moving down the wall, he saw something else that piqued his interest. “Here… I think I’ve found the name of this place.”

“What is it?”

“Ulduar.” He sighed again. “We should get moving. The Emperor will grow testy if we drag this out much longer.” Turning, he continued his walk deeper into the depths of Ulduar, wary always for booby traps.

The going was slow. Always on the alert for the slight signs that indicated a trap was imminent, he had to move slowly. He chafed at the delay, but at the same time he enjoyed being back from under the sky. He was built for tunnels and subterranean combat, not above-ground fighting. Still, he would much prefer to be crawling around on the surface to being trapped down here, always alert and cautious for traps and gods knew what kind of ancient magic.

Ajar’Zarak himself knew what kind of magic guarded the ancient Ulduar. As he moved past a stone statue, one that was just the same as any others found within the ancient passages, he thought he heard creaking. Turning, he saw nothing. Moving slowly, he moved his hands up to his back to draw his twin blades. Just as his fingers touched the hilts, however, the statue sprang to life.

Rushing at him, it made to grab him and, presumably, crush him. Dodging to the side, Ajar’Zarak whipped out his swords. As the automaton sprang for him again, he ducked underneath the clumsy blow and sliced at the statue’s stomach. His blades glanced harmlessly off the stone hide.

At that moment, the whispers came back into his mind, hissing, instructing, urgently telling him how to fight against this magic guardian. Dodging another blow from the statue, Ajar’Zarak drew out the Legacy Stone and directed the power contained within it towards the guardian. The statue stopped midswing, then slowly crumbled into dust.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Ajar’Zarak examined the Legacy Stone. The whispers had faded again. The Legacy Stone was dangerous, of that there was no doubt. It seemed to almost have a will of its own.

The journey seemed to last forever, but at long last Ajar’Zarak left the passageways into the open light of the mountaintop… straight into a group of three Storm Giants. Gargantuan human-like figures, they were an electric blue in color, and their beards and fingertips danced with energy.

Without even pausing to think this time, he directed all the strength he could muster at the Legacy Stone, sending all its power against the Giants. The results were on the level of a natural disaster.

Once the golden glow faded, near half the mountainside had been decimated, leaving Ajar’Zarak standing at the edge of a very steep precipice.

He gasped and stood there, shocked into immobility. The power of the Stone was immense. It could destroy whole mountains. Yes, this object needed to be regarded with extreme caution. He shuddered as he realized that for centuries, The Prophets had wielded such tremendous power.

The fortress of Iceclaw Peak lay not far away. Another half-day’s travel, and they would arrive at the relative safety of the ancient fortress. Confidently, spirits high, the stubbornly bold Nerubians continued their inexorable march towards the Peak. Ajar’Zarak felt a surge of pride as he watched not only the elites, not even just the guards, but all the Nerubians, moving confidently towards their final goal. His people were tenacious and strong, and he was profoundly honoured to have the privilege of being among the survivors of his race. They had faced the fury of the Forgotten One’s demons, withstood the ravages of the undead, and crossed the Storm Peaks, even entering what he now believed to be some kind of temple guarded by Storm Giants. Truly, his people had faced cataclysm after catastrophe after disaster, but against all odds they had come out victorious.

Feeling intensely proud of his people, he joined them and began the journey down the mountain. <<< Part V --- Part VII >>>