Supreme Beings of Azeroth

The ride to Blackrock Mountain was exhilarating in its danger and breathtaking in its beauty, though Robyn couldn't help but feel that every gust of wind and plume of ash was a reminder of just how precarious their mission was. The gryphons flew with incredible speed, their powerful wings carving through the skies like knives through cloth. Their feathers shimmered faintly in the sunlight, a blend of earthy browns and golds, streaked with white around the head.

Bred for speed and endurance these beasts cut swiftly over the rugged terrain, their sharp cries cutting through the howling wind, taking mere hours to cross the alliance-controlled Dun Morogh and reach the searing gorge ruled by the Dark Irons. Below them stretched the ashen expanse of Searing Gorge, its veins of molten orange glowing faintly beneath a grey-black crust of cracked earth. In its own fiery way, the land looked alive, belching up plumes of smoke and sulphur from the countless mining pits that had sprouted up over its surface. A realm of fire and scarred earth, where the earth bled freely, spilling its molten lifeblood for the insatiable greed of the Dark Iron dwarves.

The gorge was far from desolate. Cannons and crossbows bristled around the guard towers, being watched by their operators, eyes weary and scanning the skies. The massive stone fortresses stood like slumbering giants, their angular architecture unmolested by any will worked upon across a thousand years. From above, Robyn could see towns bustling with activity: There are blacksmiths hammering away at their forges, merchants bartering over exotic goods, and miners hauling endless loads of the glinting ore. At this height the din of industry reached his ears, borne by the oppressive winds like the angry pulsations of this volcanic empire.

Their small group, flying in tight formation, had drawn some attention but not enough to warrant an attack. Robyn couldn't help but smirk at the thought. A handful of gryphons wouldn't even make for a good snack for whatever horrors they kept in the dungeons below. Still, the watchtower guards took notice. At most, watchtower soldiers would watch them and report their presence up the chain of command soon enough.

"Do you think they're writing down how majestic we look?" quipped Nisle, the gnome mage, as he leaned forward on his gryphon, one hand clutching his staff, the other holding tightly to the reins as his wiry white hair whipped about in the wind. "I mean, if they're going to bother spying on us, they might as well admire the view."

Robyn snorted, adjusting the bandana tied snugly across his face to filter out the ash-laden air. "I'm sure that's exactly what they're doing, Nisle. Writing poetry about the noble idiots flying into the heart of their empire."

Of course, they wouldn't fly back as there was no way they could just walk out of Blackrock depths with freed prisoners and waltz out of the heart of the Dark Iron Empire. The plan was as bold as it was dangerous. Entering Blackrock Depths was already akin to walking into a lion's den wrapped in steak, but escaping would be even more harrowing.

Flying out with prisoners was impossible-there wasn't enough space on the gryphons themselves to take flight and there likely would be flying squadrons sent after them. Instead, they relied on Nisle's magic for their escape. The gnome had purchased an assortment of portal runes, their arcane symbols etched into smooth, glowing stones tucked safely in his many pockets. When the time came, Nisle would create a portal to Ironforge, though the strain of conjuring one from such a hostile environment would take every ounce of his considerable skill.

"Just don't drop one of those runes," Robyn warned, half-joking. "I'd rather not get stuck here and become Dark Iron stew."

"Relax, farm boy," Nisle shot back with a grin. "I'm a professional. Though if you're that worried, I hear their stews are rich in nutrients and laced with booze so not the worst palace to end in."

Robyn groaned. "Remind me why we brought you again?"

Robyn allowed himself a moment of reflection as the wind whipped past. It was still awe-inspiring, barren, and dangerous, but the view below was still the same. He was a long way from the rolling green fields of his home in Elvynn, where the most exciting thing that had happened was a sheep getting out of its pen or the bickering of neighboring families. Back then, his dreams were as small as his plot of land: marry Anny, raise a family, and work the soil until his hands were as rough as his father's. There was something inside him, something that would not be silent, a restless yearning.

His team wasn't the only one. A lot of heroes and adventurers had emerged from across the lands, basically taking it upon themselves to fix the problems. It was this sudden urge within that changed everything. One day he had put down his plow, bid Anny farewell and left the life that was mapped out for him like rows of wheat. His savings had gone to a second-hand sword and shield whose edges were dulled by time but still usable. He'd trained himself by sparring with tree trunks and taking on the odd bounty to protect travelers from bandits. Those small acts of heroism had snowballed into something larger eventually. Now, here he was: soaring over hostile territory clad in finely crafted armor with a team of skilled adventurers on a mission from a nation's ruler. It would be a story to tell if he ever got back.

As much as Robyn had grown, Anny had blossomed in her own way. She had always been the heart of the farm, good with animals, a quiet whisperer of animals who seemed to understand them in ways no one else could. She had a knack for sensing when a cow was ill before it showed in its gait, or coaxing pigs into pens with nothing but a gentle word. When Robyn announced his departure, she didn't weep or cling to him. Instead, she watched him go with a thoughtful gaze.

Then, with characteristic decisiveness, she strode into the forest one morning and returned a day later astride a wild boar. The creature was massive, with tusks that curved like scimitars and a hide as tough as the rocks it had surely rooted out in its lifetime. Anny rode it with the ease of someone who had been born to it, her hair wild and her face alight with determination. She borrowed some of his remaining savings to purchase a bow from a traveling merchant, and joined him in the adventure. They still planned a future together and once they began traveling the world, they had become lovers without the need for a holy ceremony at a church or paperwork at a lord's office.

Robyn and Anny's journey took them far, but it was at a small town festival that their destiny truly began to shift. There, they met Leeroy, a young priest who had been Robyn's childhood friend in those chaotic years after Stormwind fell. Leeroy had been studying the holy texts since he was five, raised with a devotion to the Light that bordered on fanatical but somehow managed to be endearing rather than overbearing.

At the festival, Leeroy was doing what he did best: healing the sick, blessing crops, and charming farm animals into docility. He did it all without asking for payment, though the townsfolk insisted on rewarding him. Robyn still laughed at the memory of Leeroy blushing furiously as a group of maidens fussed over his tattered robes, their mothers sneaking food into his pack when they thought he wasn't looking. Bread, cheese, and even a bottle of homemade brandy made their way into his supplies that day.

It didn't take much convincing to get Leeroy to join their little band. "The Light guides me," he'd said simply, adjusting his robes and gripping his staff with an expression of quiet resolve. And so the trio was formed, united by shared purpose and a deep, if occasionally chaotic, friendship.

Their adventures eventually brought them to the Northshire Valley, where they encountered beings who seemed less like mortals and more like forces of nature, Ainz and Buku. These two enigmatic individuals were powerful, ruling over the Black Dragons and what remained of the original orcish horde. Their impossible might was still fresh in their minds.

Robyn would never forget the day Buku cast the entire Northshire in holy light. It was an event that defied explanation, an overwhelming surge of power that left no room for doubt or fear. Every blade of grass, every leaf, every stone seemed to shine with divine radiance. At that moment, it was as if the Goddess of Light herself had descended, granting them a small portion of her infinite power. Many powerful adventurer teams were born from that event, striving for greater glory.

When Robyn and his companions ventured beyond the lands ruled by the child king Anduin, their travels brought them to the windswept hills of Loch Modan. It was there, in the smoky haze of a tavern lit by flickering lanterns, that they met their fourth companion Nisle. One with towering intellect that more than made up for a gnomish stature. Behind a pair of cracked spectacles that drew the eye up through bright blue eyes, the gnome's robes were worn thin by one who'd walked the trails of both magic and mortal.

Nisle's past was tragic, yet it gave him an indomitable resolve. He had once been a scholar having spent a century poring over ancient arcane texts alongside his colleagues and apprentices in the great libraries of Gnomeregan. That all changed when Gnomeregan fell, reduced to an irradiated wasteland by a catastrophic betrayal. Details were muddy but the Gnomish city first was invaded by trogs a brutish ape-like race from the deep underground tunnels.

A plan was devised to kill the trogs with radioactive gas but at the crucial moment, High Tinker Mekkatorque's hand man Mekgineer Thermaplugg betrayed him and unleashed the gas before the city was evacuated killing about eighty percent of the entire Gnomish race and irradiating a large portion of the survivors who now wondered the fallen city mad and directionless.

He barely got out with his life, but not without cost. The majority of his peers perished and his beloved library was lost in the ruin. That loss marked him deeply. From that day on, he took his century-long expertise in magic to help the alliance against the evils of the world, dedicating himself to fighting off the despicable and the terrible however he could. He had even been part of the force that had stopped the demonic invasion in Kalimdor. He had fought alongside the Kirin Tor mages and even Lady Jaina Proudmoore flinging fire and frost at demons in battles that scorched the earth and scarred his spirit.

Meeting Robyn and his team was serendipitous. The encounter took place on a stormy evening when dark iron saboteurs plotted to destroy the dam that held back the loch's waters, threatening to flood the wetlands below. The fight was chaotic, a cacophony of fireballs, arrows, and frantic shouting as the team worked together to foil the sabotage. Nisle had impressed them all by holding off an entire squad of dark iron dwarves with a single spell. When the dust settled, he joined the group, deciding to stick together afterward as they found good chemistry in working as a team.

The team's final member was Ethil, a night elf ranger as quiet as the twilight forests she hailed from. Ethil rarely spoke, and when she did, her words were few but sharp as arrows. Annie, herself a skilled archer, had been humbled when she first saw Ethil in action. The night elf's precision was godlike, her arrows not just striking targets but finding weak points with uncanny accuracy. It was as though she communed with the wind itself, guiding her shots with a grace that defied mortal understanding.

Ethil's age dwarfed even Nisle's considerable years. She had once served in the armies of High Priestess Tyranda's Whisperwind, protecting the forests of Kalimdor for millennia. But one day, after four thousand years of unwavering duty, something changed. She was overtaken by irresistible wanderlust. On that day she left the rangers and traveled the world in solitude. Her path crossed with Robyn and the others in the midst of a desperate battle against a cult of Twilight's Hammer zealots. The cultists were attempting to awaken a long-forgotten monstrosity, chanting prayers to the void as they prepared to unleash chaos upon the world. Ethil had appeared like a shadow, raining death upon the zealots with a volley of arrows that turned the tide of battle. When the last cultist fell, she wordlessly joined their campfire that evening, eating in silence before offering her allegiance.

Wanderlust was a perfect description of the feeling he and other adventurers felt. There was an epidemic of wanderlust spreading and the world was becoming a better, more open place for it. Cultures intermingled and fused. The alliance became a more coherent force when its people formed strong personal bonds beyond the politics of their rulers and the economics of their merchants. Although Robyn had every reason to dislike the horde, it too had been struck with the same ailment, and in his travels he had seen similar teams on the other side in neutral places like the goblin-run trade cities.

His daydreaming soon came to an end as the gryphons descended into a well-hidden valley at the side of the impossibly large Blackrock mountain. The mountain loomed above them. The air here was heavy, laced with sulfur and the faint stench of burnt flesh. Their gryphons squawked nervously before taking flight, retreating to safety. Their trusty flying mounts would find their way back on their own.

"Keep your eyes open and butts covered," Robyn warned, his tone half-serious, half-sarcastic. "We won't get any backup should things go bad."

Ethil's sharp eyes were already scanning the terrain, "Lava spider. Four hundred meters behind us. Best avoid it."

"Noted," Robyn said, adjusting his helmet, "Let's move before the beast comes to say hi. Annie, be ready to camouflage us. Nisle, mana gems and potions on demand." Robyn issued the last orders and the team moved west towards one of the mountain's many gates leading inside the mountain, their steps muffled by the ash-covered ground.

Although still a beginner hunter by all means, Annie's connection to nature gave her talents that far outstripped her years of experience. Her ability to cloak the group in a veil of magical camouflage, blending seamlessly with the environment. This magical ability was simply invaluable. It wasn't foolproof, but unless someone was actively searching for them, the spell made them indistinguishable from the shadows and rock around them.

This ability had saved them countless times before and was the reason they had gotten this far without detection. This was the second-best ability she had besides being able to summon her pet pig anywhere in the world, as she couldn't just take a four hundred-kilo boar with her on flights for obvious reasons. She had joked once about trying to strap it to a gryphon, earning groans and snickers from the team.

On high alert, they walked for about two hours, their steps light and wary, until they reached the gate. Rising fifty meters into the shadowy air, the obsidian black doors loomed like a testament to the might of dwarven craftsmanship. Their surface was etched with intricate runes. Ten colossal golems, standing silently on either side of the gate, bore the same dark metal design, their lifeless eyes staring into the void. There was no mistaking their purpose; a means to open and close the marvel of dark iron architecture.

The moment they walked inside, camouflage became a necessity. The dark iron patrols were everywhere, moving massive siege weapons and war rations. Luckily, they were too busy to actively investigate the shadowy cavern for a group of adventurers, too concerned with their own businesses.

The cavern by itself was immense, but it was dwarfed by the open space that separated the upper and lower parts of the mountains. On chains thicker than two humans stacked on top of each other hung a literal fortress in the middle of this opening that was large enough to house the city. On the lower rams stood armies of dark iron snipers clutching their guns alongside dark shams with their fire and magma elementals, ready to attack any intruder if the alarm was sounded. Between them stood the tall stone and iron golems and behind the lines were the siege weapons called tanks. These metal and fire monstrosities shot dwarf-sized metal balls with speeds capable of shredding a grown dragon to pieces.

On the upper ramps orc archers and troll spearmen were standing in fierce opposition. The despicable orc warlocks with their summoned daemons provided magical support alongside the black dragons, formidable enemies in their own right. Behind their lines waited the crude orc catapults, not as refined as dwarven siege engines but equally devastating, capable of throwing massive chunks of rock operated by the ogres and goblins. Tanks meant little if the ground was too cluttered to drive through-and the orcs knew this well

The hanging fortress was their place of engagement with replenishable demons and elementals perpetually battling on behalf of their summoners.

"If memory serves," Nisle whispered, adjusting his spectacles as they glinted faintly in the dim glow of lava rivers below, "they were a lot more… proactive in the reports about the conflict between the forces on both sides of the mountain."

Annie tilted her head, her auburn braid slipping over one shoulder, "Maybe it's because Ainz and Buku are now in charge. If I were a demon or an elemental, I'd be keeping my head down too."

"It will be hard to get past the line," Ethil said. "We need a distraction. There." she gestured towards a group of dwarven snipers perched on a ledge in the distance. Their rifles rested lazily against the stone wall, and more than one of the dwarves seemed to be stifling yawns, their posture betraying fatigue. "That group looks tired. We can distract the formation to the right of them and sneak in there."

Robyn studied the group for a moment before nodding, "Good point. Nisle, you're up."

The gnome wizard rubbed his hands together, a mischievous glint in his eye. "One arcane illusion coming right up. Prepare to be dazzled"

"Just don't overdo it. We need a distraction, not a firework show," Robyn cautioned as they moved behind a rock to avoid drawing any attention to themselves.

"Please. Subtlety is my middle name," Nisle replied, though his smirk suggested otherwise. With a flick of his tiny fingers, he conjured a swirling orb of energy that cast an illusion of a black dragon, fearsome and mighty. The somewhat translucent illusion appeared like the real thing in the faint light of the underground area.

"Subtle, huh?" Robyn murmured, arching an eyebrow.

"Quiet, or I'll make it pink," Nisle retorted.

With a resonating roar, it plunged into the lines of dwarves, its bellow so convincingly deep and guttural that it rattled the very air.

Without hesitation, Annie gulped down a mana potion and applied camouflage with the team moving fast through the unfolding chaos. The reaction had been immediate. The tired dwarves jolted upright, their rifles snapping to attention as they aimed at the phantom threat. "By the forge, what is that?!" one of them shouted, his voice tinged with panic. Another yelled, "Sound the alarm!"

"Oh, for—no! Don't sound the alarm!" the shaman screamed, rubbing his temple. "Stop shooting you idiots, it's an illusion!"

The beast faded in less than five minutes. The brief distraction was all the time the team needed to slip past the front lines and into the labyrinthine tunnels that descended into the mountain's bowels. Behind them, the echo of confused shouts and scattered orders faded, replaced by an oppressive, heavy silence that seemed to seep into their very bones.

The tunnels were unguarded but far from inviting. All around, there were walls of jagged black stone, glistening slightly with moisture that reeked of sulfur and rot. The air was thick, cloying acrid, all feel of it like a mouthful of smoldering ash. Robyn pulled his scarf higher over his face, though it did little to block out the stench. His boots crunched against loose gravel and unseen debris, every step threatening to echo too loudly in the claustrophobic space.

Soon tunnels gave way to a hellish tableau of misery, the mines. Row after row of enslaved figures toiled ceaselessly, their gaunt frames bent under the weight of chains and exhaustion. Humans, orcs, dwarves, gnolls, trolls, even ogres, their massive forms shrunk, their once mighty strength stripped away, laboured under the lash. Sores and bruises pocked their skin; their eyes were sunken like pits, hopeless—the war machine, hungry for resources, treated them as mere expendables.

Robyn's heart twisted in his chest as his gaze lingered on a young orc, barely more than a child, struggling to carry a load of iron ore twice his size. The boy stumbled, and the overseer's whip lashed out mercilessly. The orc fell to the ground, curling into himself as the overseer struck again and again, his snarls of anger echoing off the walls. As much as Robyn wanted to help, it was not the time or place. If he raised a fuss here, they would never reach the prison complex. They simply were too close to the enemy army and would fall before liberating any slaves, failing their mission. It was decisions like these that made his chosen line of work hard. Leaving some innocent people behind for the greater good was sometimes necessary.

He could see the same frustration in the eyes of his teammates as they moved silently among the cacophony of pickaxes striking rock and metal, the strikes of the whips on flesh, the painful moans of the ones receiving unjust punishment, and the angry shouts of the slave masters. The team carried on, their silence heavier than the air around them. It was the cruel calculus of war: sometimes, to achieve the greater good, you had to turn a blind eye to evil. But that didn't make it any easier.

There were far too many captured souls for anyone to claim that there was any justice in the world, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

The tunnels twisted down for hours, the air heavy with ash and dust burning his lungs. No one could live for long in such an environment without getting regular healing from priests, not that they spared priests to heal mere fodder worth less than animals.

After what felt like hours of descent, the tunnels opened into a vast cavern complex. Here, the Dark Iron Empire housed its prisoners-those deemed valuable enough to warrant containment rather than immediate execution or enslavement. They divided the cavern into cells, each carved directly into the black stone. Thick iron bars reinforced with runes of binding and suppression ensured that escape was nearly impossible.

Inside the cells, prisoners huddled in the shadows, their eyes flickering with faint traces of despair.

"Breaking out even a few of them won't be easy," Robyn muttered, his voice low. His gaze swept over the cavern, taking in the patrols of Dark Iron guards and the arcane constructs that lumbered along the perimeter.

"We'll have to be picky about who we choose," Ethil said, her sharp eyes scanning the prisoners, already calculating which of them might be most valuable to their mission.

Nisle nodded, though his expression was grim. "Let's hope whoever we pick is worth the trouble, because we're not getting a second chance at this."

Editing by aidan_lo and NabeisWaifu

Proofreading by IAMTHEPLOKOKIOPO, fvvck, and aidan_lo.

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