Staring at the aftermath of his machinations, Rognak feels rather strange. Yes, he’d had ulterior motives when he’d convinced Cenarius to free Illidan Stormrage. Not in so many words of course, he’d tried to be a bit more subtle about it… but in the end, turning the Lord of the Forest’s thoughts towards the prisoners of the Watchers down in the Barrow Deeps hadn’t actually been that difficult.
Malfurion’s predicament and the death of so many of the Night Elf Druids who had slumbered in the Moonglade had been enough of a kick in the pants that it was obvious drastic action was needed. The Legion wasn’t just coming… they were already here. They were on Azeroth, on Kalimdor, and they weren’t going anywhere. If their alliance couldn’t stop the Defiler and his armies, then the whole of Azeroth was doomed.
Illidan and his fellow prisoners were a Hail Mary to be sure, but they were a last-ditch effort that Rognak hadn’t had to work too hard at convincing Cenarius that it was necessary. Their situation was certainly dire enough to warrant truly drastic measures, after all.
But the truth was… Rognak hadn’t wanted Illidan freed so he could fight the Legion. Perhaps the Demon Hunter would have been an asset if he was handled correctly, especially in the wake of his brother’s slow demise, but Rognak hadn’t been counting on that. The other set of memories told him that Illidan was and always would be a loose cannon, regardless of how one approached him.
No, freeing Illidan wasn’t about being able to utilize him against the Legion, at least not for Rognak. It was about baiting the hook for one Arthas Menethil, future Lich King.
Rognak’s actions might have changed things and gotten Malfurion killed, but he figured that removing Arthas from the board nice and early would balance things out a bit, right? And they’d only had one opportunity to really do so. The Death Knight was on Kalimdor in this time period for the sole purpose of turning Illidan in the direction of Tichondrius and the Skull of Gul’dan, all for the sake of his master’s machinations against the Burning Legion.
However, in this case… the enemy of his enemy was not Rognak’s friend. It didn’t matter to the orc druid that Arthas and the Lich King were both victims of the Burning Legion. They were still monsters being controlled by bigger monsters. Letting Arthas live, letting him reach the Frozen Throne and assume the mantle of the Lich King… it would only lead to further death and destruction down the line.
So yes, seeing an opportunity to bait Arthas out, Rognak had taken it, manipulating Cenarius into freeing Illidan from his ten-thousand year imprisonment. But while it had always been Rognak’s intention for Arthas Menethil to die today… he hadn’t ever anticipated things turning out quite like this.
He had thought, from what his other set of memories told him, that Arthas and Illidan were supposed to be evenly matched. Certainly, the Death Knight wasn’t supposed to be able to slay the Demon Hunter in a single move, no matter how distracted Illidan might have been by their presence. Right? Except that was exactly what had happened. Illidan Stormrage had been killed in the opening moments of their battle, and from there it had been a fight for all of their lives.
It was a fight that had culminated in a display of power that Rognak quite frankly hadn’t known Tyrande was capable of. Then again… he wasn’t entirely sure Tyrande WAS capable of what she’d just done. At least, not without considerable outside help. For just a split second there, amongst all of the blazing, radiant moonlight and the sheer power that Tyrande was giving off… Rognak had seen something.
He wasn’t sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him… he wasn’t even sure if his other set of memories were all that correct. But for a split second there, he swears that he saw Tyrande Whisperwind’s eyes flicker a pitch black. Amidst all of the power she’d been throwing around, amidst all of the divine light that Elune had been channeling through her, Tyrande had exhibited signs of a Night Warrior without doing any of the rituals or rites.
To say that was a little unsettling would be the understatement of the century. But thankfully, her eyes had gone back to normal so fast that he still wasn’t entirely sure if he’d actually seen what he’d seen or not. Still, by the time they had, the damage was still done.
Arthas’ death had always been the plan. Though it would be more frank to call it Rognak’s wildest dream. He hadn’t been sure of their chances of success, only that he knew they had to try. But the destruction of Frostmourne? That, Rognak hadn’t even stopped to consider. The incredibly powerful Runeblade had been shattered half a decade before it was supposed to be, and on the wrong continent at that. Its destruction wasn’t something Rognak had factored into his plans at all, but here they were, the shards of Frostmourne resting right next to Arthas’ charred, lifeless corpse.
They’d managed to gain a great victory here today, but at what cost? Illidan’s death was unfortunate, though not because of what he was supposed to go on to do regarding Tichondrius and the Skull of Gul’dan. No, between Wolfsong, his druidic abilities, and Cenarius still being alive, Rognak figured they could handle Tichondrius before preparing for the Battle of Mount Hyjal.
Illidan’s death was unfortunate because… well, Tyrande had been shattered enough as was by Malfurion’s fate. To lose the other brother so quickly after that was… hard, Rognak figured. Fortunately, she has Shandris at least.
Looking upon the two Night Elves, Rognak can see that the Sentinel has moved in and began comforting her adoptive mother and… and Tyrande even looks like she’s letting her too this time. Shandris has a hand on Tyrande’s shoulder, and Tyrande has a hand on that hand in turn, even as she looks up at the night sky with its incredibly bright moon and the last souls from Frostmourne still flowing up into it.
Before Rognak can do anything else, however, a hand falls upon HIS shoulder in turn and he blinks and looks at Thrall. The Warchief nods to him solemnly.
“Well fought. You called that thing a Death Knight… I…”
Blinking, Rognak realizes where Thrall’s confusion stems from. Looking back at Arthas’ body, the orc druid grunts.
“He was not of the Old Horde, if that was what you thought. He was something worse… something darker and more powerful than anything Gul’dan or his warlocks ever managed to create.”
Tilting his head to the side, Thrall still looks uncertain.
“How did you know then? How did you know what he was and that he needed to die?”
Luckily, Rognak had expected such questions. For all that he’d tried to keep his metaknowledge to himself, he hadn’t wanted to risk Arthas getting away. So yes, he’d said precisely as much as he needed to in order to get everyone on board with fighting him. It had taken Jaina a little longer then the rest, and after Illidan’s death Tyrande had been on the verge of shutting down again… but in the end, it had all worked out for the best. Still, he’d roused Thrall’s suspicion.
“The forest whispered to me. In the same way the Elements speak to you… Nature speaks to me. It cries out at the defilement of these woods at the hands of the Burning Legion. But even as the Legion has corrupted and tainted whatever they can get their hands on… this Death Knight stood out amongst even them. The weapon he wielded… was no ordinary Runeblade.”
Thrall soaks this in for a moment before letting out a gruff growl. Rognak briefly wonders if the other orc believes him or not… but even if he doesn’t, Thrall doesn’t let it show.
“Good riddance then. One less enemy to fight, I suppose.”
Heh, if only he knew. Still… glancing over at Thrall, Rognak gives the Warchief an orcish sort of grin.
“Aye. One less. But there will be many more in the days to come. And even if we defeat the Legion and drive them back from this world… the undead will remain. They aren’t going anywhere.”
Thrall looks at him at that, surprised. Rognak explains, spinning something of a yarn. There’s a purpose behind it though. He needs to impress upon the Warchief the severity of the situation.
“The Burning Legion is not of our world… but the Scourge they have created is home-grown, so to speak. Now that the demons have introduced the concept of necromancy and undeath into this world, it will not be so easy to banish as they are.”
Snorting in wry amusement, the Horde’s Warchief shakes his head.
“You think banishing the Legion will be easy, do you?”
Returning the amusement with a grin of his own, Rognak waves a hand in the air.
“Bah! Don’t put words into my mouth. I’m serious, Warchief. Undead will roam these lands long after the demons are sent back from whence they came. And it will be our duty… and the Horde’s duty to put those who have been reanimated in such a terrible fashion back to their final rest. There is nothing quite so unnatural or terrible as the state of undeath. By re-killing them wherever we find them, we will be showing them mercy.”
There’s no world in which Rognak is going to allow Thrall to let the Warlocks and Forsaken into the Horde again. He will fight a Mak’gora and replace the orc as Warchief before he lets that happen. But the same reasons he didn’t want to be Warchief before still remain true today. In the end, he has enough on his plate as it is. If he can get Thrall on the same page now, when their enemies are the Legion and the Scourge, then maybe later he won’t have to resort to such drastic measures to keep the Horde clear of such threats.
Indeed, in this moment at least, Thrall nods easily enough with what Rognak is saying. Then, he throws his head off to the side.
“You have given me much to think about, Rognak. Now… I’d say there is another who needs someone to talk to… and I believe it should be you.”
Rognak furrows his brow in confusion… until he realizes that Thrall is pointing out Jaina Proudmoore. The human mage is standing away from everyone else… over Arthas’ body. Staring down at it, Jaina trembles oh so minutely, but noticeable enough for his eyes. Frowning, Rognak nods and pulls away from Thrall, making his way over to the human mage.
He’s not sure how to even begin comforting her, well aware of the history that Jaina and Arthas shared. In the end, he hesitates upon reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. Was that really what she needed? Would she even accept such a thing from him right now? Would she-
Rognak freezes in shock when Jaina suddenly spins and all but throws herself against him, seeking comfort in his arms. Her sobs are muffled by his broad chest, even as Rognak carefully and gently takes hold of her, wrapping his large arms around her slight body. As she cries, he finds himself looking over her head at the almost peaceful expression on Arthas Menethil’s face. The Death Knight is dead and gone, his soul departed along with all of the others he’d reaped when Frostmourne shattered.
Still, it was important to remember that he’d been the first casualty of the blade. That he hadn’t always been a monster. Arthas’ story was a tragic one… a tale of corruption, manipulation, and horrific darkness. But it could have been much worse. It was for the better that his tale ended on this day rather than five years from now.
Much like Grom, Arthas would have caused much more pain and suffering before his demise if he’d been allowed to continue. And unlike Grom, there was no redemption at the end of his journey. Only more death and despair.
Though Rognak does find himself wondering what the Lich King will do now. His most powerful Death Knight, his chosen successor… is dead. More than that, Arthas was perhaps still replaceable. If Frostmourne remained intact and another was foolish enough to pick it up, the Lich King could have likely still made his plan work.
But with Frostmourne shattered… who could say? The crack in the Frozen Throne was already there, already seeping. And now the whole reason that Ner’zhul had made said crack lay in shattered shards beside the man the Lich King had chosen to wield it.
Finally, Jaina pulls away from his chest and turns, gazing down upon Arthas with a tear-streaked face.
“I think… I think I knew Arthas was beyond saving the moment he ordered the slaughter of Stratholme. But even I hadn’t thought he would fall this far. I didn’t know what he’d become. So sick and twist… he wasn’t the Prince I remembered anymore. He’d become something horrifying.”
Rognak frowns at that. The Culling of Stratholme was the turning point for Jaina from what his other set of memories told him, but not necessarily the point of no return for Arthas. Of course, Rognak had no business knowing that… and even if he did have a reason to know it, it wasn’t what Jaina needed to hear right now. Instead, he settles for something trite but hopefully poignant.
“You should remember him as he was, I think. As the man you cared for, rather than the monster he became.”
Jaina just nods into his chest, clearly weary and tired. The two of them fall into a companionable silence for a moment, before she looks up at him.
“Rognak, I-!”
Whatever she was about to say, she’s cut off by sudden movement springing up where Arthas Menethil lies still. Both of them jump back, Rognak immediately reaching for Wolfsong… but no. The Death Knight is not suddenly back to life. Rather, the movement was simply roots coming up out of the forest floor and carefully collecting each and every shard of Frostmourne. Rognak watches, transfixed, as the shattered Runeblade is carefully collected into a bundle of roots and then pulled deep, deep beneath the earth.
Only once every bit of it is gone does Rognak turn towards Cenarius, the Lord of the Forest solemn faced as he reaches out with one hand of branches to perform the small bit of nature magic. As he finishes up, Cenarius looks at all of them.
“Shandris, take the High Priestess to find rest. Warchief Thrall, Lady Proudmoore… I entrust you with making sure that the Death Knight’s remains are properly reduced to ash.”
His tone brooks no argument, and so even though he doesn’t technically have the authority to order Thrall and Jaina around, they follow his instructions anyways. Suddenly, it’s just Rognak and Cenarius standing there in the small clearing. It’s eerily quiet given the battle that just took place here a little while ago. A battle that would have far-reaching consequences on the whole of Azeroth.
He turns to Cenarius and opens his mouth to ask the Lord of the Forest what they should do next… only to pause at the look on the Demigod’s face. Cenarius’ countenance is that of a frown, and his eyes hold of an intensity that honestly takes Rognak back somewhat.
“Young Rognak… it is far past time we talked, you and I.”
Rognak just blinks. Why did Cenarius sound so… grave?
Staring at the aftermath of his machinations, Rognak feels rather strange. Yes, he’d had ulterior motives when he’d convinced Cenarius to free Illidan Stormrage. Not in so many words of course, he’d tried to be a bit more subtle about it… but in the end, turning the Lord of the Forest’s thoughts towards the prisoners of the Watchers down in the Barrow Deeps hadn’t actually been that difficult.
Malfurion’s predicament and the death of so many of the Night Elf Druids who had slumbered in the Moonglade had been enough of a kick in the pants that it was obvious drastic action was needed. The Legion wasn’t just coming… they were already here. They were on Azeroth, on Kalimdor, and they weren’t going anywhere. If their alliance couldn’t stop the Defiler and his armies, then the whole of Azeroth was doomed.
Illidan and his fellow prisoners were a Hail Mary to be sure, but they were a last-ditch effort that Rognak hadn’t had to work too hard at convincing Cenarius that it was necessary. Their situation was certainly dire enough to warrant truly drastic measures, after all.
But the truth was… Rognak hadn’t wanted Illidan freed so he could fight the Legion. Perhaps the Demon Hunter would have been an asset if he was handled correctly, especially in the wake of his brother’s slow demise, but Rognak hadn’t been counting on that. The other set of memories told him that Illidan was and always would be a loose cannon, regardless of how one approached him.
No, freeing Illidan wasn’t about being able to utilize him against the Legion, at least not for Rognak. It was about baiting the hook for one Arthas Menethil, future Lich King.
Rognak’s actions might have changed things and gotten Malfurion killed, but he figured that removing Arthas from the board nice and early would balance things out a bit, right? And they’d only had one opportunity to really do so. The Death Knight was on Kalimdor in this time period for the sole purpose of turning Illidan in the direction of Tichondrius and the Skull of Gul’dan, all for the sake of his master’s machinations against the Burning Legion.
However, in this case… the enemy of his enemy was not Rognak’s friend. It didn’t matter to the orc druid that Arthas and the Lich King were both victims of the Burning Legion. They were still monsters being controlled by bigger monsters. Letting Arthas live, letting him reach the Frozen Throne and assume the mantle of the Lich King… it would only lead to further death and destruction down the line.
So yes, seeing an opportunity to bait Arthas out, Rognak had taken it, manipulating Cenarius into freeing Illidan from his ten-thousand year imprisonment. But while it had always been Rognak’s intention for Arthas Menethil to die today… he hadn’t ever anticipated things turning out quite like this.
He had thought, from what his other set of memories told him, that Arthas and Illidan were supposed to be evenly matched. Certainly, the Death Knight wasn’t supposed to be able to slay the Demon Hunter in a single move, no matter how distracted Illidan might have been by their presence. Right? Except that was exactly what had happened. Illidan Stormrage had been killed in the opening moments of their battle, and from there it had been a fight for all of their lives.
It was a fight that had culminated in a display of power that Rognak quite frankly hadn’t known Tyrande was capable of. Then again… he wasn’t entirely sure Tyrande WAS capable of what she’d just done. At least, not without considerable outside help. For just a split second there, amongst all of the blazing, radiant moonlight and the sheer power that Tyrande was giving off… Rognak had seen something.
He wasn’t sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him… he wasn’t even sure if his other set of memories were all that correct. But for a split second there, he swears that he saw Tyrande Whisperwind’s eyes flicker a pitch black. Amidst all of the power she’d been throwing around, amidst all of the divine light that Elune had been channeling through her, Tyrande had exhibited signs of a Night Warrior without doing any of the rituals or rites.
To say that was a little unsettling would be the understatement of the century. But thankfully, her eyes had gone back to normal so fast that he still wasn’t entirely sure if he’d actually seen what he’d seen or not. Still, by the time they had, the damage was still done.
Arthas’ death had always been the plan. Though it would be more frank to call it Rognak’s wildest dream. He hadn’t been sure of their chances of success, only that he knew they had to try. But the destruction of Frostmourne? That, Rognak hadn’t even stopped to consider. The incredibly powerful Runeblade had been shattered half a decade before it was supposed to be, and on the wrong continent at that. Its destruction wasn’t something Rognak had factored into his plans at all, but here they were, the shards of Frostmourne resting right next to Arthas’ charred, lifeless corpse.
They’d managed to gain a great victory here today, but at what cost? Illidan’s death was unfortunate, though not because of what he was supposed to go on to do regarding Tichondrius and the Skull of Gul’dan. No, between Wolfsong, his druidic abilities, and Cenarius still being alive, Rognak figured they could handle Tichondrius before preparing for the Battle of Mount Hyjal.
Illidan’s death was unfortunate because… well, Tyrande had been shattered enough as was by Malfurion’s fate. To lose the other brother so quickly after that was… hard, Rognak figured. Fortunately, she has Shandris at least.
Looking upon the two Night Elves, Rognak can see that the Sentinel has moved in and began comforting her adoptive mother and… and Tyrande even looks like she’s letting her too this time. Shandris has a hand on Tyrande’s shoulder, and Tyrande has a hand on that hand in turn, even as she looks up at the night sky with its incredibly bright moon and the last souls from Frostmourne still flowing up into it.
Before Rognak can do anything else, however, a hand falls upon HIS shoulder in turn and he blinks and looks at Thrall. The Warchief nods to him solemnly.
“Well fought. You called that thing a Death Knight… I…”
Blinking, Rognak realizes where Thrall’s confusion stems from. Looking back at Arthas’ body, the orc druid grunts.
“He was not of the Old Horde, if that was what you thought. He was something worse… something darker and more powerful than anything Gul’dan or his warlocks ever managed to create.”
Tilting his head to the side, Thrall still looks uncertain.
“How did you know then? How did you know what he was and that he needed to die?”
Luckily, Rognak had expected such questions. For all that he’d tried to keep his metaknowledge to himself, he hadn’t wanted to risk Arthas getting away. So yes, he’d said precisely as much as he needed to in order to get everyone on board with fighting him. It had taken Jaina a little longer then the rest, and after Illidan’s death Tyrande had been on the verge of shutting down again… but in the end, it had all worked out for the best. Still, he’d roused Thrall’s suspicion.
“The forest whispered to me. In the same way the Elements speak to you… Nature speaks to me. It cries out at the defilement of these woods at the hands of the Burning Legion. But even as the Legion has corrupted and tainted whatever they can get their hands on… this Death Knight stood out amongst even them. The weapon he wielded… was no ordinary Runeblade.”
Thrall soaks this in for a moment before letting out a gruff growl. Rognak briefly wonders if the other orc believes him or not… but even if he doesn’t, Thrall doesn’t let it show.
“Good riddance then. One less enemy to fight, I suppose.”
Heh, if only he knew. Still… glancing over at Thrall, Rognak gives the Warchief an orcish sort of grin.
“Aye. One less. But there will be many more in the days to come. And even if we defeat the Legion and drive them back from this world… the undead will remain. They aren’t going anywhere.”
Thrall looks at him at that, surprised. Rognak explains, spinning something of a yarn. There’s a purpose behind it though. He needs to impress upon the Warchief the severity of the situation.
“The Burning Legion is not of our world… but the Scourge they have created is home-grown, so to speak. Now that the demons have introduced the concept of necromancy and undeath into this world, it will not be so easy to banish as they are.”
Snorting in wry amusement, the Horde’s Warchief shakes his head.
“You think banishing the Legion will be easy, do you?”
Returning the amusement with a grin of his own, Rognak waves a hand in the air.
“Bah! Don’t put words into my mouth. I’m serious, Warchief. Undead will roam these lands long after the demons are sent back from whence they came. And it will be our duty… and the Horde’s duty to put those who have been reanimated in such a terrible fashion back to their final rest. There is nothing quite so unnatural or terrible as the state of undeath. By re-killing them wherever we find them, we will be showing them mercy.”
There’s no world in which Rognak is going to allow Thrall to let the Warlocks and Forsaken into the Horde again. He will fight a Mak’gora and replace the orc as Warchief before he lets that happen. But the same reasons he didn’t want to be Warchief before still remain true today. In the end, he has enough on his plate as it is. If he can get Thrall on the same page now, when their enemies are the Legion and the Scourge, then maybe later he won’t have to resort to such drastic measures to keep the Horde clear of such threats.
Indeed, in this moment at least, Thrall nods easily enough with what Rognak is saying. Then, he throws his head off to the side.
“You have given me much to think about, Rognak. Now… I’d say there is another who needs someone to talk to… and I believe it should be you.”
Rognak furrows his brow in confusion… until he realizes that Thrall is pointing out Jaina Proudmoore. The human mage is standing away from everyone else… over Arthas’ body. Staring down at it, Jaina trembles oh so minutely, but noticeable enough for his eyes. Frowning, Rognak nods and pulls away from Thrall, making his way over to the human mage.
He’s not sure how to even begin comforting her, well aware of the history that Jaina and Arthas shared. In the end, he hesitates upon reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. Was that really what she needed? Would she even accept such a thing from him right now? Would she-
Rognak freezes in shock when Jaina suddenly spins and all but throws herself against him, seeking comfort in his arms. Her sobs are muffled by his broad chest, even as Rognak carefully and gently takes hold of her, wrapping his large arms around her slight body. As she cries, he finds himself looking over her head at the almost peaceful expression on Arthas Menethil’s face. The Death Knight is dead and gone, his soul departed along with all of the others he’d reaped when Frostmourne shattered.
Still, it was important to remember that he’d been the first casualty of the blade. That he hadn’t always been a monster. Arthas’ story was a tragic one… a tale of corruption, manipulation, and horrific darkness. But it could have been much worse. It was for the better that his tale ended on this day rather than five years from now.
Much like Grom, Arthas would have caused much more pain and suffering before his demise if he’d been allowed to continue. And unlike Grom, there was no redemption at the end of his journey. Only more death and despair.
Though Rognak does find himself wondering what the Lich King will do now. His most powerful Death Knight, his chosen successor… is dead. More than that, Arthas was perhaps still replaceable. If Frostmourne remained intact and another was foolish enough to pick it up, the Lich King could have likely still made his plan work.
But with Frostmourne shattered… who could say? The crack in the Frozen Throne was already there, already seeping. And now the whole reason that Ner’zhul had made said crack lay in shattered shards beside the man the Lich King had chosen to wield it.
Finally, Jaina pulls away from his chest and turns, gazing down upon Arthas with a tear-streaked face.
“I think… I think I knew Arthas was beyond saving the moment he ordered the slaughter of Stratholme. But even I hadn’t thought he would fall this far. I didn’t know what he’d become. So sick and twist… he wasn’t the Prince I remembered anymore. He’d become something horrifying.”
Rognak frowns at that. The Culling of Stratholme was the turning point for Jaina from what his other set of memories told him, but not necessarily the point of no return for Arthas. Of course, Rognak had no business knowing that… and even if he did have a reason to know it, it wasn’t what Jaina needed to hear right now. Instead, he settles for something trite but hopefully poignant.
“You should remember him as he was, I think. As the man you cared for, rather than the monster he became.”
Jaina just nods into his chest, clearly weary and tired. The two of them fall into a companionable silence for a moment, before she looks up at him.
“Rognak, I-!”
Whatever she was about to say, she’s cut off by sudden movement springing up where Arthas Menethil lies still. Both of them jump back, Rognak immediately reaching for Wolfsong… but no. The Death Knight is not suddenly back to life. Rather, the movement was simply roots coming up out of the forest floor and carefully collecting each and every shard of Frostmourne. Rognak watches, transfixed, as the shattered Runeblade is carefully collected into a bundle of roots and then pulled deep, deep beneath the earth.
Only once every bit of it is gone does Rognak turn towards Cenarius, the Lord of the Forest solemn faced as he reaches out with one hand of branches to perform the small bit of nature magic. As he finishes up, Cenarius looks at all of them.
“Shandris, take the High Priestess to find rest. Warchief Thrall, Lady Proudmoore… I entrust you with making sure that the Death Knight’s remains are properly reduced to ash.”
His tone brooks no argument, and so even though he doesn’t technically have the authority to order Thrall and Jaina around, they follow his instructions anyways. Suddenly, it’s just Rognak and Cenarius standing there in the small clearing. It’s eerily quiet given the battle that just took place here a little while ago. A battle that would have far-reaching consequences on the whole of Azeroth.
He turns to Cenarius and opens his mouth to ask the Lord of the Forest what they should do next… only to pause at the look on the Demigod’s face. Cenarius’ countenance is that of a frown, and his eyes hold of an intensity that honestly takes Rognak back somewhat.
“Young Rognak… it is far past time we talked, you and I.”
Rognak just blinks. Why did Cenarius sound so… grave?
