CHAMPION.

Nathanos stared into the mirror. His face was yellowed and gaunt, but the flesh appeared intact. For the first time since his death, he stood straight and tall, not hunched and stooped like some decrepit elder. If not for the crimson glow of his eyes, the dim light of the Undercity might have allowed him to be mistaken for a human.

Okay so! Nathanos is coming back!

I’m working on some new rules and other pages! I’m so happy to still see some of you guys around too!

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

                  “if it means watching khadgar  &  his blithering troupe scramble for salvation, why would i be?” she almost laughs, but keeps something just short of a grin ‘pon her lips, before she clears her throat  &  carries on a short quip that follows, “i imagine you wouldn’t, either.”

                 the subject of dalaran was always sensitive, especially as of late. where proudmoore previously ruled over in a democratic sense alongside the rest of the council, her emotions recoil at the thought of kalecgos replacing her spot  &  allowing her to self–evict the city. 

    Well, she's certainly right about that. The Kirin Tor can rot for all he cares. They left his good graces the moment he lost his life—as most people have. Still, there's something about salting wounds that still appeals to him, especially when the high and mighty Jaina Proudmoore would rather be off doing whatever it is than facing down the Legion.

        THOUGH THERE WAS no physical manifestation of the mild annoyance she, the subtle bite to the monk’s tone was evidence enough that the monk disapproved. 

        ❛   I DO NOT care for your quarrel with Greymane. My purpose here is to protect Azeroth & to fight the LEGION, not fan the flames of the bitter race feuds. I will not intentionally get in your way so long as you do not get in mine. Are we at an understanding, Blightcaller ?   ❜ 

                starter call » @blightcalled » ❤ !

    Nathanos' head turns, his auburn hair spilling from his hood like blood from a fatal wound. He could tell this maggot that Greymane is the true aggressor and always has been. He could paint an ugly picture of all the crimes the Alliance has committed against people who were their once allies and still their kin. He could, but it seems like a waste of breath.

    Not that he needs it to survive. But something about death makes him want to keep it.

      When Sylvanas turns from her champion, it is not dismissal. It is an act of consideration for the information relayed to her, the opportunity to let her eyes lose focus, to let the possibilities spin out before her thoughts.

      Yet one, nagging fact stands out above all others.

      Greymane has recovered and is on the Broken Shore.

      She, too, can play that game. And better.

      “ Send the order to hold fire until engaged by Greymane’s forces. ” Not if. She fully expects the worgen to throw themselves at the Forsaken’s Stormheim fortifications again, and her people will respond accordingly. The bulk of their focus, however, should have another purpose. “ We are expected to reinforce the Armies of Legionfall. We will do no less. ”

      As infuriating as the Gilneans’ interference has been, there are certain opportunities within their grasp that the Banshee Queen cannot ignore. The Horde paid the ultimate price on the Broken Shore. They will see the Legion eradicated from this world. Although there have been obstacles, she hasn’t lost sight of that.

      “ There will be time to deal with Greymane when we have sealed the Tomb. In the meantime, the Horde will make our presence known among the Legionfall. No doubt Greymane will have loud opinions about that, something we can use to our advantage. ”

   There's nothing Nathanos would love more than to face Greymane again. This time, there would be no crashing gunship to save him from the sharp edges of his axes. But he also sees the wisdom in Sylvanas' orders.

    Provoking a response from the Alliance during these trying times—it's not just ridiculous, it's suicidal to fight wars on several fronts.

    To make Greymane look worse than he already is will ultimately work in their favor. Damned dirty dog.

    “It will be done, my queen,” he says finally, overly bright red eyes following her movements. He'll distribute orders as necessary. But his primary focus and hopefully that of their people will be the Tomb of Sargeras. If anyone can do this, however, and lead them well it is the Banshee Queen.

     Darkness gains on the red, bleeding sun on the horizon. Night time falls on the Undercity, and the Forsaken still stir like the restless undead that they are. Distantly, he hears one of them crowing about something—a surprisingly loud sound coming from someone whose held together by crude stitching and magic. In that moment, he does not miss his old self.

I dreamed that Alliance players, on their way to Undercity, could take an optional boss fight to Nathanos. He was outside, in Tirsfall Glades in this incredibly eerie place where the sunshine/moonlight got weird and some CC abilities wouldn’t work depending on the time of day or weather situation.

Anyways, in my dream, you could fight Nathanos. I was on my poor dwarf who barred the brunt of his attacks. The really interesting part happened when he got on low health, though. He became non-attackable, and a bit of rp happened where he stumbled and clutched at his wounds. 

Then Sylvanas would show up.

Every time he got on low health, she would do this massive AOE ability that would oneshot people. It was like a banshee scream that would obliterate the raid. 

Then, once everyone was dead, she’d go check on Nathanos. She touched his cheek and he ran his fingers through her hair (her hood had fallen back at some point) and told her he was fine now.

I woke up incredibly creeped out (that glade thing he was in just was wrong) and happy at the same time. 

                “blightcaller,” her voice carries flat in response, any possible impression is easily dropped farther than sylvanas ever fell. of course, the truth is irrelevant when you defy the laws of nature in a way this man has. it’s been a while. she almost didn’t recognize him. and possible ire jaina may receive from him only warrants further dismissal of such actions. her right hand dwindles on her staff idlely. 

                “better hands to hurtle into the ground on that floating spectacle,  &  i wish to be here to witness it. i hope by ‘much better’, you mean in the same way the horde now is.”

    Oh, how he hopes he's struck a nerve. Though Nathanos isn't personally slighted by what she has done in more recent years, he loathes anyone who pretends to be something they're not. She thinks she's better than the Forsaken. She isn't.

@blightcalled 

     “Apothecary is a strange hallmark for a race that seems to barely have functioning circulatory systems. Or is there a potion for that too?” He asked, only partially out of genuine curiosity.

( @blightcalled )

               the highlord sneers, a corner of his lip is pulled up in the process. a rather harsh sneer, when his nose is crunched up like an interns work on a bad day. the ilk of undercity had a distinguishable, or not rancid, smell about them. not completely repulsive, but rancid, nonetheless. the last time he’s seen nathanos, was when the ranger was no more than skin, bones,  &  very little flesh. sylvanas must have gotten tired of the aesthetic of her own people if she resorts to changing nathanos’ very appearance.

           “dark ranger ——— i see you are being treated sufficiently. a shame.”

    Treated sufficiently is putting it lightly. His return had come with a surprising number of things—a sense of smell, taste, clearer vision and stronger limbs. Time held no grip on this body, and inevitable decay is no longer a fear he has. The only shame is the price he paid. He's grateful, there's no doubt about it, but still. Regret sometimes sits in the hollowed out pit of his heart like an unwelcome guest in his home.