A Blood Lord's Chronicle - The story of Manovan Marrowsteel

((Story written by Manovan))
The mine was dark and cold with fresh blood covering the floor and walls. The only light brightening the scene was a dampened red glow coming from the surrounding bloodstone ore. What was left of the adventurers was now being feasted on by a skinny undead with dirty robes and a grim look. For months he had been living on the creatures who had dared to enter the mine. He felt he was losing it. If he hadn’t lost it already. What was left was a pitiful excuse of a monster. He felt weak. Tormented by the memories of his prime. He was a lord once.

Manovan Marrowsteel, they called him. The Blood Lord.

It was the nostalgia and his ambition that had kept him alive in this prison. This mine was the only thing that accepted him. The bloodstones were the only thing that reminded him of what he once used to be, and what he still was destined to become. He had been close to accomplishing his goal – at least the first major step towards it.

But he was defeated. Betrayed by someone who shared his blood. His cousin. He wanted revenge on the traitor, who had turned against him and drained most of his former power. “I’m going to cleans your soul”, he had said. “I’m going to give you redemption.”

How ridiculous.

Chapter I - The beginning

Manovan remembered where it all started. Back when he was still human. War had once again come to Lordaeron and his cousin was preparing for battle. He hated him at the time. He was two years older than Manovan and had been trained in Stratholme and joined the Order of the Silver Hand. Manovan was jealous of the honor he had and the power he was given. He felt disgraced by his family for giving the legacy to the nephew and not to the son.

Dunbaton, his cousin, was about to meet Uther Lightbringer and that bastard prince Arthas outside of the capital gates. Orcs had escaped from their internment camps and the paladins were set out to take care of it all. Manovan couldn’t remember it very well. He didn’t care then. He didn’t care now.

When Dunbaton had left, Manovan walked his sister, Cianghella, back home to the mansion in the city. Their father, Joshua, was a retired paladin and a rich noble. They had one of the biggest mansions in Lordaeron, and the family had always been close friends to the royalists and big within politics. They were an important part of the council.

Manovan’s life was settled. But not as a paladin, but as a pathetic noble. He had it all, but wanted none of it. He wanted the honor and power of being a paladin, something his cousin had and not him. He could kill him for it. He wished him dead in that war. Dunbaton probably knew. But he treated him well. Too well. He was actually so nice that it was disgusting. It was a fake purity.

Shortly thereafter, Cianghella got sent to work as a maid on a farm in Corin’s Crossing. Their parents called it rehabilitation. She was nothing more than arrogant trash with more lovers then fingers on her hands. She slept with everyone – only 16 years old. Sometimes she slept with more than one the same night. She was trouble, but Manovan didn’t care about that. She was the only one who could make him smile. The only person he could feel connected to.

It was ironical to think about his past emotions now, when he was ripping out the lungs of a female corpse in this cave, tearing them apart with his teeth. Feeling the juices flow down his chin more satisfied with each piece of meat he devoured. As ridiculous as it sounds, he actually cared about someone once. He used to be human after all.

When his parents sent Cianghella away, he was bored and alone. So one day, he decided to go visit her. He took his fastest horse and rode out. The orcs who had escaped didn’t bother him. He only wanted to see his sister.

When he arrived to Corin’s Crossing, nothing seemed to be wrong with Cianghella. She actually seemed to enjoy crawling on all four, pulling herbs from the dirt. Though Manovan couldn’t see her in person. His parents forbid it. But he waved to her, looked at her from afar. But that visit wasn’t his only reason for traveling east. He had ordered a sword to be made from the best, and most expensive, sword smith in Stratholme. He knew how to fight with a sword and he wanted one for protection. In case he would encounter any orcs. He had never seen any, but he hated those green beasts. He had heard they were nothing more than primitive barbarians. Something he could relate to even to this day, being a former ally to the Horde.

The road to Stratholme was a pain. Manovan never encountered any orcs, but he saw people. Sick people. He noticed how people had changed. He witnessed the scars of war. Diseases and death. Like a plague. But when he came to Stratholme, it was too late. It was not a city anymore. The remaining citizen seemed delusional, claiming something about Arthas being the one killing them all. All Manovan had on his mind at the time was if Cianghella still was safe at the farm.

But then he saw them.

Dunbaton was with Arthas. They were stocking up corpses in huge piles, setting them on fire. They were all tainted by the plague. At the time, Manovan didn’t know of its consequences. He was still young and had never seen anything like it before. He was in shock. Fascinated of course, but shocked.

Dunbaton noticed him. Manovan could see in his eyes that he was a changed man. He would probably never smile as he used to anymore. Manovan couldn’t imagine what he had seen. Dunbaton was empathic. A strong paladin but weak-minded. That’s why he didn’t stand him.

Arthas drew his hammer when he noticed Manovan, but Dunbaton convinced him to put it down. They told Manovan about the corrupted grain that made people into living dead. They had cleansed the city. The Silver Hand was disbanded. Much had happened, and Manovan was too confused to think about it. He needed to get back to Corin’s Crossing, to see if Cianghella had eaten of the grain. As Manovan noticed the battle-worn armors of prince Arthas and Dunbaton, he felt weak and useless. He could do nothing while they were going to Northrend to fight some dread lord.

So he rode. He went back to the farm, but it was too late. He noticed how things had changed. People were sick. Alive still, but sick. He ran around the farm looking for his sister. She was hiding in the barn – her clothes were ripped and she was naked. The boys had violated her. They had gone mad from eating the grain. Furious, Manovan told Cianghella to stay put while he sought them up.

When he found them he beat them up. Badly. They were younger then him. Probably not older than seventeen or eighteen. And he almost killed them. And it felt wonderful.

He went back to Cianghella and asked her if she had eaten the grain. Which unfortunately she had. Pondering the situation, Manovan decided with two options. Either kill her or leave her.

He couldn’t kill her (at the time) so he locked her up in the barn. He heard her cries and screams for miles. But he didn’t regret it. There was no other option. She was infected. He disposed of the problems. That was all.

So he returned to Lordaeron. Everyone knew about the Plague by then. His parents actually thought he had been killed. They asked for Cianghella, and Manovan said that he hadn’t found her. But he knew she was probably walking around like a mindless, naked zombie in that locked barn. He didn’t even get his sword since the sword smith in Stratholme had been killed. It was such a useless trip.

Manovan lived in safety behind the great walls of Lordaeron until the war was supposedly over and the prince had returned home. Dunbaton didn’t come with him. Apparently he died in Northrend. Not that Manovan cared though. He was glad he died. He didn’t get to know the exact circumstances behind Dunbaton’s death before he got the news of him joining the Forsaken, so he assumed his death was as pitiful as himself. Manovan grinned when he thought about it. The last time he met him, Dunbaton didn’t have a jaw, so he’s not really the talkative type.

Manovan didn’t remember much in between, but suddenly the capital was burning and people were either running, fighting, screaming or dying. And those who died quickly stood up again and kept fighting… but for the wrong side.

Manovan was in the mansion with his parents and their servants. His father wielded his old hammer from the Order and had dressed in his armor. He wanted to end his life as a show off. The servants were barricading the entrance. They heard the Scourge outside, trying to break the door, moaning and roaring.

The door shattered. The servants were the new barricade, but they went down quickly. Joshua shouted at Manovan and his mother to flee through the backdoor. He was going to hold the undead off to buy some time. Dozens of them ran in through the door. Skeletons. Zombies. Even an abomination. The last thing Manovan could see of his father was his divine shield wearing off and him getting killed by monsters while trying to heal himself with the Light. How weak.

So Manovan and his mother tried to escape. They ran towards the outer gates. The gate was still open. The battle seemed endless. The more humans died the more minions the Scourge had. It was clear they would lose. When they got to the gate, the undead were behind them. Manovan could even see his father limping toward them, with his hammer sc@@*%!* the ground after him. Manovan’s mother was in shock, which was good actually, because he could use her to get away alive.

He pushed her into the crowd of undead and then ran as fast as he could. South. He had no regret of giving up his mother like that. She would have slowed him down and got them both killed. He didn’t even feel bad about it. Saving himself was more important.

He ran and ran until he reached the town of Southshore. This would be his new home until the migration to Theramore opened at the war’s end. He had heard the bravery of the heroes of the Alliance, and he knew that he could still do something with his life. A former noble of Lordaeron, now a poor carpenter apprentice at the docks. He was going to become a warrior, and Theramore was where it would all begin.

Manovan went to Theramore for redemption.

Chapter II - Redemption

Manovan sat on the throne he had built from the skulls of fallen adventurers who had dared to enter the mine. It was the deepest room in the cave, one brightly lit by the glowing bloodstones and which had been decorated for months like a bird’s nest by the remains of all his prey. He looked at his hands. They had once been refreshed by a dragon in Shadowmoon Valley, but were now once again falling apart – rotten. He had been sitting here for seven months, sealed inside by an old druid friend for his own protection. Only himself had control of the seal but wasn’t ready to return outside. He would loosen it from time to time, whenever he could feel the presence of adventurers entering the cave. He lived on them, slowly regaining some strength. But he had to protect himself from Dunbaton, who probably still tried to find him to finish what he started.

Manovan should have killed him all those times when he had the chance. Instead he had let him live, tried to lead Dunbaton on a darker path. With hope of maybe one day uniting as allies on his quest for power. Manovan had been the one wanting his cousin dead when they were alive, but now in their afterlife the tables were turned. It was ironic.

He was only 24 years old when he moved to Theramore, where he could finally start his own carpenter business while trying to get a hold of lady Jaina Proudmoore. Her adventures had fascinated him and motivated him to pick up the path of a soldier. But she was always inside that keep of her’s, not answering to anyone as poor and useless as Manovan currently was. He wrote a letter and signed it with the Marrowsteel sigil, with hope of that being enough to convince her to let him enter the new paladin Order. She couldn’t ignore a former noble. He would never forgive her if she did.

A month went by, maybe two, before Manovan got a letter from lady Proudmoore with acceptance into the Order. It said that “with respect to your fallen cousin and father, paladin Dunbaton Marrowsteel and paladin Joshua Marrowsteel, who fought bravely for the kingdom of Lordaeron, you have been granted acceptance into the Order as an apprentice paladin. May you live up to your noble name of Marrowsteel in these dark times.” It was ridiculous. But it had worked. He was in.

The training started in Northshire in Elwynn Forest. It was another continent, a distant land and kingdom. His name meant nothing in Stormwind. It meant nothing after the destruction of Lordaeron. But he trained – hard. And he was talented.

Not long after him joining the Order he was accepted into the ranks of the Theramore Lancers. He needed the extra money which that band of mercenaries could provide him. And his training went on with them. He found a new home in Lakeshire, in Redridge Mountains, and helped protecting the town from ravaging orcs and attacking bands of undead. Manovan fought daily, and got stronger as a paladin. He learned how to wield the Light and how to strike down his opponents. But it was after the invasion of the House of Praetoria in Redrige Mountains, when Manovan got promoted to captain of the paladins. He was accepted as a true warrior. He was living up to his uselessness during Lordaeron’s fall.

But all good had to come to an end. The leadership of the Lancers was corrupted and ashamed; Manovan left the guild to find a new life in Stormwind. That’s where he met Dagren of Stormwind Militia and they became good friends. They fought side by side for weeks and Manovan grew stronger within the ranks of the Militia.

Manovan felt stronger. He knew that he was ready to return to Lordaeron to see what had become of his old home. The Militia at first disagreed on his request, but after much negotiation, Manovan was stationed in Lordaeron – at first under Dagren’s supervision. He went to Southshore, rode north along Silverpine Forest and finally arrived to the ruins of the capital. But his presence was quickly noticed by Forsaken scouts. He was ambushed and couldn’t hold them all off. The last thing Manovan remembered before his eyes blackened was how Dagren ran into the battle trying to save his life. But it was in vain.

He was dead… for now.

Chapter III - Rebirth

Had it been a curse or a blessing? Manovan didn’t know. Sometimes when he thinks back at the time of his rebirth, he wonders if he rather would have gained rest in death. Instead he was reborn in this Forsaken body, which with time he grew more comfortable with than he was with his living one. Before light returned to his eyes, he could hear the Dark Lady’s voice in his head. She called on him, told him to obey, ordered him to feed. But there was some static and another voice intervened. That voice told him to pull through. It welcomed him to his afterlife and convinced him to embrace his new darkness.

It was Eligor Silver who took care of him. When the Forsaken taught him to follow orders, Eligor taught him to remember his past. Manovan was ambivalent. Pulled between two forces. The one of the Lady and the one of Eligor. It wasn’t really the darkness and the light, more like two different dark.

Manovan had been reborn in Eligor’s Forsaken body, which was slain by a Forsaken exile called Kegan Darkmar in Silverpine Forest. Manovan had been cremated, and the soul in his ashes had been used for this experiment. To see if the greatest of warriors could be reanimated again and again in different bodies. Manovan was the first soul. Eligor was the first body. Something had gone wrong. Eligor’s soul had been too powerful to fully exorcise and Manovan’s was too weak to fully take over. They were two minds sharing the same body.

Eligor taught Manovan how to use the darkness he had been given. Manovan trusted him, loved him as if it were himself, but slowly got pulled into a black hole without return. He learned to love his powers and together they wrote contracts with demons.

Manovan met House of Praetoria, which he had remembered fighting before in Redridge Mountains. He joined them for the last battle against the druids of Circle of the Moon and the Knights of the Silver Lion. The battle was a loss, and the guild was abandoned. But Manovan who grew more into the undead ranks, was accepted as an elite guard in the new-formed guild, the Council of Medivh led by Drakarm… the traitor.

Manovan and Eligor used that organization to grow stronger as a warlock. But it wasn’t until they had a mission at Dalaran, when Manovan’s destiny would change into a completely new direction.

Chapter IV - Bloodstones

Manovan found a journal. It had been tossed over to him in the ruins of Dalaran by his guild superior Bracken. While he didn’t care much about it, a book like any other, Eligor immediately recognized the writing. It was the research journal of Eligor Silver’s cousin, warden Belamoore, who had been located outside of Dalaran and slain by their hands. Manovan wasn’t hard to convince to read the journal because Eligor’s temptation became his own. He read it – and got fascinated by it.

It explained the power of the bloodstones; divine gems with enough power to control demons. It drained blood and fused with it, pulsed with a red glow, and tempted Manovan enough to track a source of ore and harvest it. It was here in Drywhisker Gorge, his mine.

Manovan looked around himself. Bones were scattered in the room and on top of a pile of bodies, he sat on his throne of skulls. Along the walls around him glowed the stones he hadn’t yet harvested. He didn’t need them anymore. He had been using these stones for years but his addiction to them was gone. He was here only for the nostalgia. And the peace.

But it was the journal which had started it all. It was Eligor’s word. Manovan harvested more and more of the ore, and sent a sample of it to his superior Abraxas. The next day he had got the report and a further understanding of the bloodstones. He would use them to empower his fel energies. Not as weapons and items but permanently. The question was how.

He got himself a small corner in the Apothecarium in Undercity where he had a desk and a human prisoner. He experimented with the stones for weeks before he knew what needed to be done. He had to fuse with a stone and use it as life force. The bloodstone’s powers would flow directly into his body and he would greatly improve his demonic abilities.

So Manovan took a bloodstone and pressed it with all his might through his ribcage and into his heart. He could immediately feel his power growing, but there was something he hadn’t counted on. That stone triggered an almost unbearable addiction to the bloodstones. The addiction corrupted his personality and made him schizophrenic. All he could think about was devouring more of that wonderful power.

He realized that being bound to rules and order; he couldn’t concentrate on harvesting the bloodstones. So he left the guild and created his own, the Bloodstone Order, in which he lured members by promising them power – when he instead used them to expand his bloodstone collection. It was a working guild, created simply to give him power, but masked as an order of mercenaries. His brainwashed subordinates referred to him as the Blood Lord, a title which he uses still to this very day.

Chapter V - Conflicts

The Bloodstone Order. That was just the beginning. Manovan realized that to attract the minions he needed for his Order, he needed to get into the guild hierarchy. He had to find allies. Organizations on his side. People he could lean back on, and manipulate, who wouldn’t have a clue of his true purposes with the Order.

The targets were House of Sylvanas and Theatre of Cruelty. He needed to get the House on his side, because an allegiance with the Dark Lady could be the best method of growing in status. And within the Horde, status and rank is all that mattered. Theatre of Cruelty was targeted because they overwhelmed by this dark and sinister atmosphere which Manovan felt very comfortable with. He felt that they could be used if needed.

But there was one guild that he hadn’t counted on – the Council of Medivh. His old organization, but now merely a religious cult. They knew Manovan and trusted him, but they were against the Forsaken leadership and an alliance with the House could mean a grudge with the Council. Manovan had to prioritize, and he chose the wrong side.

For days he tried to keep a balance between both organizations, despite their grudges with each other. It all came down to one evening in Booty Bay, where things took an interesting turn for the Order. The House and the Council had decided for a meeting to form a truce and create an alliance between their two guilds. But something was in the air. Something odd. The Bloodstone Order was invited by Eriminia and Gahs of the House to keep their eyes opened in case the Council would try something funny.

And they did. A battle occurred. And it was bloody. Lady Eriminia suffered an assassination attempt by the Council’s rogues but survived because of one of Manovan’s soulstones. The House, some from the Theatre and the Order quickly transferred to Undercity with the shaken up lady. The leader of the Council, Drakarm, got a fifty gold bounty on his head by the Dark Lady and he rarely showed up in Horde towns since the incident.

But this was just the beginning. The Bloodstone Order got closer to the House of Sylvanas after the battle, and they were often targeted by members of the Council of Medivh. A couple of weeks later, when things started to calm down, very secret information had leaked from the Order. Someone was a spy for the Council, and the spy’s capture was urgent.

Manovan had gotten a bigger laboratory in the Apothecarium and he had his minions gather members of the House, without permission from Eriminia and Gahs, and used foul methods to interrogate them. One of these was Miriah, which he realized that he shouldn’t have threatened because the leaders of the House quickly took notice. This desperate attempt at finding the spies proved to fracture the alliance between the House and the Order, and Manovan came to one last conclusion. He had to face Drakarm himself and get the information out of him.

He found the Council in the Ruins of Lordaeron. He heard them laughing, shouting, drinking and dancing. Drakarm stood at a podium and held a speech about something unimportant and uninteresting. Manovan summoned the Eye of Killrogg and took a closer look. He got noticed quickly by them, and complete silence occurred. Manovan had his scouts stay back and approached the Council to confront Drakarm.

The meeting wasn’t hostile. There were no attempts to kill each other. Drakarm said that he knew what the bloodstones were doing to Manovan and it was growing into a threat. He said that Manovan was becoming more and more corrupted and had to be stopped at once. It’s ridiculous to think about now one and a half years later, but the Drakarm of the time reminded a lot of cousin Dunbaton.

And it was around this time when Dunbaton took his first steps in Deathknell.

Chapter VI - Blood relations

Was Manovan the last of his clan? No. And he was mad about it.

Dunbaton had awakened in Deathknell. Apparently a Forsaken scout group had seen him wandering around at the shores of Northrend, taken him down and taken him in. Converted him from a mindless Scourge to a redeemed Forsaken. He was beaten up. With a skin that had been torn apart by the cold Northrend wind for years and his jaw had been since long gone.

Manovan heard about his awakening from one of his Death Stalker minions in Tirisfal Glades. One stationed in Deathknell to supervise and observe in case any potential new blood would arise. He mentioned a man who looked weak but who fought strongly. Someone with long blonde hair and a tunic with the Marrowsteel crest. It was the first time in Manovan’s afterlife that he reacted in such a way, but he almost dropped his jaw. Cousin Dunbaton was back. Not really alive, but aware of his existence. His status was weak and fairly corrupted, but he seemed aware still of who he was and neglected what he had become. He was still looking for redemption, but could no longer feel the Light within his soul. He was nothing anymore.

But why was that? Manovan had his memories of his past because of Eligor Silver had taught him how to break loose. For Dunbaton there must have been another reason. But whatever reason there was, Manovan didn’t care. He couldn’t meet the relative he despised. At least not if he would know and recognize Manovan within this new body of his. They had to go separate ways.

Manovan acted like a secret benefactor for his cousin, had his Death Stalkers lead him on a darker path. Tried to bring out the last of his soul and make him into a true monster. But it couldn’t be done. Dunbaton realized someone interfering with his destiny, and he quickly heard the his family name be whispered among the undead he met.

Eager for reunion, Dunbaton tried to arrange a meeting with his cousin, but Manovan kept him away. It was too early. But that didn’t help. Dunbaton sought him up and encountered him alone, but the encounter was awkward. While Manovan could recognize his former cousin, as he had thought of his skin as fairly rotten even in his life, Dunbaton saw nothing of Manovan in this new him. It was a different height of the body, a different color hair and a different atmosphere. This was not the arrogant, childish Manovan. It was darkness, demonic corruption and evil. There was no way that they were relatives.

“What happened to you, cousin?” Dunbaton had asked. His voice was no longer as beautiful as before, but of a gurgling gutter speak due to his lack of jaw.

“You’re supposed to be dead, Dunbaton.” It had been Manovan’s wish for so long.

“And so I was, but what I saw in Northrend changed me. It was vengeance that made me break through the corruption and regain my own free will.”

“You should be dead. Yes, you’re going to die.”

Dunbaton looked surprised by Manovan’s aversion to converse.

“Is it really you in there, cousin?”

“When we meet next, none of your soul will remain. You will be an undead slave and nothing more.”

That had been the first time their paths crossed. Manovan could never change his cousins destiny, and it was after he lost every glimpse of power he had within the Horde, when Dunbaton took up his new path. To free his cousin from his darkness. Though weeks before, not long after Manovan’s and Dunbaton’s meeting, another familiar soul arose from Deathknell. A girl. Tortured by pain and corruption. Weak for Sylvanas words.

Cianghella was awake. But none of her soul remained. Manovan had to change that and did everything he could to regain some of her past emotions back into her heart. She was an experiment, and the tools were bloodstones.

Chapter VII - Cianghella

“Put her on the table!” Manovan said to one of his death stalker minions who he had ordered to capture Cianghella.

She looked at him with dead eyes. Her blonde hair had lost some of its brightness since he last saw her, five or so years ago, when he had left her to die in the barn. Not a single expression was shown on her face and she seemed as cold as Manovan himself.

She said nothing and let the death stalkers lie her down on the table.

The only beings in the Apothecarium at the time were Manovan, two death stalkers and his sister who had no clue of who he was. Once she lied there, the death stalkers began tying her arms and legs and strap leather in a cross over her face to keep her head on the table.

She suddenly reacted. “Wretched scum!” she shouted. “Let me go! Troggs! Vermin!”

Manovan approached the table and pulled his hood back. His eyes were glowing with a bright red light and he took a bloodstone from one of his bags. He grinned wickedly, and held it up over her.

“I`m going to give you your soul back, dear sister”, he said and started channeling. The bloodstone pulsed and shot out a red beam into Cianghella’s chest. Her reactions slowly toned down and she got calm.

“Leave us!” Manovan commanded and the death stalkers silently left the laboratory.

An hour or so passed before Manovan spoke again. “What is your name?” he asked.

She answered: “Cianghella.”

“And your family name?”

She seemed to be thinking for a moment, before she answered: “Marrowsteel.”

Manovan grinned and stopped channeling. The ritual was complete. She wouldn’t be fully back, but she would have some of her past memories. That was the least he could do for leaving her to die in the hands of the Scourge.

He removed her straps and she sat up on the table, looked at him with a surprised and scared look. “Who are you?”

He felt a small temptation to tell her that he was her brother, but resisted it. It was too early for that. And his current form was too much for her gentle soul to handle at the moment.

“Your benefactor, Cianghella Marrowsteel,” he said. “Now keep serving the Dark Lady and don’t tell anyone about what happened here. If you do, I will know. If you need anything, I will know.”

And they parted.

For the first time since Manovan’s new life, he could feel some of his past emotions once again. He wasn’t the last of the Marrowsteels, and that was good. Because the clan would grow again… and take control over Lordaeron.

While enjoying this forgotten emotion, he could hear Eligor Silver chuckle inside his head.

Manovan, Manovan… he said. Have you forgotten about your destiny?

“I haven’t forgot, Eligor”, Manovan answered. “But things have changed… for now.”

Chapter VIII - Rebellion

Things quickly went bad. House of Sylvanas had broken their alliance to the Bloodstone Order because of Manovan’s earlier paranoia with the spies. He felt them around him constantly, and always had one or two death stalkers stealthing around him. The Theatre of Cruelty stuck to House of Sylvanas and the Bloodstone Order wasn’t trusted within the guild hierarchy. Manovan felt everyone’s eyes on him, and the pressure was too high.

Days past by and the last few loyal servants started questioning him. “You promised us power!” they said. “All we have done is slaving for you, and what have we got in return?” Manovan couldn’t take it anymore. He disbanded the Bloodstone Order, left the Eastern Kingdoms and traveled to the orcs’ capital Orgrimmar. It was him and Eligor’s voice, with no money nor servants. He had to do something. And it was urgent.

Manovan joined the organization Abnegation and raided Zul’Gurub and Molten Core, finally facing the mighty Ragnaros himself. He got powerful relics and enchanted items, but none of this satisfied him. He felt the bloodstones calling his name. He was craving them. He had to go back.

So Manovan returned to the Eastern Kingdoms, armed to the teeth with his new powerful equipment. He was prepared to take on Drakarm and the Council of Medivh and recreate a new and more powerful Bloodstone Order. But it was no use. He was hated and the guild masters’ distrust spread to the citizen. Undercity was no place for him anymore. He had to leave his laboratory in the Apothecarium and rethink his plans.

He went to the Drywhisker Gorge in Arathi Highlands – to the place where he used to harvest his bloodstones. The kobolds guarding the mine didn’t dare assaulting him, and they took care of most adventurers and members of the Syndicate who dared to try stealing the ore. Manovan entered the deepest room in the mine, surrounded by the glowing bloodstones and sat down.

He meditated for three months.

To be continued...

Chapter IX - The Praetorian’s return
((OOC: This happened so long ago I barely remember it correctly. Excuse me if what I write here isn't exactly what happened ingame. I wrote it as good as I could recall it. This part of the story took place November 2006.))

Manovan spent three months in Drywhisker Gorge. He meditated and wrote contracts with demons. He harvested bloodstones ore, grinded it and devoured it. He experimented on himself to find out the true powers of the stone. Each day, he felt the hunger overwhelming him. He hungered for the essence of the bloodstones, it’s deep and hidden power. The more he devoured, the more he could feel warm flames within his body. It was a drug to him. And he went so far in his corruption that he could feel Eligor Silver from time to time pull through and take over his mind. He had to get out of there. He couldn’t stand the isolation.

Manovan left the mine and traveled to Orgrimmar. His head was pulsing with pain and his body trembled. He had so many demons within him that he needed to release them. He wanted to kill. He wanted to channel his powers and slaughter.

He could almost feel his head burst open when he saw a familiar face. It was Drakarm, the traitor, and he was alone. When he spotted Manovan he didn’t twitch. Manovan grinned and approached his nemesis, greeted him with a fake bow and asked: “Have you missed me, old friend?”

Drakarm did nothing but look at Manovan with an indifferent look on his jawless face.

Manovan looked at him. He looked stronger than before, but something seemed off about him. Manovan noticed the tabard. It was the old crest of the House of Praetoria. Manovan remembered that band of terrorists. They rebelled against the Dark Lady. So they were reformed? And they dared to show their faces in Orgrimmar without being thrown into jail?

Another undead appeared. Manovan hadn’t seen his face before and he didn’t care about who he was. The stranger didn’t even glance at Manovan but approached Drakarm directly. “So it’s a deal”, he said. “You and your people are allowed into Orgrimmar but only under supervision.”

Drakarm nodded, turned his back against the stranger and walked away. Manovan was left behind – ignored. He muttered to himself. The pain was intense. He went into the Cleft of Shadow and rested for the night.

The following morning, he woke up from his meditation by an intense beat in his head and the shouts of an Orgrimmar guard. “Rebels! Capture the rebels!”

Manovan left the Cleft of Shadow and followed the shouts to the Drag, where he noticed a crowd of orcs and Forsaken at a hut. He noticed the “rebels” were wearing Praetorian tabards – there were three of them – and they sat pitiful on their knees surrounded by members of House of Sylvanas and other guilds.

While looking at the crowd, Manovan could hear a crack behind him. He turned around but saw nothing. But he knew something was there, stealthing before his eyes. He could feel the presence of a rogue.

“Reveal yourself”, he said.

What appeared before him formed a grin on his face. It was one of his former death stalkers, who he had ordered to keep an eye on Cianghella and Dunbaton.

“As you ordered, I would report to you as soon as you returned from Drywhisker Gorge, Blood Lord”, said the death stalker.

The death stalker took out an envelope from one of his bags and gave it to Manovan.

“You’re dismissed”, Manovan said with a grin. The rogue vanished and Manovan opened the envelope. Inside was a letter, written in blood ink:

Blood Lord,
As you ordered, we have not interfered with Dunbaton’s and Cianghella’s missions. Cianghella has mostly been within our borders, helping with the New Plague. Dunbaton, on the other hand, is traveling through Kalimdor. We have followed him to Camp Mojache in Feralas, where he has purchased a room in the inn for what seems to be a long time visit. He doesn’t seem to know about Cianghella being in Lordaeron, but we have witnessed him bribing members of the Horde for information about the Blood Lord. We have confirmed that he does not know of your current location.

Signed
X

Manovan crumpled the letter and burned it to ashes within the palm of his hand. He gazed over his shoulder and noticed the Praetorian rebels still being heckled by the crowd. What if he could use the House of Praetoria? Yes. As pitiful as they were, they could need someone to help them on their feet. And they could get him back on his feet.

Manovan approached the hut, faked a smile with his dislocated jaw and asked: “What’s all this fuss about?”

Some of the members from House of Sylvanas who recognized him avoided interaction. They probably distrusted him after he broke their allegiance a couple of months ago. One undead with House of Sylvanas’ tabard pointed at the captured rebels and said: “These vermin insulted the name of the Queen!”

“And the Warchief!” said an orc.

“Ah”, Manovan said. “I`m sorry about that. But these so called vermin work for me and I will stand surety for them. How much do you want? Five gold a head? Ten?”

“They work for you?” the undead asked, scratching his head.

“Indeed, I ordered them to deliver some papers to my good friend Neeru Fireblade”, Manovan lied. “Whatever insanities they spewed out, I`m sure it was under the infliction of mind control. Maybe a sick joke from your brethren?”

The undead put his hand on his sword and took a step back: “Nonsense! How do we know you’re not a rebel yourself?”

“Fifteen gold a head then?” Manovan opened his pouch and started to count coins.

The crowd looked at each other and Manovan. The three Praetorians noticed the confusion and fled. Manovan put the coins back in his pouch and closed it.

“Hey!” shouted the undead. “Get them!”

While they ran after the rebels, the undead twisted his head to Manovan and said: “I`ll deal with you later!”

Manovan chuckled and walked away. He knew he wouldn’t be popular in Orgrimmar anymore after this.

An hour or so later, Manovan found the rebels hiding in a farmhouse outside of Orgrimmar. Drakarm was there with the three rebels Manovan had helped to escape. Manovan tried to copy the fake bow he had greeted the traitor with earlier, but this time it looked even more fake than before.

“So this is that warlock you were talking about?” Drakarm said. Manovan thought Drakarm would probably have gasped if he had a jaw.

“One and the same”, Manovan answered.

“What do you want?”

“Don’t you remember me, old friend?”

Drakarm glared. “I do remember you, Manovan.”

“So where’s that grudge you hold against me, Drakarm?”

He shrugged. “You’re nobody now, Manovan. You’re a threat to no one.”

Manovan twitched. He felt hatred, and the hunger for blood within him increased that feeling.

“But you helped my subordinates, so I will listen to what you have to say”, Drakarm said.

“Good, because I want you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“My sister. Cianghella. I want you to let her into your ranks and keep her away from the Horde and our cousin, Dunbaton.”

Manovan tossed over a gold coin but Drakarm ignored it so it hit the floor.

“And keep her away from me. Understood?”

“It’s a deal.”

To be continued...
[ Post edited by Manovan ]

Chapter X - The new specimen

A week or so passed. Cianghella had joined House of Praetoria, clueless that Manovan was behind it all. She still looked so young. Her body was as pale and her hair was a blonde. It was almost as if she never had been killed at all. If not for the leather straps that still were across her face, she would look like any human girl. Manovan looked at her from a distance. Made sure that Drakarm and the others didn’t harm her in any way. He might be useless now without his Bloodstone Order, but he wasn’t poor. The Marrowsteel family was still rich. And he was the successor now. Not Dunbaton.

Dunbaton… Manovan was interested in his growth. He wanted to see him in person, not reading the reports of the only death stalker who still served him. Had Dunbaton chosen a darker path? Manovan wanted to see if a paladin’s purity had left his Forsaken soul. He traveled to Feralas and to Camp Mojache to find out.

What he saw was pathetic. Dunbaton sat outside the inn in Camp Mojache with his helm at his side and his glowing blue sword lying next to him. In his lap he held a gray kitten, which he gently pet with his bony hand. The kitten purred satisfied by the love it got from that undead.

What was this? Manovan almost gasped. He had never seen an undead this… human.

“Dunbaton”, he said and removed his hood.

Dunbaton looked up at Manovan with pity in his eyes. Only that he was the one pitying Manovan was ridiculous in itself.

“What do you want, cousin?”

“I want you”, Manovan said. “I want you to help me build a new order. Join me.”

“I refuse.”

Manovan muttered. “I can give you power, you know that.”

“If by giving me power you mean selling my soul for corruption, than you’re wrong.”

Manovan sighed. “How is that different than selling your soul to the Light? A Light which you can’t even wield anymore!”

“The Light told me that you wished me dead in that war, Manovan”, Dunbaton said. “You got what you wished for. Why do you need me now?”

“I want to reform our clan. Let our noble name be heard in Lordaeron again.”

“How? It’s only you and me…”

“And Cianghella”, Manovan said. “She’s Forsaken now, and under my supervision.”

“Cianghella?” Dunbaton stood up. “No way?”

“I`ll ask you again, cousin”, Manovan said with a grin. “Will you join me?”

Dunbaton grabbed his sword. “I can’t let you bring Cianghella with you into the Hell in which you have fallen, cousin!”

He swung his sword. Manovan took a step back.

“Very well”, he said and easily disarmed Dunbaton. He pitied his cousin. He had once been a great paladin and now he was nothing without the Light.

Manovan left Camp Mojache and rode north towards Desolace. On the way, he saw a druid lying on the ground. Manovan jumped off his dreadsteed and looked at the druid. It was a male. Looked like a Grimtotem. While approaching his “meal”, the tauren reacted and punched Manovan in the face. Manovan fell to the ground, surprised by the strength of the tauren, and quickly got back up.

“Forsaken or Scourge?” asked the tauren in orcish.

“Like a Grimtotem knows the difference”, Manovan answered.

“Please”, the tauren said. “Give me shelter among the Horde!”

Manovan grinned. “You punched me.”

“I`m sorry”, he said. “I`m Chewakk. Please, I need help, or the tribe will kill me.”

“Like I care.”

Then it got to him. Dunbaton had refused Manovan’s invitation so he needed someone to replace Dunbaton as his new specimen. Maybe this druid could do for now. And seeing how the demonic corruption of the bloodstones would affect a druid was an appealing thought.

“On the other hand”, Manovan said. “Why shouldn’t I help you? Why don’t you come with my to my laboratory in Undercity, and we’ll figure out what to do.”

“Thank you, sir!” the tauren said. “I owe you my life.”

Manovan grinned. Good to know, he thought. Very good to know.

To be continued...