Chapter 652

Chapter 652: Grim Batol

An Orc Warlock wore a dark purple Robe of the Void and held a dark magic wand. He carried a sapphire demon sword and stared at the huge vine-covered door. The anvil symbol on it was still clear despite the plants.

Below the high cliffs of Grim Batol, earthen walls and wooden gates lined the main path to the entrance. Wooden spikes and stakes piled below. Orcs guarded each wall in different numbers.

Jesse stepped out from the woods. He planned to walk boldly with Molofeel toward the main gate path when roars echoed from the nearby trail.

Several Orc sentinels ran up, yelling for him to stop. At the same time, a patrolling red dragonlet in the sky lowered slowly. Jesse could see the armored Orc rider on its back.

The dragon rider stared at Jesse, shouting in a strange language. Jesse panicked for a second. He had thought of many questions but hadn’t expected not to understand a word.

But Jesse felt sure of his Orcish. He soon realized what was wrong. "I don’t speak your tongue, Dragonmaw clan member," he said angrily.

Hearing this, the rider’s eyes widened. In Orcish Jesse understood, he said, "Warlock, you’re not Dragonmaw. Where are you from? Your clothes don’t show your identity."

Jesse noticed the Orc’s accent was very different from the Orcish he’d learned. It wasn’t like others, including Teron Gorefiend. Luckily, he hadn’t pretended to be a Dragonmaw Orc. They had their own odd dialect.

He knew most Orcish he’d studied was from the Blackrock Clan. The Blackrock Clan led the Horde’s invasion of Azeroth and was the first Great Chief’s clan. So their Orcish spread wider and became standard. The Dragonmaw Orcs speaking it proved that.

Confidently, he fixed a tired look on the rider. "I come from Blackrock Mountain. The Great Chief sent me to see the Dragonmaw clan’s leader. I bring vital news for Grim Batol."

The Great Chief meant Rend, not Orgrim or Ner’zhul. Rend formed a new Horde at Blackrock Spire, and the Dragonmaw clan quickly swore loyalty.

"Show us proof from Blackrock," the Orc rider shouted.

Several Orc patrollers closed in. Jesse glanced at them and rolled up his sleeve. When the dragon claw mark showed, it glowed like fire. For a moment, Jesse thought he heard Deathwing chanting spells…

Was Deathwing helping him?

Seeing the light, the red dragonlet below roared in fear. Its wing beats faltered, blowing wind that almost knocked soldiers over.

Despite the young dragon’s panic, Jesse stayed calm. He stood firm as his robe and wand flapped.

The dragon could tear him apart if it lost control, but he locked eyes with it without fear. He even surprised himself at how steady he felt.

He had killed two black drakes already. This young dragon looked weaker, not stronger. Compared to what he’d face later, it was nothing.

His only worry was Vereesa and Greed, hiding nearby and ready to help. The wind might expose them. But Jesse saw the dragon rider struggling not to fall off, not watching for hidden spots.

After the young dragon calmed, one sentinel stepped up and looked at Jesse’s arm.

Staring at the clear dragon claw mark, the soldier swallowed nervously.

Jesse had thought of other proofs, like using his Shadow Council ties or showing his Gorefiend wand. If he couldn’t prove he was from Blackrock Spire, he could show high rank in the Horde. That way, even if Nekros doubted him, he’d have to meet.

But seeing the soldier’s face and feeling his fear, Jesse understood. This Orc had seen something like it before.

That was good and bad. It made Jesse seem real, but it meant he wasn’t the only one here tied to black dragons, maybe another Blackrock envoy.

Then the dragon rider shouted from above, "The Dragonmaw clan means no disrespect to the Great Chief. Commander Nekros ordered us to treat Blackrock Spire envoys well. This is just routine, Warlock."

"I don’t mind the delay," Jesse said in his heavy voice. "It’s a key time on this side of the Dark Portal. We must drop disputes and build the new Horde together. For the Horde."

"For the Horde!" the dragon rider thumped his chest. He told the other Orcs, "Watch this warlock from Blackrock Spire. I’ll go report to the commander."

The Orc had urged the dragon whelp toward the city, not flying through the main gate but entering the mountains from above. He hoped Greed and Vereesa would notice the entrance the whelp used, as it might prove useful later.

Some time after he entered the city, several Orc roars echoed from the direction of Grim Batol’s gate, and the nearby Orc soldiers quickly stepped aside.

All seemed well; Nekros was quite interested in the black dragon mark.

Jesse straightened his tattered collar and walked step by step toward the gate with his staff. Knowing everything proceeded smoothly, he sensed the imp stirring into action—meaning Greed and Vereesa had begun their move.

The towering stone doors of Grim Batol stood open just wide enough for three or four Orcs to squeeze through side by side. Against the colossal gate whose top strained the neck to see, this opening seemed little more than a crack.

The gate’s stone slab bore terrifying claw marks. Judging by the spacing between the talons, only a massive dragon could have left them. Jesse guessed the Dragonmaw clan might have battled rebellious red dragons here—or enslaved them to shift this seemingly immovable door.

Following several Orc soldiers through the gap, he plunged into utter darkness.

Before him stretched a vast black corridor, its ceiling vanishing into shadows even the nearby braziers couldn’t pierce.

Walking through it, he felt the palpable threat of shadow energy—a hazard to health. The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of shadow and a pungent, sickly stench. It reminded Jesse sharply of the beastly odor clinging to the "Dark Night Baron" he’d met aboard the ship to Lordaeron.

After navigating corners and descending stairs, he squeezed through another gate-like fissure and finally stepped inside Grim Batol proper.

A curved street lay ahead, clearly part of a full circular path as Greed had described.

Distant screams echoed as Jesse surveyed his surroundings.

Beyond the street’s outer railing gaped a massive chasm—an abyss within the mountain—with another parallel street on its far side. Roads flanking the void, coupled with windows and doors carved densely into the rock face and grand dwarven statues, formed this spectacular dwarven district.

It reminded Jesse of Ironforge from the game. He’d never imagined Grim Batol would be his first true dwarven city after his journey—though technically Aerie Peak came earlier. Even the Wildhammer dwarves wouldn’t call Aerie Peak a real "dwarven city."

To them, a true city meant colossal mountain or underground dwellings like Ironforge, Shadowforge City, or Grim Batol—impressive and solemn, embodying dwarven architecture.

Sadly, the Orcs here showed no interest in dwarven ways. They ignored the orderly stone rooms set into the walls, littering streets and squares instead with animal hides, makeshift huts, and sprawled bodies. War supplies lay scattered; weapons and armor cluttered their crude dwellings.

Yet this wasn’t mere ignorance. Jesse studied the seemingly sturdy stone houses above—most showed damage, some chunks torn away as if smashed. Likely, passages between buildings had collapsed during past wars with the Dark Iron Dwarves or crumbled over time, blocking access.

Greed would lament seeing this, Jesse thought.

Speaking of Greed, Jesse tried using Detect Demon to scan above the city for the imp’s location but sensed nothing.

At least the bond with the imp remained, waxing and waning. It meant the imp still acted—likely seeking the best moment to enter Grim Batol. For now, Jesse could only trust them.

Observing the city as he followed the Orc soldiers, he crossed a stone bridge over a deep street chasm. Peering down, he saw only bottomless darkness seething with terrifying shadow power.

Though he couldn’t feel it directly, the dark magic rising from the depths suggested the city’s shadow energy originated here.

Reaching the opposite street, the strange cries grew louder. Soon, rounding a corner, he saw a red dragon whelp pinned by Orcs. Despite matching the black dragon he’d seen in size, it was emaciated, half its scales gone, looking half-dead—as if drained of life.

"Not all whelps are like this, warlock," the Orc officer leading him said, turning his head. "The commander says we’ll soon raise strong ones again—strong enough to fight the Alliance. We won’t disappoint the Great Chief."

Jesse snorted. "No doubt. The Great Chief has full confidence in your work."