Tale of a Hedonistic wizard

Far beyond the borders of the Empire, where the maps of human civilization faded into vague outlines and warnings of unexplored territories, there lay a realm untouched by any of the light races.

Here, in the heart of a jungle so dense and ancient that sunlight rarely penetrated its canopy, nature reigned supreme – or so it seemed to the casual observer. The lush and deep jungle covered several acres of land that seemed endless from a front view.

But nature, in its infinite complexity, often conceals secrets far darker and more profound than any human mind could conceive.

At the base of a towering cliff face, shrouded in mist and tangled vines, gaped an enormous cave mouth. Its jagged edges and smooth, worn interior bore an uncanny resemblance to the maw of some colossal, petrified whale. The locals, what few brave or foolish souls ventured this deep into the wilderness, whispered tales of an ancient god turned to stone, forever frozen in a silent scream.

Those who dared to enter the cave, however, found something far stranger than any petrified deity.

Beyond the initial cavern, where darkness should have reigned absolutely, lay the crumbling remnants of what could only be described as a subterranean palace. Fractured columns of black marble rose from floors inlaid with precious stones, many of which pulsed with an eerie, otherworldly light.

Tattered tapestries depicting scenes of cosmic horror and eldritch beauty hung from walls carved with symbols that seemed to shift and change when viewed from the corner of one's eye.

And at the heart of this impossible structure, on a balcony that overlooked an abyss of absolute darkness, stood two figures engaged in quiet conversation.

Norimar, his hulking frame a testament to his half-Orc heritage, leaned heavily on the ornate stone railing. His skin, a mottled green grey, was crisscrossed with scars that spoke of countless battles. A single tusk protruded from his lower lip, its tip carved with runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. His eyes, a startling amber, were fixed on the void below as he spoke.

His half-orc heritage gave him a bulky appearance, but the other half gave him a handsome appearance, making him a strangely human with an orc body.

"That human," he growled, his voice a low rumble that resonated with the very stones around them. "I don't understand his intentions."

Beside him, Wi'thas let out a chuckle that was equal parts amusement and disdain. The blood elf's lithe form starkly contrasted Norimar's bulk, his alabaster skin seeming to glow with an inner fire. Long, pointed ears twitched slightly as he turned to face his companion, revealing eyes that burned with an unnatural crimson light.

"He's a crazy bastard," Wi'thas said, a smirk playing across his delicate features. "You just let him do his bidding, otherwise, you never know what he might do. I'm sure he's off on his own, planning something again."

Norimar's brow furrowed, deepening the already prominent creases on his weathered face. "That may be," he conceded, "but we cannot afford such unpredictability. Not now." He turned to face Wi'thas, his expression grave. "That boy has returned. It is almost time."

The change in Wi'thas was immediate and striking. The casual amusement vanished, replaced by a predatory gleam of excitement. His eyes seemed to glow brighter, and when he spoke, there was an edge to his voice that hinted at barely contained bloodlust. He was strangely excited when they spoke about Jaegar, and Norimar's frown was evident in his peculiar behaviour.

"I can't wait to meet him again," the blood elf purred, running a slender finger along the edge of a dagger that had materialized in his hand. The blade's edge glinted with an oily sheen that spoke of potent and deadly enchantments.

Norimar grunted, clearly less enthused by the prospect. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, the rasp of his calloused palm against stubble audible in the stillness of the cavern. "But I couldn't find him all this time," he mused. "Where had he gone?"

Wi'thas twirled the dagger between his fingers with casual expertise as he replied. "Angus said that it might be the doing of those Shuanuhan bastards."

At the mention of the name, both Norimar and Wi'thas instinctively glanced around, as if expecting shadows to come alive and eavesdrop on their conversation. The Shuanuhan were not to be spoken of lightly, even in a place as removed from the world as this.

Norimar's frown deepened, a flicker of anger passing across his features. "If he had known about it, then why didn't he rescue him?"

The question hung in the air for a moment before Wi'thas burst into laughter. It was not a pleasant sound – more akin to glass shattering than any expression of mirth. "Like I said," he managed between bouts of laughter, "Angus is a lunatic."

As their voices echoed through the cavernous ruins, shadows seemed to shift and coalesce in the corners of the chamber. Whether it was a trick of the light or something more sinister was impossible to tell. Find your next read on empire

Both of them weren't least bothered by the background eerie presence, too engrossed in their conversation to notice. Wi'thas wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, still chuckling at the absurdity of Angus's antics.

After a tense moment, the shadows settled, and Norimar let out a long, slow breath. "That fucking lunatic bastard, he killed thousands of those orcs and ogres." His anger seemed to be boiling, visibly so much that his face became reddened with bloodshot eyes, "I had gathered those pathetic cretins and pushed them. Now they are all nothing but dried up corpses."

Wi'thas nodded, all trace of amusement gone from his face. "I don't know why he did that too. And you are all being bothered by it so much."

Norimar turned back to the balcony, his gaze once again fixed on the impenetrable darkness below. "And what of the boy?" he asked. "If he truly has returned, what does that mean for our plans?"