Supreme Beings of Azeroth

Buku's office was a work of art, and it was thanks to Onyxia's advice, with every piece of furniture and decor befitting her royal stature. The intricate carvings on the walls, the luxurious rugs underfoot, and the faint scent of exotic incense all came together to create an atmosphere that was at once regal and imposing. Buku knew her second in command was buttering her up every way she could to avoid harsher punishment in case of failure or misbehaving, as the dragoness was prone to outbursts if something didn't go her way and she knew it. The centerpiece, however, was the office desk - an imposing masterpiece of craftsmanship carved from rare wood from the Stormwind Kingdom and inlaid with delicate patterns of gold and sapphire by their finest crafters. Its matching chair, equally grand, was upholstered in supple leather, with a high back decorated with jewels.

Both items were worth a fortune, taken right from Stormwind Castle thanks to Onyxia. The dragoness had also spent some of her immense wealth to gift Buku mountains of clothing and jewelry only the richest nobility could afford. Shelves brimmed with priceless tomes bound in dragonhide, and tapestries woven from enchanted threads adorned the walls everywhere one looked.

Buku, however, wasn't easily blinded. She was well aware of what the dragoness was doing. Buku let her continue, though, if only because the gifts were nice and the dragoness's schemes were entertaining. But she didn't mistake bribes for loyalty. If Onyxia ever stepped out of line, she would be punished all the same no matter how many gifts she gave or how much she kissed her ass. After all, it wasn't the chair that ruled; it was the one sitting in it.

Today, however, the chair was being put to good use as Buku lounged in it, one leg crossed lazily over the other, effortlessly exuding authority. She wore a gown of deep obsidian, accented with subtle gold embroidery, a perfect match for the luminous crown of light resting gently atop her head. Her piercing gaze swept across the room, taking in the gathered figures. The guest area of her office had been specially arranged for the meeting. Sofas and chairs were set around a low, polished table that reflected the soft glow of heavily enchanted lanterns.

On a plush sofa to Buku's right sat Vanessa. The young woman was the very picture of eagerness, smiling like a midday sun due to Onyxia being absent. The dragoness was back in Stormwind, working her machinations as Katrina Prestor once more. There, she was laying the groundwork for diplomatic relations between Stormwind and Nazarick, with the ultimate goal of turning the human kingdom into a puppet state of the latter through any approved means necessary. Vanessa's rivalry with Onyxia was no secret. Though Vanessa was a capable and ambitious apprentice, her jealousy toward the dragoness often bubbled beneath her cheery surface.

Still, Vanessa had potential, lots of it, she clearly was a genius, even though only fifteen years old. Buku had decided to nurture her as one of the Empire's greatest assets, but she wasn't about to let the girl's ambitions run unchecked; some boundaries needed to be set. Vanessa was one of the Buku's personal attendants and students alongside ten young dragon girls selected by Onyxia, all of whom were exceptionally talented in their own right. The arrangement had been deliberate on Buku's part; a gentle reminder to Vanessa that while she was important, she was far from irreplaceable, and she got more apprentices to work with at the same time.

Beside Vanessa sat Edwin VanCleef, the infamous Defias Kingpin and now the overworked head architect of Nazarick. The man was an absolute wreck from head to toe. His hair, usually meticulously groomed, was incredibly disheveled, and deep, dark circles hung under his eyes. A chaotic mound of papers sprawled across his lap, their edges crinkled from constant hours of careless handling.

Every now and then, he would sigh heavily and sift through the mess, muttering curses under his breath. He still held the role of Defias Kingpin on top of fully embracing the duties of the head architect of Nazarick and rebuilding the Stonemason Guild, now on a full government payroll. This obviously led to the man slowly burning out from overwork. Buku made a mental note to discuss transitioning leadership of the brotherhood with Ainz. Edwin's brilliance was undeniable, but he was teetering on the edge of collapse, and one more load would send him crashing. She knew that mindset all too well.

Across from Buku sat Lashoxia, a dragoness in human form. She appeared no older than fifteen, though in truth, she was just nine years old. Like all dragons, Lashoxia matured rapidly, and by their cultural norms, she was already considered an adult, eligible for mating by whoever they saw fit. Yet, it was rare for dragons to bear offspring at such a young age; the children of younger dragons were often weaker, and their potential for strong offspring was limited compared to those born of more mature dragons.

Even Nefarian, notorious for his moral ambiguity, dismissed the notion of breeding with such youthful females. He much preferred to wait a few decades for them to grow in power before ordering them to lay as many eggs as possible. In the ageless hierarchy of dragonkind, there was no definitive peak - only the endless growth of size and power with ancient dragons like Nefarian and Onyxia towering over their younger kin.

Lashoxia sat with poise, her demeanor calculated and refined. Her long, ebony hair was gathered into a sleek tail and she wore a simple black robe that emphasized her unadorned elegance. Her expression was a mask of neutrality, but a subtle spark of eagerness lingered in her sharp amber eyes. The young dragoness had been chosen as the first candidate for the heretic hunters initiative - a groundbreaking effort to counter the ever-looming threat of Old Gods worship.

Lashoxia's selection was no accident; her brilliance and precision in spellcraft made her stand out amidst the rest. While she lacked the raw power to conjure devastating spells due to her young age, her cunning and finesse allowed her to outwit even older, more formidable dragons with far more power than she did. She wouldn't be the only one of course but Buku first wanted to solidify and establish a template on how to pick and train candidates and then expand the new organization.

Besides her sat a troll, his tall frame tense with nervous energy. At twenty-two, he was already recognized as one of the finest scouts of his kind, known for his unparalleled stealth and mastery of the spear. Yet here, in the presence of such esteemed company, he fidgeted like a child. His wild mane of blue hair fell about his face as he ran a hand through it repeatedly, his bright yellow eyes darting about the room. Pale blue skin, decorated with intricate white paint, glistened faintly under the light, his lean but defined muscles giving him the appearance of a predator in waiting. Clad only in a loincloth, his unease was palpable, though he dared not speak out of turn.

The room itself bore the air of a calculated purpose. Buku had chosen the guest area of her office for this meeting. The space was both intimate and imposing, dominated by the soft amber glow of enchanted lamps and the thin scent of parchment and ink. Seated in a plush armchair, Buku exuded effortless confidence, her body draped casually as she leaned back with arms and legs crossed. Her golden eyes roved over the two before her, dissecting them with clinical precision.

Buku's strategy was deliberate. She had chosen young recruits for her new organization with a clear goal in mind; to cultivate lifelong commitment and display that not only the most powerful elders could prove themselves useful. Youth brought with it malleability, and malleability meant ease of indoctrination. These individuals had yet to solidly cement their own agendas or become entangled in the distractions of family and social obligations. They could be shaped into the perfect instruments for her cause, loyal and unyielding in their training and belief.

Vanessa stood nearby, her movements precise as she handed Buku a thick, carefully bound document. The papers were crisp, their edges sharp, "We tested the void detection methods developed by Lord Nefarian," she began, her voice measured but urgent. "The results have been promising. While not every cultist dabbles in magic, there are other telltale signs worth paying attention to. Ambition, for instance. The Old Gods target the overly ambitious, as well as those who desperately curry favor with persons of influence. Both types warrant careful scrutiny."

Buku's golden eyes flicked to Vanessa as she flipped through the pages, scanning the contents with ease. "That would be obvious," she stated, her tone dry but thoughtful. "We've already tested everyone within our inner circle. Ainz and I could also order magically gifted to conduct these evaluations. Pairing agents into small groups… two to five, perhaps, would ensure a broader spread of critical skills."

"Casters alone won't suffice, ma'am," came Edwin's insistent voice. The tall, battle-scarred man leaned forward, his expression earnest. "In my humble opinion, proper strike teams are a must. Cultists rarely operate in isolation, losing agents to sheer enemy numbers would be a waste of resources."

Buku inclined her head, acknowledging his point. "Indeed. For now, I think we'll pair Lashoxia and Vel'gal." Her gaze shifted to the young dragoness and the troll, who sat with markedly different postures; Lashoxia poised and confident, Vel'gal tense but attentive. "The two of you can begin scouting for additional team members. By the end of the day, I want a decision on who will serve as the immediate team leader."

"Wouldn't that be me, ma'am?" Lashoxia asked innocently, blinking her eyes.

Buku arched her brow, her sharp gaze locking onto the young dragoness. "Just because you are a dragon, it doesn't mean you are a good leader," she retorted bluntly, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken lessons.

"Of course not, ma'am," Lashoxia replied smoothly, undeterred. "But if I may, my experience in group combat and tactical planning surpasses that of my companion. Vel'gal, skilled as he is, seems more accustomed to working alone given the nature of hunters. I have trained with my peers in group combat and excelled in tactical decisions." The dragon girl pushed on with confidence.

Vel'gal scratched the back of his neck, his wild mane shifting as he avoided eye contact. "Girl speaks da truth, ma'am," he admitted, his thick accent softened by an effort to sound formal. "I am not much for leadin', never have. I'm better at followin' orders and takin' out targets."

"Then it's settled," Buku declared decisively, her tone leaving no room for debate. "Lashoxia is in charge. Ainz and I will train you two personally in the spells necessary for effective interrogation. Meanwhile, search for suitable candidates to expand. This task demands individuals who can be trusted absolutely."

"Yes, ma'am," Lashoxia and Vel'gal answered in unison, their voices carrying different shades of resolve. Buku allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. The first pieces of her plan were falling into place.

The idea of controlling minds through light magic and the powerful [Dominate] spell filled Buku with quiet determination. Such tools would be indispensable when dealing with fanatics who would rather endure gruesome, agonizing deaths than betray their insane devotion to the Old Gods. Even with the limited knowledge she had of these ancient horrors, one fact stood clear: they couldn't, under any circumstances, be underestimated, and even her husband was preparing defenses against them as they spoke.

The black dragons spoke of ancient legends, passed down through whispers from the Titan Keepers. These myths told of the ancient wars between the Titans and old gods - a battle that left near-permanent scars upon the world, many of which could still be observed to this day if you knew what you were looking for. Though the Titans emerged victorious, they hadn't eradicated their foes. Instead, the Old Gods were imprisoned, for their destruction came at a steep cost. The death of even one had nearly torn the very fabric of reality apart, leaving the Titans with no choice but to seal the others away, the next best solution.

These revelations made Buku wonder if she and Ainz would also be seen as enemies by the Titans and their servants as foreign entities. Her power by Onyxia's admission far surpassed the Titan Keepers and perhaps rivaled the Titans themselves. A dubious claim but she had noticed a steady power increase which in hindsight was obvious. Artemel had warned her once, that her full potential had been deliberately locked away at first.

It was an effort, she suspected, to prevent her or Ainz from accidentally unleashing devastation upon the world in the early days of their new existence, whether on accident or on purpose. A safety measure, perhaps, but also a reminder of the power that simmered beneath the surface, waiting to be fully unleashed upon her enemies. That thought gave her pause. If she truly possessed the potential to rival the Titans, then what was her role in this unfolding cosmic narrative? Protector? Conqueror? Or something far more complicated?

Jaina Proudmoore rubbed her temples, her fingers tracing small circles as she stared at the towering stacks of reports and requests cluttering her desk. As the leader of Theramore, her workload seemed to grow exponentially by the week. The city, a neutral hub nestled in the heart of the Dustwallow Marsh, faced a ceaseless barrage of problems from the inside out. From procuring necessary food in the inhospitable swamps, rooting out a constant influx of sabotiers and spies, and maintaining vital diplomatic stability were burdens enough. Add to that her ongoing studies in magic under her mentor, Aegwynn - the former guardian of Tirisfal and one of the most skilled sorceresses of all time - and her days were consumed in their entirety, cutting into her sleep and ending what little entertainment and free time she had just to keep up.

Aegwynn had entered Jaina's life soon after the founding of Theramore. The former Guardian had chosen the surrounding marshlands as the setting for her twilight years, seeking solitude in a world that had long since moved beyond her era. What had begun as an unlikely friendship soon grew into a mentorship that shaped Jaina profoundly.

Aegwynn's past loomed large, as shadowed as it was illustrious. She was the mother of Medivh, the last Guardian, whose legacy bore both triumph and tragedy. It was Medivh who had opened the dark portal to Draeneor, unleashing the orcish horde upon Azeroth - an act that set the stage for untold chaos. And all of it, Aegwynn admitted, stemmed from her own hubris. Millennia ago, she had faced the avatar of Sargeras, the Mad Titan and Lord of the Burning Legion. Believing she had defeated him, Aegwynn instead became an unwitting vessel for his corruption, which she unknowingly passed to her son. In the end, Medivh had atoned for his crimes, helping to halt the legion's second invasion, but the weight of his actions - and his mother's - remained an eternal stain on their legacy, never to be forgiven.

Despite her history, Aegwynn proved to be an excellent mentor, if a bit grumpy and impatient at times. Under her tutelage, Jaina's magical skill had grown to new heights, likely turning her into one of the most powerful casters in the world.

But today, Jaina's thoughts were elsewhere. Something had stirred within Azeroth's magical currents; a ripple that resonated with unmistakable power. She had contacted the Kirin Tor answers, but even the mages of Dalaran could only narrow its source to the vicinity of Blackrock mountain, a near-untouchable domain. Their assessment ruled out immediate catastrophe, suggesting that the disturbance might be linked to the restless stirrings of Ragnaros the Firelord, who supposedly slept beneath the mountain. For now, all she could do was wait. Her duties in Theramore prevented her from abandoning her post to investigate personally, weighing her to her seat.

Her reverie was interrupted by the creak of her office door. Without looking up, she addressed the figure entering.

"More reports?" she asked, voice tinged with resignation.

"Lady Proudmoore," her assistant began, his voice taut with unease, "there is something requiring your immediate attention,"

Jaina glanced up, noting the tension in the young man's expression. He had worked with her for a few years, he wasn't easily surprised thanks to the adaptation of the youth. "What is it?"

"A fugitive arrived at our gates," he replied carefully. "His hands and ankles were bound in chains, and he collapsed shortly after declaring himself to be King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind. He has been taken to the infirmary and is being treated at the moment."

Her heart skipped a beat. "Varian?" she murmured, barely audible, the name catching in her throat. 'Could it truly be him?' 'Could he still be alive!?'

She wasted no time. Standing abruptly, Jaina didn't bother with the long walk to the infirmary. A flash of arcane energy enveloped her as she teleported directly into its main hall. The priests and nurses, long accustomed to her sudden appearances, barely glanced in her direction, continuing their work.

"Where is the fugitive?" she questioned a nearby priest.

"End of the hall, Lady Jaina," he replied, motioning with his hand.

Jaina moved quickly, her pulse pounding in her ears. As she entered the chamber, her eyes fell upon the figure lying on the bed. A nurse gently cleaned his wounds while a priest bathed him in the golden glow of holy light, healing wounds bit by bit. His skin was pallid, his body gaunt from hardship, and yet there was no mistaking his face.

"Varian," she whispered, her voice catching. It was him - the lost King of Stormwind.

"How is he?" she demanded, turning to the priest.

"He will live, but barely," the priest replied, his tone grim. "Whatever trials he endured, they've left him near death. It is a miracle he survived long enough to reach us, his body should've failed long before he reached us."

Jaina clenched her hands at her sides. Her mind raced, recalling the rumors and whispers that had surrounded Varian's disappearance. Many believed it was no accident but instead the work of corrupt nobles within Stormwind itself. The implications were staggering. She couldn't simply announce his presence here; it would invite chaos and possibly place him in further danger, which would in turn bring more work to her.

She needed someone she could trust - someone loyal beyond question to the crown. There was only one man who fit that description: Bolvar Fordragon.

For now, all she could do was wait, plan, and protect Varian until the time was right to reveal the truth.

Editing by NabeisWaifu and aidan_lo.

Proofreading by IAMTHEPLOKOKIOPO, fvvck, and aidan_lo.

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