He moved about on four titanic legs, a gargantuan, tusked demon with broad, clawed hands and huge, leathery wings now folded. A reptilian tail as thick as a tree trunk beat impatiently on the floor, leaving cracks in the sturdy stone. His toadlike head nearly scraped the ceiling as he moved among the much tinier Fel Guard-who wisely scattered from his path-for a better view. The green, fiery mane running from the top of his head to the tip of each of his squat hooves flickered wildly with every earth-shaking step.

Under a heavy, hairless brow, sinister orbs of the same baleful green gazed unblinking at the dark tableau. He who commanded the night elves in their unsettling task was one used to spreading fear, not feeling it. Yet, on this tempestuous night, the demon called Mannoroth was afflicted with the disturbing emotion. He had been given a command by his master, and he had failed. Never before had this happened. He was Mannoroth, one of the commanders of the Great One's chosen…

"Well?" the winged demon growled to the night elves. "Must I rip the head off another of you pathetic vermin?"

A scarred night elf wearing the forest-green armor of the palace guard dared to speak. "She won't approve of you doing that again, my lord."

Mannoroth turned on the upstart. Fetid breath washed over the pinched face of the helmed soldier. "Would she complain as much if I chose to give her your head, Captain Varo'then?"

"Very likely," returned the night elf without any sign of emotion flickering over his own face.

The demon thrust out one meaty fist more than large enough to engulf Captain Varo'then's skull, helmet and all. The clawed fingers encircled the elf-then withdrew. Mannoroth's master had decreed early on to him that the queen of the night elves and those important to her were to be left untouched. They were valuable to the lord of the Burning Legion.