Ner'zhul sat in the dim corner of the tavern, a pitch-black cloak draped over him, concealing his bloated and malformed body, as well as his orcish face. He struggled to calm the rampaging void energy within him, preventing it from completely spiraling out of control.
For a while, he focused all his attention on his internal state, finding the massive shadow energy of the Old Gods to be a burden.
Fortunately, today the energy inside him was unusually calm, giving him a moment to catch his breath.
Sigh, finally got it under control.
Gasping for breath, Ner'zhul was filled with resentment—damn those Old Gods, damn Deathwing!
It was the first time he felt such powerful energy as a curse. With his strong control over energy, he would not be in such a sorry state if he had absorbed even one less essence of the Old Gods.
Beneath the black robe, his body trembled violently once more.
Thump, thump, thump, the table in front of him shook along with it.
