** Note: I have done some work in the last few weeks on these chapters, expanding, improving, etc. There are even a couple entirely new chapters. All editing is finally final. Thanks for reading :) **

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After ten thousand years, the Legion was again poised to invade Azeroth. Already there were events in motion that had started quietly enough that no one noticed until it was too late. In the meantime, the Legion had spent plenty of time wreaking havoc and destroying countless other worlds as Sargeras plotted how he would finally take this world.

Gylledra Alenos had been in the thick of it during the first invasion and had watched as the existence she knew was torn asunder. Monsters had poured forth through their beloved Well of Eternity, warped into a vile, demonic portal, destroying everything they touched. She had fought with those who resisted, the ones smart enough to betray Azshara and her mad quest for more power. Gylledra fought until the shield was erected around Suramar, trapping her inside before she could get out.

In the places where time moves differently, ten thousand years can feel like twenty and one year can feel like a hundred. After escaping Suramar, Gylledra had spent a lot of time in such places and now, having returned to Azeroth, with a little finesse and clever calculating, she had determined just how long it had been since that horrific invasion.

The face the world now wore was unrecognizable. Gylledra knew it was Azeroth, she could feel it, of course, the living thing deep inside it at the very core, but there was nothing that looked familiar, what had once been the sprawling lands of Kalimdor were shattered and scattered across great seas that weren't there before.

It was a silent, clandestine excursion rifling and rummaging though the library of a village that gave Gylledra the information she needed. She absconded with maps and books and whatever else her curious mind thought interesting. It was a human village, she learned…whatever humans were. They seemed like small, stunted versions of a great people she had known, once upon a time.

The pilfered library was in the town of Tarren Mill; it was small but seemed prosperous enough. Gylledra almost felt bad for depriving them of various sources of knowledge, but her mission was one that meant saving even the stunted humans who lived there.

Gylledra's traveling companion, and incidentally, her only friend, was Nasorya, who had happily slain demons at her side, carrying in her a special, deep seated loathing for them. Fortunately, she had focused long enough to keep watch during the thievery.

The town was in a small region called the Hillsbrad Foothills, and making good their escape, Gylledra and Nasorya crossed a river and traveled east through the forests. They passed a keep that had a very foreboding air to it before heading north into the hills to avoid the open exposure they'd be forced to contend with if they crossed into the nearby Arathi Highlands.

The forest would have been serene had it not been for the looming knowledge of the coming invasion. Aside from that though, Gylledra felt something else was lurking in the trees but she couldn't tell what. They'd set up their meager camp in a small valley beside a creek, choosing a spot that felt fairly defensible. It was unlikely much of anything would successfully creep up on them there.

Days of trudging through unfamiliar territory and creeping about to avoid any notice had left Gylledra feeling in great need of a bath. She stripped down while Nasorya prowled off in search of their supper. The camp was sheltered by trees and adequate undergrowth and the afternoon sunlight streamed down through the leaves. Though the creek rippled in its center as it traveled through a water-carved trench, the edges of the creek were smooth and flat as glass, mirroring the trees and sky.

Gylledra looked down at her reflection, an odd angle to say the least then inhaled sharply, wading into the icy water. The ripples disturbed the image on the surface and she wondered if this strange version of Azeroth was no more than a distorted reflection of what once was.

There was a breeze and it did not make the already-frigid bath any more comfortable. Leaves rustled but she kept an ear on the sounds of the birds, any variance in their songs would indicate someone or something approaching.

Hurriedly, Gylledra scrubbed away the grime of travel and rough-living. She'd bathed in more creeks, streams, and ponds in her lifetime than actual bathing facilities and stubbornly ignoring the cold, she unraveled her braid to wash her hair. To some degree, the crisp, almost numbingly cold creek made her feel renewed and energetic. She bent, ringing the water out, again meeting her own gaze in the reflection. Most of the elves in Suramar had in time come to have bright white hair in contrast to their skin, which the Nightwell had turned midnight-blue. Her own hair was still dark and her complexion paler like the dusk rather than dark like the night. There were a handful of others like her, and it was curious why some of them had changed differently than others.

Finally done, Gylledra got back onto the bank to dry off, get feeling back in her extremities, and get dressed. Naked, her back to the trees, she crouched to rummage in her bag for her brush. An enormous axe blade then slid into view and she silently berated herself. The edge of it touched just under her chin and behind her, whoever was holding that axe, spoke a rough, guttural language she didn't understand. It was not the Common she had been reading in the human books. The axe blade pushed upward so she raised her hands and very slowly stood upright, turning around carefully, lest some abrupt movement startle the intruder. She really didn't have time to have her head lopped off.

As her eyes fell on the axe-wielder, Gylledra's mouth dropped open, he was, to her astonishment, an orc. During the first invasion, an orc had been captured by the Moon Guard and kept in Suramar. Her questions about the orc from some other world had never been answered, but he had eventually fought at their side with honor, strength, and a savagery Gylledra had greatly admired. He'd come to mind often enough since then that she worried the next world she'd see destroyed would be whatever world the orcs came from.

She had thought never to see an orc again. This orc was huge, armored, and his axe had certainly seen better days, but was still razor sharp. His skin was green and his eyes beneath a furrowed brow were sharp and amber; she could see calculating intelligence, this was not some meat-head axe-swinger. He had long, graying hair which was braided and fastened with metal clasps. There was an iron ring in his nose, and one of the tusks protruding upward from his jaw had a small metal band around the base while the other was pierced with two thin metal loops. Part of her wondered how he'd even pierced a tusk…and for that matter why had he?

Gylledra was taken aback by him, but not necessarily because he'd come up on her while she was unaware. She felt almost silly, staring at him with her eyes wide. It was a strange feeling, she didn't take much fascination in others for the most part but long ago, the orc in Suramar had left a lasting impression on her.

The situation did not call for brash action, despite Gylledra being capable of disarming even so large an orc. Her most dangerous weapons were not physical, after all; she was Nightborne, the most learned and sophisticated practitioners of the arcane. If there were orcs in Azeroth, they would undoubtedly be seeking to save their own hides as much as any people and she was in no position to be choosey about allies. Without being able to communicate with him though, she wasn't sure how to get across her message.

The orc's physique was formidable, and Gylledra had absolutely no doubt about his prowess with his axe, the blade of which still rested under her chin. The orc she had known in Suramar had been friendly toward her, almost familiar like he knew her and was glad to see her. The one now standing before her did not seem even remotely glad about anything at all. He spoke again in a deep, reverberating voice that seemed even to thrum through her, but she shook her head.

"I do not speak your language, I am sorry." Gylledra told him carefully, in the human language, the only language she could think of that he might know. Poring over the books she'd stolen had given her at least a basic grasp on the simple language.

He harrumphed quietly, and she saw his amber eyes move down her naked body. She was perhaps a bit shorter than the rest of the Nightborne typically were, but she was not of a particularly willowy stature by any means; a body could not be at war for thousands of years and be without a strong build. Judging by the languid pace his gaze lingered on her, he was begrudgingly admiring her, though, somehow without appearing lewd or lascivious. With that realization, she inhaled sharply then unexpectedly, her cheeks suddenly burned hot. She cleared her throat, drawing his eyes at once back to hers. "I'm not hiding any weapons anywhere…I promise." She told him levelly, finding her voice and getting a grip. She almost smirked and he closed his mouth, shooting her a glare. "May I put my clothes on?" She asked.

"Do not expect me to turn my back so that you can flee." He rumbled. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Very well…watch then." She gave a little shrug, and he took a step back, still well within axe-swinging range, but he gave her enough room to put on her clothes. Nasorya chose that moment to emerge through the tree line, and with the ease one of her stature should not have, was dragging a fairly good sized deer by one of its legs. Her bright, violet eyes widened, seeing a nude Gylledra with an axe blade at her throat. The orc noticed at once that Gylledra's attention was behind him so without moving the axe, he looked back. Her companion had a somewhat elven visage to a certain extent…except for those violet colored eyes, small dark horns that curled back, and grayish skin. She was, after all, not even remotely an elf.

"I decided to have fun without you." Gylledra called in Shalassian.

"Shall I eat him?" Nasorya asked.

"It would not be in our best interest to do so unfortunately." Gylledra let out a sigh and Nasorya shrugged, almost disappointed.

"Have you tried damsel-in-distress?"

"A bit hard to do convincingly in the nude, don't you think?"

"Damsel in distress it is." Nasorya dropped the deer, rubbed her hands together as though preparing, and affected an over-exaggerated, frightened expression that even the most gullible would be hard pressed to believe. "Please! Do not hurt my mistress!" She cried, dramatically. Gylledra tried not to look amused. Nasorya lived for this kind of comical nonsense, not that she was ever discouraged from it. The orc turned back to Gylledra, and his expression was clear. Really? his face asked, one brow arched.

"Yes, I know." She told the orc. He rolled his eyes a little before his glance flicked downward at her nakedness again then he blinked away the distraction stubbornly, staring her firmly in the eye instead. "I am getting dressed now." Gylledra wore only simple leather, flat, knee-high boots, a shirt beneath her vest, and leather jacket. She had a couple bags but only two utility knives which she kept sheathed in her boots. "Though you have no reason to believe me, I assure you, we mean no harm. I can swear it only on my honor and hope that is enough." The orc scoffed a little, seeing right through her thinly veiled attempt to appeal to his sense of honor. Even she thought it was a weak effort.

"What do you know of honor?" The creases in his brow deepened but she bristled at the suggestion she might not understand the concept. Her tone was a little cooler when she replied.

"I have spent six and a half millennia at war with demons, I know a great deal more about honor than most." She kept her hands up where he could see them. His brows had gone up a fraction but he kept his face under control. "My name is Gylledra Alenos."

"I am Varok Saurfang of the Blackrock clan, advisor to the Warchief of the Horde. I will take you and your…maid? to the Warchief for further…discussion." He replied. As suspected, he was no mere warrior, but held a place of importance with his people. Gylledra decided not to correct his assumption of Nasorya's station for the time being.

"Thank you, Varok Saurfang." She nodded and Nasorya pointed to the dead deer at her feet suddenly, brows arched in question.

"Should I bring this? I did go through the trouble of dragging it all this way…" She had no visible weapons to speak of and the orc seemed to notice that fact, a fresh frown on his face. He looked almost as though he was going to ask for an explanation.

"Who says no to fresh meat?" He told her instead, shrugging.


Gylledra and Nasorya followed silently at first but as usual, it never stayed that way.

"Who the hell is this…green…individual? What is he?" Nasorya asked.

"He is an orc, he said his name is Varok Saurfang." Gylledra explained.

"An orc? Like that one you told me about?"

"Yes…"

"Plotting your escape?" Varok Saurfang said suddenly, glancing at them.

"If we wanted to escape, you'd be waking up beside a creek wondering for the next hour what your own name is." Gylledra retorted without hesitation.

"Discourteous, isn't it, discussing those who are present when they cannot understand you."

"You're really in no position to comment on discourtesy considering you might have waited at least until I had clothes on to hold your weapon to my throat." She flung back, oddly enjoying it.

"Given the opportunity, would you not seek to catch a possible enemy you did not immediately intend to kill when they are unarmed?" He asked. She scoffed.

"Perhaps, but I might have gone about it much differently. There clearly were not piles of armor and weapons lying about."

"I surmised you are a caster, dangerous whatever your state." He gave a snort and her brows rose.

"Astute…and since it made no difference, why not wait?" She cocked her head, waiting for the next comeback but he sighed and shook his head.

"Are you so offended that an orc saw your unclothed body?" He tossed her a sidelong glare, as though expecting her to be repulsed.

"Of course not. Our peoples are different enough that I assume I was abhorrent to gaze upon anyway." Gylledra went on, flippantly, not quite knowing what had gotten into her. She expected a quip about no other people comparing to orc women or some such thing but instead, he met her gaze, eyes narrowed for a long moment before turning away and trudging ahead of them.

"What is happening?" Nasorya asked, looking bewildered.


The orcs were many, and they didn't seem to be extremely well organized, but they were put together well enough that there was a clear hierarchy of command. The Warchief appeared fairly younger than many of his brethren who quieted as Gylledra and Nasorya were brought forward. Their captor, Saurfang, spoke in Orcish and in the midst of it, Gylledra heard her name.

"Now who is being discourteous?" She folded her arms and he looked over at her.

"This is Gylledra Alenos." He said levelly. "She is mouthy, and her maid is…odd." The Warchief looked from the older orc to her, studying her closely.

"Maybe you should have let him say that in orcish, Gyll." Nasorya looked mildly offended.

"I am Thrall, Warchief of the Horde." The Warchief interjected in fluent common.

"Greetings. We had stopped to camp is all." She replied. "This is my…"

"Handmaiden!" Nasorya offered helpfully, suddenly grinning again, clearly very amused by the whole situation. A very long time ago she had sworn her service to Gylledra, though was never treated or viewed as a servant.

"Er…handmaiden." Gylledra repeated. "Nasorya."

"I've never been a handmaiden before! What do they do?" Nasorya murmured excitedly, and not very quietly.

"I don't know…curtsy or something…" Gylledra offered, shrugging one shoulder.

"Right!" Nasorya very badly executed a curtsy, nearly toppling over as the orcs around them stared, speechless. Gylledra gave a snort of laughter but coughed to cover it and Thrall cleared his throat.

"You do not look like the elves we have seen." The Warchief commented.

"I'm not sure what the elf population is up to these days, but I suppose it isn't a surprise if they look different, it has been a long time." Gylledra told him. "I've been away a while. The rest of my people, I imagine, are still safe in their city beneath their shield, hiding from the outside world."

"But you were not content to remain in safety?" Saurfang asked, hijacking the interrogation.

"Never. I was a soldier before and during the first invasion…"

"First invasion of what?" He'd stepped closer, peering down at her.

"Of the Legion. They came the first time in an attempt to destroy this world and have already set into motion their plans to try again." She watched the piercing amber gaze as it bore into her. "I have done everything I can to fight them since then. Now, the world I come from is threatened once more and I've come to try and make ready those who live here while there is still time."

"Orcs are not unfamiliar with demons. If not for their influence, we might still have a home world of our own." The old orc explained. Gylledra nodded, sobering a bit more.

"I can see plainly enough as I have witnessed on countless worlds before, you are taking your people away from those who would subjugate and enslave you. I am aligned to no faction or kingdom here, I seek to preserve the world itself with everything and everyone that lives here, your lives, their lives, my own…the Legion must not take this world too." She told him. Thrall and Nasorya both stood side-by-side with arms crossed, simply observing the exchange.

"You understand, of course, knowing that we are trying to get away, why it is not possible to simply let you go? We are hunted by humans and their allies; you pose a threat whether you mean us harm or not." Saurfang replied. Gylledra stepped closer and poked him in the chest with one finger.

"I assure you, Varok Saurfang, I am only in your custody because I want to be." She gave a small smile as he arched one brow wryly.

"Oh really?" Nasorya almost cackled.

"I came to help prepare people of Azeroth for invasion. I would like to help you in your endeavor if you would accept it." Gylledra firmly ignored her friend's outburst.

"Did you seek us out?"

"How can you even ask me that?" Gylledra almost laughed. "I was naked by a stream!" Thrall's brows shot up but still he made no move to enter the conversation. Varok's ears darkened a little bit. "I was not aware that we were in such close proximity to any people. I don't go from place to place with a standing army, I don't want to be mistaken as an invader myself. So far, Azeroth is the only world to withstand a Legion invasion. I believe it can be done again, and I will do whatever it takes to rally strength and forces against the coming onslaught. The losses we had last time were catastrophic, the world is nothing like it was because of that war. I think with better preparation, they can be beat."

"You are a warrior then?" He looked skeptically at her attire.

"Yes, I am." Her reply was quiet, but she put her hands out in front of her and her eyes flashed as the pale silvery markings visible on her face seemed to glow. Ribbons of bright, white-blue and dark, almost black, purple twisted and undulated, forming a long scythe, its blade made of the magic itself. The orcs around her all moved back except Thrall and Saurfang, most reaching for their own weapons. Before their eyes, the scythe changed into a spear and then into a sword, and she gripped the handle. "I am adept with any blade…or bow." The sword vanished and as she reached out in front of her, the swirling magic formed an ornate longbow in her hand, which she drew back. As she did, a dark arrow appeared and she released it, hitting a small sapling far away. The young tree withered and turned black before she made a small gesture toward it, returning it to its former state.

"A magic-wielder, as I said." Saurfang murmured, not appearing altogether pleased.

"Yes, I am. I have to be, because when demons are killed in a physical realm, their bodies die but their essence returns to the Twisting Nether; there, the body is rebuilt so that they may return to fight again." She explained. "They are never truly defeated unless they are killed in the Twisting Nether. The weapons I have fashioned for myself kill their bodies and trap their essence…their souls if you will. Then, in the Nether…I ensure their destruction." There was a long pause as Thrall mulled over her words. "I am a capable fighter, with certain skills I imagine your people do not possess. I could be very useful."

"At what cost to us?" Saurfang voiced the question that likely was going through the minds of many of the orcs listening in. Gylledra turned, looking up at him again. He seemed a very serious orc, not especially willing to trust a stranger just on her word, not that she blamed him, she was certainly a very suspicious individual.

"Agreeing to fight in the coming war against the Legion has the same cost as any war, lives will be lost. The cost of not fighting against them is far greater, I assure you." Her bow vanished as well as the other signs of magic about her.

"If this invasion comes as you say, there is no option but to stand against them." Thrall finally spoke, but Gylledra wasn't looking at him. There was something about Varok Saurfang that she couldn't quite put her finger on. The Warchief continued, nevertheless. "We are reminded every day of what demons can do, of what the choice to accept their magic made us into."

"We are not as we were meant to be outside or within because of the taint of Fel." Varok opened his palms, looking at them.

"I understand." Her voice was quiet. "I have witnessed it firsthand again and again." Yes, she had seen it, particularly the pain and regret in his eyes, the haunted shadows, the ghosts that had yet to leave him, that likely never would. "The Legion must be destroyed." Varok gave a single nod in reply, his eyes on hers for a moment. Still, he puzzled her, but at least they agreed about the Legion.


When it became clear that nothing especially interesting or violent was happening with the strange visitors in the camp, the orcs grew bored of Gylledra and Nasorya, who had accepted food from Thrall and were sitting with him and Varok at a small fire.

"Was this my deer?" Nasorya asked with food still in her mouth. She never seemed especially feral to Gylledra until the presence of other people made it apparent that she kind of was.

"It was curious to find that it died from nearly having its head chewed off." Varok was very shrewd; advanced age among orcs was not achieved through stupidity.

"A fresh kill is a fresh kill, is it not?" Gylledra said before Nasorya could blurt whatever inciting thing was on the tip of her tongue, but it didn't stop her, it never did.

"I could have found it like that. Just killed, luckily…I am just a helpless handmaiden, head full of fluff." She shrugged her shoulders, batting her eyes very unconvincingly.

"I doubt all of those things, somehow." Varok grumbled.

"Why? I am odd, after all." She replied, almost petulantly. Several quiet moments followed as they ate.

"You have fought the Legion all this time, so you are familiar with how they operate?" Thrall asked. Gylledra looked up at him with a nod.

"Oh yes, I know them very well…and they know me."

"What does that mean?" Varok asked.

"It means they fear me. If I actually had an army, they would fear me even more." She smiled.

"One elf can frighten demons?" Thrall frowned.

"If you torture and kill enough of them, they will fear you too." She continued eating into the slightly awkward silence.

"Who are your people?" Varok fired another question at her and she looked at him across the fire.

"The Shal'dorei." She told him. "A very long time ago, our queen betrayed us all when she aligned herself with Sargeras and his Legion. It led to almost complete annihilation and the shattering of the land. Even now I don't know what happened to those who were outside of Suramar, if anyone survived."

"Why have you not returned to Suramar?" Thrall spoke up.

"Because no one can get in, and no one can get out."

"Except you." Varok pointed out.

"Well, I had some outside help after 3,500 years." She gave an enigmatic smirk.

"And then began your war against the Legion." Thrall concluded. Gylledra nodded, though there was more to it than that.

"I've seen so many worlds fall to the Legion, and they are coming back to this world, my world…I cannot fail here where I have failed before. I cannot listen again to the screams of dying people, millions of innocents destroyed." She looked down, her hands folded as she leaned her elbows on her knees. "War is all I know, but it is not all I desire. There is little I won't do to stamp out the Legion and any who support them and willingly bear the taint of fel."

"What of the orcs then?" Varok got to his feet. "Are we not tainted by the demon blood we willingly drank?" Anger flashed in his eyes, but she knew it wasn't at her. "It changed all of us, even those who did not put the cup to their lips."

"I cannot see that you bear it willingly now." She replied. "Your people have been wielded as a weapon and used like tools in attempt to further their cause. I've seen it before…and once you were no longer deemed useful, they abandoned you, expecting like others that had used that way, you would starve without the fel and simply die off." A smile curled on her lips. "The biggest weakness of the Legion is arrogance, the assumption that no creatures are greater than them, it'll be their undoing. I've known you mere hours and it's plain enough that you're all too stubborn to meet the lowly expectations of Sargeras."


"So, what do you think of these Orcs, Gyll?" Nasorya asked in Shalassian. Their bedrolls were set up not far from their fire, conspicuously surrounded by orcs…just in case they decided to flee in the night.

"I think they're a strong, honor-bound people. The Highborne would no doubt would find them to be savages, but there is much more to them than that." Gylledra replied. She was on her side, her head on one arm folded beneath it as she watched the back of Varok's head. His bedroll was only a few yards off, well within earshot and he was not asleep. He was listening despite not understanding their language. His back was to them and she stared sleepily in his direction. "Strong and stubborn, I think I quite like them already." She chuckled softly.

"You'll fit right in."

"Precisely." She turned to look back at Nasorya who had a look on her face that Gylledra recognized easily.

"Mm, yes they seem strong indeed." She mused. "I bet they get rough…"

"I'm sure you'll find out, do let me know how it goes." Gylledra snorted.

"Maybe you'll find out for yourself." Nasorya looked diabolical as Gylledra could practically see the ideas formulating in her mind.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"You'd like that." Nasorya retorted.

"Yes, I imagine so." Gylledra stifled a giggle as Nasorya suddenly let out a louder-than-intended gasp-squeak of surprise at the unexpected response. A number of orcs stirred and Varok shifted and looked over his shoulder at them. Gylledra stuck her tongue out at him and his eyes widened somewhat before he shook his head and turned back over. Stretching a little, she yawned and turned onto her back.

"I bet he would like to have a go at you. He hasn't taken his eyes off you since before you put your clothes back on." Nasorya hissed through an impish grin. "And you made him blush!"

"I did, didn't I?" Gylledra chuckled.

"And he seemed awfully interested in asking you all those questions, the Warchief couldn't get a word in edgewise."

"Of course, he is interested, Nasorya, he's concerned we're going to get them all killed." Gylledra gave another laugh. "I doubt an elf is eligible fare to an orc for a bedfellow."

"How would you know?"

"Have you seen their women? They are bigger and far fiercer than I am."

"Perhaps, but have they killed as many as you?" Nasorya wasn't going to let it go.

"That's a bad metric to go by, I've lived much longer." Gylledra told her.

"I've wandered the whole of existence with you for thousands of years, Gylledra, maybe it's finally time to stop handling swords and ah…handle a sword, so to speak."

"I've managed not to catch an eye for eleven thousand years, Nas, I doubt that's changing now. Probably better to avoid the distraction anyway."

"Yes, I know, I've been around for most of those years. Getting your hair mussed in high grass doesn't have to be a distraction. Feelings are distractions." Nasorya went on. She flopped over ungracefully, looking up at the inky black sky, dotted with shimmering stars. She ran her fingers through her purple, oddly iridescent hair, twirling a strand absentmindedly.

"Well, I don't need to risk catching any of those, now do I?" Gylledra sighed.

"Ha, if the day ever came, I'd eat my hat."

"You don't have a hat."

"I'll get one."