Author's Note: So! I promised you a fanfictionization of the RP that spawned my Home Sector Pack of From the Desk and Hunter Red—here it is! Yes, it's a crossover with my other obsession, World of Warcraft, but only in the strictest sense. Except for the prologue and maybe a few scenes, it'll be set entirely in the L4D/2 universe. The RP was mainly a sort of, "What would happen if so-and-so was thrown into this world?" And so here we have it. I hope you enjoy it!
Prologue
Violet lightning flashed constantly in the swirling storm clouds above, illuminating the stony landscape below. It never stopped storming here in the aptly named Netherstorm; when the planet called Draenor shattered, the Twisting Nether bled into the physical plane, rendering the place all but uninhabitable. The only real havens in the chaotic mage-storms were the bio-domes established by the entrepreneurial Consortium ethereals, and the goblin outpost of Area 52. But nowhere was entirely safe; magic was unstable in this collection of floating islands of rocks, made even more so by the series of "mana-forges" run by the fel-tainted Blood Elves. Even the demons of the Burning Legion had a foothold here; they ran forge-camps to construct the fearful Fel Reavers, and invasion points to bolster their forces in the Outlands.
And I'm supposed to get rid of one of them all by myself, Saciash thought sourly. How exciting.
The ebon-skinned Eredar, a creature many compared to goats for their horns and legs, held tight to the reins and adjusted her weight as her gryphon banked to port, her silvery eyes scanning the ground hundreds of feet below. Everything, from the land to the air itself, was tinted purple here, the color of pure arcane magic. The sickly yellow-green and stark black of the demons' construction clashed with that color, so it wasn't hard for Saciash to pick out what she was looking for—the massive teleporter through which the Legion brought their forces from the Twisting Nether. Her target was situated on the edge of one of the massive floating islands of stone; the rest of the camp surrounded it, making it almost impossible to infiltrate…from the ground.
Saciash checked her gear. She was travelling light; all she had with her were a few pouches attached to her black satin belt. One contained her spell components—several feathers, as well as the small candles that the Draenei race favored—while another contained a day's ration of food. A flask hung from beneath the food pouch, containing at least two days' worth of purified water from the springs of Draenor. But most important—for this mission, at least—was the pair of bombs supplied to her by the goblins, at the behest of her Aldor commanders, which were hooked to her belt as well.
That this was a suicide mission was glaringly obvious to her. She could get in alive just fine; her levitation spell would see her safely to the ground, and even if that failed, she had other ways of saving herself. But getting out again would be next to impossible; the demons would fall on her like a swarm, and they wouldn't dare leave her alive. She was a traitor to the Legion, a betrayer. She had deserted them, and turned to the Light to rid herself of the fel.
But I know their secrets. I know how they work. And I know how to kill them. Saciash smirked to herself. If I'd been one of the lesser demons like a sayaadi succubus, they wouldn't care so much. But I am Eredar, and Father and dear sister Zephidrae were both quite…influential. If they ever catch me, they can't let me go.
The Aldor, the faction of Draenei based in the city of Shattrath in the Outlands, knew this as they knew every time they sent her on such a mission. This was the fifth such task Saciash had been given, and it rankled. She knew the Draenei were trying to be rid of her. The blessing of the Naaru, those beings of pure Light, and of the Prophet Velen, the leader and savior of the Draenei race, wasn't enough for those who commanded in the Aldor. That she had been mated to a Vindicator wasn't enough, either. As long as she commanded the Shadow, fel-tainted or not, they would distrust her. To them, she was still a demon, still man'ari, and they were determined to be rid of her before she could betray them, too. So they sent her on missions like this one, where if she turned, she could be contained—or better yet, where she would likely be killed by that of which she was once a part.
With each supposedly impossible mission she was given, Saciash was tempted to desert. She was tempted to fly away and never look back. But she never did, and this time would be no different. She always stayed, always succeeded, because that was what she really wanted. Partly, she wanted to spite the naysayers, those who distrusted her and wanted to see her dead. But mostly, she wanted to fight the fel, to fight in the name of the Light, in the name of her beloved—and how could she do that if she were dead?
As with those other missions, Saciash had a plan for this one. The bombs didn't require much arming; she merely had to plant them on opposite sides of the teleporter. From there, the fel-energy of the portal spells would trigger the magical explosion that would destroy the structure and the spells. She had only half a minute to get away once they were planted—just enough to get out of the blast radius. She would be jumping down into the camp from above; the bombs themselves were coated with the super-sticky tar that the goblins had refined from the native goop from Azeroth's Un'goro Crater, so she could just throw them and they would stick to the sides of the teleporter. From there, she would hit the ground running, and hopefully be halfway through the camp before the demons realized they were under attack.
Such a high hope.
She couldn't count on her gryphon returning for her; he had been lent to her from the Aldor, and likely instructed to return to his aerie once she was off his back. She certainly had no backup. But her enemies would underestimate her. They'd rightly assume her specialty was magic—but she certainly had more than that. She was small for an Eredar at almost eight feet, and her body was slim and lithe. Even if they locked down her magic, she could still kill; the deadliest weapon she possessed was, in fact, her tail.
When she was young, she had noticed that her tail almost resembled a whip; it was thicker at the base, but it tapered to a thin length that surpassed many others'. So she decided to use it to her advantage, as an extra weapon. She had one of her minions create a blade which resembled a spear-point; it fit over her tailtip, and was bound tight with Shadow-infused leather. With it, she taught herself how to fight with it in melee combat, without or alongside other weapons. Usually, she struck like a scorpion, with the blade above her head or shoulder. She was never without it, not even while sleeping.
Saciash flicked that deadly appendage, the blade glinting in the dim light afforded to the Netherstorm between flashes of arcane lightning, and made one final check of her gear. Finally, she decided, it was time. She pulled out a feather, and held it between two fingers; the other flicked the reins, directing the gryphon downwards. She slipped her hooves from the stirrups, and waited until there was just enough height. She gave the gryphon a small touch of her mind, conveying to him her gratitude for his help before throwing herself from the saddle.
As she fell, Saciash spoke a harsh word in Old Eredun, the language the Eredar, her own race, and the Draenei once shared when they were one people. As she did, she tossed the feather. But it didn't fall; instead, it seemed to disintegrate, swirling around her. Her momentum was slowed; she felt like she was drifting on air. Satisfied that her levitate spell held, she took hold of both of the bombs, pulling them from her belt. She fell until she was the proper distance, and flung first one, then the other at the teleporter. She hit her marks; the bombs clung to the sides and started absorbing the fel-energy that would serve as their trigger.
As soon as her hooves touched the ground, Saciash started to run as fast as she could. The demons surrounding her were clearly confused—until one of the demonic six-armed priestesses called shivan recognized her and called for the chase, just as Saciash knew would happen. With that call, it seemed the whole camp was after her. That was fine with her; so long as they ignored the bombs, her mission would be a success. She dodged the blade of a fel-steel axe swung at her by one of the demons, a member of the Wrathguard and a cousin species to her own, and shifted her direction, away from the blast radius.
After thirty seconds, just as the goblin had said, the bombs exploded, rocking the camp and sending fel-steel shrapnel flying. Saciash and many of her pursuers were flattened by the force of the explosion; several demons were dead from the shards of metal protruding from their bodies. The rest of them, even those who had been chasing her, were fleeing. She coughed the violet-tinted dust from her nose and mouth, and pulled herself back onto her hooves. She wasn't sure why they were running away and not trying to kill her, but she figured that she'd best take advantage of that break and escape the camp before they decided that she was the bigger threat.
But Saciash found after a few moments that despite her best efforts to move, she wasn't gaining any ground. In fact, though her hoofprints in the dirt showed clearly that she was trying to run, they were also leading backwards. She bared her teeth and hissed through them, looking back the way she'd come, but there was nothing there that she could see—no demon, at least, was hindering her escape. There were only the remnants of the teleporter behind her; all the demons were either dead or fled.
Wait. The teleporter! Her silver eyes narrowed and she turned around. Where the teleporter had been, there was now a swirling mass of glowing energy. That had been the portal, she was sure. She was still moving, being pulled by some invisible force—a force that was, apparently, emanating from the energy. The bombs were supposed to destroy the portal spell the teleporter was using, too. They must have failed, and now the spell's reversed itself—and pulling in everything loose in the blast radius!
There was nothing she could do about it, Saciash realized. This sort of magic was entirely beyond her; spellweaver she may have been, but she'd never learned to command the fel-arcane. She was being inexorably pulled into some chaotic rift, one that she herself had made with those bombs, and she couldn't save herself. No one else was around to rescue her, either, even if they were so inclined. She was alone.
Others in her position might have panicked, but it only made Saciash angry. She didn't try to fight against the wild magic that was drawing her in; she would exhaust herself in vain if she did. So she stood, limp, letting herself be dragged across what was left of the camp. The Draenei will get their wish after all, she thought bitterly as she watched the rift grow closer. I'll finally die. I'll no longer be a danger to them—as if I ever was!
She began to pick up speed as she got closer. Within moments, she was moving as fast as if she were running. The pull started to become painful, until it felt as though she were being tugged in a hundred different directions. She refused to scream, even though the pain threatened to overwhelm her. Instead, she lowered herself to the ground, facing the rift, and when she was within a meter of it, she leapt to what she saw as certain death.
There was a flash. Her body was being simultaneously crushed and thrown about as though she'd been caught in a cyclone. She didn't want to scream, but she did anyway—the pain was too great. But no sound came. She couldn't see anything; there was only darkness. She tried to reach out with her mind, to try to call for help, but there was nothing around her. She couldn't move.
This is it. I'm going to die here. I'm going to die here, alone, without finding Lyrelle, without saying farewell to Sharys—holy Naaru, sweet O'ros, please, help me—
There was another flash. The pain was gone, replaced with the sweet relief that now flooded her. But she realized she was falling, and when she looked up, she could see a dark night sky, and a single moon hidden behind a cloud. When she looked down, she found she wouldn't have enough time to activate a levitation spell. Instead, she braced for impact with the stone that was quickly rushing up to meet her.
It smells terrible here, she thought before she hit. Stars exploded behind her eyes and so did pain.
And then there was nothing but darkness.