Note: This story has references within which may be confusing to some who have not read the original that this is continuing from. It is with a purpose that the original is not posted here, as it is not safe for reading by minors or those finding certain things offensive. If you have questions regarding this, please send me a private message; questions asked in Review will be ignored.
As such, this story revolves around an Original Blood Elf Character, as well as NPCs of the game, and contains mentions and situations of a troubling and/or adult nature. Please mind the rating and the warnings. While this contains, to my knowledge, no violations of the ToS, some may find some of the subject matter upsetting.
That out of the way, some Warcraft and World of Warcraft fans might note some discrepancies in lore. This is from my own lack of knowledge, and use of creative license. Wowwiki is quite god-like in the information it contains, and yet, the time-lines and specific descriptions and explanations are somewhat lacking; I do what I can to stick to the lore while attempting to fill in gaps.
That being said, this story takes place sometime after the fall of Quel'thalas, but before Illidan takes the Black Temple and entraps Magtheridon beneath Hellfire Citadel.
Warnings: Mentions of Rape, Violence, Language, Minor Sexual Situations and subject matter, Homosexuality (both male and female), Substance Abuse (Does demon blood technically count as a drug?), Blood Drinking, OOC Behavior of NPCs (This being that, outside of World of Warcraft encounters, I have read none of the novels, and have not played WC3, there-for I only have WoWwiki to go on for character personality)
-Chapter One-
'Many a curious circumstance we all find ourselves in upon one instance or another within our lifetimes. Some mundane, some far more important than even we ourselves could ever realize.
Dievas Shadoweaver little knew of her own significance after the unfortunate incident involving her close encounter with a demon of the Legion. Around her, her world had already been crumbled to its foundations and rebuilt twice over, and yet such things always seem to happen thrice of circumstance or happenstance. Battered and broken by her brutal treatment and enslavement, still, her inner strength shined through even despite all hardship forced upon her by her own race after such a happening.
Verily I confess I broke protocol and interfered during my supposed strict observation. How could one witness such travesty and misdeed, and not be moved to lend aid to the wronged? At the time, I already knew of her fate and place amidst the future of her path. Chromie would call it interfering, and yet, I myself would happily and willfully address it simply as aiding time along on its chosen stream.
Imagine Rommath's surprise as a mere Priest whispered into his ear of the violations being committed by his own Magisters! But I digress, I do make habit of getting ahead of myself.'
o0o0o0o0
Catching up to the little train was proving more difficult than the slight figure was willing to admit. Despite her lack of true skills in tracking, the prints in the sparse sand were laughably easy to single out. One had to wonder at whether they were deliberate ruse or simply careless mistakes. The tell-tale marks made by the Naga, rather like snake tracks, though their size was telling. Boot treads, as well as those made by beasts of burden.
As it became apparent, they were indeed a crafty ruse constructed to throw pursuit off track, as she was forced to evade tainted orcs and savage, yet seemingly intelligent, beasts. Barely healed wounds cried out forcibly with every move she made, but yet, she refused to give up. Damn the healers back in the tattered remains of Quel'thalas. Damn the nagging, empty, distressing ache caused by the lack of magical energy. And damn the Magisters for forcing her out before her time.
A dark shudder wracked through her, as she fought and failed to suppress the memories. Haunting laughter floated through her mind; though obviously construed by her own imagination. Ghostly claws wracked down her back, her jaw ached with phantom agony, and her undergarment moistened with remembered terror and pain. Shaking, she stuttered to a halt and fell to her knees, unable to quite stifle a keening cry. Though any thought or sensation of tears were quickly forced away by biting down on the inside of her cheek.
Hand drifting against her will, she clutched her right wrist in a steely grip, embracing the sting and jolt of pain caused by one of two wounds from the encounter which had refused to heal. A filthy bandage hid both from view, but she was ever aware of its presence. Simply the knowledge of it caused feelings of sickness to roil in her stomach, without the pulsating pain and disgusting wrong feeling they gave off.
Forcing herself to her feet, she pressed on. While she had been unable to join Prince Kael'thas immediately due to illness caused by the withdrawal, and later, the... incident... she more than would now. If not by her own want, then the necessity. The remaining Magisters of Silvermoon City had been less than pleased at the near encounter she had caused with a demon of the Burning Legion. Fearing she would cause further trouble, or that her new 'wounds' would somehow hold power, they had forced her from their borders.
Broken and defeated, she had been escorted to the edge of the Ghost Lands in exile by a small group of Magisters. To her shock, Rommath, agent of the Prince, had followed. Lending veiled words of comfort and promises of Outlands. He had claimed that perchance Kael's allies might help in discovering how to remove the brands, or sever any bonds they may represent. At the least, he told her, the paradise would ease her exhaustion and put her hunger to rest. Once free of the Magisters, she was met by a group of mages who had summoned a portal to Outlands. Seeing no choice, and bolstered by Rommath's words, she had gone through willingly.
Now she cursed him as well, stumbling slightly over cracked earth. Rather than appearing in what one may have imagined 'paradise' to be, or at the least, appearing with the latest group of pilgrims, she had been flung out in the middle of this barren wasteland and forced to catch up. She now knew the trail she followed to be false, and failed to realize her direction at this point, as night and day seemed to mean nothing here.
Figuring by her own bone-weariness, and the change of the skies, she knew that she had been wandering for close to four days. Her throat was parched, and belly ached with hunger. Few plants marred the landscape, and fewer still held moisture suitable for keeping one alive. So too, she was nearly helpless in this alien place.
Naught but a dagger and arcane reagents were thrown at her feet before her former kin had begun the march back to the city. Unsuitable for bringing down a beast for food. Despite her stoic and indifferent, forced, attitude, she was honestly too afraid to call upon her own imp. Such was humiliating, but she never could quite bring herself to complete the uttered phrase of summons.
Thinking upon it all (forcibly avoiding thoughts of one topic in particular), she felt overwhelmed beyond belief. Without some sign or aid she would surely perish before the week's end. Squinting into the distance, she paused. Something glinted atop a rise still some distance away. Had she at last caught up, or was it simply an illusion conjured by her wandering mind? Or a trap, she silently thought to the trail she had abandoned. Little choice could be afforded however, she would have to investigate to be certain. As it happened, her decision was shaken from her grasp before she could take a single step.
The distinct sound of a bow being drawn reached her ears, causing her to flinch and tense, hands raising slightly in a placating manner to whomever had sneaked up behind her. There was a long pause during which she considered whether she would have the magical strength to defend herself, before her would-be captor finally spoke. His voice alone sent a wave of relief through her before she could even register the words. It held a distinct tone often not found outside of Quel'thalas itself.
"M'lady, what is your purpose here? You are not with the latest caravan...?"
Turning slowly, she could have wept but for the show of weakness it would have made. There, bow drawn and standing with a brash display of arrogance, was a Blood Elf. He appeared road-worn, but his armor was recently tended, and he looked to be in good health. He drew in a sharp breath at seeing her face, and she had to wonder with a bit of fear if news of her actions had reached even this far. Such a thought was unfounded however, as he quickly stayed his weapon and jogged the few yards to her, tearing a skein from his belt and offering it with concern.
The first trickle of water past her lips nearly sent her into a coughing fit, so parched was her throat. As she drank, the strange elf made a gesture in the air, glowing sigils following the motion of his finger. It seemed to be some sort of sign, as almost immediately the sound of hooves could be heard upon the earth. Five others soon joined them, riding horses of a strange breed, leading two others behind. They seemed surprised at her appearance, but simply shot their companion questioning glances rather than comment.
The one who found her seemed to be the small band's leader, as they waited patiently for his direction. Before she quite knew what was happening, she found herself spirited onto the back of a mount, her fellows leading the reigns as they made their way at a slow trot back to their base. The sudden shock of water in her system after days without came as both a relief and a further stress, as it seemed to kick her sleepless body into a sense of normality, dead tiredness taking her over and urging her to sleep. Little did she trust her new companions however, and she forced herself to stay as alert as she could, the jostling of the animal beneath her aiding in such a respect.
Taking little more than an hour, a small cluster of tents and wagons eventually came into view, and the group seemed pleased. Obviously they had reached their destination. As they drew closer, she spotted a banner flying proudly near the center of the camp, bearing a design which she did not recognize. Though the appearance of more of her race soon made her put such from her mind.
They were greeted at the perimeter by armed protectors and obvious civilians alike, many of which looked after her with confusion as she clumsily dismounted with aid. Tense and gritting her teeth at her display of weakness before so many, she none the less tolerated it, recognizing her body's frailty at the moment. The leader carefully pushed through the small gathering, clearing the way for her in subtle manner, of which she was grateful. She eyed the others as she passed, picking out their clothing and assessing the danger.
She needn't have worried. As they drew closer to the center of the camp, she realized that many of them appeared to be pilgrims of a sort; some bearing obvious signs of withdrawal, others appearing haggard and strained. This was obviously one of the caravans she had hunted after. A large fire had been conjured by someone, yards from the pole which held the strange insignia. A kettle rested in the hot coals, the most delicious scent she had ever encountered drifting from within. The rather savage growl from her stomach shook much of the fog from her brain.
Seeing the direction of her stare, the elf urged her towards the fire, motioning silently for her to sit as he knelt and produced a ladle from beside the pot. Barely repressing a noise of eager impatience, she immediately divested him of it once he had filled it with the soup. It was thick, and richly spiced with herbs and strange vegetables. Conscious of her audience, as well as the heat coming off the mixture, she was forced to pause her instinctive urge to stuff herself with the lot.
Needs seen to, the man sat beside her and raised an expectant eyebrow, "We were unaware that any others would be coming after us. Did you become separated from another group?"
Taking a small sip of the mixture to give herself time to think, she weighed her options. Should she tell him the truth, or a farce? Her wounds flared to life, searing as if newly given, setting her hands to shaking and nearly upsetting her hold of the food. The decision, once more, was out of her hands. She needed to join the main base and hold council with whoever would have her.
Voice rough from disuse, she spoke strongly despite her ordeal,
"I come on orders from Rommath. I am to seek out Prince Kael'thas and hold council. The mages who dispatched me seem to have been off in their calculations."
That seemed to shock the few who mingled close, obviously eavesdropping. Some even shot her looks of mild scorn, taking in her bedraggled and battered state. Non the less, the one who's opinion mattered simply nodded, a look of understanding crossing his face. He signed to a near by mage, who scrambled to his feet and made his way over with an air of faulty self-importance. He looked just as drained as everyone else in this encampment. Quietly, her rescuer explained,
"Many of our camps are constantly on the move, hoping to rejoin our Lord with haste. I find myself unsurprised that our locations are so hard to pinpoint by those on Azeroth. Mior," Said addressing the mage. "Please send word to our fellows at Base. A portal needs to be opened, and despite your strength, I believe our guest would like the added assurance of extra magic fueling her journey."
Puffing up with pride and smugness, Mior nodded and sat down a few feet way. Etching sigils into the ground around him, they glowed only faintly with power. Dievas could very well see that he barely held enough energy to communicate across distance, let alone open a portal on his own. She silently nodded approval to her as of yet unknown companion. He winked at her and motioned for her to finish her fare.
She did so eagerly, downing the heavenly meal in little time at all as she kept an eye on the arcanist. While she disapproved of catering to weakness in others, she more than understood the need for it at the moment. Everyone was weak currently, some more-so than others as the lack of the Sunwell's energy sent them into magical withdrawal. Bodies, minds, and souls craving and yearning for a substance which was now unavailable, save to those already shown the way by Kael'thas and Rommath. The very young and the very old had been the first to perish from it. The few who had survived the scourge invasion that was.
Snapping from her disturbing thoughts and recollections, she blinked as Mior nodded seemingly to himself, muttering under his breath as he got to his feet and brushed off his robes. He turned and nodded to the two of them before sweeping the previous marks from the dirt and beginning anew. These symbols she recognized more readily as the base for a teleportation spell. Uncertainty wavered at the edge of her mind. What had the mage told the others about her arrival? Would she need to continue with the white lie of being sent specifically to Kael'thas?
Not that it would be difficult to keep up appearances, she mentally assured herself. Unless someone contacted Rommath regarding her presence. Only a mild tick of the jaw showed her inner turmoil as at last the rune work was complete. Following Mior's direction, she sat the ladle down and stood, stepping carefully into the small circle and holding her breath.
Too late to back out now. A violent tug and shimmer of arcane, and she was gone.
Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own any characters histories, settings, etc., which are recognizable as belonging to Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or off-shoots of the Blizzard franchise. No monetary or material gain is being made from this fan work.