Author's Note: After so long, here is a WoW story for all you WoW fans. It is Shounen Ai Yaoi and it's a stalker story. This story was inspired by real life RPing on the server Blackwater Raiders and the song Haunted by Evanescence. Information of armor was gathered via the Armory.

Disclaimer: I don't own World of Warcraft, nor am I even associated with Blizzard. Some of the characters mentioned in this story I don't own and, if you own a WoW, be sure to send them some mail saying, "You have been added in Elenor's fanfiction at in a WoW fanfic known as Omura's Prey. Go check it out."

Omura's Prey

Chapter 1: His New Prey

He had it all... Almost. He was a powerful Warlock with long, flowing dark hair and brilliant, glowing emerald eyes, as all eyes of the Sin'Dorei were meant to be. His scrawny, unfit for non-magical battle body, was shrouded with cloth armor. His face was hidden from view with a White Bandit Mask that had been tailormade. Around his neck, he proudly wore his Lodestone Neckless of the Bear, something he had managed to pick off while hunting around the world of Azeroth. His shoulders bore Black Mageweave Shoulderpads, another tailormade armor. On his back flowed a Gossamer Cape of the Owl, another picked up item. On his torso he wore the official tabard of his guild, something he had to pay a cheap price for... cheap for people as powerful as him, anyway, for when you were this strong, nearly one gold piece was cheap. Underneath his Guild Tabard, he wore Runecloth Robes, and underneath those Runecloth Robes, he wore a Pink Mageweave Shirt, both tailormade. On his arms, he wore Gaea's Cuffs of the Whale, something he obtained during his travels, and on his hands he wore Black Mageweave Gloves, once again tailormade, as it seemed was the cause from which most of his clothing came. His Conjerur's Breeches of the Eagle, yet another piece of armor he had found, was held up by a Scorching Sash, the reward of a well-completed quest. His Shadowweave Boots, tailormade, were worn with black socks covering him to make sure he did not give them the foul stench of his feet. On his fingers, he wore a Ring of Sutletly and the Seal of Sylvanas, both rewards for two other well-completed quests. His trinket, the last piece of his armor, the Argent Dawn Comission, another quest reward, was always carried with him, well protected from thieves and showing publicly that he served the Argent Dawn. His weapons involved a staff known as Soulkeeper, something he found inside a chest, and an Ivory Wand of the Whale, which was the last item of importance that he had found in his journey.

Yes, Omura was a very powerful person. He was the owner of his guild, apropriately named the Omura Clan, as well as being an expert tailorer and enchanter, most likely the creator of his own armor. He was talented in the Warlock's art of Destruction, but he just didn't feel like training anymore. Everything seemed dull to him now. He spent most of his days in Undercity, where the stench was more foul then his or anyone elses feet could get in any amount of days always, obviously stating that Undercity was the home to the Forsaken, a rebel band of Undead Scourge led by the Banshee Queen, Sylvanas Windrunner, who had lost her life to Arthas during the battle for Quel'Thalas and the Sunwell. He even knew a lot of the Horde's history. The Orcs, Trolls, and Tauren were the original founders, all united underneath the rule of Thrall, the Orcish Warchief. The Forsaken had merely joined, so they heard, because they figured the Horde could be useful for their plan to eliminate all of humanity off the Earth. All of them shared a common enemy, however, with the Alliance, the Scourge, and the Burning Legion, and neither the Horde, nor the Forsaken, could deny that they were more powerful working together then apart.

But Omura was bored. He was also very lonely. Thirty-one other members inside his clan, but he was lonely. It was because he didn't feel the same way for any of them. He wanted to find somebody he could truthfully say he loved, someone he could follow and make his.

He found himself surprised when that said one walked past him just a few seconds after he thought that.

(Elenor's View)

Disgarding the stench, Undercity was his home away from home. Silvermoon could be full of freaks and people that found him unwanted. It made it hard to believe that it was the hometown of the Sin'Dorei, the proudest race in all of Azeroth's history. They continued to wreck and defile the Sin'Dorei's name, but they did not care, of course. The few that did act like true Sin'Dorei were written off as serious, uptight people who needed to cut themselves a break. Elenor was one of those people. It wasn't his fault that he liked to follow the code of the Paladin, and yes, Paladin, not Blood Knight. Sometime ago, Elenor had learned the truth behind the Blood Knights. They manipulated the light, but they were all Kael'Thas' pawns. They all continued to follow his word when he had betrayed them and left them for dead a long time ago. Kael'Thas was nothing to Elenor. He had never been there for the Paladin and he would never be there for the Sunstrider Prince. When the day came that Elenor would be strong enough to brave the Outlands, he would join a group and take Sunstrider's head for his own. But for now, he was too weak to ride a horse, strong enough to brave zones with medium strength monsters like Ashenvale or Hillsbrad, but not strong enough to go to places like Alterac or Desolace. The only battlegrounds he was strong enough to participate in were Warsong Gulch and Arathi Basin. He did have a good look, however. His hair, fully exposed, as he had left his helmet off, was of the long, flowing blonde variety, long enough to even mat across his shoulders and cloak. His Thick Bronze Neckless, created for him by a friend, hung proudly around his neck. Laced Mail Shoulderpads received during his fighting in Shadowfang Keep adorned his shoulders well. The cloak his hair hung over, a Nightsky Cloak, had been given to him by another friend, one who had a much better cloak and had no need for it. He wore no tabard, with no guild to call his own and no allegiance to keep, but he did wear Orcish War Chain, a reward for the completion of a quest, and underneath that he wore a Common Gray Shirt, which he had bought ever since he first came to Silvermoon from Sunstrider Island. On his arms, he wore Sentry Bracers, and on his hands, he wore Gloves of Brawn, both the rewards of some amazingly completed quests. His Burnished Girdle, another quest reward, held up his Glimmering Mail Legguards, also found in Shadowfang Keep. For his feet, he wore Battleforge Boots of the Bear, which kept his feet well protected from the ground and enemy weapons alike. Finally, he adorned two rings of his own, the Slayer's Band and a Horn Ring, both quest rewards like most of his armor. His weapon was also the reward of a long taken quest. He held it proudly in his hand, though his stance reveiled that he had still more training to do in the art of Polearm weaponry. His Blood-Tempered Ranseur, glistening brightly in the dank darkness that Undercity could sometimes possess, was his prized possesion, though he knew he'd have to get rid of it for better someday.

Elenor had been in many guilds. He had been in The Hundred Swords, the Eye of Nothh, and even the Blood Knights themselves. His latest guild was known as the Children of the Sunlords, but when a mishap happened, causing him to lose all of his money in the guild bank, he left the guild, aiming to find a new guild that would take him for who he was. He was an Apprentice Blacksmith, but a Journeyman Miner. He was a specialist in the Paladin's art of Retribution, making him a very vengeful person at heart. Add that to the Paladin's natural instinct to want to help people and you had a bit of a wreck. Elenor was always trying to help people, but when made fun of, he always had some sort of comeback. It hurt, but it was the way Elenor was. He also had some weird habbits like twirling his hair and biting his thumb.

He was walking towards the Apothecarium when he heard footsteps behind him. He was in the middle of the Trade Quarter, there were bound to be people there, but when he made his ways down to the Canals, he still heard them. He began to pick up the pace and he heard the footsteps do the same. Now his mind was flung into a full panic as he began to run circles around the Undercity's canal stream, passing the Apothecarium, then the Rogue's Quarter, then the Magic Quarter, and finally the War Quarter. He appeared at the Apothecarium and turned to face his stalker.

There was no one there besides himself.

Now Elenor felt a little twitch come into his system. He began to think of logical explanations, but not a one came to his mind. He decided to ignore it for now and walk towards the quarters of Sylvanas Windrunner.

Walking down the hallways past Deathguard after Deathguard after Deathguard, he finally made it to the inner chamber where Sylvanas was waiting.

"So you finally got here, did you?" Sylvanas asked.

"That I did, m'lady Sylvanas. Tell me, what was it you wanted?" Elenor asked.

"Aren't we the polite type? I have some ill news. It seems your brother, Reonu, has run off into the Ghostlands. The reason I am telling you this is because..." Sylvanas began.

"The Ghostlands are full of monsters that would kill me, destroy my remains, and scatter my ashes into the winds?" Elenor asked, twirling his hair absentmindedly.

"Yeah, that's about it," Sylvanas said.

"I wonder what in the Netherworld possessed him to do such a thing," Elenor said.

"Meh, who knows? But our scouts say the last time they saw him, he was running around naked, in order to spare his armor any damage, so that he could take towers controlled by the Alliance," Sylvanas said.

"Ok... but the problem is... who can I take with me that can survive the Plaguelands?" Elenor asked.

"That would be me."

Elenor turned around to face the summoner of the voice. He was surprised to see a Warlock. Paladins had a natural hatred of what Warlocks did and Warlocks held a natural hatred of what Paladins did. They were two contrary forces, so why was he offering to help his brother? Then again, Reonu was a rogue, which was also a Paladin's enemy in a way.

"I'm Omura. I couldn't help but overhear this shocking dillema. You say your brother's been running around in the Plaguelands, and naked of all things? We just can't have that, can we?" the warlock, Omura, asked.

"I guess not... Well, if you're willing to help, Sir Omura, I would be in your debt," Elenor said.

"Hmmmm, really now?" Omura asked, then smiled. "Well, then I guess I might have to take you up on that, won't I?"

End Chapter

I am so sorry, Omura, if you read this and find your character butchered. Elenor and Reonu are mine. Yes, one day I went and explored the Plaguelands right outside of the Ghostlands naked with Reonu. It was fun. LOL! Review please.