Author: Set after the Fall of the Lich King. But, the land never recovered from the effects of the Plague and the Scourge are still shambling about and causing trouble. Set far in the future...and no Cataclysm.
Rated M for: Gore, language, sexual themes. Especially gore.
Disclaimer: WoW doesn't belong to me. Lelthas does, kinda.
Chapter 1
Down the Dead Scar
She swung her sword and a head parted ways with shoulders, the decaying body slumping to its knees, thick ichor oozing out of the wound. To ensure that the undead never rose again, she turned the large, two-handed sword as quickly as if it weighed nothing and plunged it into the small, brightly burning blue ball of light poorly concealed within the creature's chest. She twisted and ripped upwards, splitting the torso in half, the black mockery of blood coating her sword and the ground.
The blue light she had wrenched from the chest of the Scourge clung to the tip of her sword before spreading out onto it, absorbed by the runes that trailed down the center of the blade, the symbols flaring an icy blue.
She turned quickly and caught the inhumanly strong blow of the skeletal guard on her own blade, the ringing of the metal clear and pure in a way those she was fighting were not. She threw the abomination off balance and found the blue ball of energy at its core, armor parting like paper around her swing, bones snapping sickeningly as her sword found its mark, shards of yellow bone pinging futilely against her armor.
The skeleton crumbled and she snarled as a Frostbolt slammed into her back, flickering across her armored torso ineffectively. She turned to face where the cast had come from and with an effort of will sent some of the energy that she had been storing in her blade outwards, directing a burst of freezing energy at the skeletal mage. It was caught in a block of solid ice that would never melt, allowing her to turn her attention to other matters.
The field was littered with mutilated corpses of the Scourge, but there were still many more left to dispose. A slight turn of her head saw one of the mortals she had rallied to her cause fall to a mob of the rotting, repulsive creatures.
It didn't bother her as much as it should have.
All around her those living beings who she had swayed to her side were fighting fiercely, urged on by desperation and her example. She turned and faced the large swath of land that was overrun by monsters before she closed her eyes, both hands gripping the hilt of her sword.
She focused inward, feeling the pulsing energy of the sword singing along her nerves, resonating with the energy of all the Scourge she had eliminated. With a determined, defiant cry she embedded her sword in the earth, directing the energy into the earth. She found every drop of water and turned it to her will, collecting them and freezing them, reaching out to pin all of her enemies in place, she capable of easily determining the dead from the living.
Her eyes opened to see the landscaped changed.
The Scourge were held in an icy grip, wailing pathetically as they knew—just knew, even in their mindlessness—that a final death was upon them. A layer of frost covered the ground, making every step crunch as frozen soil was crushed underfoot. The ambient air temperature had dropped a few degrees, so a light fog had also formed and tugged at the heels of the combatants. When she moved, she found that ice flaked off of her armor, which made her smile faintly. Anymore, she seemed to have an affinity for ice, which amused her, considering how much her twin loathed the cold.
She looked away from the result of her efforts to find her allies regarding her with unabashed awe.
"Do not waste my effort," she snapped, and her soldiers were brought back to the task at hand.
She withdrew her sword and flicked off the diseased soil contemptuously.
A dark chuckle passed through her mind. Creative, aren't we?
Shut up, she snapped back, thrusting the presence away from her forcefully.
She advanced on the caster she had previously frozen and shattered the ice as she simultaneously shattered the bones that composed the undead mage. She sneered as the energy that animated it became hers, and turned to the field of rotting flesh, tattered clothes, yellow bones, and unholy energy burning within the warped remains of what used to be mortal.
She charged into where the population of abominations was thickest and her sword flashed and caught the sunlight as it moved, a precise blur of unending cold as the muck that was the lifeblood of the Scourge-beings arced through the air and stained her armor, invisible against the dark black. Because of the area's natural climate, her spell was fading rapidly, so it was a race against time to get as many Scourge slain as possible while they were still helpless.
Her sword passed cleanly through a risen spirit-like creature, the energy that made it being sucked quickly into her sword, the runes glowing brighter as it absorbed more and more of the energy that animated the corpses and raised the spirits of those who should rightfully be at peace. With a yell, she whirled around and the long reach of her sword cut through the distended limbs of the abominations of those that surrounded her as easily as cutting butter, they foolishly swarming to the most dangerous of enemies.
With the two-handed monstrosity she was using, she should have tired long ago, her muscles trembling with exhaustion, but every Scourge death renewed her strength. Even though sweat soaked into the clothing she wore beneath her armor, her breathing became no more labored than it had when the battle began, hours ago. She moved with a swift grace, it almost as if her hooves never quite touched the ground, or that it aided her in her movement.
She came across a group of blood elves and gave them a fierce smile as she aided a paladin in disposing of a particularly annoying caster-Scourge. For a few moments she moved with the defiant group of Sin'dorei as they dragged mob after mob to them, determination set on their faces. She saw the mages switch to Frost magic, which, for some reason, always became exponentially stronger when she was present.
She caught them becoming gray with exhaustion, fel-green eyes growing dull. She took down twenty Scourge with a single spell before turning to the group, whose eyes were wide in fear and hunger.
"Go rest. Send another group out who have rested," she commanded before turning away, certain that her orders would be obeyed.
The killing field lay before her, and her lips pulled back into a grim smile. She dove back into the fray, pulling Scourge off of the more delicate members of her troops, decimating all those foolish enough to stray into her range.
She was surprised when she found herself staring across the small river that separated Eversong Woods from the Ghostlands. She turned and saw what was left of the Scourge retreating. She frowned and turned to her troops.
She called out the names of her Hunters and Warlocks, who snapped to attention at her voice.
"Finish them off," she commanded, gesturing to the shambling undead running away as fast as they could.
She watched the mixture of Horde races give chase before she sighed and strapped her sword to her waist. She removed her helm clumsily, the exertion of the battle finally catching up with her now that she was no longer moving. She found the arm that she tucked the helmet under was trembling, her legs screaming in pain. She shook off her weakness and turned to face the destruction she and her followers had wrought.
Within the portion of the Dead Scar they had assaulted, not a single undead thing was left animated. She watched as priests, shaman, druids, and paladins resurrected what fallen warriors they could, while mages burned the remains of the undead, and the wounded were cared for by those without innate healing skills as others staggered their way off the killing ground, every motion weary beyond belief.
Only she remained standing in the diseased field itself, observing everything with impassive eyes.
I have won a great victory.
She smiled faintly and turned to her right before asking: "What do you think, Ivi'al?"
A female blood elf rogue faded into sight beside her, a wry smile forming on the elf's features as she stood from her crouch.
"Who did you say you were again?" the rogue asked, smothered shameful awe in her voice.
"Lelthas," she answered.
"And remind me why a female Draenei is helping an enemy of her people?"
Lelthas turned from regarding the rogue to looking back at the Scar. "The Scourge are the enemy of all living things, regardless of faction. It is my calling to wipe them off the face of Azeroth. I will assure that these Scourge are the last. Wipe them out, and, aside from the occasional necromancer, the denizens of this world need no longer fear undeath."
"No, we just have to worry about killing each other then," Ivi'al commented dryly.
Lelthas chuckled. "I suppose. Still, won't it be nice to know that when you die, your body will no longer be used without your consent?"
The blood elf shuddered. "I see your point. Come, there's no use staying in this place."
The rogue vanished from sight, and Lelthas moved at a sedate pace towards where her army had set up camp.
She was stopped by a body of one of her comrades in her path, the blood elf slashed from nape to navel, his organs sloshing out of his wound, a mass of things that had once helped power a living, breathing, sentient being pooled in a dark stain on the ashen soil.
Magic curled up within her, dark and seductive that whispered, You can heal him. Bring him back to life.
Lelthas ruthlessly squashed the magic, banishing it to the darkest recesses of her soul, a scowl forming on her face as she moved around the body, leaving it behind. She was careful to avoid any of the other corpses of her fallen soldiers, setting a corpse detail for those not horribly injured, to make sure that their fallen friends wouldn't be tainted by the Dead Scar and possibly brought back to life without any consciousness.
She walked over to where the medical tent was, looking over those who were on the verge, patched together by bandages while druids, shaman, paladins, and priests all recovered their power. There were more injured than she would have liked, but less than she had expected.
You are strong. But you would be stronger only if you would tap into my innate power...
Your innate power is evil, she asserted. I will use the energy I retrieve and what I have naturally. You cannot tempt me into using your dark energy.
The sight of so many of the males and females she had grown to know dead made it very tempting, though.
They would not come back as who they once were, she reminded herself, steeling her resolution.
"How is everyone?" she asked, and the conglomerate of weary healers started, obviously panicked for a moment before Lelthas drew attention to herself. "Just me," she said with a small chagrined smile.
The blood elf priest's shoulders relaxed and she looked over to the tent that housed the injured. "We're hurting. Given the magnitude of the battle that we fought, though..." the priest looked back to Lelthas with a wry smile. "It's better than anyone could have hoped for."
"You've done in a short campaign what we have been struggling to accomplish for generations," a Sin'dorei paladin muttered, stance both defiant and exhausted. "How?"
Lelthas tipped her head to the side and smiled faintly. "I know how to fight Scourge. It is...a skill I have cultivated my entire life." Her fingers gently brushed against the hilt of her sword.
A Orc shaman shook her head and crossed her arms, eyes narrowed. "The Spirits flee from you. You reek of strange magic—not the arcane the Sin'dorei use, something else."
Lelthas shifted her weight and shrugged. "The Spirits have never spoken to me. I apologize if I offend them." She looked to the nearby Tauren druid. "How many were lost?"
The number the druid gave Lelthas made her eyebrows snap up.
Many less than I had thought.
"Fantastic!" Lelthas said warmly. "I'm relieved." She bowed to all of the healers present. "If you would pardon me..."
She moved away from speaking with the healers, mouth twisted in a bitter smile.
How would I explain you? She wondered as her fingers lightly rested on the pommel of her sword.
She walked into the main camp, and stopped by each group of exhausted soldiers, pleased to see that the races mingled (even if the classes did not, which amused her), offering support, complimenting them, bolstering their confidence in themselves and what they had achieved, all while keeping watch for the return of the detachment of Hunters and Warlocks she had sent to kill the last of the Scourge.
Eventually, they returned with less one, telling tales of her courage.
"Who was she?" Lelthas asked as she idly fiddled with the clasp that held her cloak in place.
The name given was one she was vaguely familiar with—enough to know that the hunter had been suspicious about Lelthas' motives, and so was someone she had necessarily tread lightly around.
Lelthas was pleased at the removal of a potential obstacle, but had to keep up appearances, and so settled for saying: "She will be missed," before sending them on their way.
How ironic would it be to find her and resurrect her, to bind her to your service?
Lelthas' hand gripped the hilt of her sword, her eyes unseeing as she gazed into the distance. No. Now stop it.
There's someone else who will stand in the way of your campaign, you know.
Lelthas's grip became almost painfully tight. We are not going to have this conversation again.
You know you will have to kill him eventually.
She shook her head sharply and turned away from gazing down the Dead Scar at the nearby Ghostlands. No, I won't. I will find a way around. I cannot kill him.
You must. He will be the only one to truly stand between you and total victory.
I will make sure he is occupied elsewhere so that we need never run up against each other—and therefore never have him figure out who I am.
We shall see. With what you are, I doubt that you will be able to stay away from each other for the rest of his life.
This conversation is ending now. I am not going to kill him, and that is final.
She whirled around, the cloak around her shoulders flaring satisfyingly dramatically as she walked towards the command tent, her hooves making gentle clicks as she strode on the broken pathway to where they had set up their command tent. Inside, she found the military commanders that had been spared for her effort in the Sin'dorei lands. She nodded to them all politely before taking her place at the circular diagram of their motions, little spelled figurines moving in time with real-world events courtesy of some massive and complicated magic that had been gifted to her by the mages of Dalaran.
After some persuasion, of course—not that anyone else in the tent needed to know that.
"The Forsaken continue to deny us military access to Lordaeron," the Orc commander said, obviously annoyed.
"The Forsaken keep their own council," Lelthas said evenly, even though a wave of nausea and hatred rolled through her even at the mention of the race. "How are our movements doing otherwise?"
The Sin'dorei commander stepped forward, her hands moving to press flat against the magicked board. She took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "We're making good progress. Eversong Woods' Dead Scar seems to be purged of the Scourge, which is a welcome development." The section of the map that had been the Eversong Woods flared a deep emerald green, the Dead Scar's ashen color fading into the green, signifying that, while it might not be cleansed, the Scourge were no longer present.
The Sin'dorei turned her attention to the Ghostlands, which grew to encompass the table. "Now, onto the Ghostlands." The Sin'dorei gestured to the Dead Scar, little dots of sickly green signifying the Scourge that shambled along the length and breadth of the trail of destruction left so many ages ago. "There are more and stronger Scourge in the Ghostlands, which itself is diseased. A major stronghold for the Scourge is in Deathholm, here." The Sin'dorei warrior tapped her delicate finger against the mock image of the complex. "We think something in here is somehow 'powering' the Scourge. Theoretically, we've gone through the area carefully and thoroughly, but the Scourge persist. We must be missing something, though. Perhaps having another look at it from a completely different perspective will finally rid us of it."
Lelthas made a considering sound, her eyes fixing on Deathholm. Even through the map she could feel the necromantic magic saturating the area, and it made her scowl. "I will make sure that the area will be freed from the necromantic taint that sickens it. I promise you."
Lelthas was entirely sincere. Necromancy made her ill and furious, so she would fight to her last breath to release the area from the stranglehold of the dark magic.
Her fervor seemed to appease the Sin'dorei, who smiled (as much as the Bloof Elves ever 'smiled') and inclined her head. "Otherwise," she continued, "the Scourge are in retreat all over the main Horde lands, if not wiped out entirely." She looked at Lelthas, curiosity burning in her fel-green eyes. "Those amulets you gave some of the officers that you said would draw the Scourge worked wonderfully." There was an unspoken, 'How did you make them?'
The gems tinkled brightly against the plate armor that covered her hand and she knelt down, ignoring the blood that clung to her armor. Gingerly, she placed the gems in the blood she was kneeling in and passed her hand over them, drawing power from the life-liquid beneath her. The various colors of the precious stones changed to a deep black, little perfect circles around them where they had sucked power from the blood they were partially submerged in.
When she picked them up, they glowed darkly in her palm, balls of brightly burning shadow, power captured within their facets.
"I'm glad," she said instead, ignoring the silent inquiry as she pushed the memory away.
"As for the Eastern Kingdoms and Lordaeron..." the Orc cut in, he hesitantly putting his hands on the table, which zoomed out from the Ghostlands and hovered over Kalimdor before switching to a bird's-eye view of the Eastern Kingdoms. "The Forsaken say they are quite capable of taking care of their Scourge problem on their own," he half-growled, obviously miffed.
Lelthas was certain that the Forsaken hadn't bothered about being polite in telling the Orc more-or-less to go away and shove it, which she mentally tacked up as another thing she could use in the future.
"While the former Plaguelands have been reclaimed, the Scourge have not left entirely and continue to be a plague on the living." He huffed in frustration. "We go there next."
The Sin'dorei bristled at being told what to do, but Lelthas simply nodded. "I was about to suggest that myself. Part of the Plaguelands have been claimed by the Alliance, however." Lelthas paused and tapped the Alliance-owned Plaguelands, zooming in. "It seems that some diplomacy will be in order."
The Orc sneered, the Sin'dorei joined in the disdain.
Lelthas sighed. "I'm not asking you yourselves to make nice with the Alliance. I understand that you harbor no love for them." Lelthas removed her hands, looking at the magically projected terrain. "We will deal with the Alliance when the time comes—our attention should be on freeing Horde lands from the Scourge-taint."
The two commanders nodded, glad to ignore the diplomacy that would eventually be an unfortunate necessity.
Lelthas smiled faintly, pleased by the progress of her orchestration. Everything was going more-or-less according to her plan, which was a relief. She had endured enough setbacks and resistance earlier in her machinations.
"Very well, my dear sir, lady," she said, acknowledging the Orc and Sin'dorei respectively. She sighed and ran a tired hand through her hair. "For now, we rest. We will go after the Ghostland once we are rejuvenated and healed. When will the supplies from Silvermoon arrive?"
"At the latest, tomorrow morning," the Sin'dorei replied.
"Good," Lelthas said firmly. "Now, you two go rest. We had a long battle—everyone is weary."
"You rest too," the Orc murmured with grudging respect.
Lelthas nodded and shooed the other commanders out of the tent. She waited until they were far enough away before she slumped down onto a chair, deeply exhausted.
If you only used my power, you'd be invincible.
Lelthas shook her head and scowled. Shut up.
There was a dark chuckle in her mind that made her scowl at the ground.
This is a consequence of you picking me up.
I can leave you hidden away somewhere where no-one will ever find you again, she snarled in reply.
Lelthas got a distinct impression of a scowl and a growl, which was a faint comfort. She knew how much being stuck where he was pissed off the occupant of the blade, and she made ample use of it when he started to get on her nerves.
She did wonder, sometimes, how long she really would be able to resist the siren song of dark magic that sung just below the surface of her skin.
Her eyes drifted over to the blade at her side and her fingers ran across the intricate working of the pommel. She turned away from it and leaned her elbows on her armored thighs, chin resting delicately on plate-covered hands.
I hadn't thought it possible, but no-one recognizes the helm or sword that I bear, she thought with wry amusement before snorting at herself and standing with a stifled groan. Not like I recognized them either. Truly, they have been relegated to myth.
The sword hummed at her side, which made her gently brush her fingers against the handle. She placed the helm back on her head and walked out of the Sanctuary back into the bright evening of the Eversong Woods.
She walked to the Dead Scar and turned back the way they had slowly, tortuously, freed from the Scourge. From the gates of Silvermoon to the edge of the Ghostlands had taken four days. Four agonizing, painful, costly days. Lelthas knew that the toll would only grow steeper the closer they came to what used to be the Western Plaguelands. The area had long been free from substantial influence of the undead, but it was nonetheless a dangerous place.
Stop fighting it. Use the power. A thought would control the Scourge and there would no longer be a need to have any of your comrades get hurt.
It was the most convincing argument he had come up with as to why she should tap into the dark powers that dwelled within the helm she wore. Still, she ignored it. Being able to suddenly control the Scourge after having lost lives to them would reflect badly upon her and hinder the groundwork she was so carefully laying.
"Commander?"
Lelthas turned to face the speaker, the shaman standing before her looking solemn, but her eyes carried a sparkle of triumph.
"Yes, Narjan?" Lelthas acknowledged, hands clasping behind her back.
The female Tauren looked exultant. "All Scourge presence in Eversong Woods is gone." The Tauren shaman managed to almost look smug. "The land can finally begin to heal with the appropriate tending."
Lelthas started. "All research the Sin'dorei have done indicates that the damage is permanent."
"The Spirits have truly blessed our endeavor," Narjan said and smiled fiercely, the gesture almost terrifying in its intensity.
Well, the ground does feel different, Lelthas thought to herself before she smiled widely, it visible even beneath her helm. "We must announce the good news," she said and started walking towards camp, the shaman going ahead of her.
The news spread like wildfire once unleashed, and the mood of the entire camp seemed to change in an instant, from battle-weary and sore to jubilant. They were succeeding where all other previous generations had failed. They could finally reclaim their lands.
The night fell swiftly, and fires sprung up to keep those nearby warm as well as to cook food. Lelthas watched it all with smug satisfaction, helm once more tucked securely underneath her arm, so as to afford her a better view of her miniature army.
How funny to think that she, a Draenei, was leading those who were supposed to be her enemies. She supposed that being relatively fluent in Orcish had helped her case, and that she went out of her way to learn the culture and customs and language of each of the races probably only strengthened it. Her charisma, fearlessness, and pure power had also seduced a great many people to her. If the Horde responded to anything, they responded to power, and as she had effectively wiped the floor with all of their leaders (save Lady Sylvanas—she would never willingly recruit Forsaken to her cause)...well.
In her, the peoples of the Horde saw salvation. After so long enduring the presence of the Scourge and undead, it had seemed hopeless, as if they would simply have to deal with them for the rest of eternity.
Then, she appeared, and when she felled a Scourge-being, it stayed down. Where she trod, the Scourge fell in droves.
Lelthas drew support from all the Horde races except the Forsaken, but she wouldn't have taken their help even if they had offered it. Afterall, they themselves were simply Scourge who had supposedly wrenched free will from the grip of the "Lich King" so long ago. Lelthas would never accept their aid, although saw a twisted irony in Scourge destroying Scourge.
You will need more than just the hearts of the people to accomplish your goal.
We will deal with that when we come to it, Lelthas asserted. Right now, we must succeed in the first phase. It seems to be going well enough, but one should never assume the result before it is achieved.
Lelthas got the distinct impression of a sneer, which made her smirk wryly. He was never patient, and patience was required for her to succeed.
She drew herself out of her thoughts when she heard her name called, schooled her face into a more pleasant expression, and returned to her duties.
–
As she was dragged from memory-plagued dreams, her eyes opened to the familiar sight of her gripping her sword to her tightly, as if afraid it might escape her or be stolen during the night. She knew, however, that it would never leave her—it couldn't.
She forced her hands to release it, and pushed herself into a sitting position. She smiled wryly as flakes of frost fell from her, drifting down in gentle puffs as she stood, pulling her sword up with her, sheathing it in one fluid, practiced motion. Turning, she looked at the helm that was propped against her bundle of supplies. It stared at her with empty eyes, the blue gem sitting in its forehead glittering with suppressed dark energy.
"You cannot use evil to fight evil!" he cried weakly around the blood that filled his mouth, he fading quickly.
"Why not?" she asked curiously.
"My lady?"
Lelthas shooed away the memory and turned to face the Sin'dorei runner that stood a respectful distance away. "Yes?" she asked, walking over to the helm and picking it up.
"Supplies have arrived and are being distributed," the blood elf said.
"They have arrived early," Lelthas murmured approvingly, amused at how the Sin'dorei was watching her with blatant curiosity.
Lelthas was quite aware that she was an unusual sight in the lush land that surrounded her, she a figure of porcelain and obsidian against the deep greens and vibrant hues. That she was technically an enemy only made the contrast all the more striking. She put on the helm and the dark power washed over her, beckoning.
She ignored it.
"Shall we?" she asked and gestured the blood elf out first. They exited into the first rays of sunlight, it reflecting off of newly-polished armor. Her gaze turned to the Dead Scar, and the evil that danced on the edges of it, and her mouth tightened into a small snarl.
Soon, soon...
She wrenched herself away from it and caught up to the runner, who was giving her a curious look. "I just want to see this world free of undeath," she said in way of explanation. "Having those...atrocities there is..." she shook her head in disgust. "Nevermind. They will be obliterated soon enough."
The Sin'dorei gave her a weighing look.
Lelthas got that reaction a lot from the members of the Horde. They all seemed to wonder if, once the presence of the Scourge was gone, she would turn her formidable powers against them.
She gave the blood elf a smile as they walked, doing her best to use the expression to assuage the runner's worries if briefly. She needed their trust, as it would be easier to sway them down the line, when she really required it.
She liked the blood elves anyway—they were pretty, so courting their favor wasn't half as hard as doing so with the Trolls, who were aesthetically unpleasing to her.
As she walked through the camp, her eyes fell upon a group that looked rather sad and sober, which intrigued Lelthas. She made a vague gesture to her escort, which was correctly interpreted as 'Go on without me,' and walked over to the group.
It took her a moment to place them all as friends of the Hunter who had died, and approached them with care.
"Is there anything I can do?" she asked quietly, the shaman in the group having watched her as she approached, probably alerted by the spirits of Earth.
"Not unless you can rip a soul out of Death's final grasp, no," a mage growled darkly.
You can.
Shut up.
"My condolences," Lelthas said and bowed slightly, respectfully. "Her skills, courage, and presence will be missed."
She left that group behind and made a point at stopping at every huddle, speaking soft words of encouragement, asking after fallen or injured comrades, searching for a general sense of the camp's morale.
Not bad for having fought for days to free the Scar, she thought, mildly impressed. She supposed that hope was the best motivator a commander could ever hope for—it gave the troops purpose and drive, things which were necessary to conduct a successful campaign.
And it had, by all accounts, been successful so far.
Your success would be assured if—
No, she asserted, cutting him off. She eventually came to rest on the edge of the Dead Scar, her eyes traveling towards Silvermoon in the far distance, then back to the Ghostlands.
"Do the Kaldorei still have a presence there?" she asked, looking down and to the left.
"A small one," she was answered, Ivi'al once again fading into sight. "How do you do that?" she asked as she stood.
Lelthas's lips twitched in a smile. "I'm special."
The rogue scowled at the forest floor. "I'm trained in subtlety, you shouldn't be able to detect me."
Lelthas chuckled softly and shook her head. "Don't worry about it."
The Sin'dorei snorted in a very un-ladylike manner, which made Lelthas smile faintly.
"We shall rest for today," the Draenei said. "The Scourge are going nowhere, and everyone needs a breather."
The rogue's lips split in a silent snarl. "We are rested. The faster we clean out the Scourge, the better."
Lelthas paused. "Is that you speaking, or everyone?"
The blood elf looked sullen. "It is my opinion, but I have no doubt that it is shared."
"Mm," Lelthas murmured, her fingertips lightly brushing against her sword's hilt in contemplation. "We shall see. If the camp becomes agitated, I will direct their energy towards their enemies. However, I believe a rest is called for."
The rogue vanished from sight with a dark mutter, leaving Lelthas alone once more.
Well, never truly alone, she amended internally, a flare of sullen anger meeting her admission.
What happens, once you remove the Scourge from Azeroth? Where do you go from there? She asked herself.
Her eyes unfocused as she fell into quiet contemplation.
After a few minutes of idle thought, she sighed and shook her head. I shall deal with that when the time is right. She was about to turn away from the Dead Scar when she noticed something that made her distinctly uneasy.
Where she was standing, the grass was withering and warping.
She quickly moved away, stepping onto stone, and looked at the hoof-prints in astonished alarm. She wrenched off the helm and the dark power receded, leaving her clear-headed. This time, when she stepped onto the landscape, she left no mark.
She looked at the helm with unease. She knew it had dark magics, but didn't think it would affect her without her knowledge. She would have to be more careful in the future.
Just give in, he whispered.
And allow you an opportunity to take control of me? I don't think so.
He snarled, but was easily pushed aside. She had become used to him in their time together—which, truthfully, was quite substantial—and he to her. He still tried to manipulate her to do what he desired, but she liked to think herself stronger than that.
Even though she knew there were times she buckled a little underneath his whispers and performed things she would have never done if she were in her right mind.
Like pick up the helm, she thought to herself wryly. Still, it had its uses—although that might be her justifying a questionable action to herself.
Kill him! He snarled.
He has no weapon to defend himself! she replied.
Do you want the power to save this world from the Scourge? Then take it from him! The only way you can do that is to kill him!
No! There must be another way!
She turned to the man who lay a few yards away from her, regarding her with fathomless, burning eyes. "Please! Just give me the helm!"
"No," he replied firmly. "You mean well, but you could not resist its dark call."
She started, then snarled. "I am a servant of the Light. It will not control me."
His look was full of pity, which made her stomach curl in anger. How dare he pity her!
She had hated herself for days afterward, the memory of his severed head rolling away from his body, a tiny trail of fire following the path before flickering into nothingness burned into her memory.
She shook herself out of her memory and turned to face her camp.
She walked carefully on the broken stone path, her helm remaining gripped tightly beneath her arm. She resolved not to wear it unless in battle or a situation in which her death was highly likely if she didn't wear the helm. She was sworn to protect all life, defeat undeath—and causing undeath went against her personal vows.
The less she wore the helm, the less tempted she would be, too. All in all, it worked out to her advantage not to wear the helm.
Coward, he accused.
Prudent,she replied.
She felt him as a simmering undercurrent to her thoughts, and sighed. She gently rubbed a hand over her eyes, grudgingly admitting that she was more tired than she would like. Using the magic she was given took a heavy toll on her endurance, and she had noticed—with more than a little alarm—that using it was subtly changing her appearance. Her hair had always been pale, but now it was pure white, and her skin had changed from its healthy azure to a more ashen color, and the deep black of her armor only served to highlight that.
She walked along, her hoof-steps muted by the lush grass, heading leisurely to the command tent. She watched Dragonhawks flutter in the distance, saw small critters scuttle through the grass, observed sunshafts peaking through the trees—beauty was all around her, and she wasn't touched by any of it. It was getting harder and harder to appreciate the little things that made life wondrous, but she found she didn't miss the demand to appreciate them. As long as she was a good leader, as long as she led her soldiers to victory, no-one truthfully cared about anything else she did. Mortals had numerous and inventive ways of perceiving things in a certain way that makes sense to their own world-view...even if such perceptions may be incorrect.
With a small, silent sigh, Lelthas resolutely shoved away all mundane distractions and forced herself to focus on the task she had set before her.
One that was only a small piece in a much larger puzzle that she had been crafting her entire life.