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Summary: The Legion has been defeated and Azeroth is safe from outside invaders, but with this peace comes an old and familiar threat from within. The necessary and expedient unity between the Alliance and the Horde is crumbling under the weight of old grudges and the sting of wounds left unhealed. Drums sound in the distance like thunder. War is coming to Azeroth once again…

A/N: Hello all! It finally happened; I've expanded to other fandoms. This doesn't mean I've given up my beloved Star Wars fandom, but the brave champions of Azeroth called to me and I cannot ignore their plea. This story (and any others of the fandom that may follow) will center around my main toon in World of Warcraft, Qwaeshiral Dawnchaser a Sin'dorei Hunter of the Horde (sharp readers might note this is where my penname was derived). This may be a one shot. This may be a first in a long series. Who knows! Read on and adventure forth with me!

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A special thanks to all my fans. I hope you find this work as enjoyable as my others.

Please R&R!

Chapter 1 - THE ROGUE & THE WARRIOR

The brightly burning corner braziers warmed the room past what was comfortable, but the wide-open space and high ceiling kept the heat from becoming too oppressive. Shadows cast by firelight danced on the walls and hanging hides emphasizing the stark red and black spiked curves of Orcish architecture.

High Overlord Varok Saurfang leaned over the large table near the room's center. He stared at the tattered map beneath him with a grim expression. He tightened his jaw, his molars grinding minutely causing his tusks to jut up and out. The thick calloused fingers of one green hand drummed a steady tattoo on the hard wood of the table's surface while the other came to his chin, stroking his massive maw in a thoughtful gesture. Suddenly, the drumming stopped and the old orc straightened. He turned his head slightly towards his left shoulder.

"So, the rumors were true," he called out to the seemingly empty room. He turned from the table, his eyes narrowing as he stared into a shadowed corner. A quiet moment passed, and then the shadowed moved. A figure stepped forwards, head cowled and faced covered.

"You knew," the figure spoke. Saurfang's mouth twisted slightly, one corner lifting in a half smirk.

"Only suspected until now," the old orc replied. "It's good to see you, Erised."

The figure stepped closer to the orc and further into the light, pulling the scarf that covered her face free.

"I am called Ellashandra now," she answered as she lowered her hood revealing a short bob of now shock white hair. "Erised died at the citadel."

"With my son."

"No," Ellashandra cut-in sharply. Her eyes flashed, the fel green energy glowing brightly for a moment. "Dranosh fell at the Wrathgate. That… abomination we killed in Icecrown was not him."

Saurfang grunted in agreement though his face bore a slightly saddened expression before falling back into his more customary stern grimace. Two broad, muscular arms were brought up and crossed over the plate armor of his chest piece as he eyed his unexpected companion. Though her head was now revealed, the rest of the slim Sin'dorei's body was covered head-to-toe in midnight hued leather, a pair of gruesome, serrated daggers strapped on her back. Those daggers were far more famous than the elf that wielded them. They were the Kingslayers. His own weapon, a master-crafted two-handed battle axe, carried no name – it's history known only to those who had fought beside it or been felled by it.

"Why have you come?" he asked gruffly. "And why do you sneak about as if you were surrounded by enemies and not allies?"

"Am I?" Ellashandra asked as stepped to the edge of the table with utterly silent footfalls. A gloved finger traced the western border of the Northern Barrens.

"Are you what?"

"Surrounded by allies?" she answered. Saurfang's brow furrowed deeply as he watched her examine the map.

"You are in Orgrimmar," he replied flatly. The corded muscles of his arms bunched and tensed noticeably at the elf's implication. "What is your purpose here, assassin?"

She glanced back up at the old orc then, a small smirk forming on her thin lips. Ellashandra recognized the taunt for what it was and found herself rather amused by it. She knew Saurfang wore his honor like armor and, as a consequence, found her line of work… distasteful.

"Sylvanas intends to move against the alliance," she replied simply. It was not a question.

"Our Warchief," Saurfang growled, "will do as she sees fit."

"Regardless of the consequences?"

"She is our Warchief."

"And you would follow her, regardless of the consequences?"

"She is our Warchief," Saurfang repeated the answer used as both a sword and shield. A single, elegant eyebrow raised.

"We have followed a Warchief blindly before," she retorted. Saurfang's mouth opened then snapped shut. He turned to the map covered table, resting both his massive hands on its surface. He leaned forwards, studying the hand drawn terrain in silence, the long silver braids of his hair swinging in tiny circuits like a tightly wound pendulum.

Ellashandra's green lit gaze fell to the map and ghosted across the detailed depictions of mountains, oases, and forests. No markers or movable icons rested on its surface, but she had no doubt that her companion was moving pieces in his mind, adjusting his warscape like a grandmaster playing a game of Jihui.

She let her gaze roam across the board imagining the game to be played. The territory showed the Northern Barren traveling up to the Ashenvale Forest and ending at the broken coast of Darkshore. She glanced at map again, tracing a winding route to the coastline. There was nothing of note in Darkshore. Much of the small Kaldorei village, Auberdine, had been destroyed during the Great Cataclysm. What could possibly be of interest in a place so close to Darnassus…

Ellashandra eyes shot up with a start. She found Saurfang's dark amber eyes watching her, but revealing nothing within their depths.

"She's wants the World Tree." Another statement. The orc said nothing, but in his silence Ellashandra received her confirmation. "It is a bold move. Too bold," she said holding the older warrior's gaze. Saurfang grunted, but otherwise held his tongue, his eyes falling back onto the map. Ellashandra's own eyes flared brightly once again as she leaned over the table leveling her heavy glare at the orc.

"Saurfang, this is a mistake and you know it!" she hissed. The grizzled orc looked up then something akin to rueful resignation shinning his golden hued eyes. The rogue took a deep breath and reined in some of her immediate anger.

"High Overlord," she began formally, "I know we haven't always agreed on… well, anything." Ellashandra paused here, her lips twitching in a slight smile. "And I know you didn't approve of Dranosh and I, but you must listen to me now and believe me when I tell you, this war Sylvanas would drag us into… it will only end in destruction and not necessarily the Alliance's."

A heartbeat of silence passed, then two, three, Ellashandra's grim pronouncement still hanging heavy in the air. Then Saurfang pushed away from the table, stretching out his spine even as he shook his head, his silver-gray braids rustling against his chest plate. A wide grin spread across face, his tusks jerking slightly as a huff of laughter escaped his mouth.

"For a member of the Uncrowned, you seem woefully misinformed," the old orc rumbled in answer. At Ellashandra's raised eyebrow, he continued. "We agree on more than you think… including Dranosh."

"That is not the Orc way," Ellashandra replied. Saurfang simply shrugged his massive shoulders, the single spiked pauldron on his left casting sharp shadows on the wall.

"Erised was a capable warrior and my son cared for her very much. She would have made him a good mate… and an honored daughter," he finished with a nod to the now speechless elf across the table from him. "As to the rest," he gestured at the map resting between them, "the might of the Horde is the Warchief's to command."

"And what of you? What is your role in the Warchief's command?"

"My role is to ensure victory… with as many lives intact as war will allow," the old orc said with a heavy and meaningful look. Ellashandra searched his eyes and, after a moment, found what she was looking for and gave the warrior a nod. She stepped back from the table and pulled her hood up concealing her bright and distinctive hair. Saurfang watched her as she replaced the black cloth that hid her face, leaving only her eyes uncovered. Without a word, the slim figured elf headed towards the shadows once more, but before she could disappear Saurfang spoke.

"Ellashandra," he called and the dark clad head turned to him. "Do not grow old… if you can help it," the old warrior spoke softly. A moment passed between the two, unguarded and honest, and then it was gone. Ellashandra gave a slight nod of her head and turned away. She stepped into the shadows and was gone. Saurfang turned back to the table and his map.

"Lok'tar ogar, my friend. Victory or death for us all."