Author's Note: A casual side-project I've been working on in my spare time. From some sort of geeky, psycho-analytical perspective I'm enthralled with the division between the Horde and the Alliance in Warcraft which extends into fierce divisions among its players (which of course is the desired effect, especially in an MMORPG, but never-the-less) and the story-driven reasons why it exists. I confess I'm not very knowledgeable in the Warcraft lore but I've done my research for this project and wanted to write a story that focused upon these section divisions. Plus there's the added bonus that WoW fanfiction requires you to create OCs the large majority of the time so I could create and explore two characters written exclusively for this purpose. Seeing as I play Horde on WoW I may come off as a bit biased later on in the story but I'm trying my best to be as objective as possible.

The two characters introduced in this chapter belong to me, but their world is Blizzard's.

Rating subject to change (from T to M) as story develops!

Chapter 1

Lucky 7

The Ghostlands existed as a world that howled and screamed in hellish voices. Overtaken by the Dead Scar the lands were a glimpse into a veritable underworld that rendered the forests of Duskwood pleasant by comparison. Undead skeletons with rotting flesh still hanging from their bodies and demonic cannibalistic ravagers prowled behind every twisted tree and outcrop. The gigantic spiders caught more than bugs in their webs and the screams of the poor souls who failed to rip themselves free of the sticky cocoons could be heard echoing ever so clearly off every scraggly rock and pile of debris. Spirits haunted the ruins of once lively towns the horrors of the Scourge denying them the luxury of crossing over. In short the Ghostlands were death.

Every hair on his body stood on end as he crept through the never-ending darkness and mist. This place sent rare chills up and down his spine a prospect he had laughed at when gathering information about the territory. Yet the stories were true; this place reeked of death. The air crackled with spite, dark magick hanging heavily in the air like poison. It stung his eyes and pricked his uncovered skin. Needles, hanging everywhere. If he could have taken a ship or swum along the shoreline until he reached the border of Eversong Woods he would have, but in these times that would have been an even more dangerous route. Sea monsters and marauders seemed more commonplace than schools of fish and for members of species not accustomed to underwater combat it was a last resort. Even large ships feared setting out to sea; many had begun transforming their wooden craft into low-flying zeppelins to avoid disrupting deep ocean waters. No, he would take the Ghostlands over the sea any day.

Devias had paid a decent sum for a warlock to open a portal to the Night Elf scouting post on Shalandris Isle. It was the closest Alliance holding to Eversong Woods and virtually cut off from Alli territories. When he had arrived through the portal the Night Elves stationed at the post had given him some smiles and polite greetings, but they were fixated body and soul upon the Ghostlands. Out of horror or fascination, Devias could not tell, but he had a feeling the Night Elves were comparing these woods to those of Ashenvale; it a look into the future if the Horde had their way. He pitied the Night Elves stationed at the Isle; how anyone could live in such a place, Devias did not know, yet it served its purpose as a place to prepare the newly recruited Once-Elves for the twisted workings of Azeroth. However, Devias was not here to train, he held no interest in the poorly skilled Once-Elves whose bodies he passed every so often. He was here on business, and for a human to venture alone this deep into Horde territory this business had better pay off.

Devias was a mercenary rogue but he worked strictly amongst the Alliance. He had been working the circuit as far back as he could remember and by his late teens when others would have just started going off to war Devias had already made a name for himself. The price of his services was high but he was worth every copper piece. With the ceasefire between the Alliance and the Horde eroding to the point where all of Azeroth threatened to wage all out war the market for experts in Devias' field boomed. In the past few years Devias had become absolutely formidable, even to his own people. Honing his skills and storing up gold had allowed him to travel into the far reaches of Azeroth returning bearing heads along with rare equipment, weapons, and loot. Standing a little over six feet tall he was a giant of a man, his strong frame enhanced by the leather clothing and armor he wore. Many often wondered how a person such as he could so easily disappear without a trace, but Devias never shared his secrets lest he one day be outmatched by them.

A sudden clearing in the gnarled trees made him snap back into reality; he had come upon the river that separated the Ghostlands and Eversong Woods. The other side of the bank did not appear to be much different from his field of view, but that was to be expected he mused. Horde did not fancy beautiful things, it only went without saying that they would prefer to live in twisted places. The river was not very wide but he could not leap across it on his own and Devias wanted to avoid making as much noise as possible. Devias looked around, quickly finding a long, dead branch lying on the forest floor. He picked it up and tested its strength; it was very dry but durable enough for the task at hand. Taking a few steps back from the river's edge he gripped the branch with both hands and held it straight out in front of him. Bursting into a sprint he drove one end of the branch deep into the soft, moist ground beneath him and catapulted himself up and over the river landing deftly on the other side. Devias brushed himself off and turned, eyeing the now vertical branch with satisfaction.

He was surprised by the immediate difference in the atmosphere as compared to the other side of the river; the reason for the darkness of the trees on this side was due to the element of fire. Soot hung heavy in the air, the smell of burned wood filling his nostrils as he breathed. Ashes stirred at the slightest gust of wind and he was shocked how he could have missed such sights and smells in those few feet. The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight, the magick in the air was even thicker than in the Ghostlands. There must be some sort of barrier in place near here, but in all his travels Devias could not remember one as strong or anything capable of creating something like this. Curiosity now raised Devias quickly ascended a barrier of rocks as the land began to rise upwards. The magick energy pounding through his body grew stronger with every step and leap up the rocks, what was it? What was it? As he leapt up the last few feet and glanced skywards he faltered for a second, gasping in surprise.

In front of him stood an absolutely gigantic rune stone, the largest he had ever seen. It rose up and out of the trees, high up into the sky, at least a few hundred feet tall. The jet black face of the stone had been polished down completely making the surface appear to have been made out of glass. Upon its face glowed a deep blue symbol and with every pulse of light he felt the magick in the air vibrate as a heartbeat would. How anyone could erect such a structure let alone infuse it with that much power Devias could not comprehend. Was this the power of the Once-Elves? He had heard countless stories of their racial addiction to mana; did that in some way empower them with the ability to create such a thing as this? Devias couldn't remember the last time he was this awe-struck by anything.

CLANG!

As soon as he heard the clash of metal Devias was a ghost. Leaping up high onto a tree branch he looked around for the source of the noise and his gaze soon fell upon an interesting scene unfolding in front of him. Battling at the base of the gigantic rune stone were two figures, one of a giant forest tree elemental and the other a slim, nimble female Once-Elf. Devias could not make out any details from his vantage point but he could tell that the battle had been going on for quite some time, both parties bearing wounds and sagging from fatigue. The Once-Elf wielded a polearm which she was using to block and occasionally parry the elementals attacks as it swung out at her with its heavy wood fists. The battle was enchanting to observe, the Once-Elf's fluid motions as she dodged and weaved around the elemental swinging her polearm expertly as she went, and the brutish movements of the living tree. As Devias watched this battle progress he noticed something odd; the Once-Elf was barely attacking the elemental. With her level of skill and dexterity she should have ended this battle a long time ago. This caused great confusion in Devias, why would she hold back against an enemy who wished mortal harm upon her?

Suddenly the elemental struck out catching the Once-Elf female square in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. She fell back harshly, hitting the barren floor with a thump as the elemental stood over her. Devias watched, unmoving, as the elemental raised its right fist high in the air ready to bring it down for the final strike. The Once-Elf shouted something Devias could not understand, but whatever it was the elemental paid no heed and its fist plummeted towards earth. In the blink of an eye the Once-Elf barely rolled out of the path of the fist and as the elemental lodged itself in the ground the Once-Elf cried out and forcefully thrust her polearm up and through the creature's head. The elemental grunted and swayed for a few moments before the Once-Elf quickly withdrew the weapon and the elemental crashed to the ground, dead. The Once-Elf was panting, her shoulders heaving as she fell to her knees beside the fallen elemental, sheathing her polearm across her back as the creature began to fade away its body being reverted back into magick energy. Devias jumped down from the tree branch and crept closer to get a better look at the Once-Elf, careful not to make a sound. Once he was closer Devias studied her weapon… and paused.

He smiled in glee as he recognized the weapon she was wielding; he had seen it before and its unique design had been etched into his memory. The Once-Elf wielded a Blood Tempered Ranseur.

She's a Blood Knight.

This was indeed his lucky day; his gamble had paid off after all. Ever since the Once-Elves - or Blood Elves as they called themselves - had joined forces with the Horde there was a large outcry for "specimens" of the race from both the Alliance military and from the beds of the highest bidders. The military wanted to extract information and observe the anatomy and abilities of the Blood Elves brought to them and placed general bounties on the heads of any and all Blood Elves. The wealthy, their pockets often lined with spoils of war, used the slave routes to fetch themselves their very own Blood Elf which was almost always used as a bed toy. Blood Elves were known for their racial beauty in both men and women alike and were worth their weight in gold. All of this was well and good for business but as per his nature Devias wanted to hit the jackpot and here it was, kneeling right in front of him. Blood Knights were a constant thorn in the Alliance's side and they were extremely difficult to capture. Tracking down one in the open lands of Azeroth would be a long and tedious task but Devias had theorized that the closer to Silvermoon City he was able to get the more likely he was to encounter and capture a Blood Knight. They wouldn't expect a lone member of the Alliance in Eversong Woods, an area basically cut off from the rest of Azeroth by the Plaguelands. When in a familiar setting one tends to let their guard down, a behavior Devias had been counting on. Yet he had not only run into one so soon but he had stumbled upon a female Blood Knight and that alone would bring him great wealth.

Devias began to finger the weapons strapped around his waist, deciding the best course of action. For a moment his hand wandered upwards and fell upon the hilt of the blade sheathed across his back. He paused, remembering what he had seen earlier and the Once-Elf's current condition, and decided it was not necessary to use that particular blade. Settling on a pair of daggers and poison needles he eyed his prey like a hawk. A voice fell upon his ears and he paused for a moment as he heard the Once-Elf speak. He could not understand what she was saying, but he knew the language was not Orcish; it was too beautiful for Orcish. Thalassian possibly? His jaw dropped slightly as he listened to her speak, it was simply beautiful, as if hearing a siren sing.

Snap!

"Throm-Ka!" the Once-Elf cried out in Orcish as she brandished her weapon, looking around, searching for the source of the noise. Devias cursed his carelessness for letting his mind wander from the task at hand. His foot had slipped while listening to her speak and he had inadvertently snapped a twig in half. You damn fool! He cursed himself over and over as he leapt upon the Once-Elf not giving her a chance to escape.

His daggers clashed with her polearm as he descended down upon her, their eyes locking. In typical rogue fashion Devias' face was masked but from his build and eye color it was clear he was not of elven descent. Devias saw her eyes narrow and glow a deeper shade of luminescent green as she recognized him as Alliance.

"Dae'mon!" she spat at him, suddenly thrusting forward against his blades and forcing him backwards. Devias stepped nimbly, never loosing his footing while she stumbled in her fatigue, chest heaving up and down rapidly. It was now that Devias had his first chance to get a clear look at the face of his adversary and he swore his heart skipped a beat.

He had seen many a Blood Elf before and had often wondered what a generally beautiful race would consider "gorgeous" by their standards. Devias believed that he now gazed upon a Blood Elf who would fall under that category. She was glorious, there was no other word befitting her description. Despite her wounds and fatigue the Blood Knight simply glowed with spirit, power, and that glorious face which caused Devias to pause. Her hair matched the beauty of her face, a cascade of fiery red that shimmered as it caught every ray of light. Devias smiled, this Once-Elf would be his greatest prize to date, one that would make him a very rich man. Adrenaline rushed through his body at the prospect of his future the fantasies sealing the Once-Elf's fate as Devias became fully determined that he would have her.

"It certainly is my lucky day." Devias said under his breath. Still smiling he suddenly threw two poison needles in her direction, the Blood Knight attempted to leap out of the way but Devias expected that and had thrown a third one unbeknownst to her. It caught the Blood Knight in the neck and she let out a startled gasp as she clutched the needle, falling to the ground with a thud and immediately passing out.

He had to move fast, Devias did not know if anyone else was in the area and had overheard the fighting that had taken place. His prey was incapacitated and would be for a few hours but those would fly by in his search for a suitable place to camp where they wouldn't be spotted by her own kind or by the monstrosities that were so commonplace in Azeroth. Devias looked down at the Once-Elf; she looked beaten but not pitiful, her aura still holding that same spirit he had seen earlier. He smiled to himself; this should prove to be one interesting journey back home.

The Ranseur would be a problem, however. The polearms were not only soul bound but imbued with powerful magick on account of the materials they were made from. He couldn't leave the weapon behind; it was definite proof of her standing as a Blood Knight and was too valuable to leave lying out in the open. Ha, once a thief always a thief. The Once-Elf was still clutching the weapon tightly in her hands; Devias reached down and released her grip on the weapon and then, steadying himself, he grasped the weapon firmly.

Devias grunted in pain as bolts of magick shot through his entire body. Working as fast as he could, Devias turned the Once-Elf on her stomach and tightly sheathed the Ranseur, releasing his grasp as soon as he had done so. Devias' head reeled from the effects of the magick and he took a potion out of his pocket and drunk a mouthful to relieve the pain. In a few moments he felt much better and stood up, hoisting the Once-Elf unceremoniously over his shoulder.

In seconds the rogue and his captive had disappeared without a trace.

Orcish Translations:

Throm-Ka - "Well met" (A greeting, used in this chapter in the same fashion as shouting "Hello?" to address someone you cannot see)

Dae'mon - "Twisted soul" (If you didn't discern from the title)