I've put the A/N section and issue responses at the end of this chapter. Still, I'll say now that I've changed "garosh" to "kharosh." It's explained in the section.

Denial

Chapter 10: Eye of the Netherstorm

Hyperion hated flying.

Unfortunately, flying was something that he'd been forced to do, courtesy of a certain sin'dorei prince whose sanity was in question, at least in Hyperion's mind. After all, sane people did not hold their forces back in their fortress while two escapees roamed free. Sane people did not banish fully capable officers to backwater forts just for speaking their minds. Sane people did not send aviophobic people out on dragonhawks, especially since-…

Hyperion shook his head. "Alright, perhaps the last part isn't so surprising," he thought bitterly. "Add in a touch of sadism and that blonde twat's actions make sense. At least in his warped view."

Sighing, the blood elf rubbed the back of his neck, stiff from constantly facing forward, bitterly reflecting that he'd been caught between a rock and a hard place. Technically he'd had a choice between travelling to Fort Elron and staying at Tempest Keep, or at least that was what Kael'thas had always assured him when not meditating. Hyperion hadn't been fooled though. Staying in the floating citadel and knowing that he no longer possessed the title "High Astromancer of Tempest Keep," not to mention everyone else knowing this…it was unthinkable.

"And to think that it was Solarian of all people which replaced me," Hyperion thought bitterly, clenching his fist and putting it back on the reign of the dragonhawk a second later. Unable to comprehend how that freak had usurped him and wishing that she'd died when Dar'khan had screwed up the Sunwell, Hyperion had quickly realised that Tempest Keep had become the rock in his life, something out of which no substance could be gained. Only offering a life of reduced status and occasional naaru torture, Hyperion knew that the floating citadel offered nothing for him anymore. Unfortunately, a hard place was the astromancer's only alternative, namely the fortress that Kael'thas had assigned him to a week ago.

Fort Elron…

Flying within sight of what had become the hard place of his life, Hyperion could not help but wonder exactly why the word "fort" was used. Nestled in the Mountains of Flame, which ran across the northern boundary of Hellfire Peninsula, Fort Elron was more along the lines of a castle than anything else. With tall, featureless stone walls, gothic towers which looked over Outland like undominatable sentinels and situated on a plateau surrounded by a gorge over which a drawbridge was the only possible entry, "fort" hardly did the piece of architecture justice.

"Still, Castle Elron hardly conveys an accurate impression either," Hyperion mused, wishing that his dragonhawk could try flying a bit more smoothly. Still, he knew that would be impossible. The Mountains of Flame stayed true to their namesake in that there was always at least one peek emitting ash, dust and poisonous gasses, constantly wrecking havoc with the wind currents that ran through them. The result was that the thermals which ran through the mountain chain were much harder to navigate by avians, having to rely mostly on their own efforts to soar rather than the air around them. The consequence was an awful lot of wind flapping and for whoever was on the flying mount, an extremely sore arse.

Hyperion really hated flying.

Taking his mind off his sore rump, the churning feeling in his stomach and whatever else aviophobia could throw at him, Hyperion returned to focussing on the castle/fort that lay before him. All things considered, perhaps "fort" was the better term, "castle" conveying ideas of grandeur. Fort Elron lacked any such thing, having been built for sturdiness and defensibility in mind rather than eloquence. Nestled away in what was perhaps the most inaccessible region of Outland, accessible only by air or an extremely narrow mountain path that Broken slaves maintained (or at least tried to), the piece of architecture hardly radiated the opulence that was imbuned with Thalassian civilisation. It instead said something along the lines of "I want to hide away from the world and have the means to do it."

There was a saying that "no man is an island." Fort Elron, if it were a man, would have proved otherwise.

"But it isn't such a thing, is it?" Hyperion mused, accepting without doubt that "fort" was indeed the better name, the term being associated with backwater places that were part of a group that the Mountains of Flame could have entered without having to pay membership. "It's not even mainly occupied by men, at least from the last count." The astromancer gave a small shudder. "By the Sunwell, how am I going to survive? The things in there are-…"

"What's with the green look paleskin? Trying to become an orc or something?"

"…just like Tartarus."

Looking over at his flight companion, pain shooting through his stiff neck as he did so, Hyperion felt a wave of sympathy wash through him, ignoring the fact that such emotions were weakness inherent. Such sympathy was directed to the fel orc's mount, a mighty dragonhawk akin to Hyperion's own, albeit a disgruntled one. It was understandable really. Having been trained to fly and fight in tandem with elf riders, it must have been… discomforting to say the least to have a red skinned brute dropped on your back.

While Hyperion was able to ignore Tartarus's jeers, he could not ignore just how wrong the scene looked. The fel orc, like the rest of his bastard kind, was a red skinned brute with only the bare necessities of clothing and a stench that smelled to the Twisting Nether. In contrast the dragonhawk was a majestic beast, its feathers gleaming even in the faint sunlight, highlighting the hints of blue and red which ran across its neck and wings. With raptor-like talons and a head that combined the features of a dragon and eagle, it was simply…abhorrent that anything other than a blood elf should be allowed to ride it. After all, the foulness of lower species aside, the Illidari had few dragonhawks left-only around 75 had been brought from Dalaran after Garithos settled on mass execution for allying with the naga and half of them had been lost in the initial Outland campaign, courtesy of red dragons that had remained in the Old Horde's service and had become inducted into Magtheridon's forces by default.

"And what do we do with the rest?" reflected Hyperion bitterly. He couldn't bring himself to answer, guilt still weighing down on him. It had been his idea that the bulk of their remaining riders be sent against Arthas' landing party at Northrend, seeking to put an end to the traitor prince before he could establish a beachhead. It had seemed a good idea at the idea and would have actually succeeded if not for the fact that crypt fiends happened to be nearby, ensnaring most of the flying beasts and their riders, ghouls sizing the opportunity and rushing forward.

The results were rather spectacular. And messy.

"And now, to top it off, we give one of our last dragonhawks to a psychotic savage who…" Hyperion trailed off. Angsty reflection wasn't going anywhere, especially since Tartarus, for all his faults, had one redeeming feature, in that it would be useful to have someone of his strength and grotesqueness in his new posting. At least it worked that way in theory, Fort Elron's founding having been ordered by Lord Illidan himself in response to the re-opening of the Dark Portal by Lord Kazzak. Hyperion, indeed, the Illidari as a whole, weren't entirely sure what had transpired in Azeroth in Kazzak's invasion but knew that it hadn't turned out well for Archimonde's lieutenant, the demon fleeing to the Mountains of Flame and establishing himself in the mountain known as the Throne of Kil'jaeden. Believing that he would try to rally his forces there or perhaps summon even more of the Legion to Outland, Illidan had ordered that Fort Elron be established so that an eye could be kept on the demon lord.

Hyperion didn't know how well this had turned out as, nearing the fortress, he could see while drab, the piece of architecture was completely unscarred. Either it did its job extremely well or didn't do it at all. Hyperion wasn't sure what to believe. On the one hand, Astaroth, considering his species, was presumably a competent commander. On the other, few blood elves actually resided inside the fortress, the guard duty, somewhat appropriately, being regulated to…other things. Things that made Hyperion slightly grateful, the Sun forbid, that Tartarus was with him. Having a freak of his own could make him fit in after all, not to mention giving him a useful right hand.

Hyperion shook his head. It still wasn't worth it. Yes, he knew what making Astaroth remember where his loyalties lay entailed, the creature's reports being noticeably absent of late, but that hardly compared to his former posting back at Tempest Keep, even if he was in the service of a prince who, for some reason, refused to send out anyone after the human and high elf, a prince who insisted that the elements would kill them quicker than righteous sin'dorei steel, a prince who-…

"Screw it, I fucking hate the prince!"

Tartarus, who'd been in the middle of reminiscing on Deathwing's demise like it was some tragedy, looked at Hyperion quizzically. "Something getting to you astromancer?"

Hyperion, knuckles turning white against the reigns, glared back at him. Despite the roar of the thermals, silence descended over the two riders, a silence that was suddenly broken…

"Yes there's something getting to me you brute! I hate Kael'thas, I hate not being able to track down that blonde bitch and cave dweller, I hate the fact that I'm no longer High Astromancer of Tempest Keep, I hate Solarian for taking my place, I hate being assigned to Fort Elron, I hate Lord Illidan for ordering its establishment, I hate Lord Kazzak for prompting its establishment, I hate you, I hate flying by you-…"

It was at this point that a gust of ash-clogged air blasted across the thermals, the dragonhawk squawking in alarm and causing Hyperion to nearly fall off, coughing as he did so.

"…and I fucking hate flying too!"

Tartarus nodded. "I thought as much."

The traveler was puzzled.

It was a feeling that was not entirely new to him, having experienced bewilderment many times over the course of his life. True, the sources of such a feeling varied immensely, ranging from curiosity to horrifying realization, but even so, the result was always the same-a drive to find answers, regardless of how difficult such a task was. This however, was ridiculous. The same question had been with him for a week and yet he was no closer to finding the answer than he had been at the outset.

Under the faint light of the setting sun, mostly eclipsed by the baleful luminescence of the Twisting Nether, the traveler once again knelt down to examine the soil of the Netherstorm, sensing the chaotic magic run through the earth. Not the most pleasant feeling in the world, but the traveler had been through worse. Much worse.

"If only Icarus could see me now," he thought, carefully scraping loose soil aside. The Netherstorm's soil was rather strange in that while there was no flora to hold it in place it was still remarkably firm, allowing soil to blow loose but not to the extent that the region resembled a desert. Admittedly irradiation could have played a role but that required heat from the sun, which was shrouded perpetually in this region of Outland. True, the fel magic of the Nether could provide a substitute, but the traveler somehow doubted it. Despite being nothing more than a ball of plasma in which nuclear fusion occurred, it seemed…wrong somehow to associate the sun's abilities with those of the realm beyond.

"No doubt Icarus could think of something to explain it," the traveler mused, scraping more of the soil aside. "Or Valundi for that matter. After all, I…"

The traveler trailed off for two reasons. The first was that just thinking of those who were no longer with him was…well, it wasn't something that he enjoyed doing. The second was that after applying the tracking techniques that he'd bothered to learn from his younger brother he'd once again found what had become a daily discovery over the past week…

Footprints.

They were just the same as they'd always been, or at least in principle. Two sets of footprints, heading at first in a western direction and then south, bypassing Sunfury Hold and heading towards Corru Point, situated between the manaforge of the same name and Kirin'Var Village. A spark of light in the darkness as it was, the manaforges being designed for Light knew what and the village…well, another thing best not to dwell on. All that mattered was that Leo, or at least what was almost certainly Leo given that one set of footprints were clearly of average human size, was heading in the right direction. Still, there was a key word in that sentence. A word that made the traveler uneasy…

One. One set of footprints. A set of footprints that, by comparing sizes, were accompanied by those of an elf…

At first the traveler feared for Leo's safety. After all, hadn't he seen that female blood elf outside Tempest Keep, heading away from Tempest Keep to the bridge that would lead to the Netherstorm's southeast region? True, the bizarre strangulation scene with the fel orc didn't exactly convey a sense of martial prowess, but even so, appearances could be deceptive. Considering that the elf's footprints were never more than a few meters away from Leo's, not to mention heading in the same direction, she certainly seemed to be tracking the human also. Four days ago however, things had changed. The footprints…they were different…

They were parallel…

This was something that the traveler could make no sense of. Judging by the angles of the footprints, how they almost always coincided horizontally and were of approximately equal length, not to mention that the footprints of the elf were generally on a slant, a realization had slowly formed in his mind. At first the traveler had hoped that the bitch had sprained her ankles or something but soon realized that was unlikely-if the magic addict had sprained an ankle he would have caught up long ago and done the universe a great service by removing it of yet another demon whore.

No, there was only one possible explanation, one which the traveler could scarcely believe. When one considered the fact that the elf footprints were always on the left and that the average length of an elf arm was long enough to go around a human's shoulders…

The elf was leaning on him…

"And it's no different here either," thought the traveler, seeing that the angle and location of the footprints hadn't deviated from the norm. He slowly rose to his feet, brushing the soil off his hands, wishing there was a place where he could wash them. The magical irradiation was bad enough but when one considered the likelihood of orc feces…well, that was unpleasant.

Yet the situation here stank more than even the most disgusting of those green skinned brutes and the traveler had seen many of them. There was no explanation for the setup other than the possibility that Leo and the blood elf were working together. Admittedly there was a faint possibility that Leo had captured the donkey eared brat but even so, that made little sense; if you'd captured an enemy, you would having him (or her as the case was) walk in front of you, not leaning against your side, thus leaving you vulnerable. True, humans hadn't struck the traveler as the most rational species in the universe but they were far from clueless, Leo being no exception.

Besides, surely Leo had learnt his lesson when it came to trusting the paleskins…After all, hadn't he learnt that the hard way? How could he either consider extending such trust?

The traveler didn't know. All he knew was that Leo and the elf were traveling together, that Leo was defying everything that he knew and was therefore ignoring the seriousness of the situation. Even if the elf was a prisoner, that would be perplexing…surely the human could understand how foolish such an action was, for reasons both personal and professional. Sighing, the traveler glanced at the sun, noting that it had progressed even further in its setting phase. Tightening the straps of his armour, his gaze turned south, his eyes narrowing…

"Dammit Leonard, what the hell are you playing at?"

Shahra felt ill.

Under the light of the setting sun, most of it eclipsed by the baleful energies of the Netherstorm, the high elf still wasn't completely sure exactly when it began or how it happened. True, the first signs had appeared four days ago, most of it situated around vomit and excessive shivering, but even so, that was far from conclusive evidence. At best, she could narrow the possibilities down to a few options.

The first centered around the trek that she and Leo were currently on, having headed west then south from Tempest Keep. The Netherstorm was a wasteland, completely inhospitable to life. By day it was akin to the Blasted Lands on Azeroth, heat from the sun and supposedly the Twisting Nether cooking the barren soil, the energy being re-radiated due to the lack of ground cover. By night it was freezing, the lack of any wood for a fire not helping matters. The result had been a bulk of sweat and shivering on both their parts, too tired to care by day and staying close at night, neither of which could be healthy.

"Still, mornings and evenings are ok I guess," Shahra thought, reflecting how sunrise and sunset were the most bearable parts of the day. It was appropriate in a sense, given how she had always meditated in the light of the sun back on Azeroth, believing, perhaps in vain that there was a solar deity which smiled down on its children, or at least those who remained true to the old ways. True, the sun was hardly a pleasant presence at noon, but the quel'dorei was willing to bear with it in return for its blessings as it rose and set.

All in all, temperature changes were a distinct possibility but Shahra had others to consider. If it was anything to do with natural causes, the elf had to admit that perhaps the struggle to make a daily trek of miles in the double digits was to blame. After being locked up in a cell figuratively relying on bread and water (actually it was mostly liquid based food but Shahra hadn't really paid much attention) and then spending another week literally relying on bread and water (well, kharosh rather than bread actually and therefore even worse), her body had probably been getting rather tired of it. To be suddenly called upon to travel miles daily couldn't have been easy.

Yet that too was unlikely, or at least Shahra liked to consider that to be the case. After all, one had to be at least in reasonably good shape to survive a tide of undeath and the subsequent burning of your homeland, not to mention spending four years fighting said tide of undeath (or rather tides as the case was). True, spending the last year in general apathy in Stormwind couldn't have done her state of fitness any good but even so, to have descended this far…By the Sunwell, the trek to Nethergarde wasn't nearly as bad as this.

"Or maybe it's just the kharosh," Shahra reflected bitterly, blanching at the mere thought of the disgusting grey bread. Leo gave a look at concern ("understandable, given that incident four days ago…") but was satisfied with the elf giving him a small smile of reassurance. The status quo thus returned to normal, the human walking ahead silently, a high elf leaning her head against his left shoulder, her right arm stretched around his neck for support.

Kharosh…Shahra had managed to go without it for the first day but failed spectacularly on the second, biting off half a piece of the grey bread in one go. She'd regretted it a second later, the bitter, pepper-like taste kicking in en masse. Swigging down half a flask of water later, the experience had been lessened enough so that suicide was no longer the only option that she considered. The end result was a lot of coughing on her part and a barrage of irritating yet not unkind laughter from her human companion. Prick…

"By the Light, I swear I'm going to strangle whatever dwarf ever came up with that dog food," Shahra mused, not caring if said dwarf was living or dead. True, kharosh had sustained her for four years, but her time in Stormwind had been blissfully free of it. "Maybe my digestive system is just out of practice…"

It was a slim possibility, but one that Shahra hoped was the case for her poor feeling over the last half week. Because if it wasn't the kharosh, if it wasn't a poor state of fitness, if it wasn't due to temperature changes, that only left one possibility, one which was perhaps the most undesirable and indeed the most terrifying possibility of all…

Magical addiction.

Two weeks. Two weeks of no meditation whatsoever. Two weeks of vulnerability to not only the curse of the quel'dorei's birthright gone awry but whatever fel magic the Netherstorm and Tempest Keep were infused with. Two weeks of risking falling down the path of depravity and excess that the sin'dorei followed…

Still, Shahra had legitimate cause to believe that this wasn't the case. She remembered the hunger for magic that followed immediately after the destruction of the Sunwell, the intense, gnawing hunger for that which had been infused in the blood of the quel'dorei for thousands of years. For as unwell as she'd been over the last few days, beginning ever since the morning that she'd vomited all over Leo, it was different from what had followed after the fall of Quel'Thalas, different from what was the manifestation of the darker side of high elven birthright, different from what every high elf fought against…

Of course, there was the possibility that the magic of Tempest Keep and the Netherstorm had something to do with it, that it was sustaining her addiction but she didn't want to think about it. Truth was a virtue, but it could also be terrifying…

Besides, Shahra had other things to concentrate on now. Like the hut seen in the distance. Like the void to the south in which an abyss of chaos awaited. Like the fact that she and Leo had reached the southern edge of the Netherstorm with no explanation as to how they were to continue…

Leo was concerned.

If someone had asked him why, the human could have answered in a second, but whether he would have was another matter. After all, it didn't really do any good for one's pride that their concern was for an individual who'd been leaning against you for the last few days. While some may have said "aw, cute," and given smiley faces, Leo's train of thought was more along the lines of "how sickening." He knew the type of persona he wanted to convey and acting as a paternal figure was about as far removed from that persona as possible. Still, he'd managed to bear with it. Shahra hadn't violated their earlier agreement in any way and besides, he'd already given her the position of ally on his social ladder.

And allies were individuals that you looked out for, as long as it benefited you. Admittedly how much benefit the high elf could provide was nebulous, but hey, she made a good source of warmth at night…both of them did. Unfortunately, that was where the use ended. For one reason or another, Shahra hadn't been 100 percent over the last few days, namely the cause for his concern. To top it off, her status had prompted a phase of leaning on the human as they walked for support. At first, Leo had been silently livid. This was going to slow them down, perhaps enough for blood elf scouting parties to find them. Still, he'd gone along with it, the arrangement having become such a given that it soon felt…natural, like the elf was simply an extension of his-…

"Where are we?"

Leo snorted. Extensions didn't speak to you suddenly. Well, maybe those on ogres did but that was another matter entirely. He looked down at Shahra, her eyes slowly opening. Same blue light.

"I thought you were asleep," he murmured.

Shahra blinked, probably due to both drowsiness and surprise. "How could I sleep while walking?"

"You managed it yesterday."

Ignoring Shahra's half hearted protests that she'd only been "resting my eyes," Leo let her slide off, smirking as he heard the sound of muscles cracking as she massaged her neck. He looked around, seeing nothing but purple irradiated soil in all directions but south, where nothing but the abyss of the Twisting Nether awaited. The only difference from the rest of the landscape was a single hut situated about twenty meters away from the edge, a barrel of barbed spears with ropes attached to their shafts. Probably hunting spears of some kind, left from the former orc inhabitant.

"Southern part of the Netherstorm near the orc hut," Leo reflected. "Seems to be the right-…"

"You still haven't answered my question."

Leo turned around, seeing that the elf had finished stretching her neck and regaining awareness. "Where are we?" Shahra repeated.

"Corru Point, the end of the road," grunted Leo, turning back towards the hut. "Wait for it, wait for it…"

"End of the road!?" the high elf exclaimed, running after him. "How can this be the end of the road!? We're on the edge of the Netherstorm with nothing to give us access to the lands further south. How the hell are we going to continue? What the hell are you thinking!? Why…wait, why are you smiling?"

Leo had considered himself to be grinning rather than smiling but decided to let it pass. "It's funny," he said slowly. "That even after a week of travel, half of which you were feeling like, and I quote, crap, you still manage to pull yourself back from the abyss and return to your status of whiny bitch." He began to slowly and deliberately clap his hands. "Bravo, Miss Dreamsinger, bravo."

Leo may have continued the charade but seeing the look on his fri…no, ally's face, he stopped short. "Aw, calm down," he said, walking over. "How are you feeling anyway?"

"Fine," Shahra replied hollowly, her eyes locked with the ground.

"Good," murmured Leo, feeling like kicking himself, despite knowing that he'd hardly gone overboard and that if Shahra was some poor oversensitive individual, that was her problem. "Anyway, to answer your question, this is simply a-…"

Something shook.

Leo spun around. "Did you feel that?"

Shahra looked up. "Feel what?"

The ground shook again. "That!" said Leo forcefully.

The quel'dorei looked at the man as if he'd gone mad. "Leo, I haven't felt anything. What the-…"

The ground shook a third time, sending both high elf and human sprawling.

"Ok, I felt that…"

Leo was first to his feet but quickly went back down to ground, kneeling on the barren soil. Elven senses, mainly those of sight and hearing, were generally superior to those of humans, but Leo knew that when it came to instinct, the feeling that came from your gut, he outranked Shahra by far. Applying his gut to his own senses of touch and hearing, looking and feeling the soil, he could hear and feel two things.

The first was that the ground was shaking silently, but rapidly.

The second was that something was coming upwards.

Time seemed to slow for Leo as he rose to his feet, yelling something incomprehensible as he dived into Shahra, landing on top of her, his hands not really being placed in the most modest of places. Ignoring her protests he turned back to his former location, not regretting his sudden action. After all, a giant thing had just burst out of the ground.

And said thing was looking in their direction.

Shahra was terrified.

A small part of the high elf's mind chastised her for this, pointing out that fear was something that no true warrior should feel. The rest of her mind however, quickly told the smartarse part to "shut up and go rot in hell." After all, when face with a giant thing that had just burst out of the ground, said thing being around twenty feet tall and perhaps twenty-four feet long, she had every reason to be frightened.

Especially when said thing gave a roar and charged at her.

To her surprise, it missed. Landing on the ground, she couldn't comprehend this. After all, she'd just been standing there, too terrified to…wait, landed?

"Are you insane!?" Leo shouted, quickly rising from the ground and dusting himself off. "What the hell do you think you're doing!? Don't you remember what I told you on the first night!?"

"…"

Leo sighed. "That you do exactly what I say, exactly when I say it!"

The high elf recoiled slightly, only now fully comprehending that Leo had dived into her to prevent the thing from trampling her into the dust. But even so…

"But…but you haven't told me to do anything yet," she whispered.

Leo went to say something, stopped, then thought better of it. "I shouldn't have too." Sighing, his visage softened.

"Just stay out of the way," he murmured, before turning back to face the thing, said thing now facing him too. He drew out the blood elf shortsword he'd obtained from Tempest Keep, seemingly intent on…

"Oh hell no," Shahra whispered. "And he calls me insane?"

If someone had asked Leo had felt then and there he would have promptly told the person that this was hardly the time or place.

The first reason was that he wasn't really sure how he felt. On one hand, he was frustrated about how idiotic that donkey eared brat could be, simply standing there when a behemoth was barreling towards her. On the other, he was relieved that he'd managed to get her out of the way. On one hand, he was frustrated that it was only at the end of the journey that he had to deal with a challenge. On the other, he was damn near terrified that said challenge consisted of a dragon turtle; basically a living siege weapon used by the naga. Red scaly skin, beady green eyes, a giant shell and breath to stank to high heaven, it wasn't something that he would relish facing even with an army behind him.

It was lucky that the human didn't go beyond four hands as the dragon turtle was now charging at him. Slowly spinning around his shortsword he stood his ground. Attacking the shell would be useless and while the turtle's four stubby legs were fairly exposed, they were hardly an accessible target. That left only the head…

…which was now bearing down at him at a frightening speed, fangs showing.

Leo smirked, reflecting that there was often a fine line between insanity and bravery and right now he had no clue which side he was on. He suspected the behemoth did though; a dragon turtle bearing down on a simple human was akin to a falcon bearing down on a worm. The problem with the metaphor however, was that worms didn't throw shortswords at falcons only fifteen feet away, hitting them in the forehead. And falcons didn't roar in pain.

And worms certainly didn't run at falcons, yank shortswords out of their foreheads and proceed to stab their eyes out.

It was a simple plan but Leo had little time to think of a better one. Fighting the dragon turtle was the only way to survive as there was nowhere to hide from it for miles and the notion of outrunning it was laughable. Unfortunately, fighting the monster didn't give him much chance either. The only thing that could, note, could, give them a chance was blinding it. At best, it would stagger around blindly into the abyss of the Twisting Nether. At the least, it would buy them some time.

Leo's aim had been off slightly when he threw the sword, missing the right eye by a few inches. Still, it had been enough to slow the monstrosity, allowing the human to run up, jump on the turtle's head and carry out the initial objective in close quarters.

"This may be a blessing in disguise," Leo thought to himself. "At this proximity I can perhaps take out both its lights and-…"

It was at this point that the turtle threw its head back with a roar, sending Leo flying back over its shell.

"Or not…"

Leo had no idea how he managed to do it, how he managed to grab part of the turtle's shell as he flew through the air. He had even less of an idea how he managed to hold on with only one hand as the turtle began thrashing around, his sword in the other.

"Shit, SHIT SHIT!"

Ineloquent thinking but Leo was in a world of shit right now and he knew it. He couldn't hold on for long before he lost his grip, where he would be sent flying off the edge or onto the ground, only to be trampled upon.

"So this is how it ends," thought the human, reflecting how he'd come up with dozens of ideal deaths at one point and how being trampled to death or falling into the Twisting Nether weren't among them. "Wonder what Shahra's…"

Leo trailed off, the issue of the question bearing down on him. What was Shahra doing? Despite the churning feeling in his stomach, despite the fact that he was hanging on for dear life, Leo looked around for the answer to his question…

…and soon found it.

"By the Light…" Leo breathed as he saw what the elf was doing. "Is she insane?"

When Shahra had first met Leonard Ragoa he had struck her as a snide, arrogant jerk who was either so short sighted that he couldn't tell the difference between a quel'dorei and sin'dorei or could tell the difference and wanted to give her a hard time over the issue for the sake of it. Even when traveling together, even when they'd relied on each other's body heat in the dead of night, when she had leaned on him for support, a small part of that initial impression remained.

Now however, things were different. Because a person who faced down a giant turtle and managed to lodge a sword in its temple had her respect, regardless of his character.

The feeling of awe hadn't lasted long however, Leo now holding on to the turtle's shell for dear life. She could tell that he'd had a plan, presumably immobilizing the turtle from range and then dealing with it in close quarters. Unfortunately it had backfired horrendously, the monster catapulting him upwards. Even with his strength, the high doubted that he could hold on long before being cast off in some form or another.

And she had no idea what to do about it.

"Maybe it comes from being a blonde," the elf thought, brushing some sweat drenched hair from her eyes. It was a poor joke and she knew it, but it was a necessary evil given the circumstances in order to keep her nerve. True, Leo may have told her to stay out of the way, but he was in no position to give demands now. As far as Shahra was concerned, his initial order had been rendered void.

Problem was, the quel'dorei had no idea what to do with her new freedom. She was completely unarmed and even if Leo could cast down the blade to her, she doubted that there was much, if anything, that she could do with it. The soil was completely featureless, no rocks, no sticks, nothing to get the monster's attention. The only feature on the whole blasted landscape was an orc hut which…

…this had a barrel of hunting spears next to it.

Chastising herself for not thinking of this sooner Shahra ran over, the roars of the behemoth ringing in her pointed ears. She pulled one out, feeling its weight and texture. It had obviously been designed for orc hunting, the rope at the end presumably being there to prevent the prey from moving and/or to easily pull the spear out, causing more trauma to the animal in the process. Although elves had always relied on bows for hunting, thinking of other contraptions as primitive, Shahra had to admit that she was impressed.

The problem with using the spears however, was primarily that they'd been designed for use by an orc, not a high elf. Shahra had never seen one of the greenskins up close and had no particular desire to, but understood that their strength lay in just that; strength. The spears, while crafted for throwing, had been made with the strength and hand size of an orc in mind, not a high elf who could barely carry one, let alone throw it.

"Can I really consider this a weapon?" Shahra wondered, unsure as to her ability to use it properly. The turtle roared in response, still trying to get Leo off.

"Guess so."

Lifting one of the spears out of the barrel, the elf gazed at the turtle, too focused on getting the human off its back to pay attention to anything else. Taking a deep breath, Shahra grasped the spear in what she hoped was a correct stance…and charged.

"Bash'a no falor talah!" (Taste the chill of true death!) Shahra shouted, moments before the spear drove into the size of the monster's head. Letting out a roar of pain, it stopped thrashing and turned to face its assailant swiftly, the shaft of the spear snapping as it did so.

"Um, hello…" said Shahra awkwardly.

"RWARRR!"

Sent skidding across the ground by the worst breath imaginable Shahra quickly realized a flaw in her plan. The spear could cause pain to the…thing, but could not penetrate its skull. It had been crafted for causing trauma to grazing animals, having a blunt tip rather than a sharp one. As such, it stood no chance of doing lasting damage. Regardless, the quel'dorei quickly rose to her feet…

…and fell back down again, narrowly avoiding a boulder sent flying over her.

Under normal circumstances, Shahra would have been amazed that a giant turtle could literally spit out boulders, using them as a projectile for battle. Still, with said giant turtle bearing down on her, a turtle that not only looked angry but looked hungry also, these were hardly normal circumstances.

"So this is how it ends," the elf thought sadly. "Eaten by a giant turtle on a world on the other side of the universe. How sickening."

It looked that way too, considering that the monster had reached her, its fangs barred, its jaw bearing in to-…

"RWARRR!"

Leo was surprised that he could cause that much pain to the dragon turtle by jumping on its skull, but then again, it was bleeding heavily from two areas in its head. Maybe it was to be expected. Or he was overweight. Preferably the former.

Leo wasn't sure what he thought exactly when he saw Shahra running towards the leviathan with a throwing spear, a spear that, from the looks of things, she could barely carry. Something along the lines of "What the hell is that elf doing!? How could anyone be so stupid!?" ran through his head for the most part. Still, he was pretty sure that "Lordaeron's ghost, she's trying to save me and is going to get herself killed in the process!" ran through his mind at some point, especially when the turtle actually closed in on her. A small thought, but one that had led to him being less angry. Flattered even. And concerned.

Shahra's heart had been in the right place but the spear wasn't. It was a hunting spears, designed to lodge in the muscle rather than penetrate it. Even if Leo wielded one himself he knew that there was precious little he could do. Sure, he could throw it just as well as an orc (well, that's what he told himself) but it would do no lasting damage to the dragon turtle, its skull too thick for the spear to reach its brain. In a sense, it was unstoppable.

But the dragon turtle had made a key error in slowly plodding towards the elf that had assailed it. It had forgotten that there was a human on its back, one which it had been trying to shake off for the past half minute and had very nearly succeeded. However, with the beast plodding slowly to feast on elf meat, it had given Leo time to regain his balance and swallow the bile that had been building up in his esophagus. He couldn't afford to vomit. Not yet at least.

It also gave him time to jump on the turtle's head as it neared Shahra, causing it to roar in pain. Nothing drastic, but enough for him to jump off, yank the elf to her feet and gain some distance…

…and berate her for the most foolhardy thing he had ever seen.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!?" shouted Leo. "I told you to stay out of the way and obey my instructions! Next thing I know, you're running at a monster with a spear you can barely wield, hoping to-…"

Shahra slapped him.

Leo recoiled, lifting his hand to his left cheek. He couldn't remember the last time that he'd been slapped by…well, anyone, let alone a high elf who was looking at him like…well, it was hard to say.

"You said on the first night that we were allies," whispered Shahra, her shining blue eyes locked into the human's grey ones. "And allies look out for each other."

It was at this point that Leo realized three things. The first was that, in an instant, Shahra had undoubtedly reached the level of "comrade" in his personal hierarchy and perhaps above. The second was that he would have to tell her this at the earliest opportunity. The third was that to do this, he would have to deal with the dragon turtle…

…this was slowly bearing down on them.

"What can I do though?" the human wondered hopelessly. "Taking it on in close quarters is suicide. The sword is too narrow to reach its eyes, the spears aren't designed for…"

He trailed off, another realization forming in his mind. Both he and Shahra had been off in their methods of attack. Throwing a sword was too risky and too narrow to blind it, an objective which Leo saw as their only hope. The spear couldn't possibly penetrate its skull and would simply get lodged in.

But when one combined them together…

Leo darted to the barrel of spears, picking up one of them. Although heavy and not designed for human hands, he was confident as to his ability to throw it correctly.

"Leo, what are you doing?" Shahra asked. "The spears can't-…"

"I'm combining the best of two worlds," Leo murmured. "And relying on luck," he added as an afterthought. "Lots of it."

Leo faced down the monster, both human and…thing facing each other with…well, not respect, but certainly a weary understanding. Leo neither knew nor cared what the turtle was doing here, as to how it could bury itself underground. He had other things to worry about, namely a plan that would see this thing dead or see a human and high elf devoured, trampled upon or any number of various, unpleasant deaths. It was all or nothing…

With a yell, Leo threw the spear.

The first part of his gamble paid off, the yell spurring the turtle into charging him, gaining the momentum he wanted. The second part paid off too, the spear impaling the dragon turtle through its left eye, or at least close enough to get that effect. Regardless, it was ripped out a second later, courtesy of Leo using the rope that extended from the shaft.

That was where the combination idea paid off. Leo had good aim, but nowhere near good enough to throw a sword designed for close combat into a target less than thirty ten centimeters wide. The spear, while not having the same penetrating abilities as the sword, gave him a much wider margin of error.

It also pissed off the turtle enough to keep it charging at him. Even after Leo started running, the monster followed. Leo smiled faintly, the third part of his gamble paying off. The dragon turtle, while a killing machine that feasted on the flesh of its enemies, had a few key weaknesses, one of them being its perception.

Its eyes were on the side of its head. Not the front.

The difference between eyes on the front of a head and on its side is a subtle but significant one. It is seen among the animal kingdom that predators have their eyes at the front, ranging from the wolves of the Horde to the sabers that the night elves rode. This is due to the fact that both species are carnivorous, and having eyes at their front gives them depth perception, allowing them to make judgments as to the distance of their prey.

Having eyes at the side has both advantages and disadvantages. It is advantageous in that it gives the animal arc perception, allowing it to see things all around them simultaneously. In essence, it allows such an animal to see something to its side as easily as something in front of it. Such a configuration is therefore common in herbivorous animals such as mice and horses, animals which have to worry about animals higher up the food chain.. Having eyes at their sides allows them to catch sight of predators more easily. The disadvantage however, is that it denies them perception of depth.

The dragon turtle was a mighty predator, no doubt about it. But it had come from simpler creatures, those which did not feed on flesh. As such, its eyes were still on the side of its head, an evolutionary throwback, denying it depth perception.

And considering that it was chasing after a human on a flat plain with a distinct drop with no slope, not to mention that one of its eyes had been rendered useless, depth perception was what it needed right now. Denied that however, it kept chasing Leo, not seeing the drop. With half its sight removed, it came as little surprise to the human that the dragon turtle did not slow down as it reached the edge…

…an edge that it barreled straight off, the human having rolled aside.

Leo knew exactly how he felt. Jubilant.

It an unoriginal gamble, that of tricking a foe to fall off the edge, no doubt about it. But having trekked across the Netherstorm for a week only to come across a demon from hell (heck, for all he knew that could be literal), he was simply too tired to care about originality.

Leo, his clothes torn in a few areas, his face dusty, his beard interwoven with Light knew what, knew exactly what he wanted; sleep, beer and a shave, though not necessarily in that order. First of all he would…

…deal with the high elf that had come running up to him and thrown her arms around him like some crazed fangirl.

"That. Was. INSANE," said Shahra slowly, possessing surprising strength when it came to hugging someone. "It was…it was…"

"Let's leave it at insane," Leo murmured, prizing her arms off him. While a small part of his mind enjoyed the adoration, the rest of his mind was too tired to follow suit. All he wanted to do was sleep right now, wait for…well, whoever was coming. Still, he had a few things to take care of first…

"Anyway, you helped," the human said as he began walking to the orc hut, hoping that there was a bed in there.

"Helped?" Shahra asked, following him like a dog. "All I did was-…"

"You stopped the dragon turtle from throwing me off," Leo interrupted. "And before you go on about how I've saved your arse plenty of times ("which I have," the back of his mind reminded him), I'll simply say that I'm grateful, enough to consider you a comrade."

Leo was glad that he'd satisfied his conscience in elevating the elf's status in that he could now sleep with a clear mind. Unfortunately, the quel'dorei did not seem to take it in the same way he anticipated.

"Comrade?" asked Shahra, raising an eyebrow as she came to a stop by the hut. "What do you mean by that?"

Leo sighed. "Remember on that first night, when I said you were an ally? Well comrade is on the level above."

"And after that?"

"Friend," said Leo, wondering why the elf couldn't just shut up. "Which, speaking objectively, shouldn't take…Shahra? You alright?"

Shahra didn't how she felt. She didn't know how anything felt.

Everything…so blurry all of a sudden. The voice of the…person…by her. Like a tunnel…wait, what was a tunnel?

A sound…something that came from her…how did that happen? Odd…why was there…red stuff on her hand? Why so woozy all of a sudden?

"Shelter," she thought, seeing the wooden thing by her. "Need shelter…or lie in red stuff. Like red stuff on hand."

She staggered, the rectangular thing coming open. Pain…in her stomach…so much pain…pain…lots of pain…wait, what was pain? Why more red stuff on floor? Dots of red stuff…why cough? Why even more red stuff? Red stuff was sin'dorei stuff…bad stuff…

"Bed," she thought, seeing the thing miles away on the other side of the wooden thing's interior. "Need bed…"

Pain…more pain…more red stuff. Strange voice…familiar…yet distant… Bed so far away…need bed…want bed…more red stuff…wait…floor…wood floor…so close all of a sudden…rushing up to meet her…pain in face…more red stuff…

Darkness.

Leo had no idea what had just happened.

All of a sudden Shahra, her eyes glazed, had started staggering around, not responding to anything he said. Next thing he knew she was coughing up blood…a lot of it.

He'd kept his distance and regretted it, Shahra staggering in, coughing some more, then falling onto the floor. Kneeling down he turned her over, checking her eyes. Simply white...Concerned, he felt her neck, checking her pulse. It was low…so low that it was a wonder that she was still alive, her breathing regular, but shallow.

"Assuming that she really is still alive," the human thought, his weariness having evaporated. Could this be an extension of her earlier illness? Unlikely. Vomit and sweating were a long way from this kind of reaction and he'd been feeling the same way too.

And besides, there was one more disturbing aspect, the most disturbing one of all. The blood that she'd coughed up…it looked and felt coagulated…

…and blood didn't do that until after you were dead.

A/N

Although there may be exceptions at times for various reasons, I've decided to merge 'issue responses' with the A/N section. Anyway, here's said responses;

-The infodumps are there for a few reasons. The first is part of a personal stance on writing, that even in fanon, it should be made relatively accessible to those unfamiliar to the media. Granted, this isn't really needed in fanon writing and no, I'm not going to narrate the entire history of Azeroth, but I'd rather do 'good' writing than make assumptions, plunging into the story with no backstory given.

The other reason is to provide takes on certain aspects of Warcraft lore. Quite a bit has been provided on the events of the pre-Burning Crusade patch, the one which had the Dark Portal opening event. WoW is good and all, but can't really convey a distinct take on world events. Think about future Warcraft lore, what's better? Illidan was killed by a band of adventurers? Or Illidan was killed by Maiev and Akama? The latter is better as it has a distinct take on history. The info dumps are my own takes, Nethergarde partially being a take on WC2, although made redundant partly by the Tides of Darkness novelisation.

Anyway, there probably won't be that many more, although still expect to see them in some form or another. Hyperion being 'integrated' into the events of 'The Frozen Throne' in this chapter is one such example.

-The traveller, as mentioned, was meditating when Leo escaped Tempest Keep, but snapped out of it in time to see the strangulation scene. Still, he pretty much knows where Leo is going.

-Eldin Sunstrider? Hmm, maybe. Of course, for all you guys know, I don't even consider him canon and was making a reference? Anyway, all I will say is that such a question is answered in the course of the story.

-Shahra, as stated in chapter 8, is 111 years old, which puts her as being one year into adulthood. My take on the conflicting adulthood ages for high elves is expressed in chapter 9. As for knowing stuff…well, she reads a lot. A bookworm as the case is.

Anyway, as for this chapter;

-Garosh was something I wanted included from the start as a small parody on the lembas bread from LotR. It was also necessary to explain how Leo and Shahra could survive a week in the Netherstorm. Unlike lembas however, I wanted it to taste like crap; a little sadistic quirk I guess.

Unfortunately, when I named it garosh, I forgot about the orc Garrosh Hellscream, son of Grom Hellscream. Having dwarf bread sharing the name, or at least having a REALLY similar one could lead to implications in this and other stories, or references I'd have to keep bringing up, something that I didn't want. As such, I decided to change it to 'kharosh', keeping in with the 'kha' aspect of dwarf language (eg. Khaz Modan).

-Seems odd that I brought in a dragon turtle, not to mention that it can bury itself? This actually stems from a blunder I made…a big one.

When drafting this story, for some bizarre reason, I thought that Outland still had seas, conveniently forgetting that it's just a hunk of rock floating in space. As such, I'd planned a sea based battle, Leo and Shahra being in a boat. I realised this in time though…around chapter 6.

Anyway, I changed the storyline around to fit it; a land based battle instead, put the orc hut in the Netherstorm, changed the traveller's route, made up a series of monologues, replaced a fight with an ogre with something else and gave the traveller an earlier 'proper' appearance. MUCH earlier.

In the end though, I kept the dragon turtle. Felt… 'attached' to it. Go figure.