A/N: Yes, this chapter is twice as long as what I usually write. I don't know if that's a good thing or not. I didn't really want to break it into two chapters. It all seemed to be of one seam, so to speak. I hope you enjoy it.

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CHAPTER TEN

THE BREAKING OF THE SEAL

Denmar was completely and utterly flabbergasted. Glancing to his side, he could see that Belladauna was shifting on her hooves in trepidation. A throat was cleared from somewhere behind him. He couldn't distinguish if it came from Shantor or the Death Knight. Wrynn was just shaking his head and muttering to himself. He seemed extremely frustrated. Before anyone could speak further, the Druid held up a hand.

"So you're saying," he began, "that we came all this way to deliver a message you already knew, and on top of that, we're to abandon our friends?"

Wrynn looked up. He had been pacing back and forth, but now he looked the Druid dead in the eye. "I never once said you had to abandon anyone. On the contrary, the four of you need to make haste to Ulduar at once. I had hoped to see you out of the city before the day was done, but now it is too late. The Blue Dragonflight is unleashed."

Belladauna, distraught over some personal conflict, threw her hands up in the air and planted herself firmly in a chair by the window, mumbling to herself about imbeciles and the fruits of everything they had worked so hard for gone to waste. Shantor walked over and laid a soothing hand on her shoulder. She seemed not to notice. Her eyes were glazed over. The Shaman was lost in her own world.

Wrynn took this all in without so much as blinking. Denmar was growing increasingly agitated with the man the longer they were there. "Malygos's agents will storm through the crack in the Violet Hold's foundation at any second, threatening the continuity of the way of life of Dalaran."

The Druid was only half listening. "How do you know so much about us? About everything?" He asked.

Wrynn resumed his pacing. The King almost seemed to be smiling, Denmar thought. "You told me so yourself, High Druid." Denmar almost screamed. He had had quite enough of the idiotic honorific. "I mentioned to you this recurring dream that has plagued me since my arrival here, yes?"

The Druid nodded fervently.

"Good," Wrynn continued, gesturing emphatically with his hands as he paced. "In this dream, I am circling the Queen's chamber at Wyrmrest Temple in the form of a Red Dragon aspect. It startled me at first to find myself in such a form, but I quickly accepted it as the dream reiterated night after night. The dream was always the same. Alexstrasza has a visitor. She addresses this person as 'High Druid', and he proceeds to tell her of Malygos's plan to assault Dalaran. She declines his request for assistance, claiming that the Red Dragonflight has no agents to send to Dalaran. The night elf grows furious, and hurls insults at the Queen before leaving in a huff. That is how events unfolded every time.

"Except the last." Denmar stiffened. "Agents of the Blue Dragonflight swept out of thin air and decimated the Queen's chamber before anyone had time to act. I could only watch, stunned. I was too mesmerized to move. And then I woke up, drenched in a cold sweat." Wrynn stopped pacing and dropped his hands. He was gazing out the window. The sun was rising, casting rays of light in the room that made the dust motes sparkle in the air.

The four of them had been listening to Wrynn recant his tale impassively. No one spoke for the longest time. Denmar was the first to stir. "I had the same dreams, the same variance," he said to the King.

"I thought as much," Wrynn replied grimly. "The end result of the dream tells me only one thing." He turned back to face the Druid. Belladauna sat up straighter in her chair, brushing the Paladin's hand from her shoulder. "The Red Dragonflight cannot help us," Wrynn said. "We are alone."

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Cyanigosa held the last guard firmly as the final seconds of life flowed from the gash in his throat, then let the body crumple to the floor as she replaced the sapphire studded dagger on her belt. The lieutenant wrenched the shoulder of the nearest wyrmkin cultist running by and spun the creature around to face her. "Get that door open now, or you're next," she threatened, gesturing to the corpse at her feet.

The Violet Hold had been filled with row upon row of deadly inmates for generations, each a potential threat to the city of Dalaran. The prison had been diligently watched over by the Kirin Tor, and even the blood elf Prince Kael'Thas Sunstrider found himself confined there after forging a desperate alliance with the naga. Although he managed to escape captivity with the help of Lady Vashj, the prison had otherwise enjoyed stability for many years; at least, it had been until the incursion of Cyanigosa and her Blue Dragonflight minions.

Malygos's lieutenant was quite beautiful in her elf form. Locks of blonde hair cascaded about her flawless form and settled on the richly decorated shoulderpads she wore. Her dress was blue and lilac sewn with golden thread, with complementing boots. Her emerald eyes shined out brightly; she was the focal point of the room.

The great blue dragon in blood elf form mounted the steps that led out of this dreadful place to the currently impenetrable door that would allow them access to the city of Dalaran. Jumbles of her servants were already gathered about the seal on the prison, casting an assortment of spells to test its integrity. She dimly registered the sound of portals opening on the balconies behind her as more soldiers of the Blue Dragonflight joined in the cause.

She tapped her foot impatiently, folding her arms beneath her breasts. "How much longer?" She called out, not really expecting a response. The wyrmkin had no vocal cords, after all.

The massive hole in the prison's roof let in a ray of sunlight that glared down on her and her malevolent task. Her golden hair seemed aglow with it. Cyanigosa had always despised the sun, and the immense heat.

The lieutenant did not have to wait long for her answer.

The door trembled.

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Tying his obtrusively long chestnut hair back into a ponytail, Sÿkar stepped gingerly into the steaming bath water he had drawn for himself. The Paladin eased the aching muscles of his back against the soothing tin of the tub and let the bubbles froth around him. He settled back and sighed heavily, closing his eyes.

The gargantuan draenei had had a very eventful week, judging from the bruises and cuts that were on display all across his chest and arms. There was a deeper gash along his left cheek that would probably get infected unless he did something about it. Sÿkar was not deeply concerned with his wounds at the moment. The relieving bath water had temporarily dispersed his pain and he was able to relax, at long last. He drummed his hooves against the bottom of the tub in a soothing rhythm, humming softly.

The inn's bathhouse was a massive room occupied by nothing besides the tub that had many jewelled and faceted faucets and row upon row of freshly laundered towels that were stacked against one wall. His clothes were gathered in a heap on the floor where he had left them. Green and white marble tile covered the expanse of floor. He had left the door cracked open so the steam wasn't trapped in with him, and now a small figure stuck its head around the nook.

"Sÿk," emitted a small squeak, "that miserable old codger Velen asked me to come and find you."

Sÿkar jumped at the sudden intrusion and opened his eyes, lifting his head off the back of the tub. The steam had dissipated enough for him to see the tiny gnome that was pushing the door open. Her glossy black hair was done up in short, spiky pigtails behind her head with her bangs draped over her face. Her azure eyes glimmered at him over a button nose and smirking mouth.

"Baiitt," Sÿkar drawled hazily, still relaxed from the bath. "It do be far more pleasing to me when you knock." His words were all slurred together in the thick dialect of his home world; most people he came across could not understand him, but the Warlock had been around him for too long.

Baiitt backed out of the room in a huff, pulling the door to behind her. She called out to him from the hall. "Have it your way then, you great buffoon! You ain't got nothing I haven't seen before. 'Cept maybe those tentacles. Disgusting." Her voice died off as she traipsed down the hall.

Sÿkar yanked on the drain and clambered out of the bath in a rush, ignoring the returning spark of pain from his injuries. He towelled himself off half-heartedly before dressing and exiting the room, pulling the door shut behind himself.

The short expanse of hall led to the accommodating common room. The Warlock was nowhere in sight. The innkeeper, a draenei called Breel, was an irritable man who kept to himself and asked no questions. He was wiping a dirty glass with a filthier rag and glowered at him as the Paladin came around the corner and strode outside. Sÿkar ignored him.

The Exodar was the enchanted capital city of the draenei. Formerly a dimensional ship satellite structure of the dimensional fortress known as Tempest Keep, it recently crashed on Azeroth. The magnificent city contained a large amount of technological wonders, such as magically enchanted wires which transported holy energy throughout the ship to power the various systems and fuel the draenei's already considerable powers.

The Seat of the Naaru was the central section of the Exodar where O'ros, a naaru, resided down on the lower levels. It was a circular area with purple flux shimmering in the center. The central hub contained entrances to the city bank, auction house, and provided access to three other wings. The inn he had just ventured from was on the second floor. Sÿkar made his way over to the ramp that would take him to the lower level and into the city.

The Paladin carefully stepped through the city traffic, gently guiding shoppers and visitors out of his way as he moved past the bank and toward the Vault of Lights. He walked swiftly under the crystal-adorned arched entrance and strode intently toward the holographic display in the center of the area.

The Vault of Lights housed a holographic museum of several Burning Legion minions that took up most of the wing, for the interest and further education of the next generation. A small group of young draenei were taking a tour of the display, he saw upon coming closer.

A mechanical voice emanated from each of the displays as the group studied them. Sÿkar managed to overhear what was said as he started up the staircase that was at the rear of the area.

"Function: Secret Police, Interrogator," the recording said. "The Nathrezim are merciless villains who feed upon the energies of mortal creatures. They utilize terror and subterfuge, often turning brother against brother as whole worlds fall before their dark influence.

The Prophet Velen stood impassively upon a platform at the top of the stairs, ringed by a small contingent of his personal guards, the Shield of Velen. The draenei was ancient, yet no less impressive. He had been the leader of the draenei since their flight from Argus 25,000 years before the first orcish invasion of Azeroth. He had been granted the gift of prophecy and had guided his people as they fought against the Burning Legion, who had ensnared their eredar brethren. He was the first of the draenei and was the arch-nemesis of Kil'jaeden.

The leader of the draenei people was not one to follow fashion. His multicoloured robes flowed in ripples down his glorified body before gathering in a pile about his feet. Shoulderpads draped with length of tassel made him seem as if he was about to take flight. A red and golden headpiece rose several inches behind him, complementing his wide berth. Bushy eyebrows stuck out above jade eyes that stared out at the Paladin without reaction. His beard was well groomed and tidy around his many tentacles.

"Esteemed High Prophet Velen," the Paladin bowed with as much grace as he could possible muster. "You requested me?"

The much older draenei worked his moustaches frivolously before replying. "Sÿkar. Good that that dratted Warlock has enough sense in her to do my bidding. How are you today, Paladin?"

Sÿkar had never been one for pointless chatter, but he didn't want to be rude. "As good as I do can be, Your Highness," he answered. "Pardon me, sir, but why do I be here?"

The Prophet twirled the staff he carried for a moment before striking it on the floor before himself quite firmly, resting both hands atop it. "All business, I see. Very well, then. We have received a distress transmission from the Kirin Tor. Rhonin tells us that Dalaran is besieged by the Blue Dragonflight."

Sÿkar felt his face twitch in shock. "That do no be possible, Lord Velen."

"I didn't think so, either, but the men I have stationed there tell me otherwise." The Prophet replied dejectedly.

"What do you be wanting me to do?" Sÿkar asked.

Velen threw up one of his hands and a shimmering portal burst into life before the Paladin's eyes. He could see the spires and parapets of Dalaran on the other side. The city was burning.

"Take the portal, Sÿkar," the Prophet said. "May the Light travel with you."

Sÿkar bowed again before placing one hand on his sword hilt and stepping forward, ready to face his fate.

"Hang on, there!" He heard a squeak behind him. Turning, he saw the little Warlock climbing the last step and jogging toward him, breathing heavily. "You can move fast when you want to, big guy. You ain't going nowhere without me," She said matter-of-factly.

Sÿkar just stared blankly at her, lost for words. The Prophet was shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Both of you, then. Go now, Enforcers!"

The diminutive Warlock grasped onto his arm firmly, and without further ado, they stepped through the portal.

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Night fell heavily and the streets of Dalaran were littered with dozens of corpses. Rubble from partially collapsed buildings was scattered throughout the city. Almost everything that was left standing was aflame, and columns of smoke rose high into the air, blanketing the stars. Screams of the dying haunted the minds of those that still lived, and cowered in fear.

Blood elf captain Athaede Dawnbreaker crept along a narrow alleyway with a small squadron of his guards, using only hand signals so as not to draw attention. He directed two of his men to scout the intersection ahead before the rest of them would take an unnecessary risk. It didn't take much to confirm his suspicions. The harsh screech of a dragon cut through the night like a hammer as his scouts were engulfed in billowing flames. Their blood wrenching screams died off fairly quickly. The dragon had devoured them whole, he assumed.

There was no need for quietness any longer. The dragon had spotted the remainder of his group some time ago. He called out quickly, "Nock arrows, men! Fire at will!" The sound of arrows being pulled taut and then released dimly registered in the back of his mind. The dragon bellowed in pain. His sword was already in hand as he ordered a charge on the wounded beast. Before they could draw close enough, however, a great black cat darted out of the night and snapped its jaws around the elongated neck of the dragon, leaving deep lacerations. The Blue Dragonflight agent slumped to the ground and did not move.

Athaede reined in the haphazard charge, staring at the panther. A tight knit group of people came running around a bend in the street, one lighting a path before them with a flame that hovered over an outstretched palm. There were four men and a female draenei. The blood elf captain recognized only two. Rhonin of the Kirin Tor and Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind.

Returning his gaze to the cat, Athaede was not too surprised to see it had transformed into the figure of a muscular night elf. He was hunched over defensively, and seemed to be listening to the wind. He paid no mind to the blood elf, or to his companions. Finally, he spoke, directing his attention to the captain. "You look to be a man of importance," he said. "My name is Denmar. This is Belladauna, Shantor, Rhonin, and Varian," he gestured to each in turn. "Oh, and that ass with them is Blëëd," he said with much amusement.

The one he had insulted stepped forward with a mumbled, "Bloody little night elf—", but Belladauna held up a hand and he stopped, teetering on one foot. Athaede looked back to Denmar.

"We didn't think any one else was alive," the captain said, astounded.

"There aren't many," the Druid replied. "This day has taken a toll on all of us. I think my companions and I have dealt with the remainder of the cultists on the ground. Whatever's left of them shouldn't be too troublesome. The real issue now is the dragons, and Cyanigosa. Rhonin here has a little trap planned for them, but we need your help."

"Gladly, I offer it," Athaede replied.

"We've improvised with what materials we had and constructed a catapult back there," Denmar pointed the way they had come. "You and your men must gather rubble from the streets and bring it to us as soon as possible."

It was a strange plan, the captain thought, but he voiced no opinion. "As you wish, sir." He started off down the street with his men, and they were soon swallowed by the night.

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Baiitt struggled for a long moment with her Felhunter. The demon was overjoyed with the fresh carcass of the wyrmkin cultist it had just killed all by itself, and it had chosen this moment to feast in celebration. It had latched its fangs around the neck of the despicable creature and would not let go, suckling happily and ignoring the prodding of its master.

Finally, the Warlock huffed and drew her wand, striking her companion with the ignited tip. The Felhunter yelped and withdrew from its prey, trembling in fear. "Now, puppy," Baiitt scolded, shaking a finger. She had no idea how to pronounce its true name. "You can eat after the battle, okay?"

The demon wagged its tail at her and its eyes shined out of the darkness joyfully. Baiitt replaced the wand in her robes and turned to look up the street. Sÿkar had planted one hoof on the body of the cultist he had just killed and was trying desperately to wrench his axe from the beast's skull. With a grunt, he managed to yank it free and staggered back. He chuckled to himself as he walked over to her.

"This do be an interesting night," the Paladin said dryly.

Baiitt huffed again. "I don't know what Velen expected us to do. Everyone here is dead. There are only two of us and the Light knows how many dragons."

"It be no use sitting here waiting and wondering, Baiitt," he said. "We could at least have a look around."

"I suppose so," The Warlock replied with a grimace. The Felhunter tapped its hooves against the cobblestones hopefully. "Come on then, big fella," she started on down the chaos strewn street, motioning him on behind her.

Something immense blocked the next bend in the street. It was too dark to make out what it was until they had drawn closer. A great blue dragon was draped across the road, eyes glazed over in death. Its leathery wings were bent at odd angles; it had probably been killed in mid flight. This was the first dragon they had come across. Looking closer, Baiitt could see pieces of shrapnel embedded in the creature's belly. It almost looked to be pieces of rubble that was scattered throughout the city streets. That didn't make sense to her. She looked over at the Paladin, but he just shook his head.

They continued on down a side alley, coming out onto another street. This one looked much the same as the last, except there were no dragons in sight, alive or dead. Instead, the cobblestones were soaked in blood and covered with the bodies of city defenders with the occasional wyrmkin among them. They stepped gingerly around the bodies, careful not to disturb the dead. Sÿkar hacked at the corpse of a cultist every now and then for good measure.

The two of them stopped dead at the next intersection. She could hear hurried whispers coming from around the corner. She glanced up at the Paladin and opened her mouth to call out, but he wrapped his hand around her head and over her mouth, shushing her. He looked at her until she understood, and then withdrew his arm.

They crept forward silently, peeking around the corner of a charred and smoking building.

There were four or five people gathered around what seemed to be a makeshift catapult. One of them walked over to the none too small pile of rubble and selected a suitable piece before placing it in the launcher and pulling the switch. The hunk of stone was vaulted high into the air, out of sight of the Warlock and Paladin. A deep male voice resonated from the darkness. "Now, Rhonin!"

A firebolt blazed out from the group, arching in the direction of the rubble. Baiitt couldn't determine which one of them had cast it. Only a moment passed before they heard the resounding crash of the fire striking the rubble and the resulting screech of a dragon. Another second went by before they dimly caught the thump of the dragon's corpse thudding to the ground in some far off sector of the city. Baiitt finally understood the shrapnel. The firebolt had shattered the stone and sent pieces flying in all directions. Not a bad strategy at all.

The Warlock smiled ecstatically up at Sÿkar and walked over to the group, her Felhunter trailing a step behind her. The Paladin hissed after her but followed reluctantly.

One of them called out a warning as Baiitt and the Paladin drew closer. One of the men held up an outstretched hand and a flamed sparked to life there, hovering. All four of them were men, save for the lone draenei. This last approached both of them with caution. "Please stop right there," she called out. Her accent wasn't as prominent as Sÿkar's, Baiitt noticed. The Warlock obliged her, and she heard the Paladin halt behind her.

"Who are you, and how did you come to be here?" The female asked.

"My name is Baiitt," The Warlock answered, holding up her hands in peace. "This bear behind me is Sÿkar. We just arrived here from the Exodar. Prophet Velen said you needed assistance?" It was more a question than a statement.

The draenei raised one eyebrow, but before she could speak, the one holding the flame stepped forward. He looked haggard, and dark circles lurked under his eyes from lack of sleep, but he was no less imposing. "He only sent you two?" The man asked.

"Yes," Baiitt replied evenly. "But you six seem to have things well under control here."

"Ah, well, that was not entirely my doing." The man inclined his head slightly, barely perceptible. It was as much of a bow as she was going to get from him. "I am Arch Mage Rhonin of the Kirin Tor. Varian Wrynn sits on the ground over there. Resting, he says."

"I was stabbed, idiot," a voice called out from the darkness.

The Mage rolled his eyes. "He complains too much. That pretty lady over there is Belladauna. I believe Denmar, Shantor, and Blëëd are all with her," he finished, gesturing to each of them.

The Warlock was amazed and quite joyous to find other living souls in this place. "What are you all doing here?" She asked.

Rhonin waved her question off. "That is a long, long story with many different perspectives that deserves better pomp and circumstances than we can afford this night." The Mage looked over her shoulder. "Hello there, friend." Sÿkar just stood there awkwardly. "He doesn't talk much, does he?" He asked her.

"You have no idea," Baiitt replied flippantly.

Before anyone could say anything else, a shadow waded out from a side alley and into their midst. Baiitt tensed at the sight of the blood elf, but Rhonin just waved him over. "Athaede, Captain," he called out. "Why do you not bring more rubble?"

The blood elf walked over and planted his fist on his heart in salute. "I bring news, sir. An airship has docked at Krasus' Landing. I spoke with the first officer, a man named Van Rossem. They are willing to carry passengers, but they will not wait long. I returned to you as fast as I could, but we cannot tarry here. We must go now!"

"An airship, you say," the Mage pondered for a moment. "Where are they headed, Captain?"

"Icecrown, sir. Into the Lich King's dark territory. But it's a right side better than this place."

"Indeed it is. Our work here is finished." The Mage walked back over to his group, leaving Baiitt and the Paladin standing there with the Captain.

Sÿkar decided to break the silence. "Hello. I keep telling Baiitt this do be an interesting night. Do you no agree?" He smiled unabashedly at the blood elf.

Athaede just stared at him for a moment before looking at the Warlock. "What did he say?"

"Never mind," Baiitt shook her head, smiling in the darkness.

The nine of them gathered what little provisions the could from the salvaged catapult and started out for the city's docking sector, Wrynn limping along with the assistance of the one Rhonin had called Shantor. A few times Baiitt thought she heard the leathery beat of dragon wings on the wind and thought that they were doomed, but it must have been her mind playing tricks on her. They made it to Krasus' Landing without incident.

They rounded the stairs that led to the courtyard and made their way over to the airship that waited across the expanse of cobblestone and bushes. Athaede called out hurriedly. "Officer Rossem! I've brought them!"

A rope was thrown over the side of the ship and tumbled down through the night, dangling in front of them. Belladauna was the first to ascend, with the insistence of Rhonin and Denmar. The rest followed in quick succession until only Baiitt, Sÿkar, and the Captain were left on the platform.

Athaede motioned them on. "You two go first, I'll watch—" he cut off with a grunt. A spear tip protruded from his chest, and blood began to froth from his wound. He looked at them with helpless eyes, mouth gaping.

The wyrmkin cultist holding the spear tossed the Captain's body aside, pulling his weapon free and directing his attention at Baiitt. The Felhunter hissed angrily, but Sÿkar was faster.

The draenei didn't even bother to draw his axe. He snatched the back of the creature's head with one hand and smashed it squarely in the face with the other fist. Once. Twice. The dazed wyrmkin toppled to the ground as the gleeful Felhunter pounced upon its prey. The demon tore off a chunk of flesh before Sÿkar picked it up in his arms and waved the Warlock up the rope. "Go! Now!" He shouted.

Baiitt scrambled up, the Paladin trailing quickly behind her. A uniformed man stood in front of her when she clambered onto the ship's deck. She assumed he was the officer Athaede had mentioned. "Bring in the line!" He called out after Sÿkar had heaved himself over the side behind her. Two crewmen rushed forward, reeling in the rope and tying it securely in place. The officer turned his attention to the two most recent additions to his ship.

"You two can go wait below deck with the rest of your friends," he said. "We'll be in Icecrown before the night is out, provided everything goes well. I suggest you try to get some sleep. It's going to be a cold dawn."

Baiitt was only half listening. Sÿkar set the Felhunter down as he and the Warlock moved past the officer and started down the stairs in a haze. They were both exhausted.

In the darkness, a dragon screeched.

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A/N: Comments, questions, praise, critique?