Denial

Chapter 11: Two is Company, Three's a Crowd

Astaroth hated Hyperion the moment he saw him.

Hate was not an emotion new to the demon lord of Fort Elron, or former lord as the case had become. Hate and rage had become givens in the existence of eredar ever since they had made their pact with Sargeras, leader of the Burning Legion, twenty-five thousand years ago, choosing a path that would give them power and knowledge. In those twenty-five thousand years, Astaroth, red skinned, yellow eyed and ten feet tall, currently standing in the fort's 'throne room', had obtained an ample supply of both.

It was also the indirect root of his latest source of hate.

"Your prince is having…issues, I take it?" the demon asked eventually, looking up from the parchment the spineless worm had given him. Despite the galling circumstances, it was best to be diplomatic. For now at least.

"More than you know," the astromancer murmured, looking upwards to meet the demon's gaze. "The issue of your loyalty is but one of them."

"Of course it is," the eredar murmured, incinerating the piece of paper with passive vengeance. "With people like you in his ranks, I suppose I fare poorly?"

Hyperion remained silent, Astaroth sensing that he'd struck a nerve. As a master of magic, as a member of one of the most powerful races in the universe, not to mention of the Burning Legion also, Astaroth liked to consider himself above petty revenge. But even so, that this…thing, this little, pale skinned usurper in his presence…he felt that he could make an exception. Many of them.

"You knew this was coming though," camea voice from the back of the demon's mind. Astaroth found himself agreeing. Only those of the Legion could comprehend the true meaning of power. Mortal races failed to grasp it fully and as a consequence, sought to flaunt it.

"And this is the result," the warlock mused, tilting his head like a cat who'd been confronted with a mouse who'd said "don't eat me or you'll regret it." "The Lord of Tempest Keep, seeking to flaunt his self-perceived power, thinking that asserting himself will make his position stronger, replaces me with this…thing."

It had admittedly come as a surprise to the demon when two dragonhawks landed in the courtyard. Fort Elron was isolated from the rest of Outland, an inconspicuous piece of rock in a sea of irradiated soil. As such, it rarely received visitors and when it did, they tended to be those delivering foodstuffs for the establishment's soldiers. Astaroth was incapable of experiencing wonder in the superfluous sense; it had been part of what he'd sacrificed when he'd accepted Sargeras' offer back on Argus. Even so, he did wonder at the utilitarian level as to why a blood elf and fel orc were at his abode.

He'd quickly been given the answer.

"Yes, I suppose you do fare poorly," Hyperion said, lifting the demon out of its thought-stream. "Which is why I'm here, to ensure that-…"

"Oh spare me," Astaroth growled, the sound seemingly reverberating from his very being rather than any vocal chords. "You hate being here, so you attempt to fill in the void with authority." He leered down at the miniscule elf, closing some of the four feet height difference. "Trust me in this, Astromancer Hyperion Lightwind. You're failing."

Hyperion once again fell silent, just as Astaroth expected. He could see Hyperion for what he was; a spineless sycophant, the type of person who sucked up to people for personal gain. Yet he tried to hide this trait, attempting to fool those that he was an independent individual, one who could make his own way through the world without relying on the charity of others. A person who attempted to delude even himself that this was the case, and succeeded for the most part.

As power personified, Astaroth despised this.

"You're entitled to think what you want," Hyperion murmured eventually.

"You have my thanks," said the eredar sarcastically, bowing down to the sin'dorei so that their visages were at the same height. As he rose the eredar turned to the axe wielding fel orc who'd been standing by silently.

"Et tu Brute?" Astaroth asked, turning to the redskin. "What brings you to this place?"

Unlike Hyperion, Tartarus could not only meet the eredar's gaze on a roughly horizontal level, but meet it with pride also. Astaroth gave a small nod that only the orc, his attention focussed on the demon, could see. A subtle mark of respect.

"I go where war takes me," Tartarus murmured. "Where those worthy of my attention are present."

Hyperion snorted at this but the two chaos-powered beings ignored him. "And Fort Elron is your choice why, exactly?"

Tartarus shrugged. "Prince Kael'thas bid it so. And as my master, I obeyed him. I therefore-…"

"Well I am your master now," Hyperion interrupted, stepping in-between the warlock and warrior, looking akin to a twig between two falcons. "Kael'thas is away in Tempest Keep Tartarus. Not here." He straightened himself up further. "Here, I rule Tartarus, not you. Here, I'm your god."

"And what would my god have me do?" Tartarus sneered.

"Leave us," said Hyperion simply. "Your presence sickens me."

Tartarus looked from Hyperion to Astaroth, gave a small grin to the latter, then turned back to the blood elf. Giving a mock bow, he silently walked out. Astaroth turned sharply to face Hyperion.

"You're truly pathetic, you realise that?"

Hyperion turned equally sharply to face him. "Watch your tongue demon, or you'll find that it's missing."

The eredar chuckled. "Spare me. Asserting your authority is just as much a farce as dismissing Tartarus."

"I-…"

"You've always despised Tartarus, correct?" Astaroth continued. "Wondered what an orc, a supposed lesser creature was doing in Tempest Keep? You always despised him, as you were confronted by someone with a backbone." He leered closer. "How does it feel to get revenge, little elf? How does power feel?"

Hyperion remained silent, even after Astaroth withdrew himself to full height. Not that looking up at an eredar was particularly comforting, the elite of the Burning Legion being equally proficient in martial and tactical prowess, but it was certainly better than having a creature come down to your level…feeling as if your entire soul was under scrutiny by callous beings, creatures that would pay no more attention to the word of a sentient being any more than the sentient creature would to an ant on his or her boot.

Yet even removed from scrutiny, silence still existed. The drab 'throne room', so named as a golden throne was indeed present which stood in contrast to the rock walls, seemed to close in on them, or at least on the blood elf. It was as if a pack of wolves were closing in on the astromancer, and Astaroth was the alpha male.

"Follow me," said Astaroth suddenly, his voice coming out as something akin to a purr. Some part of Hyperion's mind urged him to point out that the warlock had no authority over him, that it was he, Astromancer Hyperion Lightwind, who was giving the orders, but something, possibly survival instinct, held him back. He followed Astaroth onto the balcony, looking out from the keep over the courtyard.

"This," said Astaroth grandually, making a gesture with a clawed hand, "is your domain, passed down from me to you by orders from our common superior."

Even from a distance, the difference between the two magic-users was stark. Astaroth, red skinned and golden eyed stood tall and proud, a dark blue cape blowing in the wind, gold plate armour covering his chest. In comparison, Hyperion, green eyed and paled skinned, appeared akin to a child. The wind seemingly refused to pick up his blood red cape, his posture not ninety degrees.

"Courtesy of a lack of reports, and from what I understand, insubordination, Kael'thas has seen fit to bequeath Fort Elron to you," Astaroth, glancing at the astromancer. "How does it feel, little elf, to have hundreds of soldiers and thousands of slaves at your command? Do you feel like god then?"

Hyperion glanced at him, faint memories of the beliefs of Northshire Abby surfacing in his memory; the idea of a single, all-powerful entity. "You believe in a god, demon?"

"Yes," said Astaroth simply. "His name is Sargeras."

Hyperion involuntarily flinched at the name, a movement not going unnoticed by the eredar. He smirked.

"Of course, when applied in the context of the singular creation myth, that is not true," Astaroth continued. "But we may as well the consider the Dark Titan a god, no? Power is relative after all."

"Of course," murmured Hyperion. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Astaroth remained silent, the astromancer pleased to see that this time, he had succeeded in striking a nerve. He knew about Astaroth of course, about how he could be considered an unlucky demon.

"You are correct," asserted Astaroth eventually. "Which makes me superior to you."

"Superior!?" Hyperion exclaimed. "And how is that, exactly? I just usurped your rule, you red skinned-…"

"You are in a position that you do not want," Astaroth interrupted, his golden eyes blazing. "Therefore, you seek to flaunt your power. That's all there is to it, elf."

"I-…"

"Your dismissal of Tartarus was driven by nothing more than jealousy," Astaroth continued. "Jealousy begets hatred. Hatred begets irrationality. Irrationality begets instability. And instability begets a fall."

"What about you then?" the sin'dorei exclaimed, his green eyes now blazing in turn. "How does a hate filled demon like yourself manage to avoid a fall?"

Astaroth threw his head back and laughed, the unearthly sound seemingly caught by the wind and amplified by equally unearthly forces. "Because I know how to channel hatred and power, paleskin, an ability that has resulted in me claiming the souls of one thousand, six hundred and sixty five mortals." He stopped chuckling and gazed back at Hyperion. "Power and hatred are aspects that I have the ability to use appropriately. Unlike you, however…"

Hyperion was trying to form words but failing to do so. Probably because he didn't want to become victim No. 1,666. Astaroth therefore continued talking, turning back to look over the courtyard as he did so.

"Power is relative, defined by the position an individual holds," the demon said, as if reminiscing on long lost times. "Remember, little elf, that power is a means to an end, not an end in itself. Forget this and embrace pride, and the fall awaits you. And while this fortress possesses a few of your own kind, the majority is made up of far more competent individuals, none of which will be willing to catch you."

Hyperion had given up trying to form words and was simply standing there silently. Astaroth turned back to him and smiled.

"I take my leave," said the eredar, the demon performing a mock bow. He proceeded to walk back into the keep, intent on seeking out Tartarus. Unlike the astromancer, the fel orc had potential…

Despite his change of circumstances, Astaroth was pleased. Hyperion may have been a worm, but he was at least one which could grow a backbone; a trait which served Astaroth well. Not that it would last though. After all, two was company, but three was a crowd. And in their little triangle of power, between demon, orc and blood elf, the astromancer was the oddity. Astaroth therefore knew what he would do, a task which he had already started. He would build up the astromancer's backbone…

…and then he would break it.


The Dark Portal.

It was a gateway of paradox. It gazed out over the Black Morass like a silent sentinel, yet offered no protection. It was grand, yet horrifying. It was elegant, yet hideous. However, there was at least one constant…

It was something that should never have existed.

Despite the resolve that had seen her through Nethergarde, the same resolve (and a bit of pride) that saw her continue her trek alone, Shahra Dreamsinger felt her will falter at the sight of the…thing. Opened nearly three decades ago through a joint effort between the Sargeras-possessed Medivh and the orc warlock Gul'dan, it had provided the Old Horde entry into Azeroth, setting the course of history. A baleful green glow shone from the gateway, flanked by two silent statues. Power and twisted majesty were radiated from the structure.

It would never close. The tear in reality between the worlds Azeroth and Draenor, now known as Outland, would always exist, even if the gateway itself didn't. Even after stygian night had descended upon the universe, after both worlds had crumbled into nothingness, the light of madness would continue to shine. The Dark Portal would always be there, always be a threat to order, whether it be through the suicidal actions of the warlock Ner'zhul or the more recent ones by Lord Kazzak.

"And that's why I'm here," Shahra reminded herself, keeping her feet from turning in the other direction. "I'm here to see if some of the danger is real or false." Of course, there were other, more personal reasons, a fact reflected by the reduced glow in her eyes, a glow that she hoped would not be changed into something else. Something that she did not want to be. Something that was a physical embodiment of everything the Dark Portal was associated with.

Silently, she began to walk, first across the barren soil, then up the smoother but equally foreboding ramp to the gateway. The high elf averted her gaze from the guardians, unable to shake the feeling that they were more than statues, that they would suddenly come to life, grasp their swords and use them. The coiled snakehead above the gateway did not help matters either

Yet nothing could compare with the gateway itself. Standing just in front of it, Shahra knew that she was looking into…what? Eternity? Hell? Something that defied mortal comprehension? She did not know. Knowledge could be gained through power and power could be gained through knowledge. Yet the portal was power alone, separating itself from knowledge and spitting on it. It was something that should not exist, yet did so. Shahra shook her head. She knew exactly what it was.

Anathema.

An anathema that, after steeling her mind and body, she walked through.

The passage between worlds was as unnatural as the entrance. It was like…falling through a combination of air, water and heat; the type of feeling one gets when standing in front of a fire. Yet it was not unpleasant. It was…nothing.

At least until the odd flicker of vision and a bump at the end of the passage.

Shahra quickly realised too things. The first was that she was indeed in Outland, indicated by the floating rock, red sky and general alien feeling. The second, far more foreboding realisation was that she was not alone.

Armour clad blood elves…towering demons…snake things that she did not recognise…it all were gathered around the portal on Outland's side, as if…no, that was impossible. It was as if they were waiting for her.

Such was the shock that Shahra did nothing nor said anything as they rushed forward, weapons at the ready, yet not with the intent of murder, but rather capture. It was a surreal feeling somehow, the knowledge that an entire world was figuratively against you. Blood elf…demon…other…things…it was almost unfair.

It was seconds before she lost consciousness, only hearing a single voice before slipping into darkness…

"Behold the microcosm of your existence."


Shahra awoke with a start, a spring and given the shelf situated above the bed she was in, a sore head.

In an instant she'd fallen back on the mattress, a combination of pain and exhaustion, the latter of both the mental and physical kind. The quel'dorei barely registered this pain or fatigue however, her mind instead being occupied with a single question…what had happened?

In a sense that question applied to two cases; what was she doing in a bed and what had happened in her dream? Closing her eyes, the high elf resolved to deal with the latter question first; easier to answer and less disconcerting.

"There's only one explanation," thought Shahra bitterly, reflecting on the moment she left the hellish Black Morass of Azeroth for the even more hellish region known as Hellfire Peninsula. "Outland's out to get me. Or at least its inhabitants…"

Sighing, the elf turned over slightly, clutching the sheets of the bed like a child who'd just had a bad dream. She wasn't completely happy with the analogy; she wasn't a child (at least in her own mind) and it wasn't a dream that she'd just experienced. It was simply a memory and an unpleasant one at that.

"Guess this proves the notion that the road from Nethergarde is the highway to hell," the quel'dorei reflected, silently marvelling at how the memory had captured her experience so…perfectly. Everything, apart from the slight blur of vision, had been perfect, ranging from the feeling of falling through eternity to those who awaited her at eternity's end. Those who had claimed Outland as their own…

Shahra gripped the blanket tighter, but out of rage rather than fear. It was typical really. The sin'dorei had taken the high elven world and turned it into their own version of 'culture'. It was morbidly appropriate that they'd react with force to any true son or daughter of Quel'Thalas who tried to enter it, Outland acting as the perfect representation of what the "Children of Blood" represented, along with demons and snake-men. Demon whores and snake sluts. A personification of the notion that the end justifies the means.

Shahra knew this, just as much knowing what separated high elven culture from its more hedonistic counterpart. To a blood elf, an individual that was part of a greater whole of hedonism and power lust, all were one. To a high elf, an individual who sought solitude to deal with their common blessing and curse, one was all.

Nothing would ever change that.

It was this knowledge she belonged in the latter category that gave Shahra the strength to rise up, taking care to avoid the shelf above. The elf looked around the room, her mind now set on the second question and the ones which stemmed from it.

"What am I doing in a bed?" she wondered. "Where am I? What time is it? Where's Leo? What about the…thing?"

The elf wasn't exactly sure what the giant turtle was, but "giant thing" seemed to be a good set of adjectives. Massaging her temples, she closed her eyes again, trying to remember what had happened. They'd managed to defeat the "giant thing", said thing going off the ledge into oblivion. After that…

Blood…

Pain…

Darkness…

Shahra shook her head. Something had happened after that. Something that, as far as memory served, involved her coughing up blood and unconsciousness. Something that, she was willing to bet wound her up in this bed. But where exactly was…Wait a minute. What was that smell?

"Of course," the high elf thought, remembering vaguely how she'd staggered into the orc hut after the spasms had started. "I'm in an orc's bed in an orc hut on the edge of the Netherstorm, no doubt courtesy of a certain cave dweller."

It would have been a simple effort for Leo to lift her off the floor but Shahra still felt absurdly grateful.

For the dwelling of an axe-wielding savage who'd stank to high heaven in its day, the bed was surprisingly comfortable. Still, she had to admit, her assessment was perhaps not entirely fair. Shahra was under little delusion that she was beginning to smell like a troll and, Sunwell forbid, look like one too. Her hair, which had been let loose by the removal of the hair band and now stretched down the back of her neck, felt lank and dirty.

Shahra slowly rose out of the bed, twisting the blue fabric of the headband in her fingers idly. Truth be told, it wasn't her colour of choice; the elf had always felt that red was more suited to gold, blue being too…passive. Of course, a high elf wearing red wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do nowadays…

"It figures really," thought Shahra bitterly as she tied her hair back, swearing to wash it and the rest of her body at the earliest opportunity. "Not satisfied with perverting our culture, they even dictate what we can and can't wear." Sighing, she shook her head in frustration. Dictating attire or fashion preferences wasn't exactly the greatest crime in the world, but even so, it angered her, more due to…well, vanity, in a sense.

But even so…

Shahra shook her head again, though this time in resolve. She had more important things to worry about than fashion. Finding out where Leo was and what had happened to her were among them. She decided to deal with the former first…easier to deal with. She quickly found it too, a small note left on perhaps the widest desk she'd ever seen. An ink pot and quill were nearby, but not of any bird feather that Shahra recognised.

"If that's the size of the desk, wonder what size the chair would be?" the elf mused, trying to conjure an image of an orc sitting at a desk and failing miserably. Regardless, she picked up the note and began to read.

Dear-…

The rest of the line cut off there. Shahra smirked as she viewed the various terms that Leo had crossed out, including "donkey ears", "Blondie" and "paleskin". Too much of a good thing was sometimes bad for you and Leo's list of insults fit the definition perfectly. With each insult having been crossed out and indeed, the line as a whole, Shahra continued to read.

Miss Dreamsinger,

If you're reading this letter, I can only assume that you've either regained consciousness or something freaky has occurred that has separated your mind from your body. Regardless, I hope you're alright. I don't know what happened exactly, but suffice to say, I think you went through a physical form of hell. Take things easy Shahra. I don't want any more problems for either of us. Still, if you feel the need to cough up any more blood, please do so outside. I had a hell of a time cleaning up the first volley.

"I coughed up blood?" Shahra asked herself. She continued reading.

At this point in time, I'm currently out in the Netherstorm, taking a look around. No, it's not to collect firewood and no, it's not to clear my head. Just understand that sitting in a hut all day is boring and, given the smell, not entirely pleasant. In case you're wondering, yes, you smell like a troll. If it's any consolation though, I'm probably no better. Of course, we have to take our relative exertion into account, but that's another matter entirely.

Best regards,

Leo.

PS: Lose some weight. Lifting you into the bed was harder than I expected.

Shahra was vaguely aware that she was fully smiling by the time that she put the note down. It was funny really, how Leo somehow managed to compliment and insult her in the same sentence. The only way fault that she could find was that the human had failed to tell her exactly what had happened. Coughing up blood was apparently part of it, but not the full story…

Putting down the note, the elf slowly closed her eyes, once again casting her mind back to her memories of when things had gone pear shaped…

Blood…

Darkness…

Pain…

The high elf grimaced as she opened her eyes. Something had happened all right. Something that had resulted in her losing consciousness and…other things. She turned to the window, looking out across the Netherstorm. Judging by the paltry amount of sunlight and its angle, it was seemingly twilight, meaning that she'd been unconscious for at least a day.

"And it's to be expected too," Shahra thought, knowing what had caused it. Indeed, she had even anticipated it. Two weeks of abstinence. One week of remaining in a magic saturated cell, another trekking across a magic saturated land…all the while doing nothing to deal with it. Magic coursed through her veins, and she'd done absolutely nothing to prevent the entry of more.

Not to mention that it was demonic magic…

"Well that changes now," Shahra thought to herself, sitting down on the floor and beginning a ritual that she'd performed daily for the past five years. She knew that she generally felt normal over the last two weeks, the need to meditate having seemingly dissipated, but that didn't mean the need had been removed altogether.

"No more procrastination. No more denial. Magic courses through my veins and I, Sun willing, shall deal with it. The curse of my birthright will notbecome manifest! I-…"

Shahra was almost grateful when she heard the door open. She was getting a bit carried away and she knew it. The main reason however, was who had opened the door. She scrambled to her feet and ran across the room to the alcove where the hut's entrance was.

"Leo, I…"

Shahra trailed off, her excitement giving way to at first surprise and then, fear. Involuntarily, she began backing away, her pulse racing.

After all, it wasn't Leo who opened the door.

It wasn't even human


The Netherstorm was so…boring.

It was a conclusion that Leonard Ragoa had reached quite awhile ago, yet was still dwelling over it. It was a strange experience really. It was said that you never appreciated the beauty of things until you truly looked at them. Hiking for a week across a wasteland had prevented Leo from doing that but now, relatively free of constraints, he was free to marvel at the beauty of the Netherstorm. Or rather, the lack of it.

"What the hell am I thinking about?" Leo mused, making his way back to the orc hut. "I'm in the most inhospitable region of Outland, low on food and water, stuck with an elf that'll probably get us both killed, and I'm thinking about how boring this place is?" He shook his head. Outland was a realm that defied conventionality in the physical sense (how did a slab of rock maintain its position in space anyway?) That it defied conventionality in the mental sense was hardly surprising.

One day had passed since the fight with the dragon turtle…a day that would have had to have been the longest, most excruciating in Leo's life. Even his captivity in Tempest Keep was more bearable in that he knew what was what; the blood elves were his enemies, he was a prisoner of war for all intents and purposes and his cellmate aptly fit the definition of "whiney bitch."

But now…

Leo found he couldn't stay in the hut, not just for the reason that the place stank. His knowledge of biology wasn't that extensive, but it was clear that Shahra's state of health had gone up the creek without a paddle. Coughing up blood and losing consciousness, followed by shallow breathing tended to convey that impression. He'd seen similar scenes before, but the fact remained that watching the elf featured a combination of concern and distrust. It was moral obligation that made him at least get her comfortable, but there was the ever present possibility that he was aiding someone whose interests did not lie with his own. On one hand, he owed Shahra for helping him in the fight against the dragon turtle. On the other, she owed him just as much, if not more so, not to mention presenting the risk of betrayal…

Leo didn't want a repeat of last time…

The human had therefore left. The Netherstorm was bland, but it at least allowed him to collect his thoughts and reflect just how crappy his situation was. Low on food, low on water and stuck in nowhere's proverbial middle. Woot.

"Ardelan's coming though," Leo reminded himself. "Well, supposedly at least…"

The optimism quickly faded. Even if Ardelan did show up, what then? He wouldn't have planned on including transport for three and besides, he probably wouldn't take kindly to having an elf nearby. Leo groaned, tugging the beard that he intended to shave as soon as an opportunity presented itself. He hated playing diplomat, but Ardelan's presence in light of Shahra's demanded it.

And what of the elf herself? What if she remained in her condition? Leo knew that more was at stake here than a single elf that he'd been stuck with, but even so…Leo sighed. Morality was overrated.

"And so is the concept of home," Leo thought bitterly, coming within fifty feet of the hut. Home may have been where the heart was, but considering that his current 'home' was a decaying piece of wood with…a large sack and warhammer by the door…

Leo could tell by the size of the sack and warhammer, not to mention its golden embroidery and purple stone hammerhead, that the items belonged to Ardelan. He had come, as expected. He had come to transport him to…

"Wait a minute…" thought the human. "If Ardelan's stuff is outside, then where's Ardelan himself?"

There was only one answer. Inside the hut. Inside the hut, alone, with a high elf…

Letting out a curse, Leo started running.


The quel'dorei considered themselves a passive people, a trait which manifested itself in various ways. On one hand, the detachment from emotion could lead to arrogance, a belief that they were of a higher order than "lesser races"-paltry beings that would often fall victim to their emotions. On the other, the channelling of their emotions would lead to works of art and literature, the quality of which was of the highest order. Although far from an emotionless race, the quel'dorei could generally channel them with greater control than other races.

Not that they were completely above simple emotions however, hatred being among them…

For the high elves, three races would always be a source of enmity. Most recent to the triangle of hate (or "axis of evil" as some called it) were the "children of blood"; corrupters of high elven culture and values. Far more ancient were the Amani trolls; murderers of their people and savages who marred the purity of Quel'Thalas. Yet even more ancient, and perhaps the darkest of all, were demons.

Demons…those of the Twisting Nether, anathema to life. Demons were the bane of existence, yet for the quel'dorei, it was far more complex. The Highborne had consorted with demons ten thousand years ago, an alliance driven by arrogance, the thirst for power and a lust for knowledge. To a high elf, a demon was more than a simple monster. A demon was the darker side of the elven psyche made manifest. To look at a demon was to look at the darker side of your nature, to look at what you may become.

Even the sin'dorei did not present such a distorted image of the elven spirit. In a true quel'dorei's eyes, a blood elf simply represented a perversion of their culture. A demon however, was a mirror image…a physical reminder of what they could become…of what they had almost become…

Shahra knew this…had known this as soon as she was old enough to learn the history of her people. She therefore knew that she was looking at an eredar as soon as she saw it. Admittedly, it didn't look exactly as she expected; blue skin, blue eyes, sleek black hair. Yet there were definite physical attributes that matched an eredar's description; hooves, a tail, four tendrils extending from the creature's chin…

A demon through and through. One which Shahra gazed at with a combination of fear, awe and loathing. A look which the demon mirrored, at least in the loathing part.

"Where is my friend?" it growled, looking down at the elf below him. Standing one and a half feet taller than the elf, he didn't even have to try to intimidate her. Its voice also provided such intimidation. It was thick and heavy…not the unearthly sound that Shahra had expected, but still not natural.

"Wh…what?" Shahra asked.

The eredar sighed. "Don't waste my time wrench. I know that you're travelling with a male human named Leonard Ragoa. Either you tell me where he is, or I…well, use your imagination if you possess such a thing."

Shahra was confused. She was face to face with an eredar, a species of demon renowned for tactical prowess, arrogance and, like virtually all demons, sadism. Since when did an eredar address a mortal so passively?

"Well?" the eredar asked.

"I…I don't know," Shahra stammered. A half truth as it was, one which the demon quickly picked up on.

"Let me make myself clear," the eredar said, taking a step forward. "I've travelled across the Netherstorm for a week. I'm tired, frustrated and out of patience. I know that you've been travelling with a human this past week, one which, Light knows why, has seemingly helped you."

"And if he has?" Shahra asked, wondering why a demon would make a reference to the Holy Light.

The demon made a lemon sucking grimace. "If he has, it means that there is something about you that prevents me from dispatching justice."

"Go ahead and dispatch it then," Shahra retorted, hoping that she sounded braver than she felt.

The eredar tilted its head, as if studying her. Kind of like a cat curiously studying a mouse who said "don't eat me." The problem with the analogy, was that curiosity wasn't going to get this cat killed. Rather, given how the demon's hand shot forward and grabbed her by the neck, lifting her above the ground, it was going to get its prey killed.

Shahra was instantly taken back to Tartarus, the incident outside Tempest Keep where he could have snapped her neck like a twig yet chose not to. The lack of air, the blind panic, the feelings of helplessness…she waited for these to come.

They never did.

Shahra gazed down at the eredar, trying to gauge its motives. This was different from being strangled by a fel orc. He looked at her not with hatred, but simply with dislike. It was well within its power to do what Tartarus chose not to, yet it was making the same decision as the fel orc. Something was holding it back, something which caused him to hold her without causing any pain. Something that went deeper than utilitarian purposes…

Shahra studied the eredar closely, taking note of how…different, it seemed from what she'd expected. Its body was clad in silver armour with gold trim, purple gems inserted in key areas. Its eyes also caught her own…glowing blue, like her own. There were differences in them, namely that they were of a darker shade and were far less radiant, seemingly a natural feature rather than a manifestation of magical addiction, but even so…

"In case you're wondering, yes, I could easily snap your neck like a twig," said the eredar, his voice coming out like a bored drawl.

"Then why don't you?" Shahra sneered.

"Because unlike your kind, I have a sense of right and wrong," the eredar snarled, its eyes narrowing. "You're an unarmed individual who has made no attempt to cause me harm. Added to that, you've been travelling with Leonard Ragoa and are therefore worthy of life in his eyes."

Shahra remained silent. This eredar seemed to be after Leo for some reason. A reason that she didn't want to even think about…

"Death is not something that must ever be dealt lightly," the eredar continued. "I have dealt death to your kind before, but only on the battlefield. Chaotic circumstances, morality cast aside, the power of life and death at our command…" The eredar trailed off, as if remembering something that caused him…what? Regret? Pain? Shahra didn't know and, given how it suddenly refocussed on her, decided not to ask.

"Still, I think it's safe to assume that it's unpleasant being held up in the air," the eredar drawled. "There's an easy way to alleviate your situation however, and that's by answering my question."

"Which is…?" Shahra asked slowly.

"My question," snarled the eredar, "is where is the male human you've been travelling with."

"I…don't know," Shahra whispered.

"Don't lie to me!" the eredar roared, tightening his grip slightly. "You've been travelling with him for the past week! Either you tell me where he is, or I assume that you've caused my friend to come to harm and thus avenge him."

"I thought you said that you weren't intent on dealing death."

The eredar chuckled. "You'll be surprised what you can live through."

"I bet."

The eredar went to say something, but seemingly thought better of it. Shahra was slightly disappointed. Her best bet was to keep the creature talking until Leo returned and then…well, they'd taken out the dragon turtle together, so maybe they could do the same here…

Or not.

"Just answer my question," the eredar snarled, bringing its face close to the elf in its grasp. "WHERE IS LEONARD RAGOA!?"

"Right behind you Ardelan," came a voice.

Two pairs of blue eyes turned to the alcove, one set out of hope and relief, the other out of curiosity. Leo was standing there, his right hand by the elf blade sheathed in his belt, the other stretched out as if to calm down a rabid animal.

"Leo!" Shahra and the one apparently named Ardelan exclaimed. The eredar quickly dropped Shahra, the elf landing with a heavy thud. She looked up in bewilderment as she saw the demon and human greeting each other as if they were old friends.

"You're alive I see," Ardelan smiled, the grin genuine.

"And you too, I see," Leo replied. "Had a good trip?"

"In a word, no," the eredar replied. "Tracking you across the Netherstorm was hardly pleasant."

"Across the Netherstorm? Didn't you land here?"

"No," Ardelan said slowly, looking slightly embarrassed. "I was actually sent to Tempest Keep first but…well, let's just say I had bad timing."

"Would someone please tell me what's going on here?" Shahra asked herself, looking at the two with scrutiny. Since when was Leo associated with demons? Since when were demons capable of faking companionship with such sophistication. Since when-…

"Anyway, you're safe, and that's what matters," the eredar said, patting the human on the shoulder like a parent would to a child (given the height difference, it certainly looked the part). The eredar turned back to face Shahra.

"What about her though?" Ardelan asked. "Since when did you start associating with blood elves?"

"High elf," answered Shahra and Leo simultaneously. Ardelan only heard the human though, as if the elf didn't exist…a dream, as it was. Unfortunately, the blood elves were a people that did indeed exist.

"High elf?" asked the eredar. "One of those self-deluded fools who think they're different from their kindred?"

"I beg your pardon!?" Shahra exclaimed indifferently. This was like her time with Leo in Tempest Keep all over. Only difference was, Ardelan wasn't pausing any attention to her.

"In a word, yes," Leo answered. "And while I understand your misgivings, I can assure you that she has earnt my trust."

Ardelan snorted. "You think that…thing is capable of understand the concept Leonard?" He turned back and glared at the quel'dorei, his tail moving up and down. "Have you forgotten what happened to you the last time you-…"

"No," answered the human quickly, the eredar seemingly approaching a subject he didn't want to dwell on. "I haven't forgotten and I never will. However, the past doesn't dictate my actions wholly."

Ardelan raised an eyebrow, giving Leo the same quizzical look he'd given Shahra. He turned back to face the elf, glared for a few seconds, then turned back to the human.

"I will respect your…decision," Ardelan growled, clearly not agreeing with it. "However, if you wake up with a knife in your back, don't come whining to me." Glaring at Shahra one last time, he stormed out, slamming the door.

Silence fell upon the room, Leo looking at Shahra with guilt, the elf looking at Leo with confusion. There were some things in life that universally made people uneasy and what had just transpired was one of them.

"So…" said Leo slowly. "Are you alright?"

"Alright?" asked Shahra indignantly, getting to her feet. "I've just been strangled by an eredar who-…"

"Draenei, Shahra. Ardelan's a draenei."

The high elf raised an eyebrow. "Leo, what the hell are you on about? There was an eredar in this room who-…"

"Damit Shahra, would you just listen!?" Leo exclaimed. "Ardelan's a draenei, not an eredar. I don't know the full history, but he's basically everything an eredar isn't. Not to mention that he's a friend of mine-…"

"Friend!?" Shahra exclaimed. "That thing is your friend!?"

"I-…"

"When were you going to tell me this!?" Shahra exclaimed. "When did you intend on informing me that you had a psychopath trailing us? When-…" She trailed off.

"Yes?" asked Leo, looking at her quizzically.

Shahra remained silent. Memories of Tempest Keep were starting to come back to her. Leo hadn't left her in the dark completely…


Tempest Keep

"It's as I thought…" Leo mused softly to himself.

"Pardon?" asked Shahra, her sharp hearing picking up his words.

"The Sunstrider prince has added a level of dungeons to the lower levels of the keep," said Leo, turning to meet Shahra's gaze. "No doubt for any excess prisoners his forces capture. Can't say the naaru are going to very happy."

"The what?" Shahra asked, having never heard of a 'nah-roo' before.

"Or the draenei for that matter," Leo continued, ignoring the elf's query.

"What the hell is a-…"

"Ardelan's going to be-…"

"Alright, slow down!" yelled Shahra. She knew that shouting could incur the human's beratement, but she felt that she was making progress in acquiring his trust, something that rarely worked amongst others of his kind. It seemed safe to pursue truth; "you're not making sense."

"I'm not?" asked Leo, clearly surprised. Either the traitor had suddenly become a good liar or she was woefully ignorant of her lord's manners.

"For starters, you said that Kael created a section of dungeons on the lower levels of this keep. Yet if that's the case, why keep you in a separate cell? How'd you come to receive special treatment?"

Leo shrugged; "Hell if I know. Still, it's not that surprising really, that the prince would throw a traitor to both his kind and the Alliance into darker…" He trailed off, seeing that the elf was seemingly on the verge of tears. "Something wrong?" he asked.


Shahra returned to the present. Something had been wrong back then. Something that had led to her crying like a small child. Caught up in her emotion, the high elf had never thought to ask Leo about a 'nah-roo', 'dra-nye' or Ardelan, as to whom or what they were. Only a week later had the questions been answered, although not in the way she expected. Of course, there was one question left. If that was who Ardelan was, and he was an example of what a draenei was, then who and/or what was a 'nah-roo?'

Despite the virtue of knowledge, Shahra decided that she didn't want to know.

"Shahra?" asked Leo, noticing her silence. "Are you alright?"

The quel'dorei remained silent for awhile. There was something about Ardelan's interaction with Leo, something that…oh surely not…

"He's one of the two, isn't he?" Shahra asked softly.

Leo raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Shahra once again fell silent, remembering Leo's words on the morning after their first night in the Netherstorm…


Netherstorm

"Anyway, we best be off," said Leo. "The journey south will hardly be easy, even without the blood elves on our arses." He began walking off; "Come along donkey ears."

"Sure thing Leonard," Shahra responded sarcastically. She immediately wondered as to whether it was a suitable response however, given how Leo suddenly spun around, a vein throbbing in his temple.

"Don't call me that," he snarled. "Ever."

Shahra was caught off guard. "Sorry, I-…"

"I can't stand the name Leonard," the human continued. "Only close friends are allowed to call me that, only two of them not being human.


"Ardelan was calling you Leonard and you weren't even flinching," said Shahra, her blue eyes boring into Leo's grey ones. "He's one of your close friends, isn't he? One of the two non-humans who can call you Leonard." Leo flinched as she called him by his full name, as if to emphasize her point…that someone like Ardelan could get into his inner circle, yet someone like Shahra couldn't.

Like the 'nah-roo', the quel'dorei decided that she didn't want to know who the other friend was.

"Look, I'm sorry," said the human, walking up to the high elf and placing his hands on her shoulders. "I should have told you about Ardelan. Trekking through the Netherstorm kinda distorted my 'to do' list."

Shahra smiled despite herself. "That's your excuse?"

Leo returned it. "Hey, I've gotta have some excuse, don't I?" His features softened. "How are you feeling?" he asked, referring to what had landed her in the bed…whatever the cause was…

Shahra shrugged. "Hard to say. I feel fine but…well, that was how I felt before…"

She trailed off, a trail that Leo didn't seek to steer her from. Technically, that wasn't entirely true, the elf having been off color for the better part of a week. Even so, that didn't explain suddenly coughing up coagulated blood and losing consciousness…

"Anyway, it doesn't matter," said Shahra hastily, not wanting to dwell on the subject.

"Shahra, you don't need to lie to yourself," said Leo. "Suddenly coughing up-…"

"The elf is correct, it doesn't matter," came a voice, the human and high elf turning to Ardelan, who'd silently entered. The draenei tossed a large sack onto the bed. "Suit yourself up Leonard. We have more important things to deal with." Glaring at Shahra, he turned tail and walked out swiftly, slamming the door behind him. A loud, angsty case of déjà vu as the case was.

"What the hell is his problem!?" Shahra exclaimed, turning to face Leo. "In fact, what the hell is he!?"

Leo, currently undoing the sack, glanced at his companion. "Ardelan's a draenei, donkey ears. Weren't you listening?"

"Yes but…well, what's a draenei?" Shahra asked, sounding and feeling uncomfortable. Judging by the tone of the human's voice, not knowing what a draenei was was a display of ignorance. The high elf liked to consider herself knowledgeable, but even so…

The human sighed. "Do you know what an eredar is?"

"Yes…" said Shahra slowly, the elf's earlier memories of eredar coming back to her. "Why?"

"Because apart from physical appearance, draenei are everything that the eredar are not," Leo grunted, having finished opening the sack and pouring its contents onto the bed. "That's the best answer I can give you."

Somehow Shahra doubted that. Humans weren't nearly as knowledgeable concerning demons as the quel'dorei, but they were far from ignorant either. The draenei, assuming that they were called draenei and not eredar, must have provided a more satisfactory explanation as to their nature so they weren't exorcized on sight. Maybe this was what Leo meant when he said that prejudice could have turned into a liability. Then again, the explanation was hardly satisfactory.

Still, Leo's unwillingness to talk was understandable in a sense, given that he was looking at the contacts of the sack akin to a child looking at his or her presents on Winter's Veil. "The guys have been good to me," Leo murmured, breaking into a goofy smile. Shahra had to agree…if being "good" translated as "appealing to Rambo tendencies."

Of the array of items, the first thing that caught the high elf's eye (partly because Leo was staring at it with awe) was a giant sheathed battlesword. It was presumably Leo's considering that he instantly unsheathed it and grasped it with a swordsman's grip. Casting the elven blade that had hung from his belt the last week, he began executing a series of thrusts and parries.

Shahra was taken back to the morning after their first night in the Netherstorm, how Leo had executed a few swings with the blade he'd stolen from the blood elf guard and gone on a tangent on how superior battleswords were to smaller blades. Looking at him practicing, Shahra was inclined to agree, or at least as far as his own fighting style was concerned. His footwork was lacking in complexity, but the nature of his swings indicated that his prowess could compensate for it. He wasn't the type of person to rely on agility, instead relying wholly on the blade's power and length to keep his opponent at bay. Pretty much the opposite to an elf's fighting style but, Shahra had to admit, just as effective.

"Now this," the human said, clasping the sword with two hands and turning towards Shahra, "is a weapon."

"No doubt," the quel'dorei murmured, deciding not to disagree for a variety of reasons. She gingerly picked up the elf blade that Leo had discarded. "What about this?"

"What, that pisswater thing?" the human asked, slinging the sheathed sword across his back and turning back to the sack's contents. "You can have it if you want."

Shahra studied the blade, wondering if she could stomach it. Structurally, the shortsword was completely sound, fitting her grasp perfectly. After all, it had been made by a fellow member of her species. However, that was where the comfortable aspects ended. The hilt was a dyed red leather, the crossguard a pure gold. Along the blade, small black runes had been inscribed…runes that bore great resemblance to those of dark creatures, yet were of elvish origin…

This was a weapon of the sin'dorei and Shahra knew it. Just looking at it made her feel sick. Structurally it was sound, but aesthetically, it was a perversion of high elven styles. Hell, if not for the clear elven design, one could have easily assumed that it had been made by demons.

"Can I use this?" Shahra wondered, giving the sword a few swings and finding, much to her discomfort, that it was perfectly suited to her physique. "Does the end justify the means?"

She put the sword down. It was a decision that she'd have to make later. To take her mind off her dilemma, she returned to looking at Leo's treasure trove, the human currently trying on a suit of full plate amour.

"So…" the man said, turning to face the elf. "What do you think?"

Shahra raised an eyebrow. "You expect me to be a judge?"

Leo shrugged. "I'm simply open to opinions."

The elf grinned. "You flatter me."

Shahra knew very little about the specifics of amour. She'd never worn anything sturdier than leather armor, and even that was uncomfortable at times. Metal was a complete anathema to her. Still, looking at Leo's attire and remembering his swings with the sword, she supposed it suited him. Metal shin guards and kneepads on the lower body, a suit of plate armor on the upper half with chainmail below it. Black fingerless gloves were also being worn.

"It looks…good," the elf said, thinking that "standard" may have been a more appropriate, if less useful adjective. In short, Leo was equipped exactly like one of the soldiers that she was used to in Stormwind, the only notable absences being a shield and helmet. Still, that was to be expected. His pet battlesword was meant to be wielded double-handed and with a lack of fancy footwork, he'd probably rely extensively on hand-eye coordination, a helmet hindering that.

Leo raised an eyebrow. "Good? That's all you have?"

The elf shrugged. "Told you I'm no expert."

Shahra knew that she could have probably been more descriptive. However, something had caught her eye, something that made the armor slightly non-standard. It was nothing major and could have easily passed unnoticed, but even so, there was no mistaking the coat of arms on the upper right. A shield with a golden L, two swords running under the shield diagonally, a lion-headed hammer running under vertically.

The coat of arms of Lordaeron…

Lordaeron...a kingdom laid to waste like Quel'Thalas and in much the same fashion, albeit with the Burning Legion finishing the job.

"Interesting," the high elf mused. "The armor itself is pristine and so is the sword. Yet why have a coat of arms for a kingdom destroyed half a decade ago?"

Was Leo from Lordaeron perhaps? It was possible, but from experience, Shahra knew that some things didn't add up. Lordaeron had been the most pious of the human kingdoms and those who had fled south during and after the Third War reflected it, vocally supporting fanatical movements such as the Scarlet Crusade. Yet Leo hadn't even made mention of the Scourge…

Shahra shrugged. It was probably nothing worth dwelling on.

The rest of the items were smaller and less significant, but still brought pleasure to the human, much to the high elf's amusement. A flask of what she suspected was rum, a deck of playing cards, some gnomish gadget that, judging by Leo's exclamation, was a mechanical shaver. After a series of exclamations of joy, the human eventually turned back to her.

"Anyway, enough about me," said Leo. "What about you?"

"Pardon?" Shahra asked, the question having caught her off guard.

"I asked what about you?" Leo repeated. "What I intended to point out before Ardelan barged in is that coughing up blood, losing cohesion and collapsing on the floor is hardly a good sign as to your state of health."

Shahra faced the floor, as if expecting to see herself and/or blood there. "So that's what happened…" she whispered.

Leo went to say something but Shahra interrupted. "Don't worry Leo. I think we both know what caused it."

The human faced the ground. "I'm sorry Shahra. I-…"

"Don't be," said the high elf, taking his hand. "If I'd stopped for meditation each morning, we'd probably still be in nowhere's proverbial middle."

Leo raised his gaze and smiled faintly, a gesture which was returned. Neither was truly aware of how long they stood there…partly because neither humans nor high elves were inclined to measure time seriously when it lasted in periods of a few seconds.

"Leo, are you done yet!?" thundered Ardelan's voice.

Leo sighed. "Coming." He went to go out, stopped, then turned back to the elf. "Business to attend to."

Shahra shrugged. "I know the feeling. I've got stuff to catch up on too." Appreciating the gesture, the human went to walk out.

"Oh, by the way…" Shahra called out. Leo stopped and turned. Again. Shahra smiled back.

"Thank you."


Meditation wasn't working.

Admittedly, that wasn't entirely true and a certain high elf knew it. The notion that something was not working implied that the thing was either not doing its job properly or simply not doing at all. In a sense, her attempts to keep her arcane addiction in check could meet this definition. However, that did not convey the full story…

Rather, it was a case of her not feeling the need to…

Opening her eyes, Shahra stood and flexed herself, glancing out one of the windows. Judging from the absence of natural light, the only illumination being provided by the glow of the Netherstorm's tortured sky, she guessed that it must have been late at night. The elf instinctively shivered. Nights in the Netherstorm were basically the frosty version of hell. Despite the hut's smell, she was glad for it.

"But that doesn't alter the facts, does it?" Shahra mused. "It doesn't change anything…"

The feeling was not entirely new. Shahra's lack of progress stemmed from the same feeling that she'd experienced on the morning after her first night in the Netherstorm, leading to her decision to postpone meditation in favor of faster travel. The need to meditate simply wasn't there

Two weeks of negligence would be how some of the high elf's kin may have seen it, denying the actions necessary to ensure that one did not succumb to the curse of their birthright. Under normal circumstances, Shahra would have been inclined to agree with them. She was willing to get up each morning and meditate in the sun's rays, finding the experience fulfilling. However, how could the term "neglect" be applied if there was nothing to keep at bay? Meditation could cleanse the mind and spirit, but even so, there was little point employing at it if there was nothing to cleanse the spirit's purity…

Part of the quel'dorei's mind hoped for the impossible, or improbable as the case had become. She'd never heard of a high elf overcoming his or her addiction entirely, the only alternative to satiation being reliance on external magic sources and saw no reason that she should be any different. On the other hand, there was no denying how…normal she felt. Exactly like it had been before the destruction of the Sunwell…

"But that doesn't explain coughing up coagulated blood and falling unconscious, does it?" Shahra thought, her scant memory of the incident hardly being pleasant. Admittedly, there could be other explanations, namely the trek across the Netherstorm. It had been physically, mentally and spirituality taxing, with little substance to subsist upon. Obviously the high elf's one year stay in Stormwind hadn't done her state of fitness any good, but even so…There had to be to it that that. Outland ate away at every aspect of your being. Maybe what had happened was due to Outland itself…

"But what about the magic then?" Shahra wondered. "Physical hardship could explain the physical side-effects, but what about the spiritual ones?"

The high elf had no answer. Well, she did, but one that she did not want to consider. However, there was no denying the fact that Outland and Tempest Keep were saturated in energies which harkened from the Twisting Nether. What if…what if such energies had fed her passively? What if she'd been soaking up demonic magic for the past two weeks without even knowing it?

Shahra found it unlikely. She knew little about the sin'dorei's methods of feeding rather than resisting their addiction and had no interest in learning about such distasteful methods. Of what she did know however, was that it required active use and channeling of magic, consciously taking in the essence of demons and other similar sources. Shahra had never been near a demon in her life (well, maybe Ardelan, she was still in the dark about what distinguished draenei from eredar) and had no intent of changing that record. Channeling their essence was completely out of the question.

"But not for the sin'dorei…" the high elf mused, casting back her mind to Tempest Keep. She'd been there for a week, its culmination before meeting Leo being beaten to an inch of her life and being healed immediately afterwards of her bruises and even the wound to her leg she'd received at Nethergarde. What if…what if the blood elves applied 'healing' in a different sense of the word…After all, there had been a bitter taste in her mouth when she woke up. A taste which only abated the next morning…

Once again, Shahra found it unlikely, or at least forced herself to believe that was the case. If Kael'thas and/or one of his cronies had given her a sample of what they relied on to slake their addiction, shouldn't she be looking like a blood elf by now? Green eyes, slightly less pale complexion, Light knew what else… Besides, Leo and Ardelan had made no comment on a changed appearance. After all-…

"Damit Ardelan, what the hell is so difficult about playing Go-fish!?"

Speaking of which…

Wanting a break from meditation, and reassuring herself that she wasn't afraid of confronting the truth, Shahra made her way to the window situated in the alcove. Ardelan and Leo were sitting there, somehow having got a fire started. Oddly enough though, there was no wood…

"Leonard, you're not making yourself clear," said the eredar (or draenei apparently), shuffling his playing cards.

The human sighed. "Ardelan, for the last time, you can only ask if I have a card if you possess it yourself." Leo gazed down at their card piles, both of which were miniscule. "I was hoping to have moved onto Blackjack or Poker by now."

Ardelan shrugged. "My apologies. My people never relied on cards for games."

Leo went to ask something, seemingly what kind of games draenei played, but stopped short. Gazing out the window, Shahra decided that she couldn't blame him. If a…alright, draenei couldn't understand Go-fish, they must possess some pretty weird games of their own that no being of Azeroth could possibly understand.

The high elf didn't see much promise in the pair's conversation going anywhere particularly interesting, but still remained in place, gazing out like a curious child ("not that curiosity was necessarily a bad thing," she reminded herself). She couldn't shake just how strange it looked to see a human sitting adjacent to a creature that looked, and as far as she was concerned, acted like a demon. She trusted Leo's judgment and admittedly, Ardelan begat a certain nobility, if only for his intrinsically crafted armor and war hammer, both of which were reminiscent of equipment being used by the Knights of the Silver Hand, or paladins as they were more commonly known. Still, demons were known for their powers of deception, and the eredar were no exception…

"But not you Leo," thought Shahra, her persona becoming akin to a dreamy schoolgirl, looking at the silent human rather than the equally silent draenei. "You're an honest type, aren't you?"

"Alright Leonard, it's time to be honest with me," said Ardelan suddenly.

Leo raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Don't stall Leonard," the draenei growled. "I didn't trek across the Netherstorm after you to only receive silence." Leo didn't respond, allowing Ardelan to continue.

"Well Ragoa?" he whispered. "Were you able to-…"

"Yes," said Leo suddenly. "Let's leave it at that."

Shahra raised an eyebrow. "He was meant to something? But for who? Himself? Ardelan?" She remembered how neither she nor Leo had commented on their reasons for being in Outland, an unspoken rule having been established in Tempest Keep. It had seemed appropriate at the time. Now though…

The draenei chuckled. "Of course. The walls have ears, as you'd say."

"What?" asked Leo, his tone indicating that the conversation was headed in a direction that he didn't approve of.

Ardelan leant forward, all traces of humor gone. "Leonard, you have some explaining to do. And I want to hear your explanation now."

"Ardelan, I-…"

"The way I see it, you are either forgetful, insensitive, stupid, infatuated, or Light forbid, all of them," Ardelan continued. "Before you ask, yes, I can transport all three of us across to Hellfire Peninsula. However, while you may see differently, I have little inclination to provide such transport for the elf."

"This is-…"

"Damit Leonard, have you forgotten what happened two weeks ago!?" Ardelan exclaimed. "You're acting as if the elf presents no danger whatsoever! I will never forget the events on Bloodmyst Isle any more than you will forget what happened in Terokar Forest! It's as if you consider the elf a-…"

"Shahra is a friend," Leo snarled, rising to his feet. "And I ask that you respect that."

Said friend's persona had changed slightly, in that the quel'dorei was blushing like…well, something that blushed a lot. Engrossed in the scene between human and draenei, similes were the last thing on Shahra's mind. In truth, she was fully comprehending Leo's admission, and what it meant for her. She remembered the system that he'd mentioned after their first night in the Netherstorm, how she'd started off as an "ally." Now however, she was at the top of the hierarchy…

It was rather…fulfilling.

Unlike Shahra however, Ardelan didn't seem fazed. "Fair enough, Leonard. But what about the other aspects?" His eyes narrowed. "Can you trust her?"

Leo snorted. "Course not."

"What?" Shahra whispered. She looked on as Leo continued to talk.

"Come on Ardelan, what do you take me for?" the human asked. "Course I don't trust her. She claims to be a high elf but hasn't done anything to prove it. And before you ask, no, she isn't of that much use. She helped me fight against the dragon turtle, but I'm pulling her arse out of the fire most of the time." He smiled at the draenei. "Trust me Ardelan, I know what I'm doing. Shahra's a friend, but not one that is inexpendable. If the situation calls for it we can easily apply a two is company, three's a crowd philosophy into action. After all, I…" He trailed off, slowly turning towards the hut. The window, to be specific…

Shahra barely noticed Leo move from the fire, any more than she heard the door open. It was only after Leo murmured something to her that the high elf turned to face him, tears coming down. Angsty déjà vu all over again. Somehow, Shahra couldn't have cared less.

"You heard," said Leo. It was a statement rather than a question.

Shahra nodded, conveying the most insincere smile that she could muster. "I suppose that this is where you tell me that you didn't mean it?"

"Course not."

The smile faded, replaced by a look of shock and stepping back slowly, as if in fear, but rather due to the first emotion. Shahra had expected Leo to affirm, even if she knew it was a lie. She'd never expected honesty to be so…brutal.

"Come on Shahra, you must have known this," Leo exclaimed. "You've never proved that you're not a blood elf, you've never explained why you're in Outland, a dragon turtle just happened to be at the rendezvous point…"

"Leo, shut up!" the elf shouted. "You're despicable."

The human raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Shahra glared at him, sky blue light blazing from her eyes. "What kind of person are you!? How can you possibly boil down emotion to an exact science!?"

"That's what psychologists are for!" Leo shouted, advancing on her. Shahra stood her ground.

"Shahra, friendship is simply one form of relationship among many," said Leo, his tone softer, almost regretful. "You can like someone but not trust them. You can love someone instinctively yet also despise them. You can aid someone, yet only for your own purposes. It's in our nature Shahra, its' what comes with sentience. Friendship is simply one aspect of relations among many."

"I don't believe that," said Shahra. "If you consider someone a friend, if you love them, that's all that matters. You trust them, you look out for them. The concept of expendability doesn't even enter your mind."

Leo snorted at this. "So for you, it's all or nothing then?"

Shahra tossed her hair back defiantly. "Yes. All or nothing."

Silence once again descended upon the human and high elf. This was wrong, and they both knew it. Both knew that Shahra was slipping out of Leo's hierarchy. Both knew that Shahra didn't care. Both knew that Leo could feel an ingrained wrongness about the situation, yet did not feel inclined to correct it. It was only when Leo shrugged, turned and exited from the hut that he uttered his final words to Shahra before she slipped out of his companionship…

"You're welcome to it."


A/N

Well, after more than a month between updates, chapter 11 is here and, despite my efforts to scale it down, over 11,000 words. Don't know about the rest of you, but I don't really consider such excessive length a good thing. Unlike the second half of chapter 9 (which became chapter 10) however, I couldn't find a good place to sub-divide.

Anyway, there isn't that much to yak on about I guess. Yes, the traveller is finally revealed. As an arrogant ass, I'm kinda satisfied. As far as fanon and canon are concerned, the draenei haven't really had much attention; few fanfics feature them (at least in comparison to blood elves) and they're definitively not appearing in the WOW comic. It's a shame IMO. Despite the controversy, I actually like them as a race. Meh.

And in case I somehow managed to convey this impression, no, I don't know jack about sword techniques. Still, not being familiar with WOW mechanics, I can't really say that Leo has Tier 4 armor with a sword that does X damage with Y cooldown. Besides, it would hardly be realistic to use these terms.

Issue Responses

-Note: I'm finding it harder to decide what really counts as an 'issue' and what doesn't. I've been thinkings, is better if I pretty much answer all questions regardless of value in these sections? Or just stick with more relevant ones? Anyway, here's some answers going by the original system.

-Shahra is a character that, at least from the outset, that the reader is meant to dislike. Whiney, melodramatic and what I pretty much consider a Mary Sue (I could have perhaps handled this better, but since this started out as a oneshot, where such traits didn't matter so much, I pretty much dug my own grave), Shahra isn't someone the reader is meant to sympathise with; the type of person you respect in terms of representation yet not in character (eg. like Winston Smith from 'Nineteen Eighty-Four'). Exactly how well I pull this off is nebulous but I intend to have the Shahra at the end of the story being a very different individual from the one at the start. No promises though.

-The whole 'social ladder' thing is basically something that I wanted to include as being (hopefully) different from standard character development. I'd rather not say too much on its nature right now, but suffice to say, despite what the chapter may imply, it hasn't faded completely from the story...

-The whole vision thing with the dragon turtle was indeed over the top and I felt that when writing it. Basically, it was written at a time when I was studying for exams, biology being among them. Senses were among biology's topics, part of which was the nature of vision in animals. With the dragon turtle, I was writing a fic and a practice essay simultaniously...sort of. Probably not the best idea though.

Anyway, those are the 'issues' I identified. Word.