Hey guys! I'm never going to finish Truae. In light of that, I've decided to make an early epilogue that details everything I'd set down to do for the rest of the fanfiction. If I'd actually sat down and written this, I would have gotten a lot more ideas, added in more short stories, and wrapped up the plots of characters like Umpi/Puma and Kael. But, as I never had that chance, and as I've lost inspiration for this fanfiction, I'll just give you the excerpt/fragments that I'd written down, as well as a brief summary of A) what I was doing as a writer, and B) What would have happened in the story between the excerpts.

Be forewarned that I have done no double-checking of this document. I haven't even reviewed or edited the fragments since they were written, and some were written years ago! This is the last time I will ever look at Truae, most likely... I didn't want it to be a polished effort, and and I didn't want to put much effort into it; but I wanted to share with you what little I hadn't been able to about this world, especially since I left you all so abruptly.

Please, enjoy.

The Epilogue begins with Nathanos:

Nathanos was already becoming a more mature, well-rounded individual after his experiences in Sithilis, and was finally admitting that he loved Ketala, and would stop at nothing to rescue her. Vaiden's introduction to the story, however, required Nathanos to mature even more rapidly. Suddenly, the Ranger was a father, and had to look out for a small child.

Ras was hard-pressed to believe his eyes. Without warning, Nathanos had become parental, doting, and as fussy as a mother hen. Vaiden would wander off whenever he wasn't looking, and run afoul of snooty elves, mindless scarlet crusaders, and hungry ogres. Nathanos, who would flip out and dive in to rescue him from trouble, was soon giving all sorts of extremely mature and paternal lectures to his quiet son. Soon Nathanos was making sure the child was always wearing socks and a little jacket to keep him warm, and worrying about his diet, and cursing out Ras for his poor babysitting skills.

Truly a strange transformation.

In the mean time, Nathanos was also constructing a full-blown raid against Naxxramas. He contacted his adventuring companions from Silithis, and found that a large portion of them were willing to help him in the Eastern Plaguelands. To his surprise, they brought him an elaborate set of armor, which they told him had been among the loot they'd found in Sithilis. When Nathanos asked why they hadn't given him this armor at an earlier date, they explained that it had previously been purple, and they'd felt if they'd given him purple armor, he would have killed all of them.

Nathanos is somewhat humbled with this show of devotion, coupled with such an excellent assessment of his character.

The armor had been bleached and dyed green and grown for his comfort, and so he decided to don it for the trip into Naxxramas.

When everything's finally in place, Nathanos leads the assault on Naxxramas. Things go well at first. Nathanos heads down the deathknight wing first, and encounters Mograine.

Excerpt:

Mograine laughed in a sickeningly taunting way. If Nathanos hadn't been so irritable of late, he might actually of liked this twisted soul. As it was he lifted his axe, intent on finishing the kill.

"Nathanos Marrrisss," the deathknight hissed silkily.

Nathanos sneered and paused midmotion "Blightcaller. You have something to say to me?"

Mograine smiled. "She's a foolish little warrior you have there. Brilliant as the sun, and yet so fragile."

The ranger's eyes narrowed.

"I warned her it would be better to give up her life and stay pure, then to let herself fall into his hands." He chuckled. "She didn't listen. So strong. Selfless. So foolish."

He reached down and seized the injured paladin by the collar of his ruined armor, jerking him to his feet. "Where is she?" he enunciated in a low voice.

"With her weak and selfish guardian," the deathknight replied. "And her weak but selfless pet. You'll find her in the depths of the citadel no doubt, although who knows what you'll recover. I tried to save what I could. Preserved through trickery an ember of strength. But by now it might have been smothered beneath the weight of ice."

The ranger snarled. "You? What did you do?"

Mograine smiled. "I broke her hard and clean and quick. I made her hate, and suffer, and develop passion for the darkness." The ranger's grip tightened, threatening to snap the weakened deathknight's neck. He laughed hollowly, no longer needing the air, and grinned ferally at the enraged Forsaken. "I killed her resolve quickly and covered it over with ash. Knowing that if I did so, I would miss pieces of her spirit. Pieces that might survive beneath the frozen exterior."

Nathanos blinked. "What?"

"I serve the lady in my own way. It was written that she needed to fall. But as for the future beyond that- nothing, no fate binds her. I could not prevent her capture- I am entirely Arthas's slave. But, from the depths of my own illness, I could destroy her so quickly as to forge hope that she might be revived."

The ranger stared, perhaps in awe of a cunning and twisted reasoning to match his own. Mad. The deathknight was completely mad. He wondered if that made himself mad.

"I knew you would come for her eventually. I could feel that her affection for you might outweigh her ties to her spineless guardian. So kill me. Find her. See if I have managed to save anything." His smile dripped poison. "See if there is anything left to save."

Nathanos regarded the deathknight and then smiled. When he answered, his voice was genuinely condescending and sincere: "You have failed to consider one possibility, Mograine. What if I don't care for her? Oh you understand she loves me, but what if I don't reciprocate? If I don't plan on saving her? What if I'm just here to kill her, fool?"

Mograine shifted, emotions stirred by the gravity and sureness of Nathanos's words. His twisted smile faded slightly.

"It seems, Mograine, that if I kill her now you did the exact opposite of what you intended. You brought about her damnation. If you had killed her before hand, her soul would have endured." He smiled. "You had a choice- one choice in all your miserable slavery, and you chose wrong."

The deathknight's smile dripped off his face, twisting downward. His eyes widened and began to blaze with inner energy. Tortured muscles shook, hands clenched. "You wouldn't dare," he hissed slowly.

"I have no love for the creature who so manipulated me. Ketala, Betrayer of the Light, dies today."

The deathknight shrieked, lunging at him with all his left over strength, clawing violently at Nathanos's armor, nearly wrenching the axe from his hand. The ranger grinned even as he stumbled backwards, working frantically to hold the enraged undead warrior at bay. He laughed at the deathknight's face, seized his hair, and yanked his head down to eyelevel. "I'll save Ketala, fool. It's all I'm here for."

He threw the deathknight backwards. Mograine hit the wall with a grunt, dark red hair splayed around his shoulders, eyes blazing, a look of hate plastered over his face. He glared at Nathanos, breathing heavily despite no longer needing air. His entire body was the picture of fury, muscles taunt, blood splashed over him, teeth grit.

"Zulock!" the ranger called, summoning the unfortunate paladin who had been attached to this misnomer. "Put a holy shield on him or whatever it is you do, and see if you and the priest can unscramble his brains!"

The deathknight's eyes widened "No," he hissed. "No! Kill me! Kill me! I cannot bare it again! I cannot bare this again! Kill me!"

Nathanos snorted, eyeing the once-more fragile ex-paladin. "You dare tell me about how you fucked her up... and then ask me to spare you from seeing the consequences?" he spit at the deathknight's feet. "You'll lead us to her. And you'll fight to save her."

"No..." the broken knight whispered, legs giving out as several priests approached him, clutching his own head protectively. "No..."

Nathanos smirked, happy to have out-unsettled the insane deathknight. He moved back into the ranks of his troops and approached Flower. As previously noted, the necromancer's personality seemed to have stabilized when in Vaiden's presence, taking on a grandfatherly, albeit harmless tone. Nathanos hadn't seen him cause any convenient accidents yet, but to his own surprise he wasn't vexed. Nathanos had no intention of leaving Vaiden behind, and Flower made an excellent babysitter.

Vaiden looked up at him worridly as he approached and then smiled with his eyes. A whirl of pinks. Nathanos smirked and carefully took the boy from Flower's arms, enjoying the feeling as Vaiden hugged his neck and nuzzled into his shoulder. If Nathanos was at all disturbed by this display of affection, he only had to think about Vaiden setting an orphanage on fire, and was pacified.

"Hey kid. Hungry?"

The child looked at him expectantly and he dug around in one of his belt pouches before producing a mushroom truffle, and giving it to the little one for him to munch on. In the background, Mograine began screaming.

The fact that Vaiden ignored the screaming, like any other background noise, caused Nathanos to frown. If the kid was used to shrieks of pure, unadulterated, soul-shattering agony, then perhaps Ketala had been right in sending him away. The ranger sighed. "The red-armored death knight is crazy and the priests are trying to fix him. He's frightened but they aren't going to hurt him. Promise."

Vaiden blinked at him uncomprehendingly, munching on a bit of truffle. Nathanos grimaced and held him a little closer. Naxxramas was no place to raise a kid. Come to think of it, Neither the plaguelands nor Tristfal Glades was a good place either. Probably not even Silvermoon. Kalimdor? It was difficult to say. He wondered where in the world Ketala might be able to give their son a semi-normal life.

Just Ketala? And where will you be? Far, far away, where you can't keep her from the hands of insane liches? If what Mograine says is true, Vaiden isn't the only one who will need you.

He closed his eyes, and sighed in irritation at his heart or conscious, or whatever part of his wasted soul that had deigned to lecture him. Vaiden frowned and kissed his cheek. The unfortunate ranger nearly melted where he stood.

Nathanos clears out the deathknight wing first, as Zelik expects that it's the most likely place for Ketala to be held captive. After Mograine's taunting, it becomes more apparent that Ketala should be in the deathknight wing, but to everyone's surprise, she is not. Nathanos orders his priests to work with Mograine, and once the deathknight has been purged and is intelligible again, he weakly suggests that Ketala might be in the Abomination wing. Nathanos takes his advice.

While fighting in the Abomination Wing, Nathanos feels Ketala nearby. He leaves his group fighting some 'boring' enemies, and wanders off into Naxxramas, making full-use of his stealth so as not to be found out by Scourge. He finds Ketala hanging out with Cheshire, who is behaving amorously towards her. After Nathanos and Cheshire argue about which of them has more of a right to Ketala, Cheshire backs off, and Nathanos and Ketala fight.

Excerpt:

Ketala snorted as she sharpened her weapons and cleaned them of blood. She was not in the mood for Cheshire's antics. Skrit, skrit, her whetstone glided over the blades.

"Oh come now!" he lamented openly, eyes wide. "Don't tell me that you've suddenly developed an aversion to pie?" He held the sizzling treat in front of her, and the smell of rich blueberries fluttered up to her nose.

There was a part of her that knew how lovingly Cheshire made these pies, how much thought he put into them, but when he pushed the morsel up against her face she quickly backhanded it, and sent it splatting to the ground. In the same motion, she returned to sharpening her scimitar.

Cheshire was quiet, standing very still for a long moment, before retracting his hand and looking down at the rejected pastry. At least, that's where she presumed he was looking. As he lacked eyes, it was difficult to tell. Skrit, skrit went the whetstone.

Where Cheshire managed to procure all this fruit from was a mystery in its own. And one she didn't feel like solving at this current moment in time. "I am busy, mage," she hissed at him, multi-chromatic eyes glinting orange. The word was an insult within Naxxramas's walls. Here, mages ranked lower than necromancers. He flinched slightly, but she did not take back her words. Skrit skrit.

By now Cheshire should know better than to interrupt her when she was in such a mood. "Go back to your experiments and leave me be."

He was quiet. Very quiet, and for Cheshire, that was unusual. Most of the time he sported the grotesque smile that was his namesake, and at least appeared to be chuckling inwardly. After a time he slowly knelt and scooped up the damaged pie, trying to recover what he could of it, picking off spiderwebs and such and then eventually pulling off the whole of the delicate latticework with which had had topped it, along with much of the interior filling.

So very quiet. His silence was unnerving her far more than his bone-chilling laughter. Skrit. Skrit. Pause. She held still, orange eyes still looking down at her handwork. She ran a claw-like finger lightly over the edge, feeling a few imperfections that needed to be worked out.

Cheshire pushed the pie around unhappily, trying to get it to resume some of its former splendor.

She grimaced and then reached over and grabbed the pie from him, jerking it to herself. With no grace to speak up she clawed out a hunk of the pie, lifted it to her face, and ate. As always the soothing sweetness of blueberries flowed over her tongue, followed by the crisp texture of pie crust.

The mage watched her quietly as she took one bite, and then another. She ate the whole chunk of pie and took another, eyes still turned towards her scimitar. The moments rolled by as she finished the confection, licked her fingers clean, wiped them off on his robes, and then returned to sharpening her sword.

His mouth curled into a little smile. He wiped his own hands free of blueberry jam and then leaned forward and gently pushed black hair out of her face, pulling the strands tenderly behind her ear.

She didn't look at him.

He leaned closer and gently kissed her throat, just behind that delicate ear.

The scrape of stone against metal ceased. A disturbing purr emanated from the scourge mage and he opened his mouth. A wet tongue touched her cold flesh, erotic and exploratory, tasting her, kissing her. Pointed teeth nibbled gently at the base of her ear.

She inclined her head away from him to allow him better access to her throat, a sign of her mute appreciation. For long moments he continued as such, stroking through her hair and working tantalizingly down the length of her throat, to the base of her neck. Areas of rot were starting to show up along the muscles of her neck and he frowned to himself, displeased, before biting tenderly at the place where her neck and shoulder muscles overlapped.

She snorted, closing her eyes momentarily before looking down at him. "Why I let you waste my time like this," she muttered, "when far more impressive men have tried and failed..."

He smiled to himself as he resumed his kisses, one hand gently twining around her waist and the other moving to the straps of her armor, so that he might have access to the rest of her shoulder. She didn't move, either to assist or rebuke him.

"Mm, like Noth?" he taunted, easing off one of the shoulder pauldrons and kissing her chin as he did so. "Like Razuvious?" His fingers slowly unwrapped her gauntlets, stroking sensually over her palm and forearm. A gentle tug, and he removed the whetstone from her grip.

She frowned at the sensations, her fingers flexing as if trying to decide whether or not he was permitted to take the sharping tool away.

The fingers on his left hand twisted, mana flowing through his arm and coalescing into a weak fire-based spell. A warming spell. He pressed the hand slowly to the side of her neck, watching as she twitched and closed her eyes, savoring the simulated feeling of life.

"Yes," she hissed in irritation. "Why you, lowly mage? If anyone else touched me I'd have their head. If anyone else dared to interrupt me, I'd have their head. "

He purred softly, kissing along her collar, moving closer to her and drawing his feet up onto their perch, and then lifting his head to kiss her chin, and mouth, and the gaping wound in her cheek. Her eyes closed and she lowered her head, letting his lips caress her face and touch her eyes and nose and forehead.

He made a small noise of discontent and then shifted and drew out a medicinal balm from one of the pouches belted to his waist. She grunted but did not protest as he smeared it around her hairline, and throat, any area where decay had started to form. Satisfied with his handiwork, he pocketed the balm and put his arms slowly around her, hugging her as he nuzzled into her hair and kissed it.

She was still for a long moment, and then she retrieved her whetstone and continued to sharpen her blade, letting him cuddle with her. He giggled lightly and watched the methodical task, his fingers lacing tenderly through her hair.

Nathanos paused and stared, watching as the mage pulled hair from the side of her throat and began to kiss it, pointed teeth skimming lightly over her skin. For a moment the scene was very strange and cold, very death-knight-ish, but then Ketala lowered her head slowly, leaning her cheek into his robed shoulder.

The ranger cocked his head to the side, watching as the mage lifted a hand and proceeded to start braiding her hair. His other hand slid gently around her waist, and then down over her rump.

A quiet but decidedly masculine voice within Nathanos's skull politely informed him that someone else was groping Ketala, and needed to stop. Hawk eyes narrowed slightly. After a moment he lifted a hand to his mouth and coughed.

Both individuals stiffened. Ketala whirled around towards the noise, drawing both rune scimitars in a fluid motion and somehow managing not to impale her companion. The mage, apparently far too interested in achieving the perfect braid, did not release her, and merely peered over her shoulder at the interruption.

Someone had taken upon themselves to gouge out both her eyes, leaving only twin pinpoints of multicolored light. Burn flesh rippled around the hollow sockets in thick, permanent tear streaks. There was also a ragged hole in her cheek that turned her mouth upward in a cruel, one-sided smile. Ooh, and someone had filed her fingertips to points.

Despite all these changes, her dead eyes widened slightly upon seeing him, and he smiled nastily. "Mage," he hissed tauntingly. "That's my ex-paladin."

"You," she hissed. "You've got balls coming here. Last I recalled, I could beat you in a duel."

He grinned, immediately dropping into old and familiar rhythms. Ketala had never been so caustic in her words before now, but he knew well how to turn an insult on it's head. "Yes," he agreed, taking on a self-preening pose. "I am quite the specimen, aren't I? And what about your mage? Does he still have balls?"

Her eyes widened, and turned blue-white. Hmm, they'd never done that before when she was angry. Nice touch, Lich King. Seeing that the question had offended her and she was about to yell out a stupid and unnecessary battle cry like "For the Lich King!" or "My life for Nerzhul!" Nathanos turned his attention to the mage who was hovering over her.

Ketala tended to attract a wide range of very disturbing and interested personages, Nathanos decided it might be worth his time to determine what miscreant she'd attached herself to this time.

"So mage, do you have a name?" he asked spritely, walking into the room and absently picking up items from the alchemist tables that rested there. The entire area was sectioned out into various balconies and islets, all of which were unreachable by any stairs or bridges.

If this were the mage's lair, it appeared he was very good at teleporting, and more than a little paranoid. Nathanos picked up a jar filled with eyes, and looked curiously through them. Orc eyes? No. Troll, maybe.

The mage grinned broadly, displaying a smile almost supernaturally wide and filled with nothing but sharp pointed teeth. It was his single most distinguishing characteristic, and immediately blotted out all others in the ranger's mind. Nathanos lifted a brow. "Cheshire," the mage answered happily, perhaps sensing a kindred crazy-person in the ranger.

Nathanos smirked. "Suiting," he reflected. "Well, do you?" he inquired, coming up to the edge of the great vat and looking over at a nearby islet. It had some very interesting looking gadgets laid out on it's alchemy tables.

"Do I what?" the mage questioned, eying the ranger, who promptly stepped out onto an inch-wide pipe and walked, as easy and casually as he pleased, across the vat.

"Have balls?" the ranger continued easily, hopping onto the next islet and examining the various apparatuses that could be found there, learning more about his new adversary. To his surprise, it appeared the mage was good with fire as opposed to ice. He saw a lot of very fine welding jobs.

Cheshire's grin widened a little more, something Nathanos had thought impossible. He gave Ketala a little squeeze and then vanished, reappearing on a balcony closer to the ranger and leering down at him. Apparently there was food up there, because he now had an orange in hand and was peeling it.

"No..." the mage drawled languidly. "But I do have very talented hands..."

Ketala's lips parted and she docked her head to the side in a manner completely un-deathknight-like.

"I see that," Nathanos retorted with a grin, and gesturing around at all the engineering projects. "But then, so do I! Much experience with elves, you see."

Cheshire giggled at the ludicrousness of this conversation, enjoying the mindless banter as he examined the ranger curiously. Ketala had never spoken of Nathanos except for in the depths of her guilt-crazed nightmares, but Cheshire immediately scented that this ranger had been closely bonded to her. "True," he reflected. "And that would also give you a quick tongue," he reflected, before extending his own, which through necromantic cunning had been extended to a foot in length.

An abomination engineer as well, then. Not some hapless little mage, if he was working on such grandiose projects without actually being a full blown necromancer. Nathanos grinned.

"And of course it would go against saying that since we're both quite dead our stamina could endure for quite some time."

"Oh of course," the undead purred, finishing peeling his orange, and setting to eating it.

Ketala stared at both of them, uncertain whether to be unmoved, revulsion, or embarrassed. The very idea that the two men, ranger and mage, appeared to be comparing their sexual prowess against one another, had utterly staggered her. She hadn't the foggiest idea what to think of it. For anyone to engage in such an argument at this point in time, particularly two undead men with no libido to speak of, was utterly ridiculous. Cheshire had been sensual about her of course, but he'd never even touched her that way.

"Ah but tell me, mage, listen. Shh, shh... Hear that? Hear something out of place?" Nathanos queried, lifting a hand. "You're undead, you should be able to hear..."

Cheshire frowned mid-orange and did indeed pause. His eyes focused back on Nathanos (at least the ranger presumed they did), and he cocked his head to the side. "Heartbeat," he announced curiously. "You. Your heart beats."

Nathanos smirked, glad for once that the organ had proven itself useful, and placed a hand lightly over his chest where the annoying muscle was hard at work. He could have said any number of romantic things. Could have told the mage his heart was beating because of Ketala, that it was delighted to see her and agonized that she had fallen so far. That it beat only because he loved her. That because of it, the two of them had produced a beautiful little boy name Vaiden.

Instead, this was what came out of his mouth:

"Exactly. Which means I can get a little excited."

Cheshire jumped, and his jaw dropped. He gave no reply, a quiet admission that he couldn't top that. As if the comment had been in some secret insane-person dialect, the mage seemed to translate it, rolling the words over in his mind, slowly uncovering the deeper meaning hidden beneath the vulgar facade.

"Oh," he mumbled, tilting his head to the side, staring at the Ranger with new eyes (so to speak) and new respect. "Well then. But can you bake pie?" This translated from insane-speak into something vaguely like: I care about her too.

Nathanos shrugged. "It depends. Are we talking fruit pies or shepherds pie?"

"Fruit of course."

"Ooh, Ketala does like fruit pies. Does she still eat them?"

Cheshire frowned. "On occasion."

"Hah, that's all? No wonder she's looking underweight. You haven't seen her really eat then! She took me to the Darkmoon festival once..."

"Oh? And how much did she eat?" Cheshire questioned skeptically.

"About half her weight," the ranger reflected. "She likes sugar."

"I should enter this contest. My pies are the best!"

"You should. You can bake the pies, Ketala can eat them, I can hate both of you and brood in a corner... Well, if you can get out of Naxxramas. And make it to Mulgore..."

"Brood? What's this? You lived among elves, and can't dance? Faires are a place for dancing!"

Nathanos chuckled. "Of course I can dance. I just don't like to, so I make a point to avoid mentioning my abilities to Ketala. … Oops."

"Blood elf dances?"

"Well, I don't like to brag, but-"

"Enough of this," Ketala snarled at the nonsensical conversation, which had started and ended in such absurd topics. She had no means by which to understand that both ranger and mage had been sizing one another up the entire time, learning about one another and establishing a pecking order. No idea that Nathanos had won, and through his hazy comments and inflections of voice had claimed Ketala as his and effectively neutralized the Scourge magic user. "Have you come to face me or not, coward?"

Nathanos glanced at the death knight. He was currently perched midway over a vat and the pipe he was on was squeaking perilously. He lifted a brow and then skipped nimbly onto the platform she was standing on.

Cheshire watched anxiously, cowed somewhat by the Ranger's cocksure demeanor and his obvious feelings towards Ketala.

Nathanos watched her quietly, barely noticing Cheshire now. "I'm surprised you haven't asked me about Vaiden yet," he said after a moment. "What kind of mother are you, exactly? You send your son halfway across the world on a frostwyrm with a mentally challenged undead paladin, to a ranger you expected to save you, but whom you haven't heard from in years, and then don't ask me what's happened to the kid?"

Cheshire's jaw dropped, and he stared down at Nathanos.

Ketala's face didn't betray her feelings on the matter. "Very well then, ranger, tell me. Perhaps you will accidentally disclose his location for the convenience of my master."

The ranger lifted a brow, and slowly began to circle her. That didn't sound very Ketala-ish. "He's fine. Blew up an orphanage. Quite hilarious."

"And what did you think of him?" she asked coldly, stepping nearer the ranger, rune-scimitars gleaming.

"Little on the chewy side."

She lunged at him and he whipped out both his axes with lightning speed, countering her, twisting his body, and forcing her into a momentary deadlock. She tilted her head to the side and beneath her helm, and he saw her eyes flicker with light curiosity. He grinned. "I've been working out," he cooed softly. "Kid's beautiful, Ketala. If a little morbid."

"Interesting for you to lament his morbidity," she responded in an even voice. "You have quite a love for death." Nathanos smirked, forcing some of his weight down on her. To her surprise, she had to take a step backwards to regain her footing. The ranger had improved since their last meeting.

"Kids shouldn't be touched by war," he taunted. "Learned that from you." They broke apart, blades sparking against one another as they moved across their impromptu battleground, axes and scimitars diving, blocking, twirling. Another deadlock, this time with her gaining the upper hand, slamming him into an alchemy table and pressing down on him, threatening to slit his throat.

"Oof. Careful there, darling," he purred. "You might break something belonging to your new boyfriend." He grinned- he seemed to smile a lot more now-, and bucked his hips against hers. Enough of her was still Ketala and still unnerved enough by his earlier conversation with Cheshire to be thrown off guard, and he toppled her off of him and stood again,

She could hear it, feel it beating in his chest. The essence of life, her new enemy, beating softly at her. For her. Because of her. She snorted and launched herself at him again, resolved not to fall prey to that trick again.

"By the way, also found Mograine!" he teased. "Patched him up and saved his life. Aren't I generous?"

To Nathanos's surprise, Ketala is very damaged. She shows very little concern for Vaiden. He has to keep attacking her verbally, over and over again, to finally open a crack up in her mask. When he finally sees some indication that she still loves him and Vaiden, she flips out and tries to flee. Cheshire helps her, and Nathanos is left behind.

Unfortunately, no one explained to Nathanos that Ketala had a maternal relationship with that gigantic, Frankensteinian monster at the end of the Abomination wing. Nathanos's group brings down Thaddius with little difficulty and destroys the Abomination, freeing his tortured spirit. Ketala has an absolute fit, raging and screaming in Kel'Thuzad's throne room. Arthas's ghost whispers to her the entire time, planting all sorts of insane ideas in her head. By the time Nathanos finishes clearing out Naxxramas's other wings, Ketala has gone quite insane.

Previous to this occasion, Kel'Thuzad had taken some perverse pleasure in Ketala's downfall. On one hand, he hated watching his child suffer. On the other hand, Ketala had already fallen from grace, and so had been enjoying a twisted but stable relationship with her 'father,' and things had almost gone back to normal for both of them. When Thaddius dies, however, Kel'Thuzad sees just how badly he has destroyed his daughter. Ketala is little more than an avatar of rage. Her wings are starting to manifest and tear at the walls. Under the pretense that Ketala is out of control, and that she presents a threat to Naxxramas's foundations, Kel'Thuzad knocks her out. He summons Sapphiron, who is still damaged from his fight with Thaddius, and has the frostwyrm pick her up and fly her back to Northrend.

Kel'Thuzad ends up facing Nathanos alone. He explains that Ketala is no longer on Naxxramas, and that he's sent her back to Northrend, but he does not explain why. Enraged that this trip has been for 'nothing,' Nathanos curses Kel'Thuzad out and promises to destroy him and reclaim Ketala. Kel'Thuzad can say nothing aloud, or Arthas would hear. Privately, he feels doubt that someone as superficial and immature as Nathanos Blightcaller could possibly help Ketala now. But he also reflects that Nathanos hasn't submitted to the Scourge yet, and that it seems the true purpose behind his assault on Naxxramas was to save Ketala.

Kel'Thuzad loses the fight, but only because Mograine sacrifices himself to destroy the lich. Nathanos tosses Kel'Thuzad's Phylactery to Ras and they depart. The Phylactery, as per Warcraft lore, ends up in the possession of a man who promises to destroy it, but who returns it to Northrend instead. Naxxramas is called back to Northrend, refilled with monsters, and Kel'Thuzad is revived. Arthas intends to take Ketala on as his personal agent, but she's too unstable. After some destructive mishaps, during which Arthas has to seize complete control of her mind to stop her from causing unnecessary damage to Icecrown, he agrees with Kel'Thuzad that she's more useful in Naxxramas, and returns her to the flying ziggurat.

Nathanos is pissed. He hears Mograine's voice whispering from the Corrupted Ashbringer, however, and as per Warcraft lore, he decides to return it to the Scarlet Monastary, and slaughter everyone inside (which is very therapeutic for the poor man. He's missing Ketala more than ever, now). He kills Mograine Jr. and finds out that the ex-paladin had a second son, Darion. While waiting for Ketala to resurface on the global radar, Nathanos decides to take the sword and find Darion.

While all of this was happening, Ember and Zul'vii were adventuring in the Outlands. Zul'vii has started noting that Ember seems to be aging a bit too quickly for a Night Elf- actually, a bit too quickly for even a human. She considers the possibility that in the midst of Archimonde and Nature's conflict, both entities have been having an effect on the little girl. Nature, Zul'vii hypothesized, might be causing Ember to mature at an enhanced rate. She dismisses this thought for now.

As the spirits assisting Ember request, they go to Oshu'gun, the holy mountain of the ancient orcs. There they find the dying spirit of the Naaru, K'ure, and do their best to assist it and free Oshu'gun from taint. K'ure explains that there is little more they can do for it. He uses some of his remaining holy energies to help purify and protect Ember's mind, giving her a greater will and internal strength. He tells her that when she's finally found her uncle, she should make time to visit D'ore in Auchindoun. He seems to believe that D'ore may also be able to help Ember. In the mean time, K'ure suggests that Ember and Zul'vii pass through Sha'tar on their way to see Illidan.

Things go awry, however, when Vashj suddenly involves herself. She noticed Zul'vii and Ember while the two were making their way across her swamp, and she takes it upon herself to sedate and take Ember captive. She brings the little girl back to her headquarters, and Zul'vii has to track her down. Vashj intends to use a ritual to siphon Archimonde's soul out of Ember's body. She reveals that the process will kill Ember, but does not explain why. The assumed reason is that the magics would be too intense for Ember to handle. The truth will be revealed later on, by Velen. After extracting Archimond, Lady Vashj intends to devour some of Archimonde's power, and present the rest to Illidan and to her queen beneath the waves.

For once, all the many voices in Ember's head are in unanimous agreement: Vashj must not be permitted to succeed. While Zul'vii infiltrates Vashj's base from without and begins to kill off her minions in search of the girl, Ember wakes up utterly consumed by her alter egos. She has been completely eclipsed by Archimonde and Nature both,. The demon and avatar, fused together in one body, proceed to unleash total devastation on Vashj's base. Vashj first attempts to fight Ember's husk, but then flees. She runs into Zul'vii.

Zul'vii is somewhat torn. She knew Vashj just as she knew Illidan and Kael. Over the last few years, the naga had degenerated into something withered and magic-addicted, some disgusting. She pities Vashj and so does not kill the naga. However, she cuts off one of the snakes from Vashj's hair. Later, she will use some voodoo (and the severed snake-hair) to turn the naga into a harmless fish.

When Zul'vii encounters Ember's husk, she pleads with Ember to come back to her. Archimonde speaks and tells her that Ember does not exist, and that no 'Ember' ever controlled the little girl's body. He tells her that Ember is nothing more than a figment, a puff of dust stirred up in the fight between two real entities.

Realizing that Archimonde is currently the superior force in Ember's body, and that somehow Nature has lost her grip on him, Zul'vii opts to fight the demon. Archimonde is amazing powerful, especially with Nature shackled to him. Nevertheless, Zul'vii's ability to heal herself, mixed with her voodoo, physical prowess, and other angelic abilities, ends up giving her the strength to fight him. While they're tussling, Nature breaks free of Archimonde's hold and begins to subjugate him again. Ember's body goes rigid, and Zul'vii promptly knocks her unconscious.

When Ember next wakes up, she is once more in control of herself (much to Zul'vii's relief.). The duo proceed on to Sha'tar. They meet Velen, who Jaina has brought to visit the city. He asks to see Ember, and is disgusted by what he discovers. He explains to Zul'vii that Ember does not actually exist. There is no soul with the name 'Ember' living inside the little girl's body. The only souls inside Ember belong to Archemonde and to ancestral spirits. The entity that Zul'vii knows as 'Ember' is simply an empty husk. Bodily instincts that have taken charge while Archemond and Nature are busy battling each other. This explanation is unsatisfying to Zul'vii, and so Velen rephrases it. Ember has no soul. Her body is not possessed by Archimonde, it is his reincarnation. The only reason Ember exists is because Nature challenged Archimonde for his own body and tried to possess it. The ensuing combat left a rift in who would control the physical shell itself. With no soul to steer it, the shell developed it's own weak personality. This personality is the entity Zul'vii knows as 'Ember.' She is impermanent. If Archimonde and Nature were to vacate the body, Ember would cease to exist, and the body would simply die. She only exists so long as Archimonde and Nature are fighting for her husk.

Zul'vii is horrified. Velen is determined. He knows that as long as 'Ember' survives, there is a chance that Archimonde will seize control and bring chaos and destruction to them all. He is uncertain whether Archimonde or Nature actually has the upper hand in the combat. After seeing that Ember is a fairly emotional creature, he stakes his life on the hope that it is Nature (and not one of Archimonde's deceptions). He appeals to Nature and asks the entity to remember its identity and it's purpose for infiltrating the body in the first place. He requests that it come with him and let him end the threat of Archimonde once and for all. Velen knows how to end his 'brother's' life permanently, without a chance for him to return to the Twisting Nether.

Ember, who is hurt, miserable, and enraged, gives in to her fury and attacks him, letting Archimonde rule her for a short moment. She seriously injures Velen. The Prophet realizes he's made a grave mistake, and that Nature is not strong enough to control the demon. He prepares to do battle, knowing that Archimonde might kill him in the process, but determined to wipe the Eradar out forever.

To his relief, Ember suddenly seizes control of herself and retreats. She pulls her battleclaws from Velen's wounds and pulls backwards, and tells him to stay back from her.

The tables have turned again, and Velen sighs, relieved. Nature turned out to be stronger than Archimonde after all- although just barely. He prepares to ask Nature again to come with him so that he can be sure of Archimonde's destruction.

To his absolute amazement, Ember suddenly hugs him. This is a turning point in the conversation. For the first time, Velen acknowledges Ember herself. He realizes that she does exist, that she has a very strong and passionate will and personality, and that despite her lack of soul, she is just a little girl. He is torn, but tries to explain to her that her existence is impermanent, and that it would be best if she laid down her life so that Archimonde could be destroyed. Ember stares at him. She's horrified and begins to cry that she doesn't want to cry, doesn't want to return to nothing. Moved, Velen at last relents. He does not have the strength of will to continue asking the child to destroy herself, not when the end result will be so much worse than death for her. Although it is against his better judgment, and although he believes Illidan to be beyond redemption, he arranges for Zul'vii and Ember to meet Akama, whom he believes might be able to get Ember to her uncle- and might be able to protect her if Illidan tries to consume her.

Here's the excerpt:

"Are you mad, Zulvii? The only good in this creature belongs to the spirits that hold him at bay! They crave death, holding on to life only to fight against him!"

"And what of Ember, herself? Does her life mean nothing?"

Velen looked at her in bemusement. "Ember? Half-Troll, angel, there is no Ember. This is not a real child, just a host body for Archimonde. There is no soul in there- just a demon and the nature that fights against him. Surely you have realised that by now?"

"How can you say such a thing?"

"I am not being callous. I can see it. 'Ember' is nothing more than bodily instinct and the extraneous products of the war going on inside this mortal husk. I tell you honestly that when I peer into her, I see..." he turned to look at Ember as he made his point, but the girl was nowhere to be found. ...Nothing," he murmured.

Zul'vii blinked and looked around. "Ember? Ember!"

Ember hacked at the stone with her claws, ripping gouges out of the thick rocks and screaming all the while. Small, dislodged pieces of stone nicked her arms, and dust burned her eyes, but she continued to rage against the boulder for a good minute. AT last she dropped to her knees. Her fingers kneeded the stone for a moment and then her hands slipped to her sides. The sharp edges of her claws brushed gently over the ground. She closed her eyes and trmbled. Tears slowly worked their way down her violet lashes, onto the pale curves of her cheeks.

It wasn't true. It wasn't true. She did exist.

"Your deceptions shall not fool me, Archimonde."

She could feel Velen's presense behind her. She could feel Archimonde's disgust and hatred, both nestled deep in the pit of her stomach.

"I know your true nature-" the prophet continued.

"My name," she cut in with great deliberance, "is Ember."

"Be that as it may, you are composed of nature and of Arrchimonde. Archimonde wants to survive, and nature waits for this husk to be slain. I should therefore take your sense of self-preservation as an indicator of Archimonde's will."

"I am not Archimonde!" she screamed, whirling towards him.

"Then you are Nature, and I cannot see why you want this body to endure."

"No! I am not!" she shrieked in frustration, jumping to her feet. "I am not them! I am not him! I am Ember! EMBER!"

Velen observed her, marking the exasperated tears and the red coloration that marred her cheeks. Her jaw was tight in frustration, but he saw no reason to prove his assertations to her. That would be like gloating over the fact that he outplayed Archimonde. Still, she was not behaving as he had anticipated. For a moment, he indulged her.

"Indeed? Then tell me about Ember. Who is she? What does she like? What is her favorite color?"

Ember blinked, caught entirely off-guard. She stared at Velen in something between horror and surprise. A shivver rippled through her and then she slumped, looking defeated at the ground. "I don't know," she whispered.

Velen lifted a brow and shook his head. "So you are most certainly Ember, but you havne't any idea who Ember is?"

She lifted her head and glared at him. "It is hard to be someone when every idea you have is selected for you by something that doesn't want you to exist," she hissed.

"So you don't know who Ember is, you have no thoughts of your own, and yet somehow you have developed and seized onto this concept of self-identity?"

"... It is the only thing I have. The only thing that is not theirs."

He tilted his head to the side, not quite catching her meaning. "What is?"

"... My name."

Velen fell silent, regarding her.

"My name is Ember Stormrage. My father is Malfurion Stormrage. My mother is Tyrande Whisperwind. My brother is Fenuine Stormrage. I know that. I don't know anything else but that. I know I am Ember."

"Would not death and peace be better than living a conflict-torn existance, knowing nothing more about yourself than just your name?"

Ember blinked and swallowed hard. "But... you said I had no soul."

He nodded.

"Then, if I died, I'd... I'd be gone. There would be nothing, forever." She looked at her hands. "Isn't that as bad as losing to them? As letting one side win? As losing my name? From where I stand, isn't that the exact same thing as letting Archimonde win?"

Velen frowned, and came up to her slowly. "Somewhat," he admitted, still not certain about what he thought of this whole 'Ember' thing. Still, he knew that he had to push Nature into control of the body. "Either way, Ember will cease to exist." He knelt slowly, so that he was on her level. "But as I understand it, soulles does not mean meaningless or purposeless. If you gave of yourself, then yes, you would die forever. But you would also banish Archimonde from this world."

"But I'll be gone."

"Everything dies. It is a part of life. The questions at hand are only 'why?' and 'when?'."

Ember shuddered, staring up at him with wide eyes. To Velen's surprise, tears formed and cascaded down her cheeks. "He almost took me. No, he did take me. I came through the portal and then everything was quiet... and numb... I wanted to tell Zul'vii, but I couldn't speak. Then I couldn't feel, I couldn't remember how to speak, I couldn't remember what was wrong. I didn't know who Zul'vii was, or where I was. I couldn't remember my name. I couldn't remember ever feeling, or breathing. And then everything was gone. Just gone. Not black or still or quiet, or dark or light, but gone. There one second, and then no more."

More tears slipped down her face, and Velen blinked, taken aback by the passion in her voice.

"And then suddenly I was back. He was being beaten, and then she took me instead! Everything was getting numb, my mind was fading away..." She was shaking so hard that it looked as if she might collapse. "I don't want that again," Ember whimpered. "I don't want everything to go away. I don't want to fade. I don't want to forget my mother's face or my brother's hugs," she choked, her voice starting to rise and fall with her barely-contained sobs. "I don't want to die." She shudder violently and then slipped to her knees, and lifted her clawed hands to cover her face.

"I don't- I... I..." she choked. "I just want to find my uncle. I just cmae to find my uncle."

The prophet was silent, and he stared at her. An awful thought had just occurred to him. After a moment, he lowered several of his protective spells, and then made the largest gample of his life. He reached forward and gently embraced the reincarnation of his greatest foe.

Ember convulsed and snarled, whipping one of her clawed hands forward to sink the fingertips into his torso. Demonic magic pulsed from her tiny frame, and her fingers punched into his stomach up to the knuckle, like huge steak-knives.

Velen winced as a sudden heat rolled over him. He'd been a fool. "Archimonde..." he hissed, holy energy building up within his hands. There was a good chance he would die here, but he would take Archimonde with him if that was the case!

Ember forze at the sound of the archdemon's name. "No," she whispered. Then she broke into a wail and scrambled away from the prophet, shrieking: 'No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!" She crawled into a corner and stuffed herself there, shaking and pressing her hands tight against the sides of her head. "No!" she screamed. "Get away from me! Get away!"

The prophet grimaced but stood. He moved his hands to the terrible puncture wounds in his side, and quickly applied healing magic. When he was done, he looked over at her quietly. It seemed Nature had taken control of the body.

In a way, it was relieving to know he had been right about Ember's affliction. But in another... well... He banished those thoughts from his mind. He turned to leave, so that he might speak with Zul'vii and perhaps contact Malfurion. Archimonde needed to be dealt with- quickly, at that.

He was unprepared for when Ember stood up and rushed him. He noticed her movements at the very last moment, and spun towards her, all while preparing a spell. As she reached him, however, she latched her arms about his waist and smothered her face into his robes. The prophet staggered backwards a step at the force of her tackle and then looked down at her. A sour feeling welled up in the pit of his stomach. He had dreaded this possibility, almost as much as he'd dreaded the thought that Ember's whol story was a bluff to get him in Achimonde's striking range.

This made everything so much more complicated.

Velen's lectures had been harsh and factual earlier because he had based them on one chief assumption: that 'Ember' was no more than a mask or label. But he had been wrong. Somehow, by accident or design, the conflict between Nature and Archimonde had yielded a third individual. A weak individual, soulless and composed of nothing but blurred lines... but an individual none-the-less.

Ember was a creature capable of grief, happiness, lonliness, frustration, hate, and love. A creature with desires, goals, dreams, and hopes, with an individual mind. Ember might have lacked a soul, but there was no denying she existed. And she was just a child. How could Velen ask for the death of a child? Especially when Archimonde would endure into the Twisting Nether, but Ember would be gone forever?

The prophet sighed. He slowly closed his eyes, and wrapped his arms around the little girl.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled brokenly.

"As am I, little one," he told her. I shall help you in any way I can."

Before they leave Sha'tar, Ember meets A'dal, the Naaru leader of the city. After talking to Ember for awhile, A'dal blesses Ember as K'ure did, once more strengthening her will power.

Zul'vii and Ember do end up meeting Akama. At first, Akama is paranoid and refuses to speak with them, but his curiosity concerning Ember's appearance (recall that she looks like Illidan) eventually causes him to come forward. Upon hearing their story, he realizes that Ember is the little girl that Illidan thought he had killed, and that she might be responsible for the recent improvement in Illidan's behavior.

His plans are already set in motion, however. He tells Zul'vii and Ember all about Illidan and the horrors he has brought to the Outlands. He explains that the demon night elf has been lost to his desire for magic. Ember refuses to believe her uncle would ever hurt you, but Akama points out that Illidan already did hurt Ember once. She's distressed but silenced by his claim, and wonders how Akama knew that Illidan had attacked her.

Akama asks for Zul'vii's help in invading and liberating the Black Temple. Torn by her loyalty to Illidan and her sense of morality, she eventually agrees. However, she makes Akama promise that they will only defeat Illidan, and not yet kill him. Akama brings this up with Maiev. The Warden is almost physically ill at the sight of Ember. She hates Zul'vii, and has to restrain herself from lashing out at Akama. She knows that if she exhibits any rebellion, the Draenie elder will leave her behind, so she agrees to whatever Akama proposes.

Ember and Zul'vii help in the fight against the Black Temple. By this point, it is obvious that Ember has been aging unnaturally quickly. She is starting to have all the height and moodiness of a young teenager. Zul'vii decides she'll have to bring this up soon, so that Nature can cease aging her to an early grave.

In any event, the two join the battle. With Akama's brood of Lost Ones, along with defenders from both the Alliance and Horde, and allies from all over the Outlands, the group storms the Black Temple and seeks to eradicate the demonic presence there, permanently.

Eventually, Zul'vii, Maiev, Ember, and Akama make it to Illidan. The half-demon has been repressing his magical hunger of late, but the sight of Zul'vii and Maiev working together brings up old memories. Bad ones. Venom overwhelms him, and nothing Zul'vii or Ember says can convince him that they haven't betrayed him. He concludes their conversation by promising Ember and Zul'vii he will personally kill both of them, eat their souls, and devour Archimonde's essence, and then rushes into battle with them.

Ember does not take part in the fight. In fact, she retreats back against a wall and begins to hyperventilate. She' horrified by what Illidan said, and by the fact that he wouldn't believe her. The one person she trusted to be able to save her has promised to destroy her. It's too much for her to bear, and she begins to sob and claw at herself. An internal struggle goes on, as Archimonde and Nature both stir. Like with Vashj, Archimonde is concerned that he will be destroyed, and Nature is concerned that Archimonde's power will be in the hands of an equally horrible demon: Illidan. They attempt to usurp control, and are surprised when Ember, in tandem with the Ancestral Spirits, resists. Nature immediately gives up any attempt to seize control, and Archimonde is left to writhe and fume.

Illidan is able to drive Akama away from the battle for a time with the weight of the Draenie's sins. Although Akama confronted his inner darkness, the spiritual wounds still run deep, and will ache for many years to come. Zul'vii nearly overwhelms Illidan, but he's able to knock her unconscious, and only Maiev is left. He assumes she will be an easy kill, and he relishes the thought, but Maiev's determination proves stronger than his rage. She slashes him across the chest and throat, sheers off one of his wings, and lays him low. She advances on him as he sputters, trying to find the words for a spell past the gaping hole in his throat.

Horrified and still dearly loving her uncle, Ember rushes forward to stand between Maiev and Illidan. Ember doesn't put up a real effort to defend herself, only blocking a single strike from Maiev's weapon. She's too concerned about her uncle. Maiev knows that Ember is supposedly Tyrande and Furion's daughter, but she personally believes that Ember is the result of a tryst between Tyrande and Illidan (she does not know that Ember has a twin who looks very much like Malfurion, refuting that possibility.) In any event, she does not have any qualms about slaughtering the child to get to Illidan.

Akama knows this. He rushes up and tackles Maiev, holding onto her and wrestling her for possession of her Chakara. The woman shrieks and rages, but she cannot break free of the Draenie. While this scuffle is going on, Ember collapses to her knees beside Illidan, clutching at him and begging him to 'be okay.' She presses the wound on his chest, and then scuttles up beside his face to touch his throat.

Illidan reaches up to brush the tears from her face. He looks hazily to Zul'vii and then back to his niece, and realizes that he let his rage get the better of them. He realizes, too, that he would have killed them both if things had gone a little differently. He's dizzy from loss of blood. With his final breath, he had planned to curse Maiev. Taking a leaf from Sargeras's and Archimonde's books, he'd planned to infiltrate the woman and torture her from within. Although he doubted Maiev would ever have children, if she did manage to do so, he would possess them just as Sargeras had possessed Medivh and Archimonde had taken Ember. This would torment Maiev and see she payed for her sins, and it would also keep him away from the Twisting Nether for as long as possible, given his circumstances. (He didn't exactly want to return there. Recall that he betrayed Kil'jaden, who would be waiting all-too-eagerly for his soul to arrive)

As Ember begs Nature for the gift of healing so that she can save Illidan's life, he lifts a hand and brushes his clawed fingers gently over her cheek. He mouths the words for a spell, twitches, and then goes very still. Shadowy energy bursts out from him, consuming his corpse, jerking Zul'vii to wakefulness, and knocking Ember unconscious.

Akama releases Maiev and then sighs. The warden shrieks at him and claims that Illidan's life was hers to take, but Akama just tells her to hush, and not to harm the child. Zul'vii climbs to her feet, notices Illidan's corpse dissolving away, and goes very still. Akama moves to speak with her, explaining what happened and expressing his sympathy. Zul'vii gives him a quiet and unforgiving look which he cringes from. Then she goes and picks up Ember. She takes one last look at where Illidan died, and then carries the little girl away.

As a side note, Maiev attempts suicide immediately after Illidan's death. Akama saves her, despite wounds he suffered while trying to restrain her. He faints afterward from strain.

Excerpt:

"Why haven't you left yet?" Maiev murmured. She could not see Akama- not only was he invisible, but he was standing in her blind spot. Even so, she could feel the Draenei's twisted presence... something told her he was still there.

"I am waiting for you," he answered in his low, gravelly voice.

"Waiting for what? I shall turn to stone here. There is nothing left of me. It is all finally over."

"And yet, you've won."

"I lost the day Illidan almost killed my brother, ten thousand years ago. I lost the moment I became his warden."

"If you can recognize that, then you have have not lost." He came up beside her, his clawed toes dragging slightly against the stone floor. He was injured.

She was still staring at Illidan's corpse, not knowing that his soul had been stolen away, right from under her nose. Akama reached out and set a deformed hand upon her shoulder pauldron. She didn't so much as twitch.

"Only now can you finally heal, ex-warden," he murmured sagely. "Do not give up this chance."

She lifted her head, and luminous eyes gazed at him, so vacant, so empty. "I already have," she murmured, and she stepped apart from him, out of his reach, and walked quietly to the edge of the tower. Her eyes looked to the terrain below, where A'dal's forces were finally making headway. The Black Temple was free.

The ex-warden smiled- just a tiny smile, a quirk of the lips, and she stepped up onto the balcony rim, to get a better look.

"Maiev..."

She closed her eyes. Akama frowned, his brows furrowing, before he suddenly realized what was going through the night elf's head.

"Maiev! Do not-!"

She leaned out over the edge of the tower. Too far.

"Maiev!"

And then she was falling.

Thick gnarled fingers closed around her wrist. There was a terrible, snapping jerk, and then her shoulder had been wrenched out of its socket. She screamed, but more out of anguish and frustration than physical pain. Her descent had stopped all together.

She tilted her head back, looking up at Akama's face. He had thrown himself onto the balcony rim and was probably off his feet, holding himself up through the iron strength of his good arm. His injured hand was holding on to her as she dangled hundreds of feet from a very grim doom.

"Please let go," she whispered. "I want to let go."

"No," he hissed. "No more death. Not on these sacred grounds. I have seen thousands give up their lives for this moment, none of which deserved the fate they were given. But you still live. I will not watch you waste that!"

"Let go, Akama," she murmured in the same exact tone as before. "I'm tired, and you're hurting me."

He grimaced, and shook his head. "I can't. I cannot watch any more death. Grab on to me with your good arm."

Blood was oozing from his wounds and heading downward. It coated his fingers, reducing friction. Pain and blood loss were numbing his grip. She slipped just a little further. Maiev stared at him, wondering how such a destroyed person could be so altruistic. Wondering how someone could care about what happened to her. True, that someone was a disgusting, demon-mutated old Broken, but she presumed he still qualified as someone. And he was obviously in pain. Although Akama was strong, he was badly wounded, and she was wearing full plate.

"Let me go. I want to feel the wind in my hair."

"You can only feel it because you are alive," he retorted. His teeth clenched and his hand tightened around her wrist, squeezing the bones together. She winced, and then watched as he braced himself and pulled, slowly heaving her up the side of the tower, muscles bulging with strain.

That was something about him, she supposed. His unwillingness to give up, to yield, to forget. It was the characteristic that had led his soul through Outland when Kael, Vashj, and Illidan had all dissolved. Here he was, old, injured, and Broken, and he still had the relentlessness to haul her up over the lip of the tower.

She cried out as she tumbled to the ground, her dislocated arm flopping in an unnatural direction. He stepped back for a moment, breathing hard and clutching at his wounded arm, before stepping forward again and wrenching her arm back into place. She screamed and swiped at him, slicing open his hand with the metal tips of her gauntlets. He grimaced but did not back off.

"Not here," he gasped. "Not like this."

Blood trickled down his side, pattering over the ground. He had torn something while pulling her up.

Maiev glared up at him, hatred etched clearly on her face. After a moment, she realized he was weaving unsteadily on his feet, and a moment later he dropped to his knees, doubled over and clutching his side.

This startled her. She blinked and stared uncertainly at him, watching as he pressed close his injuries. He grimaced, clearly hurt worse than originally thought, and spit up blood.

"Akama?" she heard herself say.

He lifted his eyes to her, grimaced once more, and then fainted dead away.

Maiev sat there for a long moment, just staring at him, watching blood pool underneath him. Then she crawled unsteadily towards him, and placed her hands to his wounds, holding them shut.

Humbled and purposeless, Maiev carries the Broken Draenie to safety and ensures his wounds are tended to. She is empty without her vengeance. She has been it's avatar for the majority of her life, and quite suddenly there's nothing left of it. All that's left is a broken, weak girl. She contemplates trying to kill herself while Akama is unconscious, but then finds herself tending to the Broken Draenie, and admitting that perhaps, lying dormant underneath all her hatred, she'd grown to care for Akama. Her part in the story ends uncertainly, but with some small shred of hope.

This was something I could have included previous to the battle with Illidan, actually. Was still debating on it when I went on permenant hiatus:

Excerpt:

Akama was injured. The moment he climbed into the enclave, it was obvious. Blood oozed from his side, staining the water an unholy mixture of blue, green, and black. He grimaced at the discolored flow and touched it gingerly before moving further into the enclave. Maiev watched him out of boredom rather than any kind of interest. He sat down in a dryer spot of the cave and started pulling off his armor, that he might expose the wound and tend to it. One interesting part of the Broken Draenei's garb was the basket of skulls he carried on his back, and that he dropped first. Next he pulled off his heavy shoulder pauldron, and then his armored sash.

Maiev blinked slowly at him.

He was a hideously deformed creature, with tentacles sprouting from his chin, head, and back, and gnarled prongs jutting out from his arms. He had a fairly noticeable hump, and several other deformations along his torso.

But frankly, for how old he was, Maiev was surprised at how... fit he was. Every muscle was well-defined and pulled tight under his skin- each one honed and worked to a state of perfection. If not for his deformities and his ungodly face, he might have even been...

Attractive? Ick.

The gash ran lower than she first thought, and before she realized it, he was pulling down the hem of his kilt, trying to be discrete about it.

By the time Maiev realized what he was doing, it was too late.

Her face turned bright red, and she continued to stare, even as he quickly drew his discarded sash up to cover himself.

She was going to have nightmares about this for weeks.

Zul'vii brings Ember back to Sha'tar, and prays that nothing irreversible happened to the girl while she was unconscious. Ember doesn't stir for well over a week, and requires the attentions of a healer in order to stay alive. Velen comes to visit and tend to her, showing that he has also come to care for the soulless child. He is perturbed when he and Zul'vii notice that the little one is growing horns, and worries that Archimonde has finally seized control as a result of Illidan's death. They set up wards around Ember's bed. When she finally wakes up, both Zul'vii and Velen are present. The little girl is quiet for a moment, situating herself on the bed and looking at both of them. After a long moment, she asks Velen to exorcise Archimonde from her and destroy him.

Velen protests, telling her that doing so would kill her. Ember shrugs at him and then nods. She tells him simply: "I know," and then looks both to him and Zul'vii. "I understand. I'm ready," she says.

Zul'vii is horrified and protests that Ember not do such a thing. She reminds the girl of her family, and remarks on the progress the girl has made, and tells her not to give up. She also protests that even if Ember wanted to die, she should say goodbye to her family before doing so.

Ember sighs and them and shakes her head. Without any explanation, she tells them that if they do not do as she's asked, she will ask A'dal to. Velen is torn. He insists upon talking to Furion, but Ember refuses to let him. After much arguing, during which Ember replies to every question softly, fiercely, with very short answers, Velen relents. He asks for Zul'vii's permission, and she reluctantly gives it.

Velen prepares a ritual to exorcise Archimonde. It takes a few days, during which Ember is eerily quiet, even around Nana. Zul'vii senses a profoundly powerful demonic presence in the girl, and is worried that Ember is finally losing her battle to Archimonde. She realizes that Ember might be using the last of her strength to permit this exorcism. When the time comes, she gives Ember a tight hug, and then Velen begins the ritual.

Velen draws Archimonde's soul out of the husk and uses old and powerful magic to bind and destroy the soul, scattering it into a thousand impotent pieces. With Archimonde finally out of the picture- likely for a very long time, if not forever- he turns back to Ember. With Archimonde gone, her body is solely under the control of Nature and the Ancestral Spirits. He expects the spirits will want to use the body to accomplish their own ends, but out of respect for Ember, he will exorcise them as well and send them on their way. Nature, he decided, would probably abandon the body without a fuss.

"Spirits..." he began, to coax them to leave of their own free will and make an exorcism unnecessary. To his surprise, the girl lifted her head to look at him, and said but one word:

"Ember."

Puzzled, Velen tilted his head to the side.

"My name," she told him. "It's Ember."

There was a long, silent moment after that, during which Zul'vii and Velen just looked at her, utterly floored. Finally, Velen found his voice and proceeded to argue with the body that there was no way it could be Ember. Ember could not possibly sustain her own existence, not soulless as she was. She asked him why this was so, and he responded that she ought to already know. She recalled, aloud, that Velen had said she could only exist in the space between a powerful demon lord and Nature, who both had to inhabit her body. Velen confirmed this was the truth. Ember then told him she did possess both necessary halves of this equation, demon and Nature avatar. Velen disagreed, reminding her that he had just exorcised Archimonde himself, and he hadn't seen her gobbling up any other leaders of the Legion lately. She protested that she did have such a demon, and that it was not Archimonde. When Velen asked for the identity of this demon, Zul'vii responded:

"Illidan."

At which point I would insert a completely awesome and evil cliffhanger for what fans I have remaining to squeal at. Sadly, as this is simply a recapping of what I would do if I had the time and energy to complete this fanfiction, there is no time for cliffhangers. You will simply have to imagine a month-long dramatic pause...

Zul'vii and Velen are both caught by surprised. Zul'vii approaches her and asks her to confirm that Ember's spoken the truth. Ember attests that she has, at which point Zul'vii buries her in a hug and tells her all sorts of barbed comments that she needs to make sure Illidan knows about. Ember delivers Illidan's equally tart responses.

Velen is confused and surprised. He evidences joy that Ember is intact, but wonders at a great many things. He considers that this might be a ploy by Illidan, who could have seized control of the body, but then realized that Nature would not permit him to do such a thing. Together, Illidan and Archimonde might have subjugated Nature, but Archimonde had been exorcised and destroyed, and so it was much more likely that Illidan and Nature had worked together to subjugate Archimonde.

For awhile, Velen remains unconvinced that Illidan is any better than Archimonde, but then he sees to see the important differences between the two tyrants- at least as far as Ember is concerned. Illidan and the Nature avatar had formed an uneasy truce, leaving a wide berth between both of them which Ember could inhabit. The little girl suddenly had much more dimension to her personality. Her manner was stable, confident, intelligent, and even a little sly. She was a much healthier and stronger individual than she had ever been at any other point in her life. Zul'vii tells the Prophet that Illidan truly loves his niece, and that ends up being enough for Velen.

At peace with both her Uncle and Nature itself (which was sacrificing one of its avatars just to give her a chance at life), Ember begins to recover and become even stronger. She stays in Sha'tar a time, and then goes to visit D'ore with Zul'vii as K'ure had requested. This involves combating through all of the void monsters in D'ore's tomb and eventually confronting the void monster that D'ore had become. Nevertheless, when all was said and done, the naaru also blesses Ember. As this is the first blessing Illidan was around to witness, he is given the chance to analyze it, and hypothesizes that a sufficient quantity of these blessings might be enough to shape Ember a soul of her own. He suggests to Ember that they make it their quest to visit all known naaru, to receive a blessing from each of them. Ember agrees, but then says there was something important that they- both she and Illidan- needed to do first before they could proceed.

She returns to Sha'tar to use the portal Jaina has constructed there, and returns to Kalmindor. From the Azuremist Islands, she catches a boat back to Teldrassil. Her time with Illidan has caused some of his demonic attributes to appear on herself. Why this happens is not clear. It could be because Illidan himself was not born demonic, but rather gained that attribute after consuming the skull of Guldan. It is possible that the skull changes Ember's form the same way it changes Illidan. It could also be that Ember and Nature were always in opposition to Archimonde, and that their tolerance of Illidan permits more of his power to shine through. Zul'vii also eventually remembers to bring up the issue of Ember's premature aging, which Illidan reveals he has already put a stop to.

In any event, by the time she reaches Kalimdor, after her long trip to find D'ore, Ember sports small curving horns very similar to Illidan's own, as well as wings and partially cloven feet. These features are all less pronounced than they were in Illidan, and aside from looking strange, do not seem particularly nefarious.

Still, when she first appears before Furion, she looks every bit a younger version of her uncle. For a moment, Malfurion is confused as to who, exactly, she is. She's older than his daughter ought to be, for instance. But she is female, that much is becoming clear (signs of womanhood are starting to blossom about her frame), and her eyes haven't been tainted or gouged out. Her demonic attributes aren't as pronounced, and she's wearing the battleclaws Furion provided for his daughter.

It takes awhile for this all to filter through his head. Ember watches him for a moment, and then slowly steps towards the druid. Inwardly, she's not thinking of much, except that she's grateful that Furion is in between two of his extremely-important-and-secret trips to the Emerald dream, and actually awake and about. When she's only a few feet away from him, she swallows. "Father," she murmurs. Furion's jaw drops, and she moves forward the last few feet and throws her arms around his middle. The druid gulps and then wraps his arms around her, heedless of all the strange changes she's undergone. They hug each other very tightly, so much so that when Ember wants to pull back to face him and talk to him, it's somewhat difficult.

He asks what has happened, and she explains that Archimonde is gone, and that she has a great many things to tell him. She tells him, however, that he must reserve judgment until her entire story is told. Malfurion agrees, and so Ember sits him down and tells him her entire story, in great detail, piece by piece. As she talks, Malfurion notes how much she's truly changed, and that the largest changes are by no means physical ones. Ember was a raving animal when she last lived in Teldrassil. Now she is a stable and coherent young woman, who smiles and talks with her hands, and loves the giant battle-scared ray that follows her about. And she's called him father. Father!

When she tells him she lacks a soul he is horrified, and she has to repeat many of Velen's own words so that her meaning sinks in. Since he's seen what a beautiful person she's become, he feels even more awful and pitying, and reaches out to touch her face. Ember continues her story, all the way until Illidan's death, at which Furion sighs unhappily, and rubs his face.

"So... he is dead then," he laments. "I felt it, even from here."

Ember hesitates and smiles. "Not quite dead," she answers, and then explains what Illidan did with his last breaths. Furion is stunned and uncertain how he feels about this revelation. Ember smiles more and tells him Illidan's surprised that Furion would mourn him. She then goes on to say how she'd told Illidan that Furion would, but her uncle had been unable to believe her.

Furion has every reason to doubt Illidan and Ember both. He's accustomed to taking the moral high ground, and he's accustomed to Illidan taking a much lower route. Throughout their lives, Illidan and Malfurion have ended up on the opposite sides of an ethical debate so many times that Furion had begun condemning him out of habit more than anything else. When Illidan had consumed the Skull of Gul'dan, Malfurion had exiled him almost out of hand.

But seeing how alive and happy Ember is makes him pause. He knows Illidan is dark, and that he has gotten far darker since his journey to the Outlands; on the other hand, if Illidan wasn't demonic, he wouldn't have been able to exorcise Archimonde from her mind. Troubled, Furion asks how he can possibly trust Illidan not to succumb to his lust for power and lead Ember astray.

Ember frowns, and is about to say something to defend her uncle, but then she pauses and thinks for a moment. Then she looks back at Furion. "He says you can't," she answers. "But that he will do his best to help me despite his failings."

Illidan is not a particularly humble person. He typically sees himself as the victim and Furion as the blind and unfeeling one. But in this one instance, Illidan does know his lust for power had gone beyond his ability to control it, because he had lashed out at Ember and Zul'vii both. Furion has never heard his brother so humble. Moved, he chooses to cast aside his doubts and prejudices, and all the old paranoia that would convince him Illidan was up to no good. He smiles sadly, and nods. Then he asks Ember to tell Illidan that he would mourn him, that he is grateful, and that he is sorry for ever assuming that Illidan's intentions towards Ember were anything but pure.

Illidan knows his brother has every reason to suspect him of foul play. Furion's words make him realize that his brother trusts him, and wants to trust him. He promises to take care of Ember, to do his absolute best to protect her and her sense of self-identity. Furion asks if Ember has come home for good, but she explains that she now has a quest lined up for trying to forge her own soul. He's saddened, but does not protest. Zul'vii promises to watch over her, as always, to which Furion expresses that he is extremely grateful.

Soon afterward, Ember is reunited with her mother and brother. She stays for two weeks. While she is busy talking with Tyrande and Fenuine, Furion talks to Zul'vii. He asks for her own version of the events in Outland, and Zul'vii gives it. He asks about Maiev, and then finally inquires why Zul'vii headed out with Ember to find Illidan in the first place.

Zul'vii blushes at his last question, and apologizes to Furion. She explains to him she never meant to keep his daughter from him, she but that she had felt a great evil in Ember, and that her gut had told her to get the child to Illidan as quickly as possible. As Zul'vii is the Angel of Healing, Furion can understand that the troll might have had premonitions concerning how to help the little girl. Still, he's curious as to why the angel took years out of her time to get Ember through the Outlands. Zul'vii laughs and explains that she was trying to find Illidan anyway.

Furion is surprised and asks her why. Zul'vii grins at the old Druid. "Why do you think?" she asks. The Archdruid blinks at her, not taking the hint, and so Zul'vii just laughs and explains herself: "I will love that melodramatic idiot till the day I die. Even if nothing good ever comes of it."

The war in Northrend would be long and fierce, and would involve the exploration of a lot of side characters. Darion Fordring is one of these characters. Nathanos did manage to find the paladin, and gave him his father's sword. To his amusement, Darion became convinced that the only way to save his father from the sword was to impale himself upon it. Nathanos was all-too-happy to let him do this (It's Nathanos. What did you expect?). He was surprised when this technique actually managed to free the senior Mograine from the blade. The ghost of the man then proceeds to lament the death of his son, and then chews out Nathanos for letting Darion do such a thing. Nathanos laughs and mocks the ghost and his son, until Mograine brings up the subject of Ketala. Nathanos immediately becomes bitter, and tells the spirit to leave before he brings Darion back as a skeleton. Mograine disappears, and Nathanos leaves Darion to the crows.

As the nations gear up for a new war on Icecrown and begin massing their forces, Nathanos throws in his lot with Sylvanas on a more permanent note, and promises to lead the Forsaken assault forces. No longer quite as hateful as he used to be, Nathanos encourages Sylvanas to make alliances, and to strengthen the relationships she already has. He works to help train Sylvanas's army, and prepares for the invasion of Northcrown.

Among other notes, Tirion Fordringsurfaces to lead the Argent Crusade, slowly tearing the Scarlet Crusade always from Balnazar. Darion resurfaces as a death knight, and leads his attack on Light's Hope Chapel as per Warcraft lore. Tirion stops Darion, and Arthas shows up to try and destroy the fledgling Argent Crusade. Darion casts his lot in with Fordring and throws the Corrupted Ashbringer to the paladin, who purifies it and turns it on Arthas.

Nathanos is severely pissed, because he misses out on the altercation, and sasses Tirion for failing to kill the Lich King. Tirion takes it in stride, now used to the Ranger Lord's ill temper. Through the efforts of Bartholomew the Revered, the Argent Crusade and Forsaken arrive on the shores of Northrend as shield-mates, and the Wrath of the Litch King begins.

Nathanos takes Vaiden, Flower, Ras, and Zelik to Northrend with him. As an aside, Nathanos's lifetime lover, Vila'thail, encounters him in Silvermoon the night before he leaves for Northrend. He's walking the city one last time. It was once his home, and he still has some sentimental attachment to it. He knows that he's going to Northrend to defeat the Lich King and save Ketala or die trying, and so he might never return to the Eastern Kingdoms. Vila'thail does not recognize him, but Nathanos recognizes her. She's unbelievably beautiful and almost glows with Fel energy. She is strongly addicted to magic, and has turned into something of a seductress.

Nathanos stalks her for a few hours, watching her life, mesmerized by her. He watches as she goes about her evening and meets with her new lover. Then he leaves, returns back to the Undercity, heads straight for Vaiden, and scoops him off the ground and hugs him. He holds the boy for a little while, rocking him.

Ras notes that Vaiden has made Nathanos more mature. I intended to include little hints and subtle details that conveyed this, but given that this is a summary, it's hard to drop such hints. Here or there, Nathanos would do something exceptionally mother-hen-like, such as save Vaiden from touching something hot, or scold him for not wearing his mittens. Silly details like this were meant to convey that Nathanos was actually mentally healthy and reasonably fulfilled for one of the first times in his life.

Jumping back into the past, Jaina and Thrall wake up the morning after Daelin Proudmoore has left Theramore, only to find their daughter missing!

Resourceful Kallah has snuck out of Theramore tower, down to the docks, and onto Daelin's ship! He finds her hiding in the ship's storage chambers soon after they've left port, and he's not exactly gentle about apprehending her. In fact, he pulls her out of an apple barrel by her hair. He's furious that Kallah would dare do such a thing, especially after he'd told her not to. He's about ready to smack her, but Kallah hugs him tightly and buries her face into his coat, and he's unable to aim his swat at her face.

Whatever energy empowered Daelin to leave Theramore rushes out of him in an instant. His shoulders slump. After a few moments, he gathers Kallah up into his arms and rocks her, and rubs over her back. He's on a ship bound for Kul'Tiras, and Kallah is in danger. After awhile, he explains this to her, and then sneaks her into his room to keep her hidden and safe. He gets her some breakfast and reassures her that her mother will find her in time.

While searching the tower for her daughter, Jaina finds a letter for Daelin telling her that the Admiral has resigned and left for Kul'Tiras. She's exasperated and disappointed, but doesn't have time to deal with her conflicted father. Thrall is anxious and can do nothing but question spirits while Jaina searches. After two days of searching in vain, they concludes that Kallah is not on Theramore. Jaina worries that something horrible has happened to her, but Thrall assures her that he can tell their child is alive. Jaina wonders how Kallah could have possibly gotten off of Theramore, and questions as to why Kallah would even want to leave. Off hand, she mentions that Daelin resigned.

Thrall grabs her shoulders and spins her around. He lifts a brow. "Daelin resigned?" he asks.

Jaina blinks at him and then nods. "Yes, he left a letter in my quarters yesterday. I suppose it was for the best, but now I'm worried he'll make trouble while-"

"Daelin left Theramore?"

"He... he said he was heading for Kul'Tiras. Why?"

Thrall reasons that Jaina must be inordinately worried (just as he was) if she hasn't connected the dots before this point. Rather than shouting out the answer, he tries phrasing his words differently, in one last hope she'll put the pieces together. "Daelin and Kallah are both missing?"

Jaina stiffens, gapes, blushes, and then vanishes. When she appears on Daelin's ship, he's waiting for her on deck. His first words are, "What took you so long? You must be slipping."

Jaina is relieved that Kallah is on board. After talking to the ship's captain (who's confused about why she's there), she decides to use the cover story that she's here to talk to Daelin about why he's leaving Theramore. She begins questioning him on the subject. At first, Daelin is unresponsive, but soon father and daughter have goaded each-other into a full-blown shouting match about their different ethical opinions. The crew scurries past them in an effort to accomplish their duties and give the duo a wide berth. They've seen Jaina angry before; once, she wrecked a three-masted ship.

Kallah hears the commotion, and senses her mother's ire stirring the innate magic of the air. She hurries up on deck to find two of her favorite people in a shouting match, and looking as if they'd like to kill one another. Concerned, Kallah runs up to Daelin and hugs his leg. The undead man is furious. He looks down at Kallah and moves to grab her arm and throw her back to her mother. Kallah eeps, ducks behind him, and hugs his other leg.

"Please Grandpa, don't leave!" Daelin's eyes widen and he slaps a hand over her mouth, stifling any further words. He looks around worriedly, but it seems that Jaina's shouting drowned out Kallah's heart-felt plea. No one seems to have heard her call him 'grandpa.' Still, he's shaken by this near-reveal of the little girl's parentage, and concerned that she still might have been overheard. No longer angry, but frantic to protect his grandchild, Daelin shoves Kallah into Jaina, and says: "Get your filthy, snot-nosed little pet out of my sight."

Jaina gives him a glare to end all glares, and then vanishes with her daughter in hand. Kallah's eyes widen when she notices her mother is casting. She turns and reaches for her grandfather, but she's too late. The spell goes off, and she finds herself in Theramore, grabbing at air.

Kallah is horrified and begins to cry, even as both of her parents gather her up and hug and shush her.

I was never sure what I planned to do with Daelin after this; only that I was sure I wanted to reunite him and Kallah. I hypothesized that he might eventually just take to wandering. With Cataclysm calling Thrall away from Orgrimmar and putting more and more burdens on Jaina, I thought perhaps Kallah might end up in his care, in an effort to hide her from the other world factions.

I had also planned to reveal more of Thrall and Jaina's past relationship, and how Kallah came about. Here's some fun for you:

Excerpt:

She was so much smaller than he.

She could rest completely on top of him, not one part of her touching the rest of the bed. Could curl up atop his chest, her cheek pressed to his throat, her shoulder nestled against his, her hips against his middle, legs drawn up over his thighs.

Sometimes she wondered if it was satisfying to him, this aspect of their relationship. He needed to be so careful when he touched her. She frowned slightly.

He always needed to hold back- and by a great margin at that. Not even his kisses could be rough. With a slight jerk of his head he could accidentally gore her with a tusk. Too much pressure and he could strain her neck or cut her lips, or simply give her an aching headache. Most of the time she needed to be above him, so that she could control the pacing and ensure that his weight didn't smother her.

His kisses were soft. Always soft. He looked up at her admiringly, fingers combing through her brilliant yellow hair, enjoying it's softness. She hovered over him and smiled lightly, her knees resting on his thighs and her hands planted firmly on his chest. Not an inch of her actually touched the bed, and he hardly minded. He liked the weight of her- however slight it was- pressing down on top of him.

Golden hair tumbled about her face and shoulders, gleaming in the firelight. Once straight and limp her hair now had a decided bounce or curl to it. Large, green, calloused fingers carefully worked out a tiny knot in the yellow tresses. So gentle. Always gentle.

His other hand came to rest gently against her side, helping to support her and enjoying the smooth texture of her skin. She blushed and then tweaked his nose!

"What are you staring at, green skin?" she teased.

"Pink skin," he reflected, smiling up at her. "Lots of ugly, ugly, pink skin."

She gave a lopsided smile and then lowered her head to his, kissing him again. He moved only to press his own mouth gently into the kiss, lips tenderly caressing her own. He tilted his head slowly to the side- so careful. The tiniest jerk on his part and he could slice her cheek open with a tusk, or even bite her. His jaws were wider, stronger than her own, and more suited to wild and sloppy kisses than these petite and delicate ones.

A kiss, another, longer, deeper. She pressed her mouth into his and then opened it again, letting her tongue dance gently over his lips. He shivered and twitched at each movement, enjoying these elegant attentions far more than he let on. His mouth opened slightly, and his tongue tentatively met her own.

Gentle. Gentle. He let her set the pace, let her lead the dance, felt the tip of her tongue slide gently into his mouth, brushing over his tongue and the gums against his tusks. His eyes closed gratefully for a moment before opening again, looking up at her with adoration. He tilted his head to the side and lightly mimicked her gestures. His hand lifted to the back of her skull, sifting lovingly through her hair and over her ears. He exerted a light pressure against the back of her head to give him some leverage, that he might kiss a little more intensely. She nibbled lightly on his bottom lip.

This was not orc kissing. Not by a long shot. He didn't mind, and rather savored the tenderness of it all, so very careful not to turn his tusks into her cheeks.

The first time they'd ever been together in such a compromising position, he'd been on top. The activity had left her face with many bruises, caused entirely by the force of his kisses. By unspoken rule it was simply better if he laid back and let her kiss him.

By unspoken rule it was simply better if he stayed on the bottom. Occasionally she wondered if she ever grew tired of it. If being with her was unsatisfying. Always his movements were restrained. At all times he needed to hold back: from the most harmless kisses to the greatest motions of passion, he needed to keep himself under control. In check. Calm.

Never once could he throw caution to the winds and just enjoy himself, and surely, surely, something inside him craved to do this after the way of his own kind.

But he never mentioned it. He always kissed her as he did so now, with utmost tenderness and affection, each movement small and expertly executed.

They were both panting, grunting and gasping, linked bodies rocking back and forth with the motion of the event. He watched her face steadily, brows furrowed in intense concentration as he moved slowly, carefully, through the rhythmic steps of this erotic dance. One hand supported his weight against the headboard of the great bed. Another was coiled around her hip as tenderly as orcishly possible, keeping her hips moving in tandem with his own.

Her arms wrapped tightly around his chest and she breathed in deeply, deliciously, with every tender movement.

"Thrall," she gasped softly, her fingers lifted to caress his face and trace the rugged jawline. "Th-thrall..."

His body had long since grown accustomed to the delicacy of her own. At first it had taken extreme effort to hold back, to move so slowly and gently and carefully. Now it was second nature. Each time he'd grown more used to it, more ready. Each time his body had been more encouraging of the strange gestures until now, at this point, it no longer begged of him to push harder or faster. Each movement was glorious even in it's softness.

The song built to it's crescendo. His blood pounded in his ears as their breath grew raspier, more needy. The pace increased, becoming slightly frenzied and disorganized as his arms began to shake.

He couldn't move too fast. Especially now, in the moment of completion, of triumph, he could not hurt her. The song was spiraling upwards, screaming for him to submit, to follow it's journey. He watched her face as her eyes started to cloud with pleasure. His whole body shook. It took just a moment more. It was almost done.

Each time he reached this point, his body admitted that it had been worth the time, the effort. He gasped her named passionately, lovingly, and then threw back his head and roared as his body's enthusiasm struck a triple forte and his movements lengthened luxuriously.

She joined him with a primal cry, her tiny frame stiffening in his arms, cyan eyes wide, heart seizing in delight. The song finished with several slow movements, and then died down to nothing. He groaned and collapsed to the bed beside her, pulling her tight against him and showering her face with kisses.

"Jaina," he whispered. She followed her name with his own. Her fingers drew gentle swirls over the muscles in his back

Excerpt:

"Thrall," she murmured, her face somber. He blinked at her tone and his brows furrowed, at last catching on that something wasn't quite right. "We have a problem."

Had someone vital died? He turned his full attention towards her, wondering why she'd come to tell him this in private. What had happened? Did some matter require his attention now? "Jaina?" he asked curiously, taking a step towards her. "What is it?"

She shifted her weight, pondering whatever news it was she had to share with him. "This is big," she said at last. "And unexpected."

He shook his head, not understanding. "What?"

She gave him a lopsided smile and sighed. "I'm... Aegwynn and I have both verified that I am currently and indisputably pregnant."

For a moment his expression remained frozen in thought as he turned over the human word in his mind, looking for an alternative definition.

"Pregnant," she said in orcish, to clarify.

His lips slowly parted, and his jaw dropped. "Wh-... what?"

"Pregnant," she reiterated, in common again. "There's bread in the oven. Egg's in the basket. Meat's on the fire. Mageling's in the library. Up the pole, down the shaft, knocked up, fallen down, Pregnant. Going-to-have-a-baby."

He gaped at her.

"Presumably, a little green one with tusks," she reflected, tapping her chin. "I don't see this going over well with my ambassadors..."

That got to him. He took a step towards her, reached out to touch him and then retracted his hand as if frightened he might injure her. He closed his mouth, swallowed hard, and then looked down to the curve of her navel. She wasn't showing yet- or perhaps she was using magic to hide it.

"Mine?" was all he could manage.

Her eyes narrowed at the ridiculousness of this question, especially after she'd mention the child being green. "Well yes, either yours or Saurfang's," she responded a little testily. She was pregnant after all, she could be a little mean.

His gaze lifted to hers again. "I-I... We..."

She nodded, willing to allow for the fact that it might be difficult to digest exactly what she was telling him. It had been quite a shock to herself just a day earlier."I've been told this is an occasional unfortunate side effect of sleeping in the same bed," she remarked wryly.

The poor orc. Here he outweighed her by a landslide, could tower over her, and now he was curled up on himself like a chastised puppy, shrinking down from her, an absolutely stunned look plastered on his face. Apparently it had never occurred to either leader that their actions might come to this very logical conclusion. She sighed slightly and rubbed her stomach.

"Yup," she said to his silent questions. "And I'm very hungry. I don't suppose you have... an entire ham, or something?"

Ham. He could deal with ham. He turned around and quickly stalked out of the room, shouted orders to his guards, and then turned back to her, eyes wide.

She regarded him quietly as he approached once more and slowly touched her arm. "You are... going to have... a baby?" he asked slowly, carefully, eyes searching hers. "We are going to have a baby?"

"Yes. Exactly."

"Oh," he said in a very small voice. "What do we do?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. What are your feelings on the matter?"

He stared at her, at a loss for words. His hand slowly lowered to her waist, and he gazed down at the newly forming life within her. She smirked at his wide-eyed astonishment. "It appears you like it," she noted to him.

His eyes jumped to hers and he took in a shaky breath. "Jaina... I..."

"You don't have to be sorry. It's no more your fault than mine. We'll make our decisions on this matter together, and share the consequences. Alright?"

He nodded slowly. He could feel the tightened contours of her stomach now, where the tiny life was growing. She had probably waited until the signs were obvious before accepting her own diagnosis of the situation.

The spirits whispered to him. They could feel what stirred within.

The ham was coming, she could smell it.

"Pork," was all she said, and he nodded, turning to fetch the food.

She ate more than he had ever seen her ate before, and the old adage "Eating for two" made more sense to him. She attacked the ham with ravenous glee- which was good, because he didn't feel much like eating.

"First thing's first. Let's establish all the problems with this situation," she said over her ham. "We're two leaders on the opposite sides of a very gritty faction war. Horde against Alliance. Each of us has been struggling to work towards peace, all the while working very hard to let our people know we aren't betraying them."

He nodded. "This could jeopardize that," he agreed. "It puts our... erm... relationship out in the open, where it will be critiqued. We'll lose face among our peoples."

"Exactly. How do we propose to deal with that problem?"

He shook his head. So many things were running through his mind that it was difficult to think. He reached over and gently touched her stomach. Through his farsight, he could feel its heart beating. She smiled and gently placed a hand over his.

"There is a solution that we need to address immediately, before we go any father. There exist medicinal herbs that, if eaten, will end a pregnancy." He stiffened. "It seems like you are very much against that route."

"Jaina-" he began, choking slightly on the words, eyes widening. "I don't- I can't force-" he didn't know how to articulate his meaning, couldn't explain his awe towards this tiny life or his desire to respect the sorceress's life choices, and certainly couldn't choose between them, not like this.

"It's okay, Thrall," she said with a light laugh, squeezing the curve of his thumb. "Don't panic. I know you, silly honorable orc. I know you wouldn't force me to do anything. And frankly, you know know you couldn't force me to do anything." She smiled fondly at him. "You like it already, don't you?" She pushed his hand lightly against her stomach. "Just tell me that."

He nodded weakly.

"Good. If we're going to keep it, then we both need to like it," she said with a wry smile. "You know as well as I that tradition and duty sometimes supersede emotion- among both our peoples. I didn't know what to expect. I had to know how you felt about it, personally. If you felt ashamed, concerned... anything."

"I wouldn't-" he paused, and then nodded slowly. "I have no desire to see it harmed. I understand why you ask me, however. And you? How do you feel about it?"

"I find it very inconvenient," she said with an evil grin. "But I have my suspicions that it is going to have little tusks and a preference for tea- so I've resigned myself to like it." He blushed and smiled. "Very well then. The first judicial ruling is thus: We will keep the baby. All in favor?"

"Aye."

"Second big question. Do we make it public?"

He blinked. "What?"

She grinned. "I have within my repertoire all the spells and cunning necessary to hide both the pregnancy and the subsequent birth." He frowned and tilted his head to the side as he considered this.

"I am not ashamed-"

"I am also not ashamed," she interrupted. "But I know that my people will not understand the truth. So, If we do not make the child's existence public, we might be able to better help our own people." This seemed slightly deceptive to the great orc, who shifted about until he realized he was having a sexual relationship with a woman of a different species, and had been hiding that for quite some time.

"Perhaps that might be best," he said slowly. "You would have to arrange for its feeding and care, as well as for it's education. It could live many years in this tower you've built, with great freedom, and-"

"What?" she asked in amusement. "And where do you fit into all this?"

He blinked. "Me?"

"This child is half orc," she pointed out. "Half yours. Why on earth should she only live with me?"

He shook his head, not understanding. "We cannot live together Jania, especially if we plan to keep this secret."

"I didn't suggest we would. We're meeting together right now, aren't we?"

"I don't understand."

"Traditionally, the woman raises the child. Yes?"

He stared at her a moment and nodded hesitantly, wondering if he was walking into a feminist trap. While this statement of hers was true, Jaina was anything but an average woman. She was a great leader and mage as well.

"Am I a traditional woman, Thrall?"

He shook his head.

"Would you allow that I am just as busy as you are?"

He nodded. Please, spirits, let these be the correct answers to the questions she was asking.

"Then I think you should help me."

He blinked.

"One week the child can be with me, the next with you, so on and so forth. We'll split the task, the education, the feeding, the diaper changing, the thrusting it off on our advisors so we can sleep, the diaper changing."

He stiffened in surprise, staring at her. He opened his mouth as if to protest his inability to take care of a child. She crossed her arms over her chest expectantly, waiting to deflect his answers with careful and logical arguments. Seeing this he deflated considerably and stared at her, and wondered why he expected Jaina to understand this child rearing business any more than he did.

"But when it's little," he argued at last, "wont it... erm... need you?"

"Goat milk in a bottle," she responded evenly.

He imagined holding a baby in his quarters, trying to get it to drink from a bottle, or changing a dirty diaper. The entire image was completely ludicrous. He opened his mouth to protest, and then shut it. He couldn't see Jaina doing any of those things either. The woman was so completely disorganized, he half thought she might misplace the child somewhere and summon him for the soul purpose of helping her locate it.

He'd probably find it hiding under a rug, munching on last month's cheese... Or perhaps dangling from a tower window, trying to fly.

A baffled smile crossed his lips, and he tilted his head to the side, looking at her from a new angle. "Alright," he murmured softly. He shifted closer to her and put both hands gently to her waist. "Alright. I can do that"

Her shoulders slumped in relief and she smiled as he leaned close and gently kissed her cheek. She hadn't really known what reaction to expect from him at her bizarre proposition. In a way, this proved how exceptionally well Thrall knew and respected her. She lifted her arms and embraced him lightly.

"I just request you take the first week so you can tell me what to do," he begged softly.

She nodded and pressed her face into his hair. "Deal."

He strokes gently over her sides and closed his eyes, letting his sensed seep into her and surround the little one. He thought it might be a girl, perhaps. It's little heart was beating softly, fiercely. The heart of an orc.

He took a deep breathe, mentally preparing himself for years of child-induced suffering. "I can do that," he promised them both, mother and child. "I will help you."

Excerpt:

Raising children was a woman's business; anyone could tell you that. At least until they could walk and talk. If a mother wasn't available, a nurse took on that duty, or a grandmother, or an aunt, or a sister. Women understood these things, and men didn't, and that's just the way it was. By this virtue, it was also nonsense for a father to meddle in the raising of said child, at least before it was old enough to speak.

Birthing children was also a woman's business. It involved women midwifes, women maids, women mothers, and women family members. Men went off to fight wars while waiting for the process to complete itself or, if they were the sensitive sort, they paced about outside, anxiously waiting for the first wails of the coming newborn.

On occasion, the man would stand beside her and hold her hand. But in the times he lived in, this was rare.

Those thoughts raced through Thrall's head as he knelt before Jaina, out in the middle of the Barren's heat. The woman was propped up against a dead Kodo and covered in light flesh wounds. Her eyes were rolling back and she was shrieking and convulsing, her fingers twisting into the beast's thick hide.

Her water had broken mid battle, and not even she had even registered it. The labor pains had started while demons were bearing down on him, and she was no coward. She cast ice and fire down at them, driving them off, giving him the room to maneuver.

It was too late now. The agony wracking her was too great. The words to a teleportation spell fluttered on her lips, fizzled out, died. Her eyes rolled. Even if she could manage the words her energy was gone. She was exhausted.

"Jaina," he gasped, alarmed and completely at a loss. He took one of her hands and let her squeeze his till it actually caused him pain.

"Help me," she whimpered, pleaded, tears rolling down her face. "Thrall-"

"You need to teleport!" he begged. "I don't know what to do!"

"Aa-aah!" she cried out, drawing her knees closer to her chest, gritting her teeth as hard as she could. "I-I c-can't," she wailed. "Thrall-"

He grimaced and moved to stand. "I will find a druid or priest," he swore.

"No!" she shrieked, grabbing at his arms. "Thrall!"

"You need help!" he nearly roared, turning fierce eyes on her.

She choked at the fire in his voice, hair matted, face wet with tears. "Don't leave me," she croaked out. "Thrall. Thrall d-don't l-leave me." Her eyes closed in pain. "Aaaah!"

He swallowed hard, torn.

She ground her teeth together through a contraction and then looked weakly up at him. "T-there's no o-one but y-you," she whispered. "D-don't leave m-me... Thrall..."

Her sweat-slicked fingers dug needingly into his armor. "L-light, Thrall... D-don't leave m-me..."

He looked desperately around them, at the field of demon bodies, of the soldiers far off. Orcs, mostly. Shamans, warriors. No druids. No priests. Certainly no midwives. His fists clenched.

"Th-Thrall," she begged and he looked back at her and slowly siddled closer to her, wrapping his arms around her.

"I've got you," he promised. "I'm here, Jaina. I've got you. I wont leave. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she buried her face gratefully into his armor.

He didn't know what to do, so he just held her. That seemed to be what she needed. She shuddered and sobbed, but clung to him, her arms around his neck. He helped loosen her clothing and hike her dress up, in what seemed to be a terrible violation of privacy.

Certainly he'd... he'd seen her before, but this was different. If an alliance warrior came upon them in this position, it would look like he was trying to force himself on her.

"Oh Light," she moaned. "Oh Nether... Oh..."

He readjusted himself and picked up one of her legs carefully, drawing the knee further against her chest, trying to help keep her upright.

The babe was crowning.

He swore. He left one arm around Jaina. With the other he ripped off his cape and quickly held it under the impatient child.

The human woman screamed, eyes wide. One of her hands got a hold of his hair and he winced as she likely tore some from his scalp. Helpless to ease her pain he just held on to her. Watched in sheer amazement as her body carefully completed this most magnificent of tasks.

Black hair. Covered in blood and spirits only knew what else. Head first, then narrow shoulders bowed forward to make the task easier. Then everything tumbled out, beautiful, complete, into his waiting arms.

Jaina slumped against the Kodo, exhausted. Shuddering from his own frayed nerves, Thrall gathered up the tiny babe in his cape, picked it up one handed for them both to see.

The little thing moved, the head bent, the mouth opened, and it screamed. Oh how it screamed. It hollered to wake the dead in long, plaintive wails.

Pale olive skin, thick black hair. A little girl.

A little girl had just entered into the world.

Thrall swore again and nearly dropped her, pulling him close to his chest, close to Jaina. "Look," he whispered fervently. "Jaina, look..."

The pain was gone. She basked in its emptiness, dazed, and then stared at the bundle with which Thrall had presented her. The little one was crying loudly, her hands balled into fists, her back arching in distress.

'I don't like this place!' she seemed to say. 'It's cold! It's bright! I don't like it!'

"Baby," Jaina mumbled numbly, her hands lifting to surround the child. She was still too weak to hold it, and so pulled Thrall's arm slowly against her, and with the orc's help managed to open the front of her dress.

Only minutes later Thrall sat beside her, dazed at the enormity of what had just occurred. Jaina had recovered and was sitting quietly against the dead kodo, her clothing restored and the little child asleep against her chest.

Sweat-soaked and exhausted she looked at him and gave a triumphant, thankful little smile. She lifted a hand to him, and he took it without a moment's thought. Took it in both hands, before moving to stroke her face.

"Are you okay?" he murmured anxiously, still shaken.

She nodded. "I'm tired," she told him. "Very tired. Can you carry me?"

"Of course," he chuckled weakly. "I just helped deliver a baby. I can do anything. Ask me if I can fly."

She stared at him for a moment and then snorted back laughter, turning her head to look weakly up at the sky. "Well," she agreed, "That didn't exactly work out to plan."

"That's an understatement," he noted, and slowly got both legs beneath him again, and moved to pick her up. "You've got the baby?"

"Yes."

He stood and shifted her weight in his arms a little. She was so small. She might as well have been a child herself. "We picked the name Kallah for a girl, didn't we?" he asked.

The blond magus nodded quietly, her cheek resting against his breastplate, her eyes mostly closed. "Kallah," she murmured.

He smiled, worried despite himself, and gently kissed her brow. The little one was right there, her soft black hair akin to tufts of feathers. So he kissed her forehead, too. "Beautiful little Kallah Proudmoore," he whispered.

Jaina chuckled, and in sleepy orcish responded: "Beautiful little Kallah, daughter of Thrall."

Varian was an awesome character. I like to refer to him as "Sir Foams-a-lot," for it seems to me that he is constantly very angry and foaming at the mouth like a berserker. Unfortunately, I didn't stick at this long enough to contrive any scenes that involved him.

I'd intended for Balnazzar, one of Varimathras's brothers, to take his place in the fall of the Undercity. In my version of the story, Varimathras would have orchaestrated the plot with Grand Apothecary Putress, but would have shelved the plot and focused on getting fully back in Sylvanas's good graces. While he was busy doing this, Balnazzar would have enacted the plan without help from his brother, and Varimathras would have taken Sylvanas's side. As usual.

I wanted the battle on Icecrown to kick off with Varimathras and Sylvanas finally admitting that they find something about one another enticing. I wrote multiple versions of this, but never found one I really liked. This was closest to what I envisioned:

Excerpt:

Sylvannis came up beside Varimathras. He was seated in their war room and working on sketches. When she entered, he glanced at her curiously and asked if she needed anything.

"Just watching," she purred.

The dreadlord lifted a brow but then shrugged and turned back to his work. "Very well." He moved to step away from her, to grab a new stack of papers. Gloved fingers closed around his arm, cold and possessive. He blinked and looked back at Sylvannis, and docked his head to the side at her very focused expression. "Milady?" he asked curiously. Occasionally it amused him that he was so respectful towards this female. Her hand was small against his arm, so delicately formed in comparison to him. But her touch reeked of power.

She moved slightly, bringing herself against him, the whole of her side flush against his. He blinked and frowned. She was in a strange mood again, and he had no idea what to expect. He looked down at her hand, feeling the chill of undeath through his armor.

Hmm...

He lifted a wing and gently settled it around her. His demonic skin was hot, and it seemed to please her. She lifted her hand and he moved slowly to retrieve the reports, leaving his wing pressed lightly against her, and hoping she wasn't about to break it. He was relieved when his fears proved unfounded.

"You are a very weak and easy-to-manipulate demon," she decided. "All the guile has gone out of you."

He snorted. "I am an exceptionally intelligent demon who knows when it is wise to act meek."

"Act?" she smiles leisurely.

He snorted. "Dreadlords are thinkers. We are excellent spellcasters, and fine warriors, but we pride ourselves on our ability to tempt, to undermine, to outsmart our foes. If I were more powerful than you, I assure you my demeanor would be different. Supercilious, haughty, proud, deceptive, and constantly making everything you said sound ultimately useless and foolish."

She smirked at his own description of Dreadlord behavior, and stroked lightly over the arm of his wing. "And you are not, because...?"

"I seem to recall being pinned into a corner with a knife in my face, pleading for my life," he reflected. "I greet my minions with arrogant snarls. I wonder if they would respect me if they realized how I fear you."

"You have become very honest since your latest defeat," she teased gently, watching as he reviewed the papers in his hands.

He snorted. "I believed once that I could use you to enhance my position among the Nathreziem. I made a mistake in trusting Arthas. I lost my chance to prove stronger or more cunning than you. Now you are responsible for my continued existence, and you are able to see into my mind. Therefore: I find it wise to be humble. And frank." He smiled wryly at her. "I understand this game. I do what you will, and I benefit. And if I play the game well enough, in the future, the rules will be more lax."

Her lips spread into a cruel smile. "If you can convince me to let you live that long," she agreed, and it seemed she almost welcomed the challenge this time. Some recent happening had stabilized her emotions and Varimathras, for one, was grateful.

His wing coiled around her slightly, emphasizing the mild and very demonic affection that accompanied his slight threat.

Things were normal again. Better than normal. Sylvanis smirked and leaned into the demon's side, enjoying the smell of sulfur, and the heat of his skin. She had a moment's respite, and tormenting her majordomo was her favorite extracurricular pastime. One of her hands moved lightly over his armor, and then dipped, fingers brushing under the fabric of his loincloth.

He made a noise of displeasure, still focusing on the documents, hoping that if he ignored her, she would stop. She felt that he should have known better, and took the opportunity to grope him. In a past life she would have found such behavior exceptionally demeaning to herself, but these random irritations on her part were all that kept her sane.

Varimathras grunted and eyed her. "If you are going to keep doing that, I request the services of a succubus."

"Meek, guileless, and with no self control," she teased.

"I'm a demon, woman. I'm by no stretch of the imagination above temptation. Otherwise, I wouldn't be a demon."

"Oh please. This is nothing. Your ability to ignore mild temptations should be paramount."

Varimathras grunted. "Do you have any idea how long it is since I've been in your company?" he asked her.

She reflected. "Six years or so. Why?"

"Do I need to remind you what happens to other females who attempt to touch me?"

She docked her head to the side, vaguely remember pulping a few succubae heads... Comprehension dawned in her eyes, and she eyed him incredulously.

"Oh," she realized. "Six years?"

"Six years, two months, three days," he reflected. "So, if you are going to continue touching me, I must request the services of a- preferably live- succubus. I have had a very trying six years, and could certainly use the relaxation."

She eyed him for a long moment before retracting her hand and wiping it off on him.

"Thank you," he stated honestly, and returned to his work.

After a moment, she couldn't help but tease further. "Preferably live? Possibly not?"

He sighed.

"So, is it undead you like, or is it corpses?"

He grimaced, but then a thought occurred to him and his mouth dripped into a thickly charming faux smile. "Sylvanis, my Queen, you should know by now how utterly intoxicating I find you," he said coyly, enjoying this opportunity to bother her. He knew that the banshee queen loathed her unlife, and that his speech patterns would open old wounds.

Sylvanis blinked, brows lifting, and he turned towards her, his wings opening slightly. "Skin of fairest porcelain, eyes like hellfire, lips a glowing violet- a true model of beauty, preserved forever by the kiss of death," he continued.

Her mouth formed into a thin line, and he laughed inwardly.

"Is that so?" she asked quietly.

"Oh, yes," he purred.

Only when she began to smile evilly did he realize he'd been outmaneuvered. "Then, you may keep me company tonight."

What little color he had drained from his face. Never, not in a thousand years, would he expect Sylvannas to petition him for something like that. He disgusted her. He was a means to an end in her eyes- nothing more.

She smiled so fiercely that she showed off both rows of her pearly teeth. "I do get... cold in the evenings, she murmured, and she reached over to to stroke the membrane of one of his wings.

Ah. Well. Hmm. Varimthras tried very hard to determine how he was going to use this to his advantage. At last he came to the distressing realization that, somehow, Sylvanas was and always had been a better tempter than him, and she had completely and thoroughly won this round.

"Very well," he growled unhappily, and pulled his wings back to himself. He was not feeling particularly affectionate at the moment. Aroused, yes, but he was doing his best to hide that, and 'aroused' was not a synonym for 'affectionate.'

Sylvanas laughed, leaned over him, and placed a kiss at the base of one of his horns. Then she left.

After this, I didn't have much planned for the war with the Lich King yet. I intended to work on it, and I had ghosts of ideas (especially involving Sapphiron), but let's be honest: I never even played through Burning Crusade, and I would have been writing Wrath of the Lich King using nothing more than Wowwiki. It was hard enough doing that for the Burning Crusade!

I intended for Nathanos to re-enter Naxxramas just before the final battle on Northrend, and for him to be allied with Tirion Fordring and Darion Mograine at the time. At this point, so much time has passed that Nathanos has become a much stronger character, a reasonable (if somewhat overprotective) father, and dedicated to freeing Ketala. Ketala, on the other hand, has become a cold avatar of loathing, utterly dedicated to Kel'Thuzad and the Lich King.

The shade of Arthas would remain with Ketala, and I intended that it should more or less seduce her further and further into his grasp. I was never certain if I wanted this seduction to be anything more than metaphorical. From the beginning of MahiMahi, however, I knew precisely how Ketala had come to be.

Ketala was Truae. The last person born with the gift of Truae was Azshara, the Night Elf Queen. Azshara was naturally charismatic and powerful, and the Truae gift enhanced all of the characteristics that Azshara already possessed. However, she became so unbelievably strong that her gift turned on itself, and turned dark and polluted. The Forces That Be chose Ketala as the next Truae, because she was the opposite of Azshara. She was supposed to be an emotionaless, personality-less elemental being, caged within a human body. With the Truae gift bestowed upon her, she would have no direction, no personality, no goal, except for those set down by her angelic spirit.

But something went wrong. When Ketala was born, she was without will. The elemental forces at war within her body canceled one another out. She needed to be 'driven', by a necromancer, like a golem. This was not good enough for the Lich King, who wanted to create a Champion for himself now that he and Arthas were to be joined as one entity. Rather than leaving Ketala an empty husk, Arthas entreated Frostmmourne to give up up a soul fragment with which to animate her. Frostmourne resisted, and so the fallen prince used what small holy energy still belonged to him in order to compell the sword to do this. Frostmourne obeyed, but was very spiteful. Unbeknownst to Arthas, Frostmourne did not regurgitate any old soul; instead, it gave up the last pure fragment of Arthas's own soul.

This was why, when their minds touched, The Lich King and Ketala ended up exchanging parts of their ego. Ketala's soul fragment had long since grown into a fully-developed soul, and the Lich King's 'soul' was now a fusion of Arthas's and Nerzhul's, and was held within Frostmourne. Nevertheless, a spiritual tie still connected them. That tie forced Arthas to keep the bulk of his forces in Northrend while Ketala was strong; it also permitted him to damn her.

This would also make it really, really funny to talk about Nathanos as Ketala's proverbial 'soul mate', given her soul had originated from a male donor. It would leave Nathanos feeling icky for decades afterwards.

But I digress. I was not certain how I wanted Nathanos's second invasion of Naxxramas to work, or in what order he would deal with its inhabitants. I did know, however, that he would somehow be able to reach what good remained in Ketala. I suspected he would do this by forcing Ketala to decide between siding with him or siding with Kel'Thuzad, and I figured he would do it in a suitably dramatic way; perhaps by surrendering to Kel'Thuzad and then riling the lich up so badly that the ex-necromancer began tearing him apart. However, this seemed a little cliché, especially considering how fall Ketala had fallen by this point. In any event, I intended for Ketala to be the one who finally killed Kel'Thuzad.

Excerpt:

Nathanos didn't move, holding her to his chest tightly. She wept helplessly into his shoulder, her whole body shaking violently. "Gone," she whispered. "All gone. All broken and failed, again, and again. All gone."

He shook his head and squeezed her, treasuring the feeling of her soft black hair against his cheek. He adjusted himself and pressed her cheek to his heart instead. "No, no," he murmured. "Listen. Do you hear that?" The organ thrummed softly in the confines of his chest, beating quickly, unhappily

She shuddered and clutched at his arm, feeling the beautiful heart fluttering. "I'm here," he whispered. "I'm still here. And it is beating for you- just you. I won't leave you alone. I'm not gone."

"Why?" she gasped up at him, opening her eyes weakly, both gray. In their time together, Nathanos had never been so kind. Their years apart had changed him.

He frowned, as if slightly hurt that she did not know the very obvious answer. "Because I love you," he whispered. "You are mine and I am yours, and that's just the way it is."

No tears trickled down her face. She no longer had any tear ducts to shed them. Her mouth- or what was left of it- trembled. Her eyes were losing focus and she could barely see him. She was going more and more limp in his arms. "I'm broken," she replied in a small and tortured voice. "I cannot go back. I can't leave.

He smiled weakly. "That doesn't matter. You're still mine. I will always want you." She stared as he lowered his head protectively over hers and wrapped his cape about her, to shield her from the falling debris. "Wherever you go, I follow. I'm not leaving without you. Not again."

The necropolis shuddered around them. A massive boulder landed to their right, crushing a fleeing ghoul. Too broken and miserable to care, Ketala just wept. Nathanos closed his eyes.

Poor Vaiden. At least the kid would be in good hands. Between Cheshire, Zeliek, Tirion, Flower, and Ras he might grow up with the perfect nutritional balance of paladinhood and insanity. It did bother him that there weren't any elves in the boy's life. It seemed his legacy as the only human Ranger Lord would be a permanent one.

The necropolis began to seriously plummet as it dissolved and still Ketala did not relent, her wing tendrils boring into the core of the place, seeking to destroy the abomination that was Naxxramas with all her being. And wanting, wanting so badly, for the suffering to end.

He rubbed her back lovingly. "I'm here," he murmured softly as the citadel rapidly accelerated downwards. The teleportation scroll dropped from his fingers and he enfolded her in a crushing hug. "I love you."

The wind whistled through the cracks in the architecture. More stones fell, others dissolved. Frostwyrms and ghouls shrieked and roared in the distance. It was cold.

He didn't need to open his eyes to know impact was approaching. He squeezed them tightly shut. "Sorry, Vaiden..."

Ketala looked up at him at the sound of her child's name.

The necropolis hit the mountain side and crumbled apart. One strike, two, another, and then it was just endless stones and debris, tumbling disconnected down the mountainside, burying into the snow all around Icecrown. It was over. Kel'thuzad and Naxxramas had fallen.

Ras sat down hard, staring at Naxxramas's ruins and watching as his portal fizzled away to nothing. Beside him, Tirion frowned painfully. Even the cleansed Ashbringer seemed to weep. "They didn't make it," Ras murmured. "Why? Why? They had plenty of time."

Darion shifted and turned away from the scene. "You should understand ex-lich. There are fates far worse than death." Tirion frowned and looked after the Ebon-blade knight, wanting to say something encouraging and yet knowing there was nothing to say.

"Ketala's compassion was her strength and weakness," he murmured to a shaken Ras. "And mighty as both. The things she was forced to do may have simply weighed to heavily on her conscience for her to endure. The true Ketala was far too gentle to ever do such things."

Ras shuddered, a wave of depression washing over him. Varimathras scoffed. "What about Nathanos? That explanation is lovely, but doesn't explain why he didn't make it."

Tirion shook his head, not knowing. Zeliek shrugged. "He struck me as mildly suicidal," the undead paladin reflected. "And irresponsible."

Ras blinked and stared up at all three of them. His jaw dropped. "What the hell is the matter with you people?" he rasped. "Nathanos, not Ketala, brought down Naxxramas."

Tirion blinked and looked back at Ras, as did Zeliek. Varimathras couldn't have cared less.

"How can you talk about her as if her loss was great and his insignificant? Are you all blind? Isn't it obvious why he didn't come back, if it's so obvious why Ketala didn't?" He shook his head in dismay. "Nathanos wouldn't have left her!"

Tirion nodded, but found it hard to believe, and Zeliek just shrugged. The only person present who believed him was Varimathras, and he couldn't begin to understand such emotional devotion.

Darion was quiet as he climbed down the mountainside, quietly thinking about the fate of the two unfortunate undead who had died that day, and contemplated his own existence at the same time. The walk was long, and although it was dangerous for him to walk alone, he needed some time to think. To think about the essence of good... and why it always seemed to bend so unwavering to evil. He wondered if Tirion were ever in the same position as Ketala, would he fold to the darkness?

He was so introspective he nearly missed the fluttering of a white tendril against the snow. When he saw it his eyes widened in surprise, and he nudged it gently with a boot. It didn't seem to mind his terrible chill, and just drifted there, aimlessly.

His eyes followed the tendril to where it was splayed lazily over the vertical length of a cliff, and then up to a dark little perch.

There sat a cocky looking ranger lord with an exhausted deathknight in his arms, her eyes closed and her face pressed into his chest. "I don't suppose you have your horse on you?" the forsaken questioned. "I think she may require medical attention. I'm pretty certain she wasn't supposed to attempt her first flying lesson right after all that..."

Darion's eyes widened. He stared for a moment and then quickly turned back the way he'd come. "I'll get Tirion," he answered hoarsely. "Wait here."

Long story short, Ketala loses her paladin powers, and her death knight powers. She will never again be pure and innocent enough to call on Paladin energies while at the same time being undead, but the majority of her soul has been saved. I intended for her to sit out the rest of Truae, in need of spiritual/mental/emotional recuperation. Here's a little excerpt of her helping Darion:

Excerpt:

Ketala was quiet, before slowly reaching out and touching the other deathknight's hand. Cursed as he was, she could bear his chilly aura without pain.

Darion lifted his white eyes to her.

"Your father was a good man," she said softly. "Even as an undead... even in slavery... A good man. I owe him what remains of my soul."

"What hope is there when good men can be made to do such things?" he asked in a dark and husky voice. "What point is there in fighting?"

"Point?" she blinked. "Darion, would your father have fought so hard against Arthas's control if there was no point?"

"The light abandoned you. You of all people should know there comes a time when the light's petty whims cannot be obeyed," he hissed. "The Lich King will use Tirion's weaknesses against him, just as he used yours. His compassion, his desire for the redemption of the fallen. The Lich King knows the rules of the Light, knows how far Tirion will go and what borders he will not breach-"

"I thought we were fighting him because he forced us to to horrible things to our loved ones," she murmured quietly. "Because he forced us to lay down the Light and take up the shadow. Darion, what's the point of fighting against him if we create the same sort of world he would create? Never sacrifice your humanity for efficiency. You have very little left, and every ounce is precious."

He frowned. "You hate him because he betrayed you and your men and sent you to die against Tirion. How could you, of all people, ask Tirion to fire on his own men? How could you ask him to become the thing you hate most in the world?"

She smiled up at the Highlord, at his white eyes and pale face. "Tirion is special. Vital," she told him. "He symbolizes everything you're fighting for. You should be protecting his devotion to his men, his faith, not criticizing it. The day he loses it, you are following nothing but a second Lich King."

He stared at her, eyes wide, at this strange angle she had presented. After a long time he lifted his unoccupied hand and placed it gently over hers. "Alright," he murmured.

" 'Sides. If Tirion didn't care about redemption, we wouldn't have you. And you're a pleasant person to have. " He sneered slightly and looked away. She laughed lightly. "What now? I like you. I think you are his Taelean."

He blinked and looked back at her. "I think he sees his own son in you. Don't let him down."

He nodded weakly. "If you say so."

And that's all I have! If I find any more tidbits, I'll post them online. I know it's not a conclusion to the story, and leaves a lot of things unsatisfied. Still, it wraps up some of the major loose ends, and it encompasses everything I'd finished when I gave up on writing fanfiction. I feel that delivering it to you is as suitable an epilogue as any. Perhaps one day I'll squeeze some fanfiction out again. Till then, happy gaming!