I LIVEEEE! I LIVEEEE! BWAHAHAH! Ahem. Hey everyone! Sorry this chapter took so long, but I've got college hunting and school things and life things and A VIDEO GAME ADDICTION!

But I wont stop! I wont give up on this story! Now, if only BloodstainedHands would update Raincaller...

Review or I shall not update! Yarg!

Unless you desire to be bored by a fanatic's interests in such things as Opera, Broadway, and Ann Mcaffery, please do not read today's ending rant with too much vigor. :P

Awakening

During the Battle with the Scarlet Crusade

Furion went still, growing paler. Inwardly, his mind screamed, reaching desperately for the strands of life that had suddenly become so elusive. Death… death…

Blood spilled over the Bulwark, but, even as it did so, life blossomed. Strength poured out from an unending well, plant life bursting up from the ground. The strands of life reentered his grasp, and he began to shake again under the pleading murmurs of those around him. So close… So close… Elune and Cenarius protect him…

After the Battle with the Scarlet Crusade, Continuation from End of Last Chapter, At the Bulwark

Ketala gave a small cry, curling up and shielding her face, as if she could block out the world. A persistent nudge at her side roused her unwilling mind. Small snorts and nips brought her body back to awareness. A tiny mind tugged at hers, weak and helpless. She lifted out from her stupor, her mind slowly, painfully reaching out. Immediately, she was greeted by a single, worried presence, a tiny, childish mind. Thoughts of all she had lost tormented her, but her mind yearned for comfort. She reached out mentally, wrapping around the in the tiny mind and bringing it safely to her side. Her shuddering eased as she was nuzzled against, slowly lapsing into calm acceptance.

"There, you see?" proclaimed the lich. "It seems I know her best," he added, watching the paladin grimace. "Leave her be. And do not touch the ghoul. I will be looking around." Gydrion blinked and whirled, glaring at the lich.

"What makes you think you have the freedom to go where you please? You are a prisoner."

"Yes. And my jail keepers…" he gestured to all the undead that were watching him with fury, "shall ensure I remain such." Gydrion's eyes flared, and he moved to speak up. Zul'vii intercepted him, shaking her head, and the two watched as the lich floated off.

"Why did you let him go?" the priest asked when the lich had departed.

"You will win more with caution then with hatred. If anything, Kel'Thuzad will be more prone to find a way to betray us if he is left alone with nothing but mental games to occupy him. Under the watchful eyes of the camp, he can do very little. They know the rule of the Lich king better, and they know what to watch out for.

"Kel'Thuzad is one of the most powerful liches alive-… well… in existence! How do you know he will not use his magic?"

"Some of the spell casters and undead know Mana Burn. I'm sure they'd be happy to sap off him at every interval. Don't you worry- I'll keep tabs on him too." Gydrion eyed her a long moment, looking ready to argue. After a moment, he sighed, his shoulders drooping. "Don't let his words get to you. There is more to being a priest then pride." She smiled, patting him on the shoulder, and then headed off. The paladin grunted lightly, turning his head and looking at Ketala, whom was sleeping soundly, her eyes shut and a pained, though content, look on her face. Ketala would be safe. He took a step toward her, hesitant. Kel'Thuzad had warned not to bother her… But what did the lich know of mortal emotions? He stepped forward, smiling gently down at her, only to watch her convulse, her eyes opening and turning a blazing, angry red. She reached over, wrapping her arms protectively around the ghoul, and growled; a deep, low, primal sound in the back of her throat issuing forth. Gydrion froze, eyeing her.

"Ketala…"

"Not… Go away… Go away!" She wailed suddenly, her eyes turning gray as she nuzzled lovingly against the ghoul. "GO AWAYYY!" Hurt and rejected, Gydrion obeyed, going off to drown his sorrows in a mug of ale.

The Undercity

Varimathras had to say, he enjoyed watching Sylvanis torture someone else for once. His Queen was currently having a lovely time dismembering Anub'Arak, prodding his mind incessantly for information. She had no mercy for her enemies.

"Victory may be near," she said, looking down at the jumbled heap of torn carapace that was the Nerubian Lord. "Though I shall not have my full revenge on Kel'Thzuad, Arthas is weak. Now is the time to strike…"

"We cannot afford a strike, my La-" Apparently in the brutal spirit, Sylvanis sent a jaggedly barbed arrow into one of his arms, pinning his shoulder to his wing. He grunted, looking down. "… My Lady, Arthas is weak… But if we leave the Undercity now, we shall surely lose it to him, and he is calling his most powerful minions to his side. It is in… my most humble opinion… that we should satisfy ourselves with defeating the Scarlet Crusade and the Scourge in the western Plaguelands." She snorted.

"Your most humble opinion? Any opinion of yours is not humble." Another arrow, this one just to amuse herself, skit over the surface of his horn, digging a light groove into it.

"Arthas is weak, as you said. His control over the Plaguelands is loose. If we free the Plaguelands from him, he will have no connection with any graveyard or other site of corpses. He will have to return to Northrend, where the only deaths that could bolster his army come from the animals." She mused on this, slowly relaxing on her bow. "He will try and reinstate the plague. He is clever."

"He will have a harder time leaving Northrend to do so if we rip apart the Plaguelands." She nodded slowly. "And… we could free Quel'Thalas…" She went rigid, her eyes far away in time and space.

"Yes…" She snapped back to attention, coming up to him and playing with the head of the arrow that was through his wing and arm, as if contemplating whether to pull the arrow- barbed tip and all- through his arm, ripping out massive strips of flesh and muscle… or, to snap off the head of the arrow and pull it out without damaging her Majordomo. She decided on the second choice, sliding the arrow carefully out and licking the demon blood from it, grinning nastily at Varimathras. "Dismissed," she said, and he took it as his cue to get away from her as fast as possible. "Dreadlord?" He paused as she came up to him, holding back on his fear. He felt her presence behind him and- He stiffened in astonishment as she pinched his rear. "Unless you want me making comments about your ugly arse, please wear backs to your pants from now on."

"Yes, my lady," he said, never mentioning that he wore armor, not pants, and that his fur kept him from being indecent. He was not sure whether Sylvanis was in a good mood or a bad mood. If anything, she seemed to be in a silly mood, a combination of her former life and her place on the line between vengeance and insanity, but that meant nothing accept that she was almost unpredictable. She dismissed him, and he hurried off, quaking in relief. He immediately visited a tailor and had the back piece of a loincloth made for him to attach to his armor. It was never wise to irritate Sylvanis.

As he left, dark, sadistic laughter came from the side, and he tensed, looking over to see Blightcaller. The Dreadlord immediately spread his jaws a bit, showing fang, but this only made Nathanos laugh harder.

"You think you can challenge me?" he said, mimicking some of Varimathras's favorite words. "Let us remind, you, Varimathras. You are her Majordomo. You help her with strategy. I am her champion. I fight." The DreadLord's expression contorted. Nathanos grinned further, and pulled harder on the nerve he had touched. "I am more akin to her second then you are… You are but a council… a liability… and a play thing…" Varimathras did not bite the line. If he understood anything, it was the mortal mind, and all manipulations of it and administered by it.

"I see you are missing one of your hounds, Nathanos, and the other seems quite damaged. A pity that the greatest Ranger Lord cannot even protect his beloved pets." Blightcaller chuckled.

"I had an interruption," he said sweetly. "Your own little puppy decided to direct them against my enemies." A fiendish smile crossed Varimathras's lips as he savored this information, deciding on how to apply it to the worst injury for the Ranger Lord.

"Ah, yes, adorable bitch, that she is… Tell me, Nathanos, how was it that a mere paladin managed to undermine the Ranger Lord's control of his animals? Could it be that there is someone more in tune with them? That they like her better? Shame on you, Nathanos. You've lost your place as second to Sylvanis to a follower of the Silver Hand… whom believes killing is wrong." Nathanos's eyes flamed. "A Lovely little angel that she is… Shall she gain control over you next?"

"I would watch out for your own hide, Dreadlord. Your bitch is rabid, and strains on its leash. You must remember that she is the hunter and you are the prey, not vice versa. The angel shall overcome you. You cannot exist in a world of good." Varimathras did not dignify that with a comment, though it plagued him as he turned, continuing on his way.

Nathanos sneered as the Dreadlord passed, confiding in his private victory. Then he paused, suddenly unsteady. A deep, deep… wrong assailed him, so primitive and powerful that it overwhelmed him. Behind him, his dog yipped, pawing at itself and snarling, twitching and shaking. Deep wrong… deep… deep wrong… A long, low wail echoed through his mind, accompanied by a cacophony of shrieks. It was so far off, so distant and removed, yet it was so important, so vital that he clutched at his head in horror.

What was this? What was this… this state that had overwhelmed him? All turned to dead silence in his mind… and that silence was far more terrible then the keen shriek had been. There- he felt it… That horrible wretch… That horrible, horrible female… Ketala… He felt her mind numb, her body stiffen up and go still with shock. He felt her nerves paralyze, her eyes staring out at endless nothing- no will left in her to close them.

He laughed. After the initial shock and pain, he stood up straight, and he laughed. He laughed, and laughed, so horribly and completely that he half doubled over with the laughter, spitting dried mucus from his decayed lips and causing blood to flow lightly from rotten gums. And then he was sick- violently sick- all over the floor, and he cursed himself, and he held tightly to the wall beside him. He swore again and again, and he cursed himself, and he cursed that which had killed him, and he cursed Arthas, and, most of all, he cursed Ketala.

He cursed her in every way a person could be verbally cursed- with every vile world, and every pungent insult. He cursed her violently, shaking, and clutching his stomach- a stomach that had not moved or rebelled or properly digested for many years, but had suddenly now betrayed him. He cursed her, and he was sick again, because he had been stripped of his uncaring freedom and now had nothing but her to cling. She had broken him, forcing him into a mindset he had not asked for, and his mind and heart ached- against all his will- for the recovery of the angel that had so damned him.

(Hey! Sorry for the swearwords, but it was a perfect fit. Bitch means "female dog", and it refers to how Ketala is similar to a puppy, and like a pet or weapon.)

Continuation at the Bulwark

A day passed. Another day passed. And then, another day passed. Days passed. And Zul'vii stirred restlessly, unable to sleep. Why? Well, Zul'vii would insist it was because Illidan snored, and she'd become so used to the sound she couldn't sleep without the annoying noise in her ear. The truth was, however, that Illidan did not snore. The truth, however, was not far off.

Zul'vii missed the great, hulking, purple idiot. She sat up, looping her feet out of bed and clutching her rather broad shoulders. Zul'vii was not a proper female. Her breasts were unremarkable- small in fact. Her shoulders were rather broad, and she had a brutish look to her that had come directly from her Father's side. Despite Zul'jin's almost elfin grace and litheness, he was, after all, a troll. A great, barbaric, cannibalistic eight-and-a-half-foot monstrosity. Oh, true, his daughter was beautiful. She simply was not a proper female.

But enough of that subject. Zul'vi clutched her slightly broad shoulders, sighing to herself and lifting a hand to rub her head. At last, she lifted both hands to her temples and massaged them.

"It shouldn't have taken this long. He should be back."

To boot, Zul'vii not only missed her companion of quite some time, but she had legitimate reason to believe him dead. Still, one would think that she, the healer, would know if her patient had died… But, then, where was he? She was beginning to debate on whether or not to have Mahi teleport her to Northrend. If Illidan was hurt there, it would be shame upon her not to help him. And, what was worse, Mag was currently playing the "aloof" game, and refusing to tell her anything about what path she was supposed to walk down. She stood, pacing back and forward. Out of all the angels, she felt the most powerless. She could not contact Illidan mentally, or strengthen him, or know where he was at all times…

It was ironic that Zul'vii had the most direct power, and, arguably, the most powerful. Zul'vii could heal that which would take the lives from beneath the fingers of the other two angels. If Zul'vii had been there, she could have saved Jerod's life. But that was the problem- Zul'vii had not been there. She had not known Jerod was so close to Ketala, that he'd needed help, or even where he'd been in order for her to find and help him. What good was a healer with no access to a patient? Zul'vii stood for a long time, looking miserably out north from the entrance of her tent. She wove back and forward on the balls of her feet, feeling all the more a failure. What good was she, she who had the power to save all but no knowledge of whom was in need of saving?

One of her best friends could be wounded or dying right now, and she had no way of knowing or reaching him. Alas, Zul'vii should not have been so distressed. She was a powerful creature, with an unbreakable spirit and an iron determination. Alas, she was exhausted, irrational, and agonized with all the healing she had been doing.

Had Zul'vii been entirely rational, she'd already be in Icecrown, demanding Illidan's whereabouts from Arthas. So, perhaps, it was better that this time she was too weak to follow.

The half troll sighed, lowering her head, tears of frustration forming in the corners of her eyes. She reached down, absently picking up a tomahawk. She hefted the small axe for a moment, and then sent it out of her tent and into a nearby tree, embedding it in the wood. A second small axe followed, embedding the handle of the first into the tree. She repeated this procedure until she was out of axes. Still frustrated, she laid down, pulling her blanket up to her cheek, her eyes never closing for a moment. From his little nest of damp leaves beside her bed, Zenn Foulhoof stared over at the Troll. After a moment, he jumped onto her hair and she giggled, lifting up a piece of meat and feeding to it. The poor toad. He was almost entirely of toad mentality, now. His old Satyr personality only came out when necessary. She really ought to find some way to turn him back to normal- but, then again, it was always nice to have a loyal pet.

Zul'vii did not sleep that night. With Zenn safely asleep in his little makeshift nest, she stared out silently at the darkness of her tent, her cheeks cold from a few tears that had dripped down. Her heart convulsed with delight as she heard the soft pat of hooves on the ground. Her stomach turned unhappily as she recognized Satyr voices- those of her comrades that had accompanied her from her tribe. They spoke to each other in hushed but grating voices, and then they departed, leaving the poor, distressed troll alone and unhappy.

In the morning, Jaina sent her back to Kalimdor with the last of the troops. Her healing of the animals was complete, and everyone insisted that she needed a rest. Not once did Zul'vii happen upon MahiMahi or Keever that morning, and not once was she given the chance to protest the direction the teleport took. Zul'vii's trip to Northrend was not to be. The moment she was shown to a room in the Moonglade, courtesy of the neutral Cenarian Circle and of Tyrande herself, Zul'vii collapsed to her bed and slept.

Zul'vii stirred in the morning and smiled, hearing her parents greet her from within her mind.

You do know that you shouldn't tax yourself so much, her mother cautioned sternly.

Oh, leave her alone, elf.

Well, she at least shouldn't go to Northrend.

What? And miss the adventure of a lifetime? What kind of child are you raising here?

A pause, in which Myev must have glared severely at Zul'jin.

Sigh… Yes, I know you're right. She can't go. Sorry, Zul'vii. There, you can stop glaring at me now, Elf.

"I must go. He's my friend."

If he can't take care of himself, what makes you think that you, wounded as you are, could do any better?

"Are we forgetting who had to save him in Northrend last time?"

… She has good arguments.

You are such a pushover, Troll. Zul'vii lifted her head, looking around. Her ears pricked up lightly as she heard the commotion below, and she located her pack, dressed, and headed downstairs to see people rushing around, all with worried expression's on their faces. The troll cocked her head to the side, asking around, but everyone she asked was too busy and seemed to want to avoid the subject with an outsider. Thus, the half troll took it upon herself to climb to the top of a building to get the general gist of which direction everyone was heading. After some calculations and observations, Zul'vii came to the conclusion that everyone was rushing everywhere, and that she was no closer to finding out what was going on. Thus, she decided to take a stroll. The majority of Moonglade was pure and pristine. Thus, the majority of Moonglade could not be the cause for concern. After deciding that no trouble was within the city walls, Zul'vii headed to the only other location in this beautiful land with building- the Stormrage Barrow Dens. After inquiring the name of this place, Zul'vii took to some serious thinking and came up with a sudden, quite likely answer.

This place was called "The Stormrage Barrow Dens". The Barrow Dens were where druids slept in the Emerald dream. As these were called "The Stormrage Barrow Dens" and Illidan was not a druid, these Barrow Dens must house, along with other druids, Malfurion Stormrage himself. The only thing that could have an entire race in such an uproar AND send Tyrande home early… was Malfurion. Something was happening with the Archdruid.

Zul'vii recalled, also, that Tyrande's beloved, the Archdruid Malfurion Stormrage, had been lost in the Emerald Dream for quite some time. Therefore, the only possible thing that could have people in such an uproar would be if he had been found, or if he was trying to reestablish contact with his body. Since everyone was in such a state of worry (Not panic) it meant that things were not going right, but had not been going right or wrong for quite some time.

Thus was how Zul'vii realized that Furion needed help, and was unable to rouse himself on his own. He was trapped in limbo between the dreaming and waking worlds.

Again, she was reminded of how useless she was. If Ketala were here, the half elemental would have been able to pull Furion's mind back to his body. If Mahi were here, she would have been able to strengthen the ties between the druid and his body. What could Zul'vii do? Nothing. She sighed, beginning to explore the dens to ease her boredom and loneliness. It had surprised her when the druids that guarded the entrance let her pass without a second glance, but it astounded her beyond measure to hear voices inside one of the dens.

Zul'vii was a rogue. Like Illidan and her father before her, she was a fighter of grace and dexterity, not brawn. But rogues also had one talent that normal beings did not… Blending into the shadows, the Angel of Healing crept forward. The guards, distracted by the events within the room, did not pay enough attention to notice the subtle signs of a stealthed rogue, and, thus, Zul'vii the half-troll found herself gazing down at Tyrande. The woman was seated at the side of what appeared to be a corpse, it was so pale and atrophied. The Great Malfurion Stormrage would waste away to nothing if this continued.

Pity welled up in Zul'vii's heart. As the instincts of the rogue faded, and the instincts of the healer took over, she faded out of stealth, much to the astonishment of the elves in the vicinity. White light crackled around her feet and fingers. The Troll reached out, past the hands that sought to restrain her, and she touched the pale forearm of the suffering druid. Her aura, a facet of her power that Zul'vii knew nothing about, slipped deep into Furion. Her fiery gift of Life swept deep into the core of the druid, and blazed out like a beacon to the spiritual world. Malfurion needed no further urging, and he seized upon this spout of Life, at last finding his way back to his body… Instants after Zul'vii's fingertips touched the arm of the Archdruid, Malfurion convulsed in agony, his eyes opening and blazing dimly with pain.

"Furion!" "Malfurion!"

"Shan'do!"

He shuddered weakly, drinking down the broth that was pushed to his lips, a wild and confused look to his eyes. His gaze shifted to Tyrande and… and he smiled… He smiled, before drifting back into true, untainted sleep. At last, The Archdruid was allowed to rest. Zul'vii followed. Her power had been leeched out through her aura, and she had no more left to give- even to her own body. She crumbled into the arms of those who once thought to restrain her, and she fainted immediately.

The Bulwark

Kel'Thuzad did not respond to the black, barbed arrow currently protruding from his breast bone. He knew the identity of his assailant, and he was currently on her turf. "Perhaps my judgment was ill when I promised Ketala authority over your fate," came Sylvanis's voice from behind. He sighed, lifting his head and peering at the Banshee over one of his tusks. "I did not expect her to allow you to wander around freely." No response. "You are strangely quiet, lich. I have never known your nonexistent tongue to still before."

"Speech is irrelevant if it cannot influence the outcome to a positive light." She smiled darkly. "I am a prisoner here. The undead ensure that I can do nothing. My mana reserves are entirely emptied."

"You do not seem a prisoner to me."

"You would not know. You take victims, milady, not prisoners," he said wryly. He was rewarded with another arrow sailing at him, but he never received it. An abomination lumbered into the path of the arrow, taking the bolt harmlessly in the gut. It looked down at Sylvanis, ghouls swarming around its feet and another Abomination lumbering up behind Kel'Thuzad.

"Ketala says…" the front Abomination began, "we say… You gave permission to us to decide what to do with Kel'Thuzad, and we have decided. He is no longer your concern," the abomination bellowed out with more strength, despite the grim hatred wrinkling Sylvanis's ivory face. "Think the fate poetically ironic, we say. Kel'Thuzad is doomed to spend the rest of his days smothered by an overenthusiastic child, with no access to the power he betrayed all life to pursue."

"Ketala implied she would slay the lich. She twisted her words to convince me to allow her stewardship over his fate."

"Ketala does not do this to spite you, we tell you," the abomination said, eyeing the banshee. "Varimathras is dangerous, yet you keep him under your thumb. Varimathras is dangerous, yet you keep him around for what you get out of it." Sylvanis stiffened, peering at the abomination. For the first time, she understood that Ketala was directly behind these words. 'For what Sylvanis got out of it?' Ketala, on the surface, meant the advice and strategy Varimathras supplied. But Sylvanis was left wondering if Ketala had had a deeper meaning… If she knew the comfort Sylvanis sometimes yearned for…

Impossible. How could she know such a thing? Still-.

"Ketala gets similar value out of keeping the lich alive." Sylvanis's eyes narrowed, her suspicions confirmed. Ketala knew, and Ketala got sentimental value from keeping Kel'Thuzad alive. Was that a threat of some sort? A threat to do what? "We ask you understand this, and leave Kel'Thuzad's fate to her decision." The Banshee glowered, turning her gaze to eye Kel'Thuzad dangerously. Then, without another word, she turned and strode off. Kel'Thuzad smirked, watching her go. He turned, gliding from between the two Abominations and returning to Ketala's makeshift tent. He hovered up to the side of the cot, looking down at her, and nodded lightly upon seeing her sleeping regularly. He was carefully not to come too close, or to touch the ghoul that was nestled tightly in her arms. All went as planned.

He merely need remain stalwart against Ketala's aura long enough for her to trust him… He could, in theory, kill her now. However, that would result in her minions pouring down upon him, and there were enough healers here to bring her corpse back to functioning. Killing Ketala now would not be the end of it. He needed to wait… To wait until they were alone, and until she trusted him enough to allow him to use his magic again.

He could wait. He could be patient. If only he did not risk her mind wearing into his and breaking his convictions down from within…

ThunderBluff

Cairne smiled as the unicorn bleated for milk. He stood, coming over to the side of the cot. He plucked the jar of milk from the table on the way, pushing some cloth into the neck of the bottle. He tilted it over, letting the milk saturate the cloth, and pushed it to the unicorn. Immediately, the equine being took the bunch of cloth in its mouth, nursing contently. A massive, shaggy hand pet the small creature's neck and back, mussing its hair. After a bit, the unicorn released the bottle and laid its long head on Cairne's forearm, rubbing it against the tauran's coarse fur. Smitten from the first, the tauran chuckled, picking up the small creature in his arms and setting it gently down on the ground. It bleated lightly, scrambling to its feet, and then it looked around indignantly. He smiled, crouching and patting its horn and nose gently. The unicorn jumped around a bit, making small curious noises. Then it reared up and set its hooves on his shoulder, and he laughed.

"So, you want to play, do you? These old bones are a bit worn for such games." The unicorn snorted, and then backed up, rearing up and kicking its front legs out happily, prancing around him and repeating this procedure. He laughed, shaking his massive head back and forward "Ah… why don't I take you out to play with the other children?" The unicorn whinnied lightly, rearing up one last time… and Cairne blinked, watching the unicorn shift shape into a humanoid version of itself. He tilted his head to the side, looking at what could pass for a half-tauran. He knew the little thing was female, but it was so lovely it would probably be incapable to tell if it were male from its face. Its legs were recurved and coated with soft white-silver fur. A mane of similar white-silver hair pooled down from the top of its head. Its skin was smooth and white where it did not have fur. The single horn protruded from a very human or elfin face, with slender, elegant features and huge, happy green eyes. Behind it whipped a white, lion-like tail.

"Sweet child. You are like an idol of peace. Your face is like an elf's, yet you stand like one of my kind. Our peoples are not that different. We closely worship nature… and are similar in so many other ways. We should not war…" The girl smiled happily, putting her arms around his massive neck. They did not meet in the back, but he smiled, giving her a large yet gentle hug. He stood, picking her up in his arms. Striding out of his hut, he surprised the guards that normally stood at the entrance to his abode. They scrambled after him as he walked through his peaceful town, drawing little bows of respect and waves of delight from the citizens of ThunderBluff. The little girl looked at everything in wonder over one of Cairne Bloodhoof's massive three fingers. He carried the small child all the way to the tanner's hut, and he had the leatherworkers and tailors there make her a little play dress. With this done, he lead the little child out into the city. Only a few minutes later, she was engaged in games far too strenuous and active for the great Tauran to follow. He simply stood there, and he smiled, and he watched the little girl run around in spirited play.

ThunderBluff was a place of healing, peace, and attunement with the earth, much like Moonglade. Why? It was just too damn hard to invade. Endless stretches of grass around the towering peaks of Thunderbluff allowed bowmen to pick off enemies from a distance. The sturdiness of the rocky peaks, and the wards placed around them, ensured that the powerful structures of nature would never collapse, no matter what strain enemies might place upon them. The only ways up to the top were A: Flight, which could be easily spotted and shot down from far away, B: Scaling the earth, which was relatively impossible, and could be stopped by dropping heavy objects onto the climbers from the top of the cliffs, and C: by using the elevators, which could only carry so many people and could be cut to drop the enemy to its doom.

In short, the Tauran's only natural enemy, the centaur, stood no chance of disturbing ThunderBluff, and, thus, the city was a city of immeasurable peace…

Moonglade

Zul'vii stirred groggily into the waking world. She shifted, yawned, and blinked back sleep from her eyes. She was nestled safely within a bed of feather-filled pillows and blankets, and she smiled contently from her warm position. More warmth… a warm liquid… She blinked, lifting a hand to see it coated in hot magenta blood. Her eyes widened and she looked around to see the blankets and pillows coated in the purple blood. She turned her head to see a window- warm and surrounded by the violet and green leaves of the elfin homeland… But… outside it… A massive peak soared into the air, alive with ice and gore and death. So close… A cold… dark laughter pierced the warmth of her room, chilling her to the bone. On instinct, she turned her head around… And came face to face with the mutilated corpse of Illidan Stormrage, spewing gore and brain unto the pillows next to her.

Zul'vii screamed out as she was shaken awake. Her piercing screams seemed to still wander around the darkness of the room she was in, echoed softly by the shadows. "Wake up! Wake up, you're dreaming!" her eyes flew open, and she gasped, shuddering and sobbing. It was not so much the content of the dream that terrified her, but the aura… The fright caused by dreams is normally from the aura that the dream radiates…

And this one had shaken her, leaving everything inside her as cold as ice. She whimpered, sobbing incoherently as cold arms gathered her up, and her cheek was pressed against tight muscle radiating warmth from within. A heartbeat thumped powerfully against her cheek, and she calmed as her face was wiped with a warm, wet cloth, wiping away the tears and snot that had leaked out in her terrified delirium.

"It's alright… it was just a dream…"

"It wasn't- it wasn't! I've gotta go to Northrend but I'm so tired! I've been healing for forever, and I kept trying to find Mahi to send me there, but everyone wants me to rest and they sent me here instead, but I have to get to Northrend! But everyone's so worried and upset, no one will help me!" and she broke down crying again, so hurt and helpless as she was, half asleep, exhausted, and not quite sure she was actually awake. A hand- much bigger then her own, a rare thing- cupped her fingers and gently brought them up to touch soft, thick hair… and, beneath that hair, a rigid stub. Her mind turned to this new problem, working furiously to determine what on earth that stub was and why she had been confronted with it. "Wh-…?" she murmured, calming down and trying to determine what was going on. She slowly lifted her other hand, touching hair and another stub. Two… two damaged horns? Her eyes widened into the darkness of the room, and she lowered her hand to the demonhunter bandana around the eyes of the person who held her. She shuddered, and then relaxed, all her anxieties and loneliness laid to rest. Her best friend, her companion of so long, had been returned. All was right with the world. The bickering, the arguing, the fighting could return. All was right with the world.

A Short Time Ago, Stormrage Barrow Dens

Dutiful to the last, Jaina had asked Tyrande to let her know when Malfurion had recovered. Thus it was that that the Human was present as soon as word could be delivered to Theramore by owl. Thus, Jaina was there when the demonic portal opened up in the middle of the Barrow Dens. In fact, Jaina was standing quite near to where the portal opened up, and she jumped upon seeing it. Immediately, her water elemental burst from the ground, and her staff was at ready. The guards from the surrounding dens rushed forward, but not before Illidan Stormrage stumbled through the portal, giving a wave of his hand to close it. He was a second too late, and a felhound bounded in after him. Known for their terrifying power against spellcasters, the mere presence of a felhound made Jaina jump backwards in alarm, preparing a powerful ice spell in her mind. She need not have bothered. Illidan had, long ago, learned how to deal with felhounds. He grabbed the beasts tentacles with a sweep of his hand. The other hand dug one of his massive demonhunter blades- the blades of Azzinoth- into the side of the beast. He dropped the carcass, turning his head with a snap to look at Jaina.

"Where is she?" he hissed out dangerously.

"Why were you in Outland?" she returned. His eyes flamed, and he looked about ready to throw one of his blades after her. However, he calmed his temper to answer.

"I do not have the power to teleport to any location I desire. My portals deal with extraplanar travel. I can teleport to Outland from anywhere, and teleport from Outland to any particular spot I know well. This spot was well known to me, even before my exile, because it borders Mount Hyjal and was part of the original continent before the destruction of the first Well of Eternity. I learned only later on that Furion had made the Barrow Dens here, but it did not matter. My memory of this place was strong enough to construct a proper portal. Now, if you are done quizzing me, I was told that you had brought Zul'vii here. WHERE IS SHE?"

Deciding not to further anger the demonhunter, Jaina pointed toward Nighthaven.

"In that direction- there is a town here in Moonglade called Nighthaven. She is in the inn, in the bottom, eastern-most room. She barely got a chance to finish before the massive wings lifted him into the air and sent him pounding toward Nighthaven.

Jaina just shook her head, assured the Barrow Den guards that Illidan would do no harm, and went immediately to Furion's spot in the dens. She found, as she had intended to find, Tyrande at his side.

"High Priestess?" Immediately, Tyrande looked up at Jaina and smiled.

"He is well… I can hardly believe it-"

"That is why I came, Tyrande. But I have other news- Illidan just arrived." Tyrande blinked, her brows creasing.

"Illidan? Why would he return here? Surely it is not because Furion is recovering?"

"No, I doubt he has any idea Furion is well. He asked for where 'she' was. Judging by his proximity to Zul'vii, I pointed him in the direction of the half troll." Tyrande was silent a moment, a thoughtful look to her features.

"That should be alright. I doubt Illidan would harm Zul'vii… Although…" she looked directly at Jaina, concerned. "Did he seem himself? Oh, how could we expect you to know him? I must search him out now." Reluctantly, she released Furion, moving to stand up.

"He was bitter, sarcastic, and felt like I was a lowly insect annoying him." Tyrande paused.

"… He seemed normal…" she reflected. Jaina Proudmoore chuckled.

"That he did."

"What about the wound in his chest?"

"He seemed… weakened, but I did not pay attention to Frostmourne's mark." Tyrande nodded, leaning back to the side of Furion's bed.

Aroundten minutes later, several distressed druids confirmed Jaina's report. They had come from Nighthaven, where they had been forcefully evicted from caring for Zul'vii. She'd been delirious, talking in her sleep and shaking, and Illidan had stalked in, cursed them for being ignorant, and threw them out (one of them literally).Though she inwardly worried, Tyrande reassured all of them, and prayed that Furion's brother knew what he was doing.

I love you all! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! And don't worry, with luck we will have action again, and this fic wont dissolve into cliche unflavored romantic mush! Not that romantic mush isn't good sometimes, but we can only have so much!

I just wanted a scene with someone reduced to a shadow of their former selves by worry and exhaustion and frustration. People are different people when they're tired and unhappy O.o. And Illidan needed one White Knight moment. He's an antihero (Definition: Protagonist of a Story without any heroic qualities), but for goodness sake, he needs a break from gloomy hate sometimes. Oh, dont worry. He has reasons for being nice, he's not that good :P Illidan's not very good at being unselfishly good after all.

We shall conclude with today's uninteresting rant:

This message has been certified by the United Sugar Companies of America (USCoA) UBER HAPPY FACE: )

And this chapter was written whilst under the effect of Opera! Not Opra, Opera! YES! OPERA! BWAHAHAHAH! FEAR ME!

Does anyone know why Phantom of the Opera only has one minorly operetic peice in it? It should be changed to Phantom of the Broadway. I like Broadway. Masquerade! Paper Faces on Parade! Masquerade! Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination! Silently the sences abandon their defenses... I am your angel of music... Come to me angel of music... You were once my one companion... You were all that mattered... This tattered face holds no horror for me now... It is the soul in which the true distortion lies... Angel of Music you decieved me.. How young and innocent we were! She may not remember me, but I remember her!

Anyone seen "The Wicked"? Man, that has good music. Or "Les Miserables"?

Ann Mcaffery is my idol! So what, she doesn't allow fanfiction. I was going to write a fanfiction, but then I read ALL of her books and found that she adressed and wrote out every situation I was going to write the fanfic on! Curse her! I think she's me in disguise! Like the director who made Aliens Vs. Predator and the second Resident Evil movie!

Airline food! What's up with that?

Sorry, I was bored and wanted to rant. Ooh! Maybe my rant will give you something to review about if you didn't normally want to review:Crosses fingers:

Please Review! Yarg!