Hey Guys! Whoa, that was a massive, massive downtime! Oh well, I do have presents for you in respect for Valentines day! In art, I'm doing a concentration (a sequence of art all featuring the same subject) My subject? Ketala and Nathanos! I'm drawing a bunch of action pics and such. The one I'm working on right now is very nice. When I eventually finish, I'll put them online so you guys can see them. Right now, I'm also working on a small comic about our three angels and valentines day. I hope I'll be able to update and get these comics to you soon, but who knows? I'm a lazy bum. But I promise I wont give up! As long as there are people out there reading, I SHALL UPDATE!
(eventually)
:Blink:
:Falls down on knees and begs fans for forgiveness: PLEASE FORGIVE ME! IM SO SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING! IM A BADDDD PERSONNNN:Sniffle:
I love you all! Please review!
Family
Outland
(Right after the attack on Northrend (Past))
Zul'vii had not been surprised to see Illidan at the Frozen Throne. She had not been surprised when he had rushed in to Ice Crown to defend her. However, she had been shocked. While a part of her mind rationally knew Illidan would follow her, she had never truly accepted the fact that he would be there. In fact, none ofher grouphad been behaving very rationally. The attack on Icecrownhad been a blunder. The whole movement across Northrend had seemed wrong and overly lucky. Too fast. They had prepared endlessly, yet had met no real resistance. Still, a constant pull had yanked them forward. Because of it, they had lost Sylvanis to the Lich King. Zul'vii had not been surprised that Arthas had been prepared to handle them, and she was not surprised to have seen Illidan, but both events had shocked her.
Once they had escaped through the portal after the fight with Arthas, Nathanos dragging Ketala through behind them, Illidan had shut the portal and collapsed into unconscious. This had left them stranded in a certain location- a location Zul'vii's parents knew well, and hated above all others.
"Outland?" came her father's moan, and the mental image of him slapping a hand to his forehead. "I had hoped never to see this foul place ever again!" Zul'vii smiled in return to Zul'jin's quote, and shook her head.
"Well, technically, you aren't seeing anything; I am."
"This is where we were trapped," Myev, her mother, put in after a moment. "We died because of this place."
"You became life partners here, and you had me here." The two were quiet for a bit as Zul'vii quickly checked Illidan's pulse. He was fine, if cold. She then turned to Nathanos, moving swiftly over to him and kneeling by Ketala. Unlike Illidan, Ketala had no pulse, and the temperature of her body was normally almost as cold as the environment around it. However, after locating the wound in Ketala's chest, and noting that the wounded tissue was glowing warm, yellow gold, the half- troll sighed in relief. There could be no doubt that Ketala still lived. The angel of healing placed her hand over the gold, releasing her healing energy into it. White light mixed with gold, shining brilliantly as skin and muscle crept up to cover it, and the wound healed.
Satisfied that Ketala would be alright, Zul'vii looked up at Nathanos. The necromantic magics had twisted his face, turning his maws into a thick vice of fangs, and his fingers had lengthened and become more pointed. However, his wounds were all sealing due to undead regeneration, and so Zul'vii could presume he would be alright. A quick look around told Zul'vii that Keever and Mahi had also managed to follow them, though Zul'vii had no idea if they had gone through the portal, or if Mahi had teleported after them. MahiMahi was currently cradling her champion in her arms, and the mild electrocution hadn't seemed to have any lasting effects on poor Keever. Sighing in relief, Zul'vii turned and scrambled back over to Illidan. She took a lingering look around, just to make sure everything was alright.
Nathanos was just standing silently near Ketala. The intelligence had returned to his eyes, and he gazed down at Ketala without making a noise, his hands clenched tightly. For a moment, the Angel of Healing paused to regard him, and wondered what good Ketala could possibly see in him. Then she turned back to Illidan and sighed, gazing down at the wound in his chest. Frostmourne's mark had accentuated, and was now a thick, mottled blue stripe in Illidan's lavender skin. It must have taken everything in the poor demonhunter to open that portal. She sighed and shook her head at her mammoth demonic friend, before crawling up onto one of his wings and laying her hands over the wound in his chest.
"You shouldn't have come. You should have stayed behind," was all she said, and she laid her cream green cheek upon her arms, and dozed off, rocked to sleep by the rising and falling of his chest as he breathed. She stirred, later on, by the feeling of his arms draping weakly around her, but the comforting embrace just lulled her back into slumber. Illidan, on the other hand, just gazed at her blindly, reassured by the streaking, white radiance that filled his vision.
She was dreaming. He could see the ghosts of images spinning around in her head, and he could see the two lights that he had come to assossiate with her parents. They were twining with the dream just as she was- they were all sharing the same dream; they were all sharing a dream made of collected memories. Judging by the darkness of the whirling shapes, it was not a plesant dream.
He was not wrong. Zul'vii dreamed of a place of endless fire and yet endless darkness. She dreamt of her parents, huddled protectivly around her. She dreamt of their blood, running down in the space where their bodies met. She dreamt- or rather remembered- their blood splattering down on her face. The hot, irony smell of blood. A wift of sulfur. Cruel, cruel, harsh voices...
Zul'vii remembered her father kissing her tenderly on the forehead. She remembered her mother wrapping her wings protectivly around her, to ward off the monsterous voices. The elf angel- Myev- her mother... The Elf angel spoke words softly, tenderly...
And then, suddenly, her parents were gone. For a moment, she felt the sensation of being hurled across time and space, like a teleport spell from a place no teleport was ever made for. And then she was suddenly in the arms of a startled island troll. Zul'vii had looked up and beheld the face of her cousin for the first time, and Vol'jin stared back down at her in surprize.
The nature of the Twisting Nether is very chaotic. Due to this, a teleportation from it, without a proper portal, can result in any one of many various things. First of all, if the person is a being of extreme power (like a demon, or angel (which Zul'vii was) the most common occurance when teleporting out of the Twisting Nether is be violently repulsed by the barriers of the Nether. Another common happening is for a person to be ripped apart and strewn across time and space. Very, very rarely, a person can teleport properly intoa world, but it is impossible to know where or in what time that person will pop up. Generally, it is someplace unplesant. Examples of these unplesant places can be into a brick wall (which results in death), underwater, or midair hurtling down into a volcano.
Somehow, Zul'vii had not only successfully teleported from the Twisting Nether, but she had ended up in the exact right place (her cousin's arms) at the exact right time (early enough that she could grow up to save Illidan).
The half troll's parents couldnot provide a detailed explanation for why the teleportation had met with such perfect results. The only thing that was certain was that no one could have attributed the teleportation to pure coincidence. This meant that somone, somehow, had saved her and brought her to that precise location.
Icecrown
(Present, after Arthas surprizes Ketala in the forest)
The Lich King stumbled into the sanctuary of his throne room. Yes, stumbled. Unlike Ketala, he had not remained conscious due to adrenaline, but instead due to pure force of unyielding will. However, such will came at the price of neglected attention to other parts of the body, and so while the Lich King remained conscious, he, in fact, stumbled. It was a small thing, a light misplacement of a foot that caused a hair's breath of a lurch, but it was weakness all the same. The DreadLord awaited its newest master, bowing low as Arthas returned…
But the perceptive demon noticed the slight stumble. The slight crack in the Lich King's perfect control. He knew immediately that his new Master's 'meeting' with Ketala had not went well, and so he wisely refrained from asking about it. The Lich King ignored him, his gait smoothing out into the dark, haughty step of a being of great power. He reached his throne and remained there, sitting, silent and in deep contemplation. Again, The Dreadlord wisely did not rise from its subservient bow.
The Lich King was no fool. He knew full well that things were not going well in the ranks of his enemy. The Crusade and Forsaken were fighting. More often then not, they would reach a battlefield only to turn on one another. It was one of his enemy's weaknesses. The fleets of Theramore were humbled- but not content -under the direction of one long-dead Admiral Daelin Proudmoore. Sylvanis was currently a prisoner of war. Ketala Truae was wounded and currently hallucinating due to a piece of he, the Lich King, that remained in her mind. Jaina was rescued. The Orcs and Humans were cooperating, but only begrudgingly. Ah yes, that was the key.
The lack of Humans forces from Stormwind made the orcish horde the strongest faction of the Lich King's enemies. If only somehow they could be sent home, the rest of the forces left in Northrend would collapse into squabbling. But what? If the Horde had stayed resolutely beside its human allies, even after the rescue of the human leader, then it would take some hefty Ace of the Lich King's to turn the orcs back.
Fortunately, Ner'zhul had once been an orc.
Varimathras, the Lich King's mind thundered.
"I am yours to command, my lord," was the Dreadlords's reply. The Lich King's cold, cyan, warped eyes settled on the demon, and Frostmourne twitched. The soul of a banshee screamed its way out from the depths of the blade and was hurled across the room towards the demon. The banshee remains of the elfish woman skidded and rolled on the ground, and finally ended up a moaning, screaming, cursing mass at Varimathras's hoofed feet.
In the morning, you will deliver a message to the Orcish Horde. You are to arrive by daylight with a peace flag raised. The demon almost protested, but caught himself before he opened his mouth. After a moment, he said,
"Of course, my lord."
For now, however, he had been given a plaything. The banshee that lay before the kneeling demon, so close and so helplessly furious, was the Dreadlord's to toy with. As Varimathras gazed down at Sylvanis, watching her struggle to push herself up, the demon was filled with a deep sense of satisfaction. He had waited a long time to repay a few debts to Sylvanis. In the matter concerning the shortening of one of his horns, Varimathras wondered if Sylvanis would accept the shortening of one of her ears as payment.
The Lich King, however, twirled the Doomhammer effortlessly between his fingers. As always, he had a plan. His will stretched out to his minions, and his minions obeyed. The undead lord barely took notice of Varimathras's skill in torture. As Sylvanis screamed in agony, the Lich King merely took mental note of how eliciting her pain-filled cries bred a deep sense of satisfaction and self-importance in the Dreadlord. Varimathras was turning out to be an easily controllable pawn. His needs were simply and easy to satisfy. Varimathras wanted only two basic things in life: to survive, and to cause others pain.
For the sake of irony, it may be amusing to note that those two basic needs applied to one other character in this tale: Nathanos Blightcaller.
As the Lich King waited, directing his minions with cunning precision, he refrained from watching the golden, blazing figure at the edge of his vision. It was seldom outright in front of him. If he turned his eyes to look at it, it would vanish. It was always there, in the corners of his vision, watching him. In some way, that made it all the more effective. It stood there, a silent witness to sin and death. It did not speak- it did not have to. It was merely there, watching him, golden eyes whirling, disturbing the cold and dead peace of the icy throne room. It stood and bore witness to Varimathras's torment of Sylvanis Whisperwind's ghost, and it bore witness to every thought that passed through the Lich King's mind.
Outland
(Back to the Past again)
MahiMahi held Keever tightly, watching Zul'vii curl up against Illidan, her healing energy seeping into him. The half-troll had shaken off the lightning bolt Thrall had shot at her very quickly, but Keever was still suffering its effects. Only his enchanted armor had prevented the blast from killing him. Still, the orc Warchief had done right. Keever was alright… And Zul'vii, and Illidan, and Jaina, and Nathanos… Even Ketala was alright
But not Sylvanis… And now the question remained: what were they to do now? Did they have the time and resources to continue the assault on Northrend? Did they have the strength? Or would this entire alliance crumble? It was unlikely it would hold together much longer. It had been too hasty, and too erratically assembled. Without Sylvanis to hold the Forsaken in check, there would be more conflict between the undead and the Scarlet Crusade…
And how was Thrall to keep the support of his people in this war? Jaina was safe, and the orcish people suffered while the army was away.
No, surmised Mahi, they would not be able to remain in Northrend. The war effort would crumble, one way or another. Arthas had escaped death once again. And what good had come out of it? It had strengthened the bonds between Theramore and Orgrimmar… It had weakened the Scourge… But the other factions had gained nothing. The Forsaken had lost all semblance of leadership, and both they and the Scarlet Crusade would feel betrayed once the war effort crumbled. Had this assault on Northrend served no other purpose then to save Jaina Proudmoore and to cause further conflict in Tristfall and the Plaguelands?
Mahi shifted a hand, gently pulling the helmet from Keever's face, and she lowered her face to his, tenderly kissing his temple. He shifted lightly, his one good eye gaining focus and turning towards her, indicating he had shifted back into consciousness. Mahi smiled, nuzzling her cheek gently against the undead's, folding her wings carefully around him. He was still a moment, mustering the energy to move, and then he jerked lightly, lifting his head lightly. Though he, as always, had no lower jaw to properly kiss her with, he touched his upper lip tenderly to her cheek, and held his head up for a bit.
"Mahi…" he murmured. She cupped one hand under his head, holding it up, and turned her lips to his. "Keever… loves you…" he said weakly, trembling under the kiss.
MahiMahi, Hyjuori by name, thought nothing more of Hordes, Alliances, or Crusades. All thoughts of war or peace whirled into nothing, all light and darkness melted, and all thought and feeling pointed out one final and unchanging notion- her Champion- her Companion- loved her. For the moment, that was good enough. That was all that really mattered; all that had ever really mattered.
Northrend
(Back to the Present again)
As the Lich King surmised, things were not going well in the ranks of his enemies. The Forsaken, without Varimathras or Sylvanis to lead them, were vastly disorganized and unsupervised. While their military tactics never faltered, more daggers began to appear in the backs of humans. Despite their lack of any leadership whatsoever, they were certainly not going to fall back on Apothecary Lydon for leadership. He wasn't even sane by undead standards.
So, naturally, the task of ruling the Forsaken fell to Sylvanis's Champion, one of the highest members of undead hierarchy: Nathanos Blightcaller.
Peace was doomed.
Fortunately, he did not know of his sudden elevation in position yet. Instead, he was standing close behind Ketala Truae as she spoke with the leader of the Crusade band that had so generously picked her up and brought her back to his base unharmed. The Scarlet Crusader told her that he had brought her back when he had seen her react to the curse by channeling holy light through herself, as if attempting to purify or purge herself. The fact that the energy did nothing to harm Ketala only added to the image. Ketala was just about to ask why he had also spared Nathanos when she noticed the guards behind the leader glaring with full hatred not at her, but instead behind her. She blinked and then twirled around and cuffed Nathanos over the head.
"Stop that!" she insisted as he grunted and chuckled. "Could you please save your evil glares of sadism for another day, and a less friendly group of Scarlet Crusaders?"
"I figured that I should waste them on the friendly ones, as only unfriendly groups would attack me when glared at. If I saved all my glares for unfriendly crusaders, why, I'd incur infighting," he said innocuously. Ketala stared at him a long moment. Then she shrugged and turned back to the leader.
"I'm rather sure that when I first encountered you, I added to the list of Blightcaller's injuries the malady of being idiotic." A small, small smile twitched at the corner of the Crusader's mouth. "I don't know why you spared him, and I suppose it is not necessary that I know. However, I am unendingly grateful. Blightcaller is my closest friend and I apologize for him. Death isn't a very pleasant thing, especially when you wake up again after you've died. He copes by being the way he is."
The Scarlet Crusader had that noble and upright bearing that all paladins should possess. In fact, he was a perfect stereotypical model for all paladins to follow. He was around six feet in height, give or take an inch or so. His face was well-built; neither chiseled and hard, or slender and elfish. Instead it was kindly and merciful, but honorable and proud. A human face- the face of a knight. He did not have stereotypically blond hair- in fact, it was black. Rather than being well-kept, his hair was slick with grease and dappled lightly with blood; The messiness was the sign of a true warrior, a warrior who put the lives and comfort of his men above his own life and comfort. The red of his armor was brown with dirt, and the gold was dulled and unpolished. Still, it seemed much greater then the uniforms of the guards behind him. Their armor represented hatred and arrogance. His represented blood willingly shed in defense of innocence, and the holy light that would unhesitantly come to his defense.
Ketala had no idea where this Scarlet Crusader had come from. She had not seen him at Hearthglenn, which meant that he had arrived later, or that he had been recruited from the forces at Tyr's Hand. This man was a rarity among Scarlet Crusaders. This was a man who had seen the horrors of the Scourge, who had lost everything dear to him, who had been taking in by the most vile and hateful of all humans, and who had been brainwashed for years with nothing but stories of vengeance… This was a man who had borne all this… and survived…Throughout all his life, he had maintained his morals of good and evil, even though he had sworn allegiance to this group of fanatics. He was a precious rarity, and Ketala came to the conclusion- quite quickly- that this man was good and trustworthy. Now, he concentrated fully on Ketala, and there was no hatred in his face.
"I am told you still follow the Silver Hand," he said.
"That is true."
"How is it you came to become a paladin of that sect?"
"I was raised by the lich Kel'Thuzad, and killed shortly after I reached maturity, brought back to life as an undead." The Scarlet Crusader's eyes widened. "I was left with my free will- just as the Forsaken are, because I have innate powers that work because of who I am, and would cease to work if my emotions and soul were suppressed. One day, I was helping direct undead hunt down and kill humans that were fleeing from a battle. When I focused on my surroundings again, I noticed that there was a Priest of the Light on the ground, dying slowly. I asked him about the symbol on his tabard, and then killed him quickly and butchered his remains till there was nothing left, and no necromancer could desecrate his body. I memorized the symbol.
"Kel'Thuzad had something of an epiphany and commanded me to leave, and to never heed his command again. I traveled all the say south from the Plaguelands, towards Stormwind. I helped humans on my way, saving them from a massive group of Abominations. I reversed several banshee possessions… I've always been able to channel spiritual energy through my blades. Pure Holy flame, from priests who never experiment with the arcane, heals me rather then burns. Due to these circumstances, I was taken in by the Paladins remaining left in Stormwind, and was given instruction as a Paladin."
The wide-eyed, hungry look on the poor Crusader's face showed a starvation for information. Ketala was not surprised when she realized that the Crusader had very little knowledge of the outside world. It was very possible that, until quite recently, he hadn't even known that Paladins of the Order of the Silver Hand still existed, or that Stormwind still stood. Perhaps he had heard vague rumors about a new continent. About a certain Miss Jaina Proudmoore who had left to find a new continent. That was it; The Crusader's entire world had become the defense of Hearthglenn and the slaughtering of Scourge. It was not difficult to imagine: Before Ketala had met them, the Argent Dawn and Light Hope's Chapel hadn't even known that Lordaeron had fallen. The meeting of all these factions had done more good then anyone could possibly know. It gave them hope, and a link to the rest of the world. It gave this poor Crusader hope in the realization that the whole world wasn't an undead wasteland.
Ketala merely smiled. "Stormwind still stands, as proud as it ever did, and though the Order of the Silver Hand was struck a mighty and powerful blow, it still stands as well. So long as I live, I will not let the Silver Hand die."
"You don't wear the tabard…" he reflected after a moment. She blinked and then a smile spread over her face.
"I don't!" She laughed. "I never thought of that before! Hahaha! Oh, I left Stormwind early. I simply did not fit in there. I did complete my training… but I never received a tabard." She pushed her cloak aside, tapping her breastplate. "I have the insignia etched into my armor, though. My last breastplate was ruined, but I made sure this new one bore the sign of the silver hand.." He stared for a moment, a bit startled by hearing an undead laugh so melodiously.
"Many wonder about that. What exactly happened in Icecrown?" he questioned after a moment.
"… Arthas stabbed me… with Frostmourne…" she said slowly, watching the Crusader's eyes reach a new degree of wideness. "From what anyone can tell, holy energy thrust the blade from my body… because my soul suffered no damage… However, the armor was ruined, and I had to have it replaced." The Crusader and his two guards were silent, staring at her. "Nathanos was the one who witnessed it. He surmised that Frostmourn's evil was repulsed because I am supposedly anglic, and because of the strength of my faith. A person could argue that Uther resisted the blade as well. He died, yes, but his body remains properly in its grave. Frostmourne did not steal his soul, and Arthas's taint never reached him."
"How could you know?"
"Uther is buried near Andorhal. I visit his grave often to meditate. Around it, the land is green and alive, and no undead can get anywhere near it. It is undoubtedly my favorite spot in the world."
"You are undead." Ketala blinked and smiled.
"But I'm a paladin of the Silver Hand. When it comes to holy magic, I might as well be alive. The only trait I do not share with you is the fact that you have a heartbeat. I do not. However, I should probably get back to my undead. I've nearly been killed so many times in the recent past, that it's a wonder they've not all had ulcers from stress."
"… They worry for you?"
"I am all they have in the world. Most of them can barely recall their own names yet, but they all know my touch. I should return to them." The Half-elemental lowered her head in a light bow. "I am eternally grateful for your aid…" she said, lifting the end of the statement so that it became a question.
"Fordring," he said in reply to her implied question. "Taelin Fordring."
The Scarlet Crusader had the strangest sensation that Blightcaller was looking at him jealously.
(Cont.)
It was around a quarter of the way back to her base, with Thrash charging to meet them halfway, that Ketala whirled and stared at Nathanos. She looked him up and down, squinted her eyes, and then frowned.
"… Your other hound…" Nathanos looked at her and chuckled lightly. "… It's dead, isn't it?"
"It went over the cliff, much like you almost did."
"… I think we need to find you some new pets, Nathanos." He just grinned, and kept walking, and she followed. Idly, she wondered if Nathanos would like a Frostwyrm. On second thought, however, it did not seem his style. Nathanos was fast and quick, relying on skill as opposed to massive gouts of icy breath. Perhaps he would raise two fallen Frostwolves and enrage the entire Orcish Horde against him, since he seemed so fond of dogs. The death of his hounds would torment him some time or another. Nathanos had, in a warped and twisted way, adored his two prized hounds. Perhaps-
Two days later, Nathanos Blightcaller stood before Ketala with a reanimated bunny rabbit that he had dyed pink, a rabbit that was currently drooling puss. Ketala took one look at him, screwed up her face, and then burst out laughing, having to lean on an abomination to keep from falling over. When she had finished, she just grinned at him. "That would be perfect! Get Lydon to make it part ghoul, with giant teeth, razor claws-!"
Ketala's approval sealed it. Nathanos stubbornly refused to have anything to do with a legion of reanimated evil pink bunnies. His plans had been thwarted by her acceptance… for now.
Orc Camp - Northrend
Thrall sighed, looking back at Northrend regretfully, and then looking out at the ships of the Orcish fleet. Around a third of the fleet had already departed and was waiting out mid water. The other two thirds were still packing up- Thrall's flagship among them. The sight of the ships leaving caused a pained look to cross Thrall's face. Leaving this field of battle was not appealing for him, and despite the fact that this had never been his conflict, and that he had achieved all that he could possibly achieve. It felt dishonorable. It felt cowardly.
But Thrall had asked all his advisors. All of them had conceded that leaving Northrend, and instead taking up battle alongside the druids and bronze dragons in Sithilis was a good move. Northrend was not their fight. They had come to help an ally. That ally had been aided. Now it was time to turn their attention to some place where their attention actually belonged. Perhaps if a truce could be written with the humans, they could return and wipe the undead Scourge off the face of Azeroth.
Even Drek'Thar had advised leaving. Thrall always trusted the blind Far'seer. Still, the Warchief's proud shoulders drooped considerably, and he thought furiously for some excuse not to leave. His eyes turned down to the Doomhammer, hanging loosely in his grip, and he could not help wondering if it was worth it to leave.
A small hand touched one of his powerful shoulders, and he turned his head, looking down at Jaina Proudmoore, and feeling even more wretched.
"Miss Proudmoore…" he said in greeting and then, feeling he needed to explain himself to her, to ensure her image of him was not sullied, he said, "This obligation to leave-"
"I know, Thrall," she said quite simply. "I understand. I'm only sorry that this situation won't be resolved yet… And that the Scourge will not yet be defeated." He winced, looking down in shame. Still, the forgiveness of the small human sorceress eased his burden a little. "My fleets are leaving these shores soon after yours. We need to get back to Theramore. My kingdom has endured instability for too long. In the meantime, I will rally all the support I can for the war in Sithilis." The orc nodded. On an impulse, he blinked at the Doomhammer, and then turned, lifting the weapon and offering it to the sorcerer. She blinked, eyeing the weapon up and down, before looking at him again.
"Take the Doomhammer… as a symbol of the Horde's desire for peace with the Alliance."
"Thrall-"
"The return of the Doomhammer is the symbol- the grand radiating symbol- of my people's inability to remain here in Northrend to fight this battle. Consider the gifting of the weapon as my promise to return here, in order to defeat Arthas and to properly earn it."
"But Thrall-"
"And think of the implications politically, Miss Proudmoore. I do not give the Doomhammer to you lightly. It was Orgrim's weapon against your people. Giving it to you- to the Alliance- freely, and ensuring that it will cause your people no more death, symbolizes my desire for peace. Perhaps it shall convince some of the rulers in Stormwind that an alliance with the Horde is possible-"
"Or perhaps they shall demand the Doomhammer from me, in order to destroy it."
"Our Alliance has survived through far more then threats to destroy weapons, Jaina Proudmoore. You know that better than I."
At his words, Jaina did glance over at the Theramore fleets, and at her father's flagship…
"Please take it." The sorceress looked up at the Warchief for a long, long moment. Then, slowly, she reached up and took the powerful weapon from his fingertips, feeling the lightness and strength of it, and the softness of its handle due to wear from usage. In return, however, what had she to give in return for this hammer? She had no such legendary artifact in her possession. Her staff was a powerful weapon, but it did not hold the value of the Doomhammer… She filed away mentally that she had to find- and find quickly- a suiting gift to repay the orc Warchief with.
Unfortunately, all she could do now for the poor orc was watch him turn away and lift a letter to his eyes. She knew what lay written on that parchment- the source of all their newest troubles. Written in that letter was every reason this rag-tag alliance of humans, orcs, and undead had to leave Northrend. With that letter had come the Doomhammer….
Flashback
Thrall had looked down at the kneeling Dreadlord with obvious disgust, and had been loathed to take the note from him. He could have sent the Dreadlord whining back to its master on all fours like a beast… He should have had the demonic monster blasted out of the sky… But a white flag denoted that the demon had come in peace, and if Thrall was not honorable, he was nothing. However, even though the demon had come bearing the standard of peace, Thrall should have sent it away immediately. There was only one reason why he could not.
Varimathras had held the Doomhammer in one of his clawed hands. Reluctant, Thrall had taken the note, and opened it, only momentarily surprised to see it penned in orcish.
"You and I are not so unalike, save in one respect- how much we have suffered. Your people are not meant for the winter chill, and you know even now that conflicts are skyrocketing throughout your lands. The Burning Crusade summons lesser demons into our world every day, and the Burning Legion is most certainly our common enemy. Sithilis is overflowing with strange creatures that kill all they see, and time fluctuations and time carrion are running rampant throughout Azeroth and Kalimdor alike.
"I know why you remain here to fight, in a war that is not your own, against an enemy who is more like you then you know. You preach that orcs should resist demons, and never give in to their power. Yet, somehow, you forget that the demons betrayed me because I would never give orc race to them. You forget I was tortured for an eternity, and that I was sent back to this ruined earth, broken and battered. You forget that I turned on them again once I arrived. You forget that I attacked the Alliance, and left the orcs in peace. No, young Warchief. We are not so different.
"You are here to mend the gaps between humans and orcs, but you can see they are only widening due to the presence of the Scarlet Crusade. Scarlet Crusade… Burning Crusade… Do not they seem quite alike?
" I offer you an alternative. I offer you the hammer that is your rightful possession, weapon of the great Orgrim Doomhammer. I offer you war Sithilis as a grounds to forge peace with the Alliance, in exchange for giving up this battle with me. I offer a war that is yours to engage in, that your people will have no qualms participating in.
"Take this weapon to keep your honor, and leave Northrend. Your people have more things to worry about, and they will not understand if you settle in to wage this war- a war that will last years. Wait until some of your other problems have mended first, and then perhaps we shall both meet one another again on more favorable grounds to battle.
"To sweeten the offer, I give first my oath to leave Theramore Isle be. Second, I give the traitor who delivered Jaina Proudmoore into my hands- the Dreadlord Varimathras, who kneels before you."
What choice had Thrall been given?
Overlooking the Orc Camp - Northrend
Illidan Stormrage frowned, gazing down at the camp as the green workers began running supplies in droves to the waiting orcish ships. His slender fingers clenched into fists, the tendons showing through the skin and the knuckles whitening. Apparently he was not discomforted by the over-long status of his claw-like nails, but his palms bled slightly. Zul'vii merely watched her friend as his lips curled into a snarl.
"They are leaving," he said at last, his voice bitter and harsh.
"Yes. Arthas gave Thrall every reason to leave, and stripped him of every reason to stay. Thrall is a leader, after all. He must do what is best for his people. And what is best for his people is to fight war in Sithilis, side by side with the Alliance," she replied softly.
"He should not let up! In a few years, Arthas could be overrun!"
"He has no choice, Illidan. Not everyone has a cult of fanatical magic-worshipers." She gazed out at the ships. "Think about it. If they can defeat the Sithilids and manage some semblance of peace with the Alliance, then they will have a reason to launch an assault against Arthas. But now, all the orcs can see are their own people suffering while their soldiers fight an enemy of the Alliance. Might I also mention that Ner'zhul was the shaman who did not sacrifice his people to demons, and was tortured by the Burning Legion for a short eternity for his disobedience? And then he had the gall to fight against them again? Have you noticed the lack of Humans here? It would take the better part of a year for Stormwind and Ironforge to even work up the courage to begin a war effort against Arthas, to join the Forsaken and Horde. However, somehow the world has gotten riled up about the Sithilids. There is already an Alliance ambassador in Orgrimmar, already trying to get the Horde to join the war effort- and a dwarf, no less!" Illidan just snorted, whirling and glaring out at the snowy landscape behind them.
"… Try to understand, Illidan…" she said, looking at him and placing a hand on his violet arm. "Try to understand that Thrall merely understands how to rile up his people. It will take a more round-a-bout route, but he knows what he's doing."
"Yet he leaves Arthas be and lets him expand his empire once more!"
"Alone, we cannot remain in Northrend. The Lich King would probably overrun us considering half of our forces are gone."
"I will not leave," Illidan snarled, whirling on her. She blinked at him, and he paused, gazing blindly down at her face. "… And neither will the Forsaken," he said, trying to keep up his argument, but checking his temper. "The Orcs showed up to save a human, and cost them both of the Forsaken's leaders! They have gained nothing from this! In fact, with the Orcs leaving, they might just break off from the Horde altogether."
"You are wrong," she insisted.
"Oh?"
"Nathanos is intelligent, if mad. He understands that the Orcs will be back, and he understands very well the Forsaken's predicament. He will leave Northrend as well, favoring to cut off Arthas utterly from the Plaguelands rather then maintaining a foolish frontal assault on IceCrown itself."
Illidan frowned, but he understood the logic behind this. "What of the Scarlet Crusade? Will they halt in their quest for vengeance?"
"… They're a little harder to say… but I doubt you would want to remain here with no one but Ketala and the Crusade, and certain death awaiting you." Illidan frowned.
"What then?"
"First, I suggest we return to Felwood to decide what to do. Kael's ambitions have been sated- he's saved Jaina- and my followers would not find Felwood opposed to their tastes. We'll work from there."
"Go back to our homelands, as if this all never happened?"
"No, Illidan, in preparation, knowing that when the time comes, we will have enough allies to complete the task. Ketala, the Forsaken, the Argent Dawn, and The Scarlet Crusade will all work to keep the undead in check in the Plaguelands. But there is another evil that needs to be kept in check until the races of the world have time to turn their attention to it…"
"The demons…" Illidan said after a moment, voice low. "You would have us work to keep them in check while the forces of the world stamp out the evil in Sithilis." She nodded. "There are too few of us. We are working well with Felwood's problems, but there are many other places that we do not have enough forces to tend to… The Blasted Lands, the Searing Gorge... And then there are even more problems! The time blips going on in the Plaguelands…"
"Leave helping the Bronze Dragons in the Plaguelands to Ketala. I'm sure she can handle it. However, we do not need to "keep the demons in check" so much as we need to harass them so that they cannot do too much."
"What would you suggest?"
"Well… I am a rogue…" she began, slowly pulling out a dagger and twirling it between her fingers. "And you are rather skilled with sneaking, being an elf…"
"You want to begin working on taking out the more prominent demon leaders." Zul'vii merely smirked, giving a little flick and sending the dagger to balance on its point upon one of her fingers.
"That would be the general idea, yes." She smirked, flicking the dagger at him. He caught it nimbly, without even thinking and looked back at her. The white fire of her aura poured out around her, blending with the powerful, bright colors that outlined her, so that she was a cascade of brilliance and color in his vision. Even her eyes were highlighted with brighter whites, and shades of green and blue. She regarded him a moment, before coming up to him, within the sheltering spread of his dark wings. He grunted and turned his head to look down at the departing orcs, mumbling something in his unique, gravely, voice. That voice, as always, hinting at a mild note of what could be insanity or anger. Zul'vii just smiled. She lifted a hand and laid it on one of his arms, squeezing gently.
"What? Are you afraid that it shall give you a good reputation?" He lifted a violet brow and then snorted.
"I am merely thinking over my possible gains and my possible losses."
"Well, add one more to your list of gains and losses," she said, winking. "I'm going. Whether you go or not is your affair." He blinked and then scowled darkly, one of his hands clenching.
"… You say that, and yet you know that I will- for whatever reason- follow you." She smirked, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Yes, I say that knowing you will probably follow. You think "Hey wait! That means she's manipulating me!" but you see, I have either two choices. I can stay here, or I can go. I want to go. I don't want to stay. So I go. I'm not going to force you into anything. It's purely your decision whether to follow me or not. You're the one who's going to follow me, you're the one who has to decide whether to follow me or not. You're perfectly healthy, and you don't need me anymore. Anything you do with regards to me is out of voluntary want, and not out of need. I have no responsibility or reason to remain here, except for your comfort. Do you think I'm the kind of person to wait here to cater on your every last whim?" Illidan glared, and she pecked him on the nose, a humorous little affection.
"I'm going. Are you coming?"
"No," he grit out with irritation. She just smiled further, and nodded.
"Fine then. I'll go, and then we'll find out who gets too lonely first." She turned, and walked off, and he glared after her, bristling with irritation and fury. "Although- Illidan?" she turned to him and smiled gently. "I'll miss you," she said in a kinder tone, her eyes brightening lightly. She turned, and continued walking.
Much like weeks before, Illidan found himself gazing out after Zul'vii's departing white glow; much like last time, he wanted to follow, to make sure she was safe…
It was only then that Illidan Stormrage remembered that Zul'vii had told him that she loved him. Much like last time, he just stared until her aura had passed from sight.
Northrend
"We must decide what to do quickly."
Ketala was the speaker. She was in a group of various leaders, including Nathanos, Jaina, Illidan, Kael, Vashj, Zul'vii, Daelin, Leonid Bartholomew the Revered from the Argent Dawn, and several Scarlet Crusaders.
"Even now, my flying units are reporting movement in IceCrown-" she continued.
"Because the orcs abandoned the fight, like the monstrous cowards they-"
"Hold your tongue, Crusader. None of our peoples can be taking this strain anymore," interrupted Zul'vii. The Crusader glared at her, but Ketala continued before a conflict could break out.
"Zul'vii is right. Hearthglen is nearly emptied of defenders, Tyr's Hand is too far from the Western Plaguelands to keep an accurate watch on Caer Darrow, and the Argent Dawn and Deathstalkers are extremely thinned out as well. The Theramore fleets are naval combatants and most useful on the shore- not on mountains." She turned and looked at the Scarlet Crusaders. "It will take too much out of us all to keep up this war at this time. The Orcs came to the aid of their allies- Miss Proudmoore and her men- but they cannot afford to fight this war without provocation. It would create unrest in the populace. It would be like asking the Scarlet Crusade to help rid the world of bandit naga. It's not their fight- at least, not yet." She paused a moment to give the Crusaders time to digest this information. "However, good may come of this. The joint effort in Sithilis is designed to spawn cooperation and friendly competition between the Alliance and Horde. If this works, the two factions will have a reason and the means to plan an all-out siege on Northrend. Ironforge, Sen'jin, Darnassus, Stormwind, Orgrimmar, Thunderbluff- all working together.
Even so, we cannot allow the Lich King to become strong in the time it takes the factions to work out their differences in Sithilis, and the demonic hordes are another concern that we have to think about."
At this point, Zul'vii spoke up. "Our base is stationed in Felwood, Kalimdor, an area rank with demonic activity. We're working to suppress it. With trade from the Goblins of Everlook and Night Elves and Tauran in Moonglade, and with Illidan's ability to generate portals, we'll be able to trade with the Scarlet Crusade, the Dawn, and with your people, Ketala. That is, we will be able to trade with the Scarlet Crusade if they continue to permit us," she said, turning her gaze to the red and gold-clad soldiers.
"And I," continued Ketala, "Will be able to launch an attack on Caer Darrow. As long as Scholomance continues to exist, this world is a fouler place. Arthas is the true enemy in all this, but if we can push his forces out of the Plaguelands, we will loosen his grip on the world, and he will lose his supply of fresh undead. Theramore cannot continue blockading the Plaguelands, but Jaina has agreed to send ship builders to Andorhal. This will give us trade with Brill and a link to the ocean, if we can get Southshore to let us through."
"What about Light's Hope Chapel?" inquired Leonid, Ketala's fellow undead paladin.
"Light's Hope Chapel was, when we left the Plaguelands, still untouched by the undead. However, we cannot assume it will remain that way, and we have no way of getting trade there, in any case. What if we left you in Quel'Thalas? The Elfin Homeland has been inaccessible since the coming of the Scourge and there is water on three sides of it, providing easy trade. However, it is very likely that elves survived in Quel'Thalas, and that the ancient elfin homeland is as torn as the Plaguelands. Would you be objected to staying there? We'll be able to provide you with supplies and trade." The undead paladin thought this over thoroughly, and finally nodded.
"I will need you, Ketala, and perhaps Ander and some of the other paladins, to help me sanctify a small location in Quel'Thalas then. Light's Hope Chapel was blessed, and we will need similar blessed ground in Quel'Thalas if we are to survive."
"I would gladly help," she said simply. "What about Tyr's Hand, though? It is extremely landlocked, but it is bordered exclusively by mountains. Could we use zeppelins and griffon riders to bring trade there?"
"We could," mused Zul'vii. "But once again, it's up to the Scarlet Crusade, and what they want. Perhaps they do not want our trade."
There was silence as every head turned toward the Scarlet Crusaders and regarded them thoughtfully.
Several days later, snow blew across the coasts of Northrend, quickly burying all signs that camps had ever been there. The shores of Northrend had been left to the dead.
On a Ship Belonging to Ketala's Undead
Ketala Truae lay snugly in her cot against the wall of the ship. There was a weight on top of her, pressing her down into the warm, soft blankets that lined the cot. A body- an undead ghoul- dressed in plate and mail. Its temple lay against her shoulder, a skeletal hand flung across her waist and latched tightly around her. The curve of the cot kept it pressed into its savior… its master…
Its mother.
Lachdan was the ghoul, and he shifted lightly. A moment later, he relaxed, feeling his savior's arms around him, one of her hands gently stroking through his hair. He felt his siblings' minds stir around him, and he felt his savior reach down to comfort one of them. The ghouls and shades were many. While a huge amount of them had packed themselves in the room in order to be near Ketala, even larger amounts were strewn about the ship elsewhere. They took turns being near their savior; they took turns watching over her. Many of them rested while in her presence, soaking in her compassionate aura and enjoying her comforting mind. Others stood stolidly throughout the night to ensure that nothing ill became of their beloved angel. As much as they enjoyed being anywhere near her, they were of the purest, simplest mentality. None of them were jealous of Lachdan, who was with Ketala every moment of every day (So long as she was not fighting). None were jealous of Ketala's favorite. They nuzzled against him all the same, enjoying his company almost as much as they enjoyed Ketala's. One day, they would regain their minds, their personalities, and their memories. Until then, however, they were her precious children. Perhaps next time they were mature, this second 'youth' would keep the shades from following paths of darkness… and the ghouls from falling to their enemies in battle.
The Half-Elemental smiled contently, leaning her cheek against Lachdan's. She could only pray that history would finally stop repeating itself, and that her precious Lachdan would not end up dead, like Eldiaren and Jerod.
Her mind cringed at the thought of the two ghouls she had lost, and Lachdan's eyes opened in response to her mental pain. He smiled gently at her, nuzzling affectionately against her to comfort her. Ketala smiled weakly, sighing softly out. Sometimes, even when she was unendingly happy, her sorrow and memories crept up on her. Perhaps the cause was the specter of Arthas, standing across the room, who was holding a hallucinated version of Jerod's head and absently tossing it into the air and impaling it on Frostmourne. He continued to do so, over and over again, until the head was entirely unrecognizable. Lachdan twitched, turning his head to look at the Specter and baring his teeth, revealing the fact that he was not fully healed. Those teeth were like the teeth of a shark in a mouth that was impossibly wide. They were triangular, overlapping, and inhuman. His savior reacted by wrapping her arms around his head, pulling him back against her, holding his face near hers. Lachdan blinked, gazing at her a moment and feeling her pain.
"Ketala…"
"There's nothing you can do. Don't think about it," she said, stroking the ghoul gently. His lips slid back over his teeth, hiding his inhuman mouth, and his eyes creased with worry.
"It's evil. It's hurting you."
"You can't stop it." The ghoul frowned. "Just calm. Stay with me," she murmured, leaning her cheek against his again. The ghoul hesitated a long moment, desperately wanted to relieve his mother of pain. However, Ketala was right. There was nothing he could do. All Lachdan could do to help Ketala was to try and comfort her, and so he snuggled up against her again. He had been so worried about her. The evil specter was a small price to pay for her survival.
On the Argent Dawn Ship
Leonid lifted up the small boy, smiling and shaking his head. "You need your sleep," he said, moving over to the hammock the leaned against the wall. "It is your bedtime."
"But!"
"Sleep," the undead paladin insisted tenderly, picking up the boy's legs and gently laying them in the hammock.
"But you're not going to bed!"
"I do not need to."
"I don't need to either!"
Leonid smiled. "Oh really?"
"Uh-huh!" the child proclaimed with solemn seriousness. His undead benefactor merely chuckled.
"I shall have to see proof that you do not! However, if I catch one sleepy yawn, you shall have to have a bedtime again."
"I won't yawn!" the boy say, his voice rising with excitement. "I don't need sleep!"
Leonid merely smiled, nodding, and set the boy back on the ground again. When Ketala had returned to Light's Hope Chapel bearing the little Scarlet Crusader boy, Leonid had not known what to think. He was relieved that more of the Scarlet Crusaders were dead, but one look at the boy reminded him of all he had lost. He could not help feeling like the monsters he strove to fight against. Thus, out of some guilt, out of some pity, and also out of some sheer benevolence (for you do not earn fancy titles like 'revered' or 'honored' without being a fairly decent fellow), Leonid had taken the boy in. The first few days, the child had been suffering from stress and terror. Leonid could have been mistaken for an organism reproducing by budding- that's how tightly the little child clung to him.
The first few weeks after that, however, Leonid had spent just trying to approach the child. As soon as the immediate panic had worn off, the boy had continuously tried to run away (which would have spelt sure death) and was always hiding from his undead caretaker. The undead paladin distinctly remembered one painful occurrence, when the boy had huddled crying near a human paladin, tears pour down his eyes as the undead had come near. The situation had worsened when Leonid had reached the boy, as the child had started screaming and crying and hyperventilating.
However, the boy slowly became used to Leonid. The undead had purchased a tent, a bed, toys, food, and heapings of blankets for the boy. He had tucked him in every night and healed his cuts and bruises from various outdoor escapades. He had let the boy pick out various tops and play swords and such, and devoted a small portion of each day to comforting and playing with him.
The Ex Scarlet Crusader child was named Ron. It had taken two months of Ron life to convince Leonid not to call him Ronald. Ron also made it a practice to forgo mentioning that it had taken those two months for Ron to refer to Leonid by anything other then "you", as in the you found in, "I hate you," "why wont you leave me alone," and "(insert age inappropriate swear here) you".
Soon after those two months, Leonid had quickly forbidden all insertions of age inappropriate swears. The relationship had grown from there. Now Leonid smiled, watching the boy run off and knowing that it would only take around half an hour for the child to realize the err of his sleep avoiding ways. The undead paladin followed the boy out of the room, watching over him as he dashed about the ship, played with toys, and snuck food from the kitchen. His undead guardian merely watched him, observing as the signs of weariness slowly started to appear, and smiling tenderly. When the boy could hardly keep his eyes open, Leonid came up to him and scooped him up, announced that he swore he had seen a yawn (When in fact he had seen at least a dozen) and carried him back to his bed. Ron made few protests, and was fast asleep before Leonid had even made it to the child's room. The undead set him in the hammock and gently laced it up so he would not fall out during the night. Then he craned over and kissed the boy gently on the forehead. He stood, blew out the lamp that was bolted into a ceiling corner of the room, and quietly closed the door on his way out.
Leonid had thought himself fortunate while fighting for the Argent Dawn, driving back the undead Scourge from the land with the strength of his faith alone. However, though that life had been filled with purpose, it had been strangely empty. It had been hollow… nostalgic… sorrowful… It had taken every last particle of his faith to keep going. But now that emptiness was filled. The undead paladin's being was whole. He might as well have been alive- just as Ketala might as well have been alive. In Ron, Leonid had found the only important thing that death had stripped him of: a family.
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