A/N: Only a smidge of Onyx this chapter, alas. I hate to stay away from her but her scene was too long to be included in this chapter. :(
I do hope the ending makes up for it.
Thank you to Coincidencless for being my beta!
Chapter Nine
John strode onto the polished deck with a bulging pack and the kaliri on his shoulder. Every now and then he stole a glance in Samia's direction. Samia pretended not to notice.
If John was the hunter, as the bird on his shoulder signified, then he knew. As a dragonspawn, she may have been less likely to be detected than dragons, but someone hiding from Deathwing would be on the lookout for her kind. The only advantage she had was that he didn't know what kind of dragonkin she was.
Good. If he thought she was a dragon, he wasn't about to raise the alarm and risk Valgarde being burned to the ground, especially with so few people to defend it. On board a ship would be even riskier; a dragon in its true form would sink the ship on the spot. John knew better than to arouse a potential dragon's suspicion, to risk its wrath.
So Samia found herself disguising as a dragon disguising as Leonardo Withering.
Fun.
She kept the characteristic Obsidian sneer on her face as she ducked below decks into a wooden stairwell. She ran her hand along the polished wood, taking comfort in the heavy weight of her pack on her back.
"C'mon." Clarisse touched her arm. "Need to talk to ya. C'mon. Where's my room?"
"Yeah," said Samia. Gavel and Twisty ducked past her, trotting down the creaking stairs after Clarisse. Above, Samia heard the footsteps of the other passengers as they milled about.
Clarisse shut the door behind them after her three guests trooped in. The room was a small one, with two hammocks put away on their hooks. A grimy window let in the light, and outside the whistling winds whipped up the water. A small table in the centre of the room was bolted to the floor with a stool on each side. As Gavel climbed onto a seat without invitation, Twisty struggled to do the same and almost stumbled as the boat rocked.
Samia sat down without any drama. Both the shorter members of their little party glared at her. She tried not to smirk.
"About damn time we got going." Clarisse slid an iron key along the table towards Samia. "I was going to room alone but since you're here we may as well share. S'not like you'd have had to pay for one, eh? We may as well share."
Sam hadn't exactly talked to anyone to determine if there was another room for her to take. "Sounds fine."
"About damn time we got going," Clarisse said again as she took her seat opposite Sam. "Fuckin' Frostass Fuckeration holding everything up. Rulin' the world just 'cause everyone damn well owes them."
If Leo got free passage on a ship just for helping Valgarde, Samia could only imagine what perks the Frostmoon Federation got for defeating Illidan, Arthas, Nefarian, and Titans knew who else. When the Brotherhood of Cinders clawed themselves back from the pit Onyxia had put them in, in time to kill Sintharia, it must have made them grim.
Sam wondered if it ever bothered Onyxia her mother was dead by their hand, but then, Black dragons in general seemed to care little for their parents. Especially Nalice.
"Sooo." Clarisse rested her elbows on the cheap wood, staring at Sam with wide, innocent eyes. "What's the real reason you're 'ere? The real reason?"
Oh, fuck.
"C'mon," said Clarisse. "I wasn't born yesterday. Nobody hangs around on a ship for several weeks just to spend time with their guild."
"Especially when Clarisse is there," said Gavel. Twisty snorted.
"You were at Wyrmrest, how could you not be busy?" said Clarisse. "I wasn't born yesterday."
So you mentioned, thought a small part of Samia as the rest of her scrabbled for excuses. "Something came up, you know how it is."
"I don't if you don't say, does I?"
"Do I," said Gavel with a roll of his eyes. Clarisse ignored him.
"The dragons, you understand," said Samia. If in doubt, a dragon did it.
"Yes?" Up went Clarisse's red eyebrows.
"You know what they're like."
Clarisse snorted. "I don't know if you don't say."
Talking to Clarisse was like having a chronic case of deja vu.
Aware of Twisty's curious expression and Gavel's frown, Samia scrabbled again. "Listen, it's… the Federation. They want me to keep an eye on the Frostmooners travelling on the ship." Samia lowered her voice. The others leaned in. "That's all. There's..."
Oh, hell.
Why not work this to her advantage?
"The Dragonqueen suspects that one of them is carrying precious cargo," said Samia. "A dragon's egg."
Clarisse sat up straight. "Whose egg?"
"Alexstrasza's?" said Twisty. "Did they kidnap one of her children?"
"Light help them," said Gavel.
"No, no," said Samia. "Have you heard of a dragon named Nyxondra?"
Gavel and Twisty frowned, but Clarisse tapped a finger against her bottom lip. "I heard the name once. Isn't she the one that laid the pure egg? Is it true, then, that there'll be a new Aspect of Earth?"
"How did you hear?" said Sam.
Clarisse and the others exchanged glances. Oh, hell, was this something Leo knew? "I keep my ear to the ground," Clarisse said. "When we was in Wyrmrest I 'eard some of the Frostassholes talkin'. Heard them talking, they were saying something about Nyxondra and an egg."
"What puzzles me," said Gavel, "is why they'd want to keep that egg alive at all. Lirastrasza's pretty set on wiping them all out, last I checked. Remember Obsidia?"
Samia did. She'd met her, too, once or twice in Blade's Edge. Obsidia had been a strangely gentle, timid Black dragon. Being away from the corruption probably helped. She would stand in the rigid form of a high elven woman, black tresses pouring down her shoulders, tugging on her gloves whilst Sabel went to work on some potion she wanted.
And now she was dead.
"They only need one Black dragon alive to be Aspect of Earth," said Samia.
"I s'pose." Clarisse scowled. "The hell'd they give it to the Federation instead of us for?"
"Something went wrong," said Samia. She wracked her brain for lies. "They were supposed to give a decoy to the Federation, to test how trustworthy they truly were, but they got the eggs mixed up, so the Federation has the real one." Hopefully. "They wanted me to recover it." She looked at her audience. "That doesn't leave this room."
"Chill." Clarisse lifted her hands in supplication. "I ain't gonna tell this to no one."
"Could you at least pretend you're not an idiot when you talk?" said Gavel.
"Give it a rest, by the Light," Twisty snapped.
Clarisse flipped them both off. "We're stuck with those bastards for three weeks. Plen'y of time. Who has it?"
"John, I'm pretty certain." Samia's hands curled into fists on the scratched table.
"I can do recon," said Clarisse.
"No," said Samia quickly. "No, no, I'll handle that. You keep your ear to the ground, like you said, you're good at that." That she knew about Clarisse, something she'd learned during her days as a whore on the streets of Stormwind, before Norris came. "I'll do the dirty work. I can't steal it too soon or we'll all be chucked in the brig. When it's almost time to dock, I'll nick it then. I might need your help as lookouts or as distraction."
"Got it," said Clarisse.
Gavel and Twisty stared thoughtfully at the table. The silence between them stretched on against the backdrop of calling seagulls. The ship swayed on the water, and above decks Samia heard the muffled shouts of sailors.
"Sounds like we're off," she said, glancing through the window behind her. The scenery had begun to move.
"About damn time," muttered Clarisse.
"If I wasn't out of runes," Twisty murmured, "you could steal it sooner and I'd give you a portal out. I thought I'd get some when we got to Menethil, had no reason to think I'd need them before."
Which begged the question, why was a mage travelling by boat? What were those three doing here?
The day wore on, almost as dull as back in Icecrown but without Sabel's fluttery complaining to distract her. The four of them clung together like the family they probably were; on the decks, in the bar, at dinner. Whilst they ate that night Samia's eyes flickered occasionally to the mercenary John, who talked and laughed with his guildmates at a table of their own. The kaliri wasn't with him. Neither was the pack.
After dinner she played cards with the Brotherhood. A dull haze swept over her mind as the candle burned low, until at last Twisty and Gavel retired. Without a word, Clarisse blew out the candle and packed away the cards. Sam retrieved a hammock from its hook and strung it up above the table. The moonlight poured through the window, casting a ghostly light over Clarisse as she rummaged through her belongings.
Sam settled in to sleep.
Her hammock rocked with the ship. At first she listened to the shwinging of Clarisse's weapons as she sharpened them in the dark, then the rustling as she put them away. The creaking of another hammock. Shallow breathing flowed into deep.
Still, sleep did not come.
Something was missing. Hearing Clarisse with her weapons had been oddly comforting, but now the silence pressed in on her. In Blade's Edge, Sabel had always been nearby. Whilst Samia slept she could hear the clinks and odd shattering of a dropped vial, bitten-off curses and puzzled muttering as her master went about his work. Fizzing as his potions boiled over; it was always Samia who kept an eye on them, because Sabellian often forgot what he was doing in the middle of doing something. He had wasted so many herbs that way.
Rarely did he sleep at the same time as she did, and when he did, the sound of his breathing was better than any lullaby.
It had been different with Saya. Sam had been too busy keeping the girl occupied, fed and distracted to notice the impact of the dragon's absence.
But now, with no other dragonkin on the ship, the silence ached.
-o-O-o-
With Eduard Von Andorhal roaming free and with no good way to pin him down or restrict him without arousing further suspicion from the Lich King, there was little use in keeping the Ambassador imprisoned. Not long after the frostwyrm was free, Eduard teleported out. Where to, Lira had no idea.
The Ambassador received no rest. As members of his guild did their duties to the Red Flight, Leo harassed the frostwyrm on Lira's request. Just as Lira predicted, Bolvar was quite content to check on Leo every now and then through the Ambassador, keeping the Ambassador free from nosing around. Using the Lich King's sentimentality against him was working, and would have the double benefit of staying the corruption if, by a long shot, Bolvar was right and Onyxia hadn't used any Old God magic against him.
Still, it could not be risked.
Much to Lira's consternation she found the Ambassador wandering the lonely halls one afternoon, scowling to himself until he caught sight of her. "Ah, Lirastrasza!" He paused, his hands folded behind his back. His cream jacket was free of creases, as neat as his hair. "I see you're still here. Have you any information on those tunnels?"
"We are still awaiting data from a few zones." Lira fell into diplomat mode.
"Ah, about that," said the Ambassador. "Master Withering… well. You received that guest this morning, didn't you?"
"Yes," said Lirastrasza. "Thrall and his mate finally arrived."
And one heck of a surprise had awaited him.
After Nevedormu's news, Alexstrasza shook her head sadly. "If we lack a Black Aspect," she said, "we must find another replacement. With no Black dragon to turn to, we must turn outwards."
Slowly, surely, the Bronzes returned in a slow trickle. First one a day, then two a day, and now one wandered in every few hours. They shook their heads whenever Alexstrasza questioned them.
"I don't understand," Lira said to her mother after yet another Bronze drake refused to answer questions. "We still don't know what the Infinites did. The Bronzes have watched timelines die, or shut them down themselves, but never have the Infinite ever succeeded in tampering with the fabric of the universe. What have they done?"
Only one drake came close to being forthcoming. "We set up alternate timelines to see if we could get to the bottom of it," he said. "Even that only got the same results. There's nothing for it, the Black Messiah's egg cannot be touched, or everything is gone."
"I expect," said Alexstrasza quietly to her daughter, "that whenever Chromie arrives to speak with me, she will have the answer to this conundrum."
Rheastrasza had died in vain. The Black Prince would never become the Aspect of Earth, his egg was lost and would never be recovered.
Even Thrall had been shocked when Alexstrasza requested him to take the child's place.
An icy wind jerked Lirastrasza back to the present. She found the Ambassador's glowing eyes regarding her curiously. "I apologise," she said. "What did you want to know about Thrall?"
"Nothing," said the Ambassador. "I wanted to let you know that when Leo heard about his arrival, he went looking for him."
Disappointing. Although, if he were to try to summon the ghosts of his dead companions, perhaps something useful could come of it.
"It's a bit of a relief," the Ambassador admitted. "He seems pretty… well." He shuffled on the spot. Normally the Ambassador felt like a part of the scenery, with his silken clothing, his straight posture and the way he seemed to blend into the walls, but the gesture made him look small. Timid. "Interested in me. Does he know about the Steward? The Steward said he didn't, not to his knowledge…"
"Nor to mine." Lira crossed her arms, a gesture that made the Ambassador tilt his head. "It was the Frostmoon Federation who were present at his little… coronation."
"I know that." The Ambassador's scowl returned.
"Didn't you meet them once?" said Lira. "I mean, before Arthas's demise."
The Ambassador glared and stalked past her.
Lira smiled.
If he was going to wander around unchecked, she may as well annoy him to redeath in the meantime.
The greenskin was staying in the southern chambers in one of the middle floors. Lira trailed up a stone, spiral staircase, past some silken tapestries and into a long, grey hallway. The stench of human mingled with the reek of orcs and the sound of drifting voices in the still air. The scent of the female orc was strongest; she'd slipped away from her mate in the last few moments. Lira stopped by an ajar door and leaned against the stone wall, her ears still.
"... don't know how long it would take." She heard Withering's voice, meek and supplicating. "But I would be much obliged if we could arrange something. It's been a week since I was supposed to hear from them and I'm worried. It's not like them to disappear off the face of the earth. I mean, alright, Aridonna can be a little irresponsible now and then and Daraan just plain forgets, but Pheledrae's sharp and she's never let me down. I just want to make sure they're not dead."
"Of course." Thrall's voice was a low rumble in his chest.
She inched closer. The crack in the door revealed nothing but a sliver of white light from some window within as Thrall continued to speak. "I will help you — no, no, no payment will be necessary. I do this to thank you for all you've done before. Do not think the world has forgotten you for Blackrock and the Wyrmbog. It is the least I can do."
"Thank you," said Leo. "Thank you. Thank you."
Lira's breath was silent. She rested her head against the doorway. The stone stung like ice against her cheek.
"This will take but a few moments." Suddenly it struck Lira that Thrall had a voice suited to singing. The observation made her frown. After all that had happened, the sudden innocence felt foreign. "If there are any spirits that should greet us, they will appear soon."
"I heard that it's been more difficult to speak to the spirits since the Cataclysm..."
"Ah," said Thrall. "You have mistaken the spirits of the dead with the spirits of the elements. The elements have been quite distressed for some time and are not easy to speak to. They barely listen to me, if they do at all."
A nervous laugh from Leo. Get on with it, thought Lira. "Daraan said he's felt useless ever since just before the Cataclysm..."
In the crack of the doorway, the colour of the light changed, from the gentle white of reflected snow to gold, green and blue. Thrall droned in a low tone. "Spirits, we humbly seek those who may have perished. Leonardo Withering, your worried guildmaster, seeks to know the fates of three of your number who have disappeared this week."
"Aridonna Stoutwell," said Leo. "Daraan of Outland. Pheledrae Silverfeather."
A pregnant silence. Lira's fingers curled.
"There are many spirits here," said Thrall. "I can sense them all. Dozens, who once knew you."
Ah.
Those spirits.
"Yes." Inside, Leo's voice cracked. "We lost many in the attack on the Wyrmbog. They fought so… so bravely, I…"
Silence.
"Some are breaking away," said Thrall. "Some are appearing — "
A sharp intake of breath.
Lira nudged the door open.
In the small chamber beyond, red cushions lay scattered on the ground. With his back to her, Leo sat on one. Lira barely had a second to take in bookshelves, a pile of furs, before four figures caught her attention as they stood in front of a white window.
Four spectres.
A dwarf, with faded red hair and plate armour. A draenei in chain mail, twin plaits dangling against his chest. A night elf, clutching a bow at her side. A nightsaber, hulking at her knees.
"Oh, gods." Leo's voice was a horrified whisper. "No. No."
"Leo." The dwarf's spirit addressed him first. "I'm sorry. I let you down. I tried my best but we didn't stand a chance..."
"We made maps of the entrances we found to the Nerubian kingdom," said the draenei. "If you can find our bodies, the maps are with them, although we can't guarantee they weren't stolen... we died in the south. Right next to the river. Not far from the pillar, north-east, I'd say, to the southernmost pillar."
"Stout…" Lira heard the tears in Withering's voice. "Phel… Daraan…"
"It was a Horde attack," said Stoutwell. "A Forsaken woman. She was either a mage or a warlock."
"There was another," said Pheledrae. "A man. The last thing I remember before the female killed me was Alisha lunging at his throat, although..." She glanced down to the spirit at her knees. "She did not win."
Stoutwell laughed humourlessly. "She had us for breakfast, Leo! She killed me with her bare hands!"
"She ripped Donna's throat out." Daraan lowered his eyes. "It was horrific."
"I died quickly," Stoutwell rushed to say. "I died in seconds."
Daraan winced.
"I followed them," said Pheledrae. Beside her, Alisha's ghost groomed herself. "The day before I had detected some Twilight's Hammer activity in the Basin, seen some cultists in small groups. By chance I happened upon a scent and followed it. The owners had tried very hard not to be found, they must be up to something. There was barely a trail to follow, I almost lost them several times." She shook her head. "But they were not cultists. At least, they did not wear the uniform, and it didn't match up with the behaviour of the Cultists in general. I found it bizarre… these two had tried so hard not to be discovered, but risked exposure by attacking anyway."
"They could have snuck by us and we'd never have known," said Stoutwell. "The attack was a complete surprise."
Lira frowned. Twilight's Hammer Cultists in Sholazar?
What did the cultists want from there?
"The female had super strength," said Pheledrae. "She crushed the bones in my face and snapped my neck with little effort."
"The Forsaken in general have varying ability." Thrall shook his head with a sigh. "Some can barely pick up a cup, their muscles are so withered. Others have unnatural strength and agility because the necromantic magic used to raise them had enhanced their strength or speed. Master Withering, please accept my most sincere apologies and condolences for this tragedy."
"It's not your fault." Leo's voice was quiet. So quiet that if Lira were mortal, she would not have picked it up at all. "You never asked for this. Never wanted it. Oh, Stout... the three of you. My best fighters, and little Alisha too..." A sad chuckle. "This is terrible… I've known you all for so long and now you're gone."
"Thank you for everything, Leo." Stoutwell saluted. Her eyes brimmed with tears. "I've had the best years of my life in your guild, and it's been an honour to fight alongside you, sir."
Daraan drew in a breath. "And I, too, am grateful for all you have done for me."
Pheledrae shrugged. "I suppose I had fun." But she was smiling, and the nightsaber beside her sat up as if it understood.
"Tell my aunt I love her," said Stoutwell. "I couldn't have been raised by a better guardian. She was as good as a mother to me. Still is. Always will be." She buried her face in her hands. She faded away into the light.
"Pass my love on to my wife," said Daraan before he, too, disappeared.
That left only Pheledrae, who crouched beside her nightsaber, scratching the cat behind the ears.
"Is there anything you want me to pass on?" Leo's voice sounded stronger, and yet empty. Hollow. "Your sisters…"
"They know I love them," said Pheledrae. She frowned. "There is something... that troubles me, about all of this. The woman..." She gazed past Leo, straight at Lira. "She had the strangest eyes. Made of crystal. And her face... it was like she'd wept purple tears."
Slowly she faded from sight.
The door creaked as Lira pushed it fully open. Thrall whirled around. "That matches Onyxia's description," she said, as Leo flinched and leapt to his feet. "Your allies have not died in vain, Withering, they have brought us vital information: Onyxia is in Sholazar Basin with her minions. And, to my joy, we have specifics: near Skyreach. She had a male with her. Given her relationships with the other dragons, this is most likely to be her brother, Sabellian."
Leo let out a long sigh. "This doesn't surprise me." It seemed as it the lines in his face were more pronounced all of a sudden, as if the shadows in them were deeper. "She wouldn't be able to resist. She'd want revenge. Katrana Prestor was vicious."
"Onyxia's eyes are unique," said Lira. "I don't know the details of what magic Nefarian used to resurrect her, but I don't think in Northrend she would have had the opportunity to examine herself in the mirror and realise her appearance is quite consistent or she would not have made this mistake." She rose her eyebrows.
Thrall spoke haltingly. "Sabellian is a shaman, yes?" When Lira nodded, he said, "Then he would know of this ritual. Surely he would have warned his sister of her appearance?"
Lira snorted.
Leo smiled weakly. "Obviously, you've never met Sabellian."
"Sabellian is a genius," said Lira. "Therefore he is a complete idiot."
Thrall looked puzzled.
"It makes sense if you've met him." Leo took a deep breath. "Lirastrasza, what happens now?"
"Call your guild," said Lira. "Get them here. With the Frostmoon Federation busy in the Firelands, we cannot turn to them. Onyxia was powerful enough on her own, but now she has Nalice's brood and three adult dragons backing her up." She paused for effect. "And not only that, Leo, but two of them are more powerful than her. Our fight in Zul'drak came at a great cost. Serinar is a thirty-four-thousand-year-old dragon, and Sabellian is the most powerful shaman in the world, it was little wonder our attack had been decimated. If he fought instead of fleeing, with him by Onyxia's side, she would be as good as invincible in battle."
Gods, Lira hoped the Obsidian Dawn wouldn't get their hands on the Black Prince's egg. With the Black Prince's power and Sabellian's tutelage, that little whelpling would be unstoppable.
Perhaps that was exactly what they planned. One did not have to be tainted by Old Gods to be evil.
And a child, especially, wouldn't know any better.
"But Sabellian isn't like that, surely?" said Leo. "I worked with him in Blade's Edge, he was... nice, for a dragon." Lira twitched. Leo added hastily, "I mean a Black dragon. When my sister murdered someone he even took the blame. Why would he work with Onyxia?"
"In Outland, there are no Old Gods," said Lira. "Remember that. It is true, the Red Dragonflight once considered him the closest to an ally we would ever have within the Black Dragonflight, but that is only because he was persecuted and hunted by his own people. Of course he would see mortals in a more favourable light than his own kind, corrupt or not. If the Black Flight finally opened their arms to him, he would have taken the chance in a heartbeat, just as he did when he fought alongside Deathwing in Outland."
"I see." Leo sighed. "It will take me some time to recall everyone. They're scattered all over the world, and the comms only have the range of a city. I'll have to send a letter through Dalaran to Stormwind. I've got some men on an escort job, it'll be there waiting for them." He took a deep breath. "I'll have to tell Lana about her niece's death, and track down Phel's sisters…"
"Of course." Lira stepped out of the room. "Thank you, Thrall, for doing this for him. And to you, Witheri — Leonardo." She nodded to the mortal. "You have done us a great service."
And he had, too, because the information those spirits had given Lira had told her several things:
The Twilight's Hammer Cult were in Sholazar.
If Onyxia was there, she was working with them.
The Ambassador had told Lira that Onyxia had defected.
Therefore, even before, he had lied.
-o-O-o-
The world was a haze of corruption, a concoction of simmering thoughts, memories and knowledge. Muscle memory, power, magic, all of it downloaded into Wrathion's brain as he wandered and listened.
Lirastrasza lied, said a voice in the roof of the world. It reeked of the arcane, in a way sounds could in this plane. It stank of constructs and necromancers and horror imprinted in the psyche, a figure that would have been terrifying if he was not so neat and friendly. I know a liar when I see one. Withering knows about us.
She may not have lied in the way you think, said another voice. A tired one, one heavy with burdens that made Wrathion feel sleepy just to hear, a voice that threatened to latch onto him and drown him. And yet, chaotic, all over the place, frazzled, stretched thin to the point of snapping. Leo doesn't know, I'd recognise it if he did. But she was covering up something. I think she put him onto harassing you. She doesn't trust us.
She thinks we're with Onyxia.
Onyxia… A snort from the tired voice. Memories; fond memories laced with guilt and fear. A woman with a sharp face and a wry smirk. Bleached, stone walls. Candlelight, a chessboard, a book. Love that had never faded, leaden with guilt. I wish this was over. She's done enough damage.
A third, soft voice. Sir, when you are weak, we will be strong for you. We may be alone, but we are alone together.
A fourth voice whispered in a language that made Wrathion shudder.
The tired voice said, oh, for the love of the Light, N'zoth, shut the hell up. Nobody gives a shit.
It's alright, sir, said the third voice. Not much longer. You must persist, you must hang on.
It's like a goddamn party in here, said the tired voice. Everyone's trashing the place, someone's pissed on my desk, it's four in the morning and nobody's leaving! One day, I'm going to sit down and think, and I won't have to listen to dragons, evil orcs, tentacles or dead people… no offence.
None taken, sir, said the soft voice. You are tired, I understand.
I should start charging you all rent. You are the worst tenants ever.
The Old God continued its whispers.
Ugh, said the tired voice. Where the hell is Onyxia? If she wants to torture me she should just keep on hiding.
A gnome. Golden hair. A smiling face. An infirmary, with Samia Inkling cradling a newborn in a bed, with the gnome nearby. Hora. Her name was Hora.
Someone once told me that the tougher your outside was, the softer your insides are, said the tired voice. but in her case I'm pretty sure she's cold to the core. Damn Bronze dragons. Still, I wonder, if Bronzes are good why did she lie like that? What was the purpose?
Wrathion detached himself from the Steward's mind. Oh, but it was true. Take Nalice; nasty, poisonous, corrosive Nalice. Oh, certainly, she had a tough exterior that was the envy of any decent Black dragon, but it was only that: an exterior. Inside she was even more pathetic than most mortals, possessing neither of the aptitudes of her powerful parents and having only ever had one mate in her six thousand years of life.
One.
Wow. Even Sabellian had once had four at once, and he was the Black Dragonflight's pariah.
And Nalice's relationship with Serinar was the definition you found when you looked up "it's complicated." Both were attached to each other, but, of course, real Black dragons didn't communicate, real Black dragons didn't show attachment or emotion so therefore both thought they were hated by the other.
It was the stupidest thing Wrathion had ever come across in his mental wanderings of Azeroth.
Between Samia Inkling acting like a moron on the ship to Menethil Harbour, Sabellian acting like he had brain damage, Nalice being stupid over Serinar and Serinar being stupid over Nalice, and Onyxia having lost her spark since her death, Wrathion was forced to come to one conclusion:
The Black Dragonflight was full of idiots.
Unfortunately, there wasn't a light at the end of the tunnel. Onyxia spent most of her time sitting on that beach next to her children. Nalice manned her breeding cavern like it was the last bastion of dragonity. Sabellian spent a lot of time sleeping, growling over headaches or apparently fretting over his human toy. Serinar was restlessly in and out of the cavern, returning every few days to add to the stockpile of frozen fruit and vegetables.
Every now and then Serinar dropped a wordless offering in front of Nalice like a bird gathering nest materials for his mate; a chisel, a half-cut gem long forgotten by a mercenary, a broken violin covered in mould. Rather than discard the garbage Nalice used the chisel to cut the brittle crystals she stole from her father, made a tiny dragon statuette out of the piece of jade, and plucked at the violin's three strings, lost in thought as she remembered the instrument she'd been forced to leave behind in the Obsidian Dragonshrine. Whenever she wasn't using it, she left it against the wall in the first place Serinar would see if he entered.
Bored, Wrathion left them. His body stirred inside his shell; his mind wandered the earth. He crept to Sholazar and listened to the minds he found there. Not many. There was, however, one pocket of corruption so concentrated it made him want to be sick. He lurked near it and listened.
He heard only silence.
Hm. Another silent mind, another resistant mind. But it was different; with the exception of one other mind, the only minds that he couldn't see into were the Bronzes', and they were like wisps of cloud he couldn't grasp. This one, however, squatted like a heavy wall coated in poison. He prodded it.
Hello, Your Highness.
Wrathion jolted in his shell out of his dream-like state. What?
Yes, said the voice. I can hear you. Clear as day, actually.
He huffed. You are a Twilight dragon. No other species is so ingrained with corruption.
Well. Excepting the Faceless Ones, and he didn't dare touch them. It is beneath me to speak with you, he continued.
My name is Seldarria, said the Twilight. I was once of your Flight, in fact. Have you been keeping an eye on the world, little dragon?
"Little dragon?" he said. One day, I will have more power than Deathwing.
Trust a child to dream, said Seldarria. But you are the Black Prince. I would be a fool to disagree.
You recognise me, he said.
Indeed I do.
No one has ever noticed my presence before, said the whelpling. I have been inside the heads of the most powerful beings in the world and they never notice me, let alone recognise me. Even Ner'zhul himself was oblivious. Why is it you do?
I am Twilight, said Seldarria. I keep my mind well-guarded. I am always listening, for the Old Gods often speak to me. I did not expect you, however.
Ah. Yes. The Old Gods. He could feel them, deep inside the earth, spreading their taint to anything they could find…
But they couldn't find him. To them, he was invisible.
But not to the rest of the world, said Seldarria. I have heard of you. So have the Obsidian Dawn, and they want you. They think you can save the world. Wow, how stupid, I mean, what can a kid do?
Of course they do, everyone wants to use me. Wrathion stirred again. How is it you know what they want? Nobody knows where they are.
But I do, said Seldarria. The Old Gods have always been able to watch and comment on our lives. How would they be able to if they were not able to see it? The Old Gods knew where they were all along, and they told me and my Flight the Obsidian Dawn's plans when they were idle thoughts in the back of Serinar's head before Obsidia died.
And yet you have not killed them, said the child.
No, said Seldarria. But don't think I don't have orders. I do. Perhaps you've encountered Sabellian, the shaman.
The whelp stirred. That dragon cropped up again and again. Lirastrasza's thoughts occasionally returned to him, so did Onyxia's, and the stupid dragonspawn pined after him. He had been quite curious to hear if the Bronzes knew anything of him, but the Bronzes' minds weren't quite in sync with the world and evaded him.
There was something about that dragon…
I cannot hear Sabellian, Wrathion said. I can hear all those around him, but not him. Does he guard his mind as you do?
He is a powerful shaman, and therefore he has a connection to the earth he is capable of controlling, unlike every other member of the Black Dragonflight, said Seldarria. He can render himself deaf to it if he wishes. There is a reason the Old Gods urged your kind to shed the old ways. Every shaman controls their bond with the earth, else the elements would badger them ceaselessly, but unfortunately this means they would not have been able to hear the Old Gods either. You are connected to the earth in a way no Black dragon has been in ten thousand years, and that is how you are able to listen to everyone that walks upon it. Indeed, you are the earth.
It is fortunate for you that you acknowledge this, said Wrathion.
I'm quaking, said Seldarria.
You will be, said Wrathion. What is your plan for him, then? I am curious.
For him to teach you our ways, said Seldarria.
Wrathion waited for the punchline.
When it didn't come, he said, Idiot. I'm arranging to escape all of this, not to be clawed back into it.
You have great power, little whelp, said Seldarria. Wrathion, is it? You really do need to learn to guard your mind better. I'll have him teach you that, too. In any case, Sabellian is the most powerful shaman in the world because he's the oldest one upon it. He might be scatterbrained, but he has ten thousand years of experience and knowledge, knowledge no other shaman has, not even Thrall. Imagine — his knowledge, combined with your inherent power. You've been in the world long enough to know the drill by now: join us, and you'll get more power than you could on your own, et cetera et cetera.
No answer.
Oh, come on, said Seldarria. Nobody can resist power! The Old Gods said so! This isn't fair, throw me a bone here.
Inside the darkness of his egg, Wrathion rolled his eyes. I am not your puppet.
No, said Seldarria. You're too good for that.
I'm not interested, said Wrathion.
Mmm, said Seldarria. So you say, for now. All I ask is that you remember you have a rival.
What? said Wrathion.
There's another egg, said Seldarria. Sabellian's grandson, in fact. You won't be able to talk to him, either. I've already talked to him, and made sure you won't be able to find him. He's as powerful as you are, you know.
I don't care, said Wrathion. Leave me.
Seldarria sighed. Fine, fine. But remember, little Wrathion, just because you're immune to the Old Gods' whispers doesn't mean they won't sink their claws into you anyway. I will leave you now, but we will, of course, speak again. One day, it will be face to face.
And you will beg for mercy, said Wrathion.
Oh, Gods, I forgot what you lot are like, said Seldarria. You're all doom! Doom! Doom! Die in a fire, foolish mortals, buahaha! Ugh. I prefer being Twilight, at least we don't act like a bunch of idiots. Later.
Her presence vanished.
Wrathion would have smirked if he could. Seldarria did not worry him.
He had plans.
In the northlands of the Eastern Kingdoms, one man in Ravenholdt had answered the call. The man that carried Wrathion's egg was as good as dead.
When Ravenholdt came for him, Wrathion would be free of them all.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed!
A special request to people who review this chapter: my description has slipped by the wayside again. It's a real weakness of mine, so I'd appreciate any concrit/advice/etc you have on description that you can give!
