BLOOD LEPRECHAUN by J Cae
A/N: 12 days since my last update!! At least it's an improvement from last time. My dad kidnapped my laptop and now I have to use Mom's computer again!!! (Extremely careful not to get hacked again...). Sorry about last chapter--FF.net ate all my asterisks and underscores!! No more smilies...that just feels so sad. I'm probably just going to use a dash for a paragraph break. Please bear with me until I figure out how this new system works.
WEIRD ROMANTIC PAIRING ALERT!!! READ AT YOUR OWN MENTAL RISK!!!!
-
God help you if you're a phoenix and you dare rise up from the ash
A thousand eyes will smother you with jealousy while you're just flying past
-Ani DiFranco, "32 Flavours"
CHAPTER II: QUESTIONED
An hour of sleep was all Thrall could get after Sylvanas and Illidan arrived. He spent the rest of his night sitting in the cooler night's chill, thinking. Though he tried to convince himself, he could not shake the feeling that something was about to go amiss--or perhaps it had already happened.
After his meeting with Samuro, he heard the two arguing which raised his suspicion. He understood only a little bit of elvish from his years of slavery to the humans who had close contact with the elves, but not well enough to understand everything. It would not be proper to eavesdrop, but he could not help it when he heard the word 'military aid'. That was what the two were here for--to gain his trust and to get their hands on his army. They even mentioned Ner'zhul's name, but they obviously were not on the lich king's side. Then why did they not just be straight to the point and ask him for aid directly? If the Night Elves were interested in massing an army to defeat Ner'zhul, it would be his honour to send in troops. But what of the high elven woman? She spoke about crushing the humans as though she did not have a heart. Terrorblade would also 'murder for magic', so Thrall heard, and that did not bring him any comfort.
Who was he? Who was this lover of his?
After offering hospitality for the pregnant woman, it would not be ethical for him to turn her away again. But he needed to figure out who she was and what exactly she wanted before he could decide upon what to be done about her.
What could he do?
He sighed. Why this sentiment? What could not be solved? Rokhan had already been sent to Moonglade to inquire the identity of the night elven man Terrorblade. On the shadow hunter's return, he could have at least known whether Terrorblade was a deportee, a convict, or if he even existed. Perhaps in the meanwhile he could ask Rexxar to come and keep an eye on the night elf--Rexxar always had a sort of strong sensitivity about strangers' intentions, and he was also clear-headed on most occasions.
Why should he still worry?
Because they had spies and were not alone?
Who could they be? After the deaths of Kil'jaeden, Archimonde and Mannaroth, he could think of no one who might want to pose threat to the Orcs. Perhaps Ner'zhul would, but when would that damned lich king get to Kalimdor--if he would at all? With the mystical energies of the Kaldorei guarding the land--waning but nonetheless still strong, and with the orcs, and probably the humans, ready to ally with the Night Elves again to launch full resistance against the Scourge, the worst he could imagine was that Sylvanas and Terrorblade were spies of Ner'zhul. But they spoke of the lich king with genuine hate, and he did not think they could be in any way related to the Scourge. So who were they?
Footfalls behind him made him turn. But gentle hands touched him on his shoulders and put a cloak around his shoulders. With a sigh of relief, he muttered, "Thank you, Manai."
The woman servant bowed her head. When she lifted her gaze, she spoke in her rough, broken voice, "Pardon, Warchief. I sound rude. But you all right? Manai see you frown, and know you worry."
Thrall nodded with a forced smile, "I am. Thank you for your concern. Manai, you are a dear."
Manai revealed her teeth in a smile--one of her canine teeth had been knocked out when she was a child slave. Other than that, she had a wide jaw and full body, and was considered quite beautiful among Orc men. "Manai know nothing," her smile faded into a sad sigh, "Cannot help Warchief. But make you feel better."
"You definitely have," Thrall reached to pat her on the back of her hand.
Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of green as she smiled again at him--how lovely. He almost wanted to ask her to sit with him a little while longer while the dawning sun bathed their chilled bodies. But before he could ask, one of the raiders from Samuro's squad pulled his steed up in front of the Warchief's hut, "Warchief, our forces are ready to move out to Thiong's base. Do we have your command?"
"Move out," Thrall stood from the ground and made a gesture of blessing. "Lok Tar Ogar, my brother"
"Lok Tar Ogar, Warchief," the raider placed a hand on his heart and sped off.
Thrall turned and found Manai ready to retire. His soul cried out for her to stay with him, but he knew it could not be. He was the Warchief, and she was merely a servant. He had great tasks ahead of him and the weight of a nation upon his broad shoulders. She could not fight, and she was even less educated in skills of military. It would be out of the question to let her tag along while he underwent possibly dangerous missions.
But he thought he should at least say something to her before he let her go. But how he struggled with his words that just would not come, "I must head to the stronghold. But...Manai, I want you to know this. Whenever my eyes fall upon your face, there is peace in my heart."
-
At the crimson horizon there came more than just the dawning rays of the rising sun. An army was marching towards the small Orcish guard base a distance away from Orgrimmar. Dark and winged, their female bodies were hideously mutilated, and from the sides and limbs of these nightmarish creatures protruded many blades of different shapes and sizes. They advanced, and without warning attached themselves to the first guard tower they saw. Like hungry vampires, they dug their teeth into the bamboo walls and began to suck out the essence of the building materials, reducing them into charred ruins.
The tower crumbled, and the Orcish soldiers who were stationed up there crashed through the floor, straight into the waiting claws of ravenous women warriors--so many of them waited to feast on the living juices of their victims. So many of them it seemed almost ridiculous.
The warrior women resembled night elves, though not quite. Their faces were deathlike white, though their eyes gleamed with unnatural yellow light. They moved quicker than any mortal creature the orcs could name, like frenzied zombies that were oblivious to their victims' suffering and pain.
Almost in unison they stretched their giant bladed wings and body parts of their enemy became severed. They dashed towards the Stronghold standing at the middle of the base camp and devoured all signs of life in their path. Within seconds, many Orcs found their deaths by their multiple bladed claws.
Some of the grunts began to retaliate after they recovered from their initial shock. They hacked their battle-axes through the demon women's head but to no avail. Even though the stinking flesh could be damaged by the axe, it did nothing to stop the possessed army. Instead, the warrior women dug their claws into their enemies' pathetic bodies and began drawing lifeblood from them. Those whom they touched became devoid of life, and there left on their skins was an ugly pink taint. It was as though the demons who had once held the Orcs in slavery had returned again to claim their rightful prize.
And after the guard base had been completely levelled, the women moved on and were headed towards Orgrimmar. Evermore so ravenous for fresh blood, evermore merciless, they would never cease until their mission had been completed.
Go on, my warriors. No one could have measured the depth of your power, the depth of your hate.
From the top of a cliff, the Black Warden watched with dispassionate eyes as the women marched towards the Orcish City where hundreds of hundreds of fresh mortals would feed their hunger.
Go on and find Illidan Stormrage and bring him to me. Crush those in your paths, and I shall reward you with his warm blood.
Casting one last look at the fallen base camp, she leapt off the high cliff. Before she landed, she seemed to fade into nothingness like a spectre...
-
Terrorblade, otherwise known as Illidan Stormrage, was just getting ready for the morning training with the orcish army a few days later. In the heat of the morning sun, he flexed his muscles and stretched his limps. The orc men all around him stared at his robust form in admiration. Somehow this hero was quite unlike the stooped, hobbling Night Elven druids they were used to seeing. Although blind, Illidan certainly did not need to be guided by the hand. He could find his way around the city without trouble, and he definitely could not be named a liability.
And while the orc warriors chattered away among themselves about how well-built the former demon hunter was, Illidan felt like the hugest fool. Why had he allowed that bitch named Sylvanas Windrunner to push him around? It was true she had the power to reveal his identity to the orcs and had them chain him up or whatever, but what good would it do her? She was his lover, and therefore should he be in trouble, she would likely also be blamed. Why had he listened to her and enrolled himself in the orcish army like the perfect fool?
He prayed that Thrall would refuse his offer, but instead, the Warchief accepted almost without thinking and assigned him to a squad under the command of a Mok'Nathal named Rexxar. This Rexxar person might have been a good warrior himself, thought Illidan, but he was a lousy general. He could have been somewhat of a lone wolf or a wanderer, but obviously he was not made to understand the functions of an army.
Illidan kept those thoughts to himself. He was to play the fool that morning, and he would keep up with his pretence.
He refused orcish weapons politely and claimed that he was used to relying on his twin curved-blades. Rexxar did not persist, and they just left the matter where it was.
On the matter of Sylvanas, Thrall asked Illidan not to worry. The women would be taking good care of her while he was away--and he was certain he had no reason to worry. She would be having fun watching him work and sweat while she just lay there in bed. She would probably also be testing out her telepathic influence on the orc women as well. He wondered fiercely why he agreed at all to come with her. The debt he owed her had been repaid, and he had already done more. Why was he such a fool? Why had he chosen to aid her?
He recalled he had been told by orc men on more than one occasion that he was a lucky man and that Sylvanas was a very pretty lady--some of them actually embarrassedly remembered that Illidan was blind and twisted their praises into something else. Illidan played along, and just told them that he agreed with them for he had seen Sylvanas's face before he became blind--that was before he was brought back to life again.
"So, you have been a wanderer," Rexxar said casually, pulling Illidan's attention back to the orc military camp. Illidan could hear the Beastmaster's pet bear growling softly as her tamer threw her bits of leftover meat in his backpack. "Must have been to a lot of places with that lass of yours, haven't you?"
"Why, certainly," Illidan answered without thinking. "Furthest north I've been to is Nendis. Been wandering in Felwood until those undead brutes came."
"Never been down south to the Desolace, have you?"
"Once or twice, ten millenniums ago," the demon hunter shrugged. "Everything's changed. Even the air that I breathe feels different now."
The Mok'Nathal said nothing, but Illidan knew what he said must have shocked him. One thing about these non-elven people was that they always failed to realize how old elves could get. They always tried to look for answers in faces--elves looked forever the same once they reached the age of fifty until the day they die.
"Must have been a surprise, revisiting old places," Rexxar remarked after a while.
"It is indeed--"
Illidan's reply was cut short as he instinctively dodged to avoid a war-axe thrown his way. It took him a second to realize that Rexxar had thrown it.
"Good," the Beastmaster said as Illidan unsheathed his curved blades to parry his second blow. "You have quick reflexes." He freed his axe from the twin blades and swung it at Illidan who took a step to the side agilely and counterattacked.
"Nothing escapes the ears of a blind elf," Illidan replied, parrying more of Rexxar's attacks. He was certain the half-ogre meant him no harm and merely wanted to test out his strength.
"And certainly you have good strength and skill with the blades as well," the Beastmaster observed. "Were you in the army before you became a wanderer?"
"You're right. I have." No point in denying that.
"When was that?"
"That would be about a hundred years ago," Illidan replied, now getting the motive behind those questions--the Mok'Nathal was searching for reasons to support the doubts the Warchief had. He would have to lie now and remember what was lied about.
"Were not all night elven men sent to sleep in those thousand years through Ysera's power?"
"It was all the druids, not all the men," Illidan explained. "I was far from a druid. I was a hunter."
"I see," Rexxar nodded and pressed his question, "And when did you give the soldier's life up for a wanderer's?"
"Three years before I met Sylvanas--that would be seven years ago." Lies, lies. Illidan knew he was not too terrible of a liar and he could probably get away with it.
"Your battle skills are very polished," Rexxar placed his axes back into their sheath, as did Illidan his weapons. The former demon hunter knew there was a question left unasked--were there many rogues armed with swords and axes for you to practise with in the wilderness?
"That's fine..." the Mok'Nathal nodded again and dismissed Illidan. "You can certainly stay in our army."
-
Upon Illidan's return to the city centre where the hut which he and Sylvanas shared was, he could already sense something in the air--and his instincts told him that it had to do with Sylvanas. With the back of his hand, he wiped sweat from his face. His blindfold was soaked, though he did not remove it to free himself from its clammy touch. He was not used to sweating a lot. None of the many different places he had lived in before were as heated--Moonglade, Ashenvale, Lordaeron, Northrend. All of them were colder--some much colder than the Desolace. He wondered what attracted the Orcs to stay in such a horrible place. They did not in the least bit seem to mind the heat however.
And as he predicted, one of the orcs women came to tell him that something was wrong with Sylvanas. Almost instantly, he asked, "Is it the baby?"--and fought the urge to spit. Why did it matter to him? Why should he concern himself with Sylvanas? She was somebody else's lover. Why should he care? But the orc woman took his response straightforwardly as anxiety and led him back to the hut to see the Dark Lady.
Before he even stepped inside, he could hear her bawling--one certainly did not need eyes to know that she was sitting on the floor in a corner. He crouched in front of her and asked, "What's wrong?" It was not like her at all to cry over matters.
She did not speak and just kept on sobbing, giving no indication at all whether she knew of his presence--or even cared. She was inconsolable no matter what he tried to say to her, and in the end, he just found a comfortable position to sit and waited for her to sort out her own emotions on her own. He wondered why he sat there with her--it was a terribly boring and embarrassing task. Somehow he could not force himself to leave her alone in despair, though the silence between them was not helping either. At last, quite annoyed, he started to stand, "If you've nothing to tell me, I'll leave you alone."
She caught him by the arm, "Don't leave."
"All right," he returned to his sitting position, cursing himself inwardly, cursing her inwardly, "But you've gotta tell me what the hell's the matter with you."
"The midwives--they said my pelvis is too narrow and it would be a difficult childbirth."
He hardly recognized her voice--it had become so broken and hoarse with tears.
He would have worried with her, but instead, a thought crossed his mind. He laughed, "You are an elf! That's how elves are--did you expect yourself to have the wide hip of an orc? Have you ever heard elf women die because they had small hips?"
"No," she mumbled timidly.
"Well, there's no reason to be scared at all," he continued unhelpfully. "If your childbirth is going to be difficult, it can't be helped. Stop worrying about it."
"It's my first child. Try to be sympathetic, all right?" A bit of the old Sylvanas Windrunner seemed to return when she became angry--that rather relieved Illidan though not for long. She was losing her edge again, "But why did I ever put myself up with this cripple? Why didn't I kill the child? I could have been fighting Ner'zhul now, instead of sitting here, doing nothing."
"Sylvanas," he sighed. These words of self-pity had been said too many times, he had become numb hearing them. He knew she was merely saying them for the sake of saying them. She had never been able to gather up courage and destroy this gift, this curse that Kael gave her--that was unfortunately not only the source of Sylvanas's insanity, but that of Illidan's as well. "You have already made that choice--stay with it. Just a few more weeks left, and then you can do whatever you want. It's not too bad. "
He felt her arms sliding round his neck, and he was surprised she would embrace him. Deep down, he fiercely wished that she was Tyrande, even if she was carrying Furion's child.
But she was not. She was still Sylvanas. She was still the Dark Lady, who, in the past seven to eight months, had been driving everyone to the brink of madness--Illidan dared say Varimathras and Mondelv as well.
"Maybe I just miss Kael so much," she whimpered in a very soft voice.
He breathed an audible sigh and put his arms around her. How could he pretend he did not understand what she was feeling?
"Do something for me."
"Uh-huh?"
If there was anything at all he could do to make her feel better.
She leaned close to his ear and whispered.
He almost cursed--outwitted again and trapped in another one of her games.
But she kissed him on the lips.
And this was what she told him,
"The Orc women are spying through the window. Kiss me."
-
Like a swarm of angry bees the blades did flicker and the wings did buzz, the murderous warrior women approached as the sun made its departure from the much heated earth, preparing themselves for another epic battle--another epic feast. Of the many camps they devoured, none could put up resistance. None at all. The centaurs, ogres, quillboars, kobolds and harpies all fell victim to their blood lusty consumption. None lived to warn their fellowmen of these dangerous life-draining warriors. Thus each time the women attacked, their pathetic victims were unaware and were given no chance to strike back.
They found their ways to the other side of the Desolace where a wondrous orcish warrior city stood--Orgrimmar. There would be flesh to feed more than two hundred ravenous mouths and blood enough to quench their thirsts.
They concealed themselves in the shadows of the retiring sun and advanced quietly, careful not to be found out. So dark their twisted bodies were they were hardly visible as they made their ways deeper into the unsuspicious city.
Aleck! Aleck! But someone seemed to be aware of their presence as they drew nearer to their destination. Who could that be? Someone who possessed such terrible, demonic telepathy?
Dark Lady...
They hissed hatefully under their breaths to one another.
Dark Lady, a friend of Illidan Stormrage...
Should they give up their hunt? Well they could never give up their hunt. Their mistress the Black Warden had put a curse upon them and they could do nothing other than hunting that hated betrayer. They must head into the city and eliminate her first before she could alert the others. But could they defeat her? Though their earlier attacks had given them more minions who were put under their telepathy, the Dark Lady could very well turn the possessed units against them.
They could sense her becoming alert--she was running.
In dreadful rage they hissed and charged...
-
Sylvanas hurried out of the hut and began searching for Illidan. Damn. How come he was always around when she did not want him near and nowhere to be found when she needed him? Her pregnancy weighed her down, and she could only run as fast as it allowed her to.
One of the orc women saw her looking around and asked her if she needed any help, though the orc spoke very poor Common and Sylvanas could hardly understand a word of it.
"Where is Terrorblade? Have you seen him?"
The Orc woman shook her head with a very confused look on her face and started to say something incomprehensible. The elf decided to give up and look for him by herself, but the orc tugged at her sleeve and pointed in a direction. "Terrorblade," she uttered. "There."
Sylvanas did not even bother to thank her. She darted to where the orc pointed--down a sand-covered avenue with burrows on both sides of the road. She found him standing at the end, speaking with two shamans.
"Illi--" she caught herself before she burst out his real name, "Something horrible is approaching this place, something hostile. Go to the Warchief now and tell him to gather every man who can bear arms."
"What is it?" worry crept across his face. Even though he did not trust her completely, he knew better than to doubt her judgement. But 'something horrible' was too vague for him to picture the danger. "What do you sense? An army?"
"An army," she confirmed. "I do not know what they are. I sense terror--the stench of blood chaining heavily all around. These demons seemed to be escapees from their torturers in a red, broken world."
The two shamans seemed alarmed, but Illidan shrugged. "They could be from Outland. There are more demons in Outland than critters in the three continents put together."
Eyeing the two Orcs, she switched to the elvish tongue, "But I also read in their thoughts your name."
"Why didn't you say so earlier?"
"Just hurry up and tell Thrall about it."
"How far are they from here?"
"It doesn't matter. By then, the first demon should have already arrived."
-
"A hostile army?" Thrall repeated in shock. "Where had you spotted them? Our scouts from the watchtowers have seen nothing."
"Sylvanas has a strong clairvoyant instinct--she can't be wrong about it," Illidan placed his hands on Thrall's desk. Running his fingers over the wooden surface he could almost read from its rings and lines how old the tree must have been before being cut down.
"But an army neither human nor creep--a legion of demons from Draenor?" Thrall shook his head and placed a hand on the upper arm of the former demon hunter. "Why would they ever wish to come to attack this place?"
"That we have no idea, but please, trust us." Illidan repeated Sylvanas's message. "Just gather up an army so you would not be caught unprepared."
A scraping screech cut through the air and interrupted their conversation. Thrall looked through the window of his study close to one of the entrances to Orgrimmar to find that a watchtower had been sent crumbling. A black, bladed and winged figure came marching into the city--the first of many. He would have wondered how one of her, something no bigger than the size of an elf woman could have pushed over a watchtower, but he was not given time. More bladed demons advanced, surging towards the city in unbelievable speed.
Both the warchief and the night elf raced out of the hut. They were joined by a group of orcish guards who were shocked by what they saw.
Thrall reached for his weapon, as did those near him. To his generals, shamans and fellow warriors, he placed his command, "Pick up your weapons! Gather up warriors! Tell the women and children to leave this place at once!"
"What are they?" someone yelled.
"From the sound of their movement, they are called vile tormentors, my friend. We must be careful of these beastly women," Illidan answered. If there had been one single orc there who had not been clouded by terror, he would have heard Illidan give out something about himself--that he had been to Outland and he had seen vile tormentors before.
Thrall did not begin to believe Illidan's tale until he saw one of the demon women pick up a grunt between her claws and bit through him with her sharp teeth, tearing flesh from his pathetically struggling body to feed her hunger. And he felt the hammer in his hands slip from the sweat in his palm.
Illidan rushed forward to meet the first demon. Perhaps being blind helped him stay calm. He did not have to see what horror beheld the unfortunate orc. He blocked the first bladed claw with a swift swipe of his twin blades and added another blow to his opponent's neck. He could almost smell blood escaping the vile tormentor's throat, but it quickly disappeared--the wound healed almost on instant.
Thrall watched with amazed horror. How were they to fight those creatures if they cold not be harmed by the blade? There were numerous monstrous demons, but behind them marched an assorted army of seemingly possessed creatures-- strong centaurs, wicked harpies, small kobolds...and somewhere at the back of the rally followed possessed orcs.
"No..." the Warchief protested under his breath. No, he must not be right. Could those vile creatures have in mind to enslave the entire Desolace population?
He could see some night elves among the possessed as well--suddenly it occurred to him that some of the vile tormentors resembled night elves so much. What were they? Why did they hold so much hatred for the orcs? Had they come to claim the minds of all mortals? Were they undead?
A blue zap of lightning woke him from his trance--and he had been spellbound by his fear. Illidan burnt mana from one of the tormentors advancing upon Thrall. The warchief slammed the hammer into her head and heard bones snap--he knew with his application of strength, he should have been able to break her neck. But instead of collapsing, the vile tormentor still lunged for him after her head drooped to a side.
"Warchief!" Rexxar and Misha rushed to the scene to aid their warchief. The bear attempted to maul the twisted demon to pieces, but the sharp blades cut its mouth and it was forced to let go. Just then, another watchtower that had been standing at the entrance of the city was pushed over by two tormentors and trampled into many pieces. Thrall had to make a decision quickly.
"Fall back! Retreat deeper into the city!"
"I'll hold them!" Illidan volunteered, flaring up an immolation shield as he swung his blade into the middle section of a tormentor. If these demons, as Sylvanas said, were here for him, he needed to figure out why. Shifting his double blades in one hand, he conjured a spell with the other--energy sizzled from his fingertips to form red-hot lightning. He willed the heat to concentrate into a glowing globe in his palm and flung the ball of fire towards his enemies. The injured tormentor rushed forward to take the burnt, shielding the rest of her sisters from the impact. It crashed onto the floor in a heap of ashes.
"I'll stay and fight with you, Terrorblade!" Rexxar offered, burying his axe into the heart of another of those demons. Both he and Illidan knew--even if they all stayed, there was not much they could do. It took so much effort to merely take out one of those demons. What would it take to destroy all of them? The satyrs and Naga and, most of all, the Forsaken hidden somewhere in the Desolace could definitely be of great help though that would give Sylvanas and Illidan out. But if they did not summon help soon, there might not even be a chance for Thrall to figure out who they were. Illidan knew he had to get Sylvanas on the frontline--it was no use sacrificing Rexxar who obviously knew nothing about fighting these demons.
"Do you have a scroll of teleportation?" Illidan asked the Mok'Nathal who nodded. "Use it! Go back and get Sylvanas here to help."
"Sylvanas?" Rexxar argue. "But you wouldn't want to risk her!"
"We don't have a choice!" Illidan snapped. "Hurry! "
The Mok'Nathal would have stayed to debate with him, but hearing his tone, he knew better than to waste time. He rushed back to the heart of the city where Thrall was just rallying more men to aid the demon hunter. He was immediately worried to see Rexxar return alone.
"He told me to find Sylvanas," Rexxar explained.
"Why?"
But the elf woman was already rushing towards the scene with her bow and arrows ready. She moved swiftly for a woman in her state--Rexxar imagined her ot be much more agile when she was not pregnant. "Terrorblade needs me," she declared as she tried to move past the Warchief who stood in her way.
"It is too dangerous, Lady Sylvanas," Thrall had to stop her. "I must protest. This battle is not child's place, you understand?"
She wanted to say, "Do I look like I'm someone merely capable of child's play?" but it took much more effort to restrain her tongue. She knew she was capable of putting an arrow through Thrall's green face, but she held her rage in check. Make a wrong move in haste and she would only sentence herself to doom.
"If I don't reach him, he will die and none of you will live!" she hissed in controlled calmness and walked past an astonished Thrall, leaving him to wonder why he had let her go on in this seemingly hopeless war. Nonetheless, he commanded his troops to follow her.
-
Sweat trickled down Illidan's brow. From the sound of the shrieking demons, he must have been completely surrounded. He could feel burning pain along his arms and on his upper body. The demons had left many marks but it was certainly not their intention to take his life--or they would have done so already.
He brought his twin blades against his enemies again and again, his arm felt sore and drained. But the vile tormentors never seemed to tire.
Damn! Why would these creatures come for him? Who did they work for? He could think of no reason these creatures from Outland should wish to drain his energy and hold him captive--they could have been Magtheridon's fraction of loyal warriors who looked for revenge, but would they come this far?
Or was Sylvanas mistaken?
He was almost relieved to hear the familiar sound of her flexing bowstring. He had been so close to being totally drained, and knowing that she had arrived relieved him and perhaps recharged a bit of his much dimmed hope. He spoke to her rapidly in elvish, "Sylvanas! We have to bring the army here. Call Varimathras and Scilla."
"We have an army here," Sylvanas replied, indicating the orcs. "It makes no difference to me." She fired two more shots swiftly through the head of one of the tormentors--the black poison in her deadly arrows slowed the demon, though not completely immobilizing her. While the orcs moved forward, she gave Illidan cover as he fell back behind melee units.
"We'll give these brutes a pincer," Sylvanas touched the minds of the vile tormentors again and could see that they were held under the telepathy of a great source of power. Something told her that it was elven, though not quite. Who was it?
She readied a charm spell, but the vile tormentors moved too fast for her to target. She reached out to the orcs fighting alongside her--she was still not strong enough to overcome the bonds of loyalty of the orcs to their warchief to snatch absolute control, but she had figured a way to influence them into action. She sent two raiders to run across the field towards one tormentor with their string nets stretched. The demon became ensnared, and though she struggled to cut through the net with her blades, the strings became entangled in her wings. Sylvanas unleashed her charm spell and won the vile tormentor on her side.
The Dark Lady put more charm spells on those hapless creatures until finally they realized something was wrong and that some of their sisters were fighting against them. Those who were not under Sylvanas's control abandoned the orcs and attacked the traitors in their ranks instead. Thrall and Rexxar watched in horror, and they had reason to worry--Sylvanas could have done that to the orcs if she had it on her mind.
"Leave them to fight among themselves!" she shouted across the battlefield and gestured for the orcs to advance, but they certainly did not have to be told. The army which the vile tormentors possessed was already rushing towards them, swarming into the city, attempting to crush everything into oblivion. Even though outnumbered, against a possessed army of harpies, centaurs and quillboars seemed to be a much easier task than to slay the vile tormentors together with them.
Seeing a chance they could actually win, the orcs felt braver and they charged forward with much more valour. Thrall immediately found himself surrounded by eight warriors of several races, attacking him viciously from all directions. He could not bring himself to attack the orcs and trolls who were in uniform of his ranks. Yet again, he never thought he had to fight to fight his own people after Archimonde and Mannaroth both fell. Whoever that put him through the agony again was savage--and this he would not forgive.
Nonetheless, the centaurs and ogres--even kobolds when in large quantities were tough opponents. Within seconds, Thrall had already tasted the impact of clubs, hammers and blades on his back and shoulders. He was not slow for a warrior--he just did not have so many hands to block all those attacks that came raining down on him. Some great warchief he was, one who defeated Archimonde and founded Durotar--he just felt like a child then, cornered by far too many bullies. He had to cast earthquake on the ground a bit further from him to keep a new wave of enemies from reaching him too soon, but he knew there was nothing he could have done about them.
Flies on both sides met--harpies flooded the scene and began to claw batriders and wyverns into ribbons. These women were savage by nature and knew no pity. Sylvanas stretched her bow against the bird-women--their luck indeed to run into the former ranger general of Silvermoon. Sylvanas remembered being humiliated by humans while the elves were still allied to them, that for an army which consists of mostly women on the frontline, they had to be pretty soft. It was true that most elven generals were women, but if the humans knew the truth--that elves could be traitorous as well, that harpies, Naga and Satyrs were once Elves--if only they knew that, they would stop laughing and be grateful to the Light that they were allied to the 'softest' of all elven armies.
Twisted night elves were also there among those possessed by the vile tormentors. Almost all of them had been deformed somehow. Women's faces were marred by knife marks, and men's bodies were covered with sores. They were still living, obviously, though already decaying.
And amid the waves of night elven warriors, a figure of a tall female clad in the typical heavy armour of a warden stood with her bladed arms outstretched. Her face was concealed behind a helm, but she parted her lips in a menacing smile. Green gunk escaped from her half-opened mouth as she whispered a name...
Illidan Stormrage...
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AUTHOR'S NOTES:
...an Ill/Syl pairing then? (sigh)...Ah well. I'm gonna stop giving out in which chapter I'm gonna introduce people cuz (1) of unexpected plot changes and (2) I never work fast enough, so forget what you read earlier. Thanks for your support and your patience.
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Inaam07: Companion story...ah, you can say that, though things will be a bit different in LISTEN. If you happen to be a Rokhan fan, rest assured because he will not be trying to find out Illidan's identity in LISTEN. Leprecha will soon arrive on stage--a delay due to a lengthened battle scene. Interesting theory there. Arthas couldn't maintain control over the Forsaken because Ner'zhul was losing power--that is true. But Arthas plus Ner'zhul wouldn't necessary mean they have more power. So maybe they could have tried to retake the Forsaken without success? Well said about not wasting a good character. Even though I don't like Arthas either, it wouldn't be fair if I just let him go out of the picture quietly. We shall see. Good luck with your story.
DemonGod86: Thank you so much. I definitely would like to try my luck at Blizzard though I wonder if they'd take a third year Fine Arts student? Not that they'd find me useful when they have Chris Metzen there...oh wait. He'd get old someday. I may yet have a chance . 'Maiev has a ton of Illidan fangirl in her'...an inspiring phrase. My version of Syl never had any good feelings about humans, though she normally would not think of annihilating them. Must have been the weather...or it could be some forces of evil? The focus of this story will not be on humans so much, but I have definitely tried to draw some parallel between this story and LISTEN--they should take place at roughly the same time, although, like what I typed to inaam07, Rokhan will be doing a different task in LISTEN. Interesting idea regarding the black warden.
Jackal2332: Thanks. If you're referring to my other fanfic which focuses on the tension between humans and orcs, it's titled LISTEN.
Ira Poon: Yeah. Hey no problem. Thanks for your support all the same. The lyrics...just felt like singing suddenly.
Arthus: Thanks for reading.
GG Crono 4: Thanks for your support.
Tom: More Kael. Okay. He'll be back in the picture in the next chapter.
Crimson Paladin: Ah ha. I actually didn't plan to include the Black Warden in the last couple chapters of RG, but for some reason I decided to let her out earlier. But she definitely will play a larger role in this sequel. I am not very much in support of M x I, though I do enjoy reading good M x I fics.
Weirgate: Thanks.