BLOOD LEPRECHAUN by J Cae
A/N: I hit a block again (usually happens at around chapter 4 of every story I've wrote/am writing). I've spent some time over on Shattered Enigma, and I wrote up the first part of another Warcraft fic titled 'Jenalla'. It will be here as soon as I complete the first chapter.
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CHAPTER IV: CHALLENGED
(DESOLACE, 7 MONTHS AFTER SYLVANAS SAILED FOR KALIMDOR)
Perhaps the hardest fear to conquer was the darkness that preyed upon one's mind...
Thrall had no way of telling how or when the battle would end, or if there was any chance at all the Horde should triumph against the foul legion of demons. Uncertainty clouded his mind, preventing him from seeing what signs that had been shown to him.
From across the darkening battlefield came a screeching roar filled with terrible hate and terrible pain. The last fading sunlight barely glinted as it touched the Warden's black armour. She charged with her bladed arms outstretched, cutting through those standing in her path--allies and foes alike, feeling nothing as severed body parts were cast into the air and spattered all around. It seemed as though, she, an unholy being enveloped in evening's darkness, was oblivious to all else but her own burning rage.
"Take her down!" Thrall commanded, trying to keep his own fear under control, but it deceived no one. The Warchief had to back away in spite of himself. Could this be the end of his city and civilization? Was this his outrageous damnation? In his terror-clutched mind, he could think of only one thing--one solution. "Take her down first!"
Some of the orcs responded to his order. Some others responded to his fear. He swallowed hard and attempted to pull himself back together. Letting out a low roar, he raised his warhammer and darted towards the Black Warden. His troops echoed to his battle cry and moved to surround the leader of their enemy, advancing in a uniform wave.
"No! Stay away from her!"
Thrall barely heard Sylvanas's protest over shouting voices and clashing blades and only sooner came to understand how little he knew about his enemy. The Black Warden began to spin. Her silvery cape flared out around her, fanning out like--wait. It was a visual deception! A shower of throw-knives flew towards the orcs, knocking many to the ground.
A voice in Thrall's head, forceful, authoritative...funny that he should feel compelled to obey...
As though they were being knocked back by an invisible wall, the orc warriors altered their formation--a number of the grunts fell back behind their comrades. Some, however, continued to march forward and tripped over their fallen brothers in their final attempt to strike at their enemy.
The Black Warden dug a spiked boot into the barren soil and stopped her motion. The face of pallid purple beneath the helm betrayed no emotions as she eyed three of the grunts that landed tumbling at her feet. Before they could get up, she brought her blade arm down with one swift swing. Dark bubbling blood splashed upon clay in an arc.
Howls of pain and rage shot through the air and stabbed straight into Thrall's heart. They died terrible deaths, his warriors, and it was his mistake.
Another raider made a leap towards the warden with his curved blade raised. But his attempt would prove useless...
Almost casually, the Warden raised both hands in the air and whispered a spell word, "Blink."
"Ahhh!"
The raider landed with his face in the dirt. His weapon snapped against the hard ground. His moaning mount laid a foot away from him.
-
The Black Warden vanished.
...and reappeared in front of Illidan who was crossing blades with a vile tormentor. He managed to spin around and block her blow when she swung her blade at his head. Nothing could escape the ears of a blind Night Elf, that was true. But a blind Night Elf could never escape from justice.
She drove her bladed arm towards him--and hit air when he evaded. She merely missed his shoulder by an inch, "This one is for Maiev!"
Maiev...
Illidan parried her forceful attack. He already sensed the vile tormentor making a move from behind--let her try her luck. With a cry, he pushed one of his curved blades backwards and wielded the other one to counter the Black Warden's blade. The vile tormentor behind him faltered, her stomach split open with an ugly gash.
Maiev...
One down. But Illidan dared not lax his guard. The Warden was no easy opponent. Even as they fought, he could sense her deep anger and her determination to see the end of him. He could not but feel a chill down his back--he barely even knew the reason.
Maiev...
Memories started...there was something about this warden. Something important...
Maiev...
Yes. He should know who she was--had been. He should have seen her somewhere before. There was something familiar in that shell...
Perhaps it was the armour...
Perhaps the aura...
Or the name she spoke of...
He cursed.
As though he was being thrown against a wall, a sharp pain in his right wrist flared to life, almost causing him to drop his weapons. What recollections that flooded into his mind were suddenly gone from him and he could think of nothing but pain.
The scar left by Frostmourne burnt white hot.
The Black Warden's lethal blow came swiping upon him as he was rendered momentarily senseless by the pain.
Sylvanas's arrow forced its way through the weakness of her opponent's armour. The Black Warden slowed her attacks and clutched at the end of the arrow, giving Illidan the necessary time to recover and pull away from her. Apparently, though the Black Warden appeared to be soulless, she could be hindered by pain. Another two elven arrows cut through the air, and the Warden disappeared again.
"I sensed it," Sylvanas cried as she moved towards Illidan. "It was Ner'zhul's power at work!"
"It was," Illidan responded with a nod and meant to comment on it. But his words turned into a warning. "Sylvanas! Look out!"
"Ugh!"
A throw-knife jammed between the Dark Lady's bowstring flexing fingers.
The Warden materialized in front of her, "Move, Windrunner Witch. Or I would have to execute you!"
Sylvanas gritted her teeth and forced herself not to wince from her injury. Blood was running in streaks from the wound where the knife was still embedded. Even though it was hardly life threatening, broken finger bones would mean the end of an archer's battle--if not her career. But Sylvanas would not give her enemy the satisfaction of destroying her. In a defiant voice, she asked, "I wonder what I have done to deserve execution."
"For defending the Betrayer, rogue and evildoer, I have every right to put you out," the Black Warden replied shrilly. "Hand over Illi--"
A silent spell hit her, and the demon warden's words caught in her own throat.
So close. You were so close. Sylvanas's expression seemed to say as she cast her bow away and raised her uninjured hand in preparation for another spell--she had to let her enemy know she was fully capable of fighting a war with her magic, "What have you come here for? Need you kill all the orcs and take them for your slaves?"
"You know very well," The Black Warden pointed a bladed finger at the former demon hunter. "Release him to me! The price to pay for--"
Sylvanas attacked her with another silent spell. She would have to protect Illidan's identity from the orcs' knowledge if she were to protect herself and her child.
Instead of trying to speak again, the Warden blinked and found her way behind the Dark Lady who already saw through her intentions. She siphoned energy from the Warden in hopes to weaken her enemy--but she was not quick enough...
The Warden's blades were brought down--and they met with Illidan's weapons. He parried another of the Black Warden's attacks and kicked her in the stomach, sending her sprawling across the clay. Panting heavily from exhaustion, he turned to Sylvanas, "Are you hurt?"
"It's nothing," the Dark Lady lied--Illidan wouldn't be able to tell how bad her wound was anyway. She knew better than to pull the knife out. Fingers were much too delicate for such careless treatment--she wished fiercely Mondelv was with her.
The Black Warden pulled herself up from the ground, defying the degree of her injury. Her purplish blood tainted the soil--more was still leaking from beneath her copper armour. But she stood straight, staggering a little at first, and glared ferociously enough at her enemies to make them panic, "Release him to me!"
-
Thrall twisted his neck in the direction from where the Black Warden's scream came. Her screech would surely haunt him for a few nights--if he managed to survive this battle at all. But something else--a realization much more horrible crossed his mind. The Black Warden had not come to destroy the orcs. She came looking for Terrorblade and his Dark Lady. They obviously had some conflicts between them. Clairvoyant powers might explain how Sylvanas knew of the Warden's coming, but it did not explain their strife.
There was no time to worry, however.
"Warchief! Look!" Rexxar rushed to Thrall's side and pointed at a direction. Thrall turned to find the warden's druids transforming into fierce bears with quills flexing out of their bodies--huge, mutated and unfeeling monsters. Their claws were, like those of the vile tormentors, bladed and sharp. They stood straight on their hind legs--they towered over even the Kudo beasts. Like frenzied demons, they dashed towards the orcs.
"Spirits!" Thrall cursed. "The City will fall!"
"No, Warchief," Rexxar shook his head and pointed at a group of orcish warriors who rushed towards the giant bears in defiant valour. "Our brethren are still fighting. We shall not let Orgrimmar fall tonight."
-
Sylvanas willed the orcs to obey her, but their rising fears proved too chaotic for finer control. Or perhaps her skills were not polished enough. She had never tried to move a huge army that had no telepathic connection to herself. The difficulty made her--though she hated to admit--marvel at Ner'zhul's skills in the Battle of Khaz Modan they fought, in which she lost more than a quarter of her troops to his control.
She managed to move eight orcs in front of Illidan and herself to hold off the possessed armies while they paused to catch their breath. She had just lost sight of the Black Warden amid the advancing druids, though they knew they could trust her to reappear at any time.
She gasped when Illidan suddenly put his arms around her.
"The enemy forces are vast," he bent to whisper in her ear--it took her a second to realize he was making use of the opportunity--a feigned lover's concern, to discuss battle strategy with her. "The orcish city would fall if this is to be the case. Bring the Forsaken hither. They can chase the demons away from the city and deal with them outside."
"We've been through that before," she protested, struggling between breaking away from his embrace or not. "I do not wish to alarm the orcs any more than they already are."
"With so many demons here, they wouldn't be able to tell the difference! Just bring them in and let them do the fighting."
True. If the Forsaken slowly diffuse into the city, the orcs would naturally assume they were enemies. But they would never have guessed that the undead were on their side. If Sylvanas was careful not to let any of the orcs touch her warriors, it should be all right.
"You have a point," she agreed.
Smiling, he mouthed, "Of course I do."
He let go of her and pierced his curved blades through a feral druid that attempted to make a leap at Sylvanas. "I'll give you cover while you summon them. As soon as they are here, fall back and pull out of this battle. You have done more than you should have."
She nodded and did not argue. This pregnancy of hers was holding her down and placing her in more danger than she would like to admit. Even though she could still defend herself, almost anything on the battlefield would induce a miscarriage or kill her. She was exhausted as well, held back by the burden under her heart.
Breathing consciously, she raised her hands in the air. Energy escaped from her, sprawling beyond the desert lands, weaving a ribbon of power. The spell was whispered, carried by the desert winds to the outback.
Slowly, one by one, dark shades floated towards the orcish city. Crypt fiends revealed themselves from beneath the soil in small groups. Ghouls and abominations crept towards the scene. And among these new arrivals was a towering vampire whose wings were redder than blood.
Blue fires flared to life around Sylvanas, forming a glowing shield. The magical lights were so bright that it drew attention to her. The orcs were looking at her in fear and uncertainty. The demons growled and stomped the ground.
She repeated a sequence of the spell--her tone varied each time, her voice steady and flowing like music from the ancient past. A crescent rune glowed on her forehead and then projected up to the sky.
A chunk of the earth crumbled dramatically, creating a small rift valley. Some of the Warden's demons were trapped in the new depression, unable to climb back up again.
Same old trick, she thought to herself. Many years ago against Arthas and the Scourge, she hurled a wooden bridge into the river. Now, she pushed the block of earth under with the same spell, and it was enough to make the orc Warchief gasp and marvel at her power and precision. Not one single orc was hurt in her incredible spell.
Many, many banshees came into view, screaming, wailing, surging towards the battlefield to crush the followers of the Black Warden with their cursed songs. Warriors paused in shock--orcs and demons alike. Some of them began to falter and covered their ears when the ghostly songs of the banshees pulsed through the night air.
Somesaid that when the dark songstresses sang, one could hear their accursed voices resonate the deepest truth--something so terrible that it was impossible to face. Those with weak wills would be driven mad, and those who withstood it would find their hearts permanently scarred with the cruellest truth of themselves.
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Sylvanas! Dark Lady!
The Dark Lady turned as she heard her own name called. She tried to respond, and yet she could do no more than to make her lips tremble. The battle had drained her strength, and she felt as though she was slowly falling apart.
Sylvanas! Dark Lady!
Her visions began to blur and swirl into colours, and then to lights, and then...
...and then to a face she knew so well.
I am waiting for you to return to me...
Pain whipped across her arm. She watched crimson droplets splash across her tunic in utter astonishment, as though it never registered in her mind that the blood was her own. She cried out without knowing why she did so, and time seemed to freeze completely around her.
The Black Warden appeared once more before her, catching her by surprise. Another score for the demon.
But the expression on the Night Elf's face was panicked, not triumphant. In the brief moment, while the two stared at each other, there, suddenly, came mutual understanding.
They were both slaves to the ones they hunted--the ones who controlled their hatred and terror.
"Go away!" Sylvanas heard herself screaming--but the words meant nothing to herself.
Sylvanas! Dark Lady!
And the torturous voice continued to whisper in her head from far beyond...beyond death and sorrow, haunting her, willing her to do his bidding, murdering her...
She moaned and writhed, reaching to grab something that would hold herself together. But there was nothing but air. Nothing.
Return and become...you cannot try to hide.
A hand...lifeless, pale, strong--a warrior's hand. It was her only salvation. She grasped it tight and tried to beg for deliverance. But the words just would not come. Her mind was held in spasms of pain that never seemed to end, and there was but one voice she could hear.
One face she could see.
One truth...
It was as though the banshees were singing just for her, their voices ringing in unison from the far North beyond.
I am waiting for you to return...
...to Frostmourne...
-
Gentle breezes dispersed the ominous mists of the night. The world had gone completely dark now, illuminated only by the mercy of the moon. Strength was gone from the men, so was valour and hope. Demons and ghoulish creatures, too, seemed to have diminished in number. Some of them were even fighting among themselves, driving each other out of the city--cursed beings of evil as they were.
Thrall looked around. Suddenly, the ground he stood upon seemed almost devoid of life. Orcish warriors littered his path, side by side with possessed armies and undead creatures. He would not estimate the damage done to that part of Orgrimmar. It was just massive--too massive he could not measure it. Too many have died without even realizing the cause.
Even now, the sounds of blades clashing seemed less intense--suddenly Thrall figured that the banshees had also stilled their songs. Instead of their accursed voices, a dreadful silence came to brood over the deadened land.
Terrorblade? Where was he? Where was the Black Warden? Where was Sylvanas? Thrall blinked and willed his eyes to focus in the dark. There were no signs of the three.
Something caught his attention as he turned--it was the Nathrezim, standing very still he might as well be made of marble. His pale skin reflected moonlight. Thrall gasped and grabbed tighter onto his hammer. He wondered if he had strength left to combat this vampiric hero.
The dreadlord shifted his position to defend himself--there in the clutch of his giant white hands was the Dark Lady. Sylvanas did not look too well--she seemed to be unconscious and bloodied. Where was Terrorblade? Was he not supposed to look after her? Thrall felt pain enter his heart--had Sylvanas trusted someone unworthy?
What kind of man would risk his pregnant lover on the battlefield?
But in any case, Terrorblade would be too far off to aid Sylvanas. There was no one else left to help her. Thrall picked up a chipped axe from the ground and threw it at the dreadlord.
The Nathrezim folded his wings in front of himself. The weapon pierced through one of his blood red wings, but it did not do him much damage. It did not make him release Sylvanas.
But the shock that pulsed through Thrall's body awakened him--what if he had missed and hurt Sylvanas instead?
"Let her go, demon wretch and fight me man to man!"
"You understand too little, orc," the dreadlord's yellow eyes gleamed intensely in the dark, but they unnerved Thrall no more than his strangely collected voice. "I might fight you, but not tonight."
"What are you talking about?" Thrall swung his hammer--with more caution this time. The Nathrezim shifted his footing to receive the blow squarely on his shoulder. Something snapped--it sounded like bones. Thrall could not be sure, but somehow he had the feeling that the vampire did not want Sylvanas hurt.
"Not tonight," Varimathras shook his head, not even flinching from his wound. He tossed something burning to the floor--a magic scroll. Flames consumed the skin immediately, sending yellow sparks everywhere as a blue rune appeared beneath his feet.
"No!" Thrall protested--but it was a bit too late.
The dreadlord disappeared.
-
It was very close.
Varimathras had to breathe a secret sigh as he laid Sylvanas on the soft moist earth beneath shades of palm. He had teleported sufficiently far from Orgrimmar--perhaps even a little too far. Well, damn the coward in him. He was not going to risk Sylvanas again.
The rust of her warm, fresh blood entered his nostrils, and he realized she was injured, unconscious and defenceless. His eyes, he knew, must have started to gleam yellow and his fangs bright crimson--such was his instinct when he was ready to feast. But not on Sylvanas. Never on his mistress.
Seeing her in this state would have delighted him five years ago. He could never forget his shame when she defeated him in a contest of arms. He had been so terrified of death he surrendered to her will. She made him murder his own people--though he never had much love for Detheroc, he was kin and Varimathras would never forget how he betrayed a Nathrezim. Balnazzar was like a brother to him, but he had to kill him as well, or else the Dark Lady would have taken him apart piece by piece.
Back then, five years ago, he would have said that he hated Sylvanas. And he did. If she had been as badly wounded as she was now, he would have tortured her and left her to the wolves. But he could not now. She had perhaps stripped him of a little more than his identity as a Nathrezim--she took away some of his arrogance and overconfidence as well. He saw that beneath her mask of cruelty, there was a brilliant warrior and respectable general. He saw her courage even in hopeless situations. He had been given a chance for vengeance--and because of what he realized from her, he rejected it. He chose to follow her and he would live by that choice.
He felt he had grown stronger after training under her command. He had learned what was worth fighting for and what was not. He had learned about promises and, most of all, to honour them. Imagine how anyone could be not moved by her courage to brave Kil'jaeden's torture chamber for that chance she might free her people from his control. She almost gave her life for that decision, but she succeeded, and Kael'thas and the Blood Elves were forever rid of the demonlord.
He was stronger than Sylvanas now. She was weak and broken. Now, he would protect her as she had protected him through those five years.
But he was also terrified inside.
He knew he almost lost her back on the battlefield. There was a moment when he was too busy fighting to sense her distress--that sudden moment when she broke telepathic contact with him. There had been a burst of energy, as though a greater power had intercepted that psychic connection between them. Overwhelmed by the void that immediately filled his mind, Varimathras looked around in search of his mistress. For seconds he saw nothing. It was as though she had disappeared from the world completely. And then, movement behind him caught his attention and he turned to find the Black Warden. Held under the demon's blade was Sylvanas who appeared to be oblivious to what was going on around her.
He darted to her rescue and managed to get her out of the way in time. The Warden's weapon opened a cut on her shoulder, but it was not life-threatening. Varimathras, however, was alarmed by how little reaction his mistress showed--oh, by everything dark, she responded only when he held her small, broken hand in his own. She squeezed his fingers so tight that her crimson blood poured through them.
A name then escaped from her lips--spoken very softly.
He still shuddered at the thought of it.
Did Ner'zhul send the Black Warden? The dreadlord could be certain he had seen the Black Warden during the great battle of Khaz Modan. He fought her. Had she been sent by the wicked lich king to take Sylvanas's life? But given the previous strife between the two, Ner'zhul would definitely have come to finish her himself. He would not likely allow his subordinates this satisfaction.
Soft rustling of the wind made the dreadlord turn. He would have gasped when he saw Illidan standing beneath a palm tree with little expression on his face. Elves were known for being able to move soundlessly, but he had not expected them to escape his other sense. Although Illidan was blind, he seemed to know perfectly where his ally was standing.
"I figured you'd teleport here to this outpost, dreadlord," the demon hunter spoke. He just barely managed to pull himself out of a tough duel. His blood tainted weapons laid on the floor by the palm tree.
Varimathras sniffed the air and cursed under his breath. Like Sylvanas, Illidan was also covered in his own blood, "How bad are your injuries?" He had to shift his gaze back to Sylvanas to keep himself from being distracted by the stench of blood. Perhaps this was truly what he was unnerved by--that even strong warriors such as the Dark Lady and the demon hunter themselves could have been badly injured in the battle. How frightening were their enemies!
"I'm fine," Illidan shrugged. "And Sylvanas?"
"The cut on her shoulder is deep. Best hope the blade wasn't poisonous," the Nathrezim replied with a sigh. "Her fingers are broken as well."
"That must be why I didn't hear her bowstring flex for quite a while," Illidan remarked, stepping forward with his arms crossed. "Where is Mondelv? He should be able to help her."
"I was wondering about the same myself. He is supposed to be guarding this outpost, but I do not see him," Varimthras scanned the area with his sallow eyes. But with so much blood around him--blood that he knew he could never taste, it was hard enough to concentrate, let alone keeping his sanity. "I can't see him anywhere. He must be...wait! I smell orc flesh!"
An orc was approaching, and Varimathras could almost be certain it was the same one who confronted him a while ago, when he was trying to deliver Sylvanas to safety.
A rare expression of alarm crossed the demon hunter's face as he paused to listen briefly, "The Warchief."
"He has been following me," Varimathras started to move. "I'll leave, else he'd find out you are with us."
But Illidan shook his head, "No. Fight me, dreadlord. He suspects me as much." The demon hunter picked up his weapons and moved swiftly towards the Nathrezim. "Help me with this, and act like we're in the middle of a combat."
"But Sylvanas..."
"Leave her where she is," Illidan instructed quickly without waiting for the dreadlord to finish his lines. "She'd be fine."
"What I mean is, can you trust the orcs?" Varimathras phrased his question, "If the Warchief finds her, he'd definitely be taking her back to his own healers. She is wounded, and she and her child might be in danger. Can you trust the orcish healers enough?"
"When had I ever trusted an undead healer anyway?" Illidan argued.
The Nathrezim was silenced. This from the mouth of someone who was once undead--he, of all people, should know how things were. But despite the fact that Mondelv was one of the best healers to walk the world, undeath had taken respectability from him. Undeath had taken respectability from almost everyone.
Thrall was approaching, and they both sensed it.
Everything would depend on their act--if Thrall bought it, everything would happen according to plan. Yet if it failed, the orcs would probably not be able to defeat the Forsaken, the Naga and Satyrs put together, though they would prove to be a big obstruction and could throw Sylvanas in even more peril.
"Very well," Varimathras took a step back and flexed his giant claws. His shattered shoulder pained him, but he would not allow it to hinder him.
Illidan's double blades were quick and precise, but the strokes he made were not meant to be lethal. Despite that, Varimathras had to work hard in order to leap clear of the attacks. He flung a glob of sizzling energy back at his opponent who cast an immolation shield to diminish the impact.
The orc warchief was running through the palm forest now, probably alerted by the sound of the fighting.
"Come!"
The dreadlord roared.
He knew what he saw as he turned to meet Thrall's enraged eyes. They told him all he had to know. He had been taken for an enemy, and he knew the orc would never give up until he saw the end of him.
"Terrorblade!" Thrall darted to Illidan's aid.
"Warchief!" Illidan turned in his direction and cried out in pretended relief. If Thrall had been paying more attention, he would have noticed that Varimathras stopped attacking for a moment. "Please take Sylvanas!" Cleverly, the demon hunter diverted Thrall's attention. "Please take her to safety."
The orc did not seem to realize yet what he was saying, "You shall not stand alone!"
Illidan repeated his request with much feigned pain in his voice, "Sylvanas is wounded. Please take her to the healers. I fear she is not doing well."
Thrall immediately found Sylvanas who was lying in the darkness. He ran to her side and took her pulse--her heart was still beating, to his relief. With one last glance at Illidan who was now again caught in battle with the vampiric dreadlord, he shook his head.
Illidan was right. He had to make sure Sylvanas was safe even if it meant leaving an ally to fend for himself. Sighing, he carried Sylvanas and hurried back to the heart of the city.
-
From the depths of haunted shadows, Mondelv Windrunner watched with an impassionate glare. He could be certain of nothing. Frittered years spent caught between death and life had opened his eyes to naught but one truth--that one could never trust to hope. Fate was much too uncertain, and it happened that he had to learn it the hard way.
Like Sylvanas's broken fingers--some wounds might heal and some might not. There was nothing, even for a skilled healer, to claim for sure. He never knew that there could be something far more complicated to life than simply birth and death.
But there was one thing he knew of in his deadened heart.
When one should cross path with a demonlike in his lifetime--be it one like Ner'zhul, Kil'jaeden or even the Dark Lady herself, it would be the worst joke fortune has to play on him...
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A/N
Jeez...my author's notes are definitely getting longer than my chapters.
I know, it's my fault I didn't update. Unlike most writers, my writer's block usually happens when I have too much stuff I want to tell at once and I can't decide which to put first. Don't worry. I will complete this story (at least).
Thanks a bunch for your reviews. Really appreciate them.
My special thanks to people over on SE. You guys really enlighten me a lot.
It's time for summer school, and I will be moving back into dorm (yes, that one with armies of spiders and no fridge--I heard they've installed internet and are going to charge us extras without consulting us. But that's another matter.) I'll be gone for about 2 weeks. I hope my updating rate will be back to my former once-a week schedule.
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Queen of the Harpies: Um...your new story actually inspired me a lot to write the last part of this chapter. I haven't written from Varimathras's perspective for quite a while--of course my Vari will never be as hauntingly charming as yours (and I don't intend for him to be anyway :D). Twisted pairings are good especially if they are well-written. And hey, I've resumed working on To Honour, and I think I have to shift the focus a bit (meaning, rewrite the first chapter). I don't know what happened, but all the War fics I'm doing seems to increasingly have something to do with Sylvanas. Blame it on my growing obsessive fandom.
Crimson Paladin: Thanks for asking. Actually Illidan is 'cured', and is now restored to what he looks like before he drained energy from the Skull of Gul'dan. He looks kind of like a normal night elf now--except that he's exceptionally muscular HAARHAAR. And THE QUESTION: Will Syl cheat on Kael? Check out new episodes of Temptation Island in Orgrimmar. I'd say that Illie was just a bit confused. He's STILL thinking about Tyrande all the time. And just think of "becoming Nerz" in a less literary sense. After all, (1) Nerz already has Arthas's body, and (2) I'm not going to write SxA romance. Hope that helps.
Arthus: Mmm...I'll be trying. Thanks for your support.
TheReviewer: Ah...that's okay. The hell about Geocities hosts!! Thanks for reading. I haven't been writing happy stories for a while...
inaam07: Um...may the best demon win .
DemonGod86: Thanks for your support. Oh, but don't we all feel bad about Maiev ending back there in Outland?
GG Crono 4: Thanks. Master of Agony...would be a self-invented character with self-invented rank--unless, of course, I've missed a Pitlord in the canon again. More descriptions of him later.
Weirgate: Wow. I'm flattered. Thanks.