BLOOD LEPRECHAUN by J Cae
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CHAPTER SEVEN: DECEIVED
(ORGRIMMAR, 2 MONTHS AFTER THE BLACK WARDEN WAS DRIVEN BACK)
"A miracle warrior?"
Thrall's blue eyes widened as he repeated the term the blademaster coined on their enemies' newest leader. Who was the man? What had he done to merit such a title?
Samuro nodded, trying to keep his composure. Seated across from Thrall in the Warchief's hut, he could not help but be distracted by Sylvanas Windrunner's silent presence. She had not spoken a word, nor imposed her opinion upon anyone. Yet her company was a distraction nonetheless.
Meeting the worried expression on Thrall's face, he began to explain, "He is human--a knight. Nothing much is known about him. Some said that he has but recently sailed from Lordaeron. Some regarded him as the 'dark magician'."
"As if one dark mage is not enough," Thrall muttered to himself as his thoughts drifted to the mysterious sister of Jaina Proudmoore who was rumoured to be skilled in dark magicks. It was a tale unattested since Brysta Proudmoore had yet to set foot onto the battlefield--for which Samuro and his commander, Thiong, were secretly grateful.
"This dark magician is truly unfathomable," Samuro nodded to acknowledge the Warchief's point, but did not wish to dwell on that subject. "You see, he is the new trusted general under the command of Railen Proudmoore, the son of Daelin. Thiong and I have fought him in two previous battles--I swear it was by some strange and vile sorcery, he was able to read our minds--"
"Telepathy?" Sylvanas's eyes glittered in amusement as she pulled herself upright in her chair. Samuro wondered why she--a blasted Windrunner elf, had been invited to a conference with the Warchief. The Blademaster had heard strange things about this elf. Her 'lover' had taken her child and abandoned her in the dead of the night, and that had thrown her into total hysterics for a few days. Thrall took pity on her--somehow he found it impossible not to do so. He allowed her to remain close by his side. But if she had been deeply injured by Terrorblade's desertion, she showed naught of it at the moment.
"Tell me more about it," she urged gently, yet her tone betrayed enthusiasm.
Samuro sighed inwardly. Thrall mirrored her interest as well, oblivious to the suspicious change of the woman's mood.
"Well, this human seems to know exactly what strategies we employ against him," the Blademaster went on to explain, "He had means to counter everyone of them--we were forced to retreat, having no way of holding our own defences. The humans, of course, are no match for the valour of us orcs eventually--besides, having only recently arrived at Kalimdor, the general does not have a good grasp of the geographies. We managed to drive his armies back, but this comes with an obscure discovery--he proves to be exceptionally difficult to kill. Thiong impaled him with his halberd three times in the chest, but the human bled very little. He was able to pull his army away to safety as though his wounds were no more than mere scratches. There is something very unnatural about this man whom Railen had accepted under his service, something very vile."
That assumption threw Thrall into silence for a moment. When he spoke again, he seemed pained, "A human with dark gifts...I do not know what charms this wretch they harbour possesses, but I grieve at how far the humans have fallen."
"Warchief, we must declare war upon them," Samuro pressed--his ultimate cause. He had journeyed all the way from his post bearing Thiong's news for this single purpose. Now that the humans had shown their colours, there was no reason the orcs should continue to bear with them. A battle between them should settle all scores between--and Spirits willing, this would be the last skirmish between the two races.
The inquisitive eyes of the Dark Ranger fell upon Samuro and he felt himself shudder involuntarily. No, she was not even staring at him. There was a distant look upon her face as though she was lost in her own thoughts.
The Blademaster could not name any reason, but he felt it ought to be a mistake to trust this elf. She might have saved Orgrimmar--she might have fought and won a war seven months into her pregnancy and ended up only with a sword wound in her shoulder and a couple of broken fingers. But if that miracle human general was a threat to the orcs, she definitely would be someone they needed to watch out for. Samuro only prayed to the spirits that the Warchief had not fallen prey to her charms and lost all his senses--being the witch that she was.
"Very well," Thrall spoke suddenly and tore the Blademaster's thoughts from the elf woman, "I will send a letter to Jaina Proudmoore again and see what explanations she has to offer. Although I loath the idea of warring against the humans, I fear this would eventually have to happen if their aggression against us do not cease. I will give her two week's time--and if she fails to produce a reply, we will raise arms against these humans."
"Warchief," Sylvanas turned to him, "Let me carry the letter. Given my elven heritage, it will be easy for me to infiltrate into the human's base and find Miss Proudmoore."
Thrall looked astounded for a few seconds--and then he concurred. Samuro was about to protest, but he figured as much. Despite his own distrust, Sylvanas was the best possible candidate they had.
Unless, of course, she was the humans' lapdog.
Sylvanas was all too aware of Samuro's opinion of her. She understood who sent a scout to tail her. But she did not fear his suspicion--he would find out nothing because she would do nothing to merit misgivings.
Besides, she knew she already had Thrall.
The Warchief might still be in the dark about the extents of her powers, but her telepathy had already found its way into his mind. A man with strong beliefs and philosophy as such he was not easy to subvert. He could have retaliate had she forced her telekinesis upon him, or even kill her. But she was patient. She only gave him tiny doses of her mental poison at a time--beginning with his choice of food, and then, his choice of words, and, finally, choice of companions. Slowly and barely consciously, he yielded to her manipulation without understanding what was happening to him.
Illidan's 'abandonment' was a boon--having felt an inexplicable connection to her, Thrall wanted desperately to comfort her when she was distraught. He lowered his guard completely--and her plan succeeded.
She lounged comfortably in his mind, safely cushioned within his trust. He would be ready to protect her with his life if she willed it so. If Samuro or any other individuals dared bring harm upon her, Thrall would see to it that they be disposed of. Her ultimate goal was within her grasp now, just agonizing inches away. Eventually, she knew, he would agree to lend her the aid she needed. He would march upon the Lich King's Stronghold, fight his armies for her, bleed for her, die for her--and he would watch as she planted her deadly arrows into the loathed demon's heart. He would herald her as the heroine who ended the Lich King's curse.
All she had to do was to help him win the war against the humans.
He had a soft spot for humans--Jaina Proudmoore. Sylvanas had only a vague impression of who the woman was--the former lover of Arthas turned leader of the Lordaeron survivors. It was not until when she dispatched one of her trusted servants into the household of Proudmoore did she figure out two things--that, one, Jaina was locked away in a cell by her two siblings for betraying their father, and two, that the renowned Miss Proudmoore who defeated Archimonde was the same whore who abandoned Kael for Arthas.
She could not exactly explain the outburst of emotion that overcame her when she learned the truth, a mixture of jealousy, sorrow and elation she could hardly make out. Why should she be jealous? She would have thanked Jaina for relinquishing Kael. But remembering what a devoted lover Kael always was, she hated to imagine how he had once loved that human whore the way he did her.
Sylvanas felt threatened.
To be fair, she had her share of lovers in the past--being the young, shrewd, beautiful woman she was with noble upbringing. But she never knew what it was to love someone.
She had no high opinion of Kael when she first sailed to Northrend in search of him. She had despised him--a weakling with no judgment of his own and would hide behind his Lady Vashj whenever he smelt trouble. But she was proven wrong. She gradually came to realize his inner strength as they journeyed together to save what was left of the Quel'dorei and braved death on the battlefield side by side. That inner strength was built upon his respect and love for her--and his love for her was so immense it dazzled her.
She shunned him at first--she had not the vaguest notion what to do with him. After all, she had been undead, and she had crawled for Ner'zhul. Nothing else ever entered her thoughts other than her own redemption by resurrecting the elven nation and slaying the hated Lich King. Kael's love--no, obsessive passion stunned her and skewed her plans. All she wanted to do was to escape from him, to not think about him so that she would not have to bear the brunt of disappointing him.
She did not have to sail to Kalimdor. She could have concealed herself in the dwarven mountains or found her own hideout underground--Ner'zhul would find her regardless if he put his mind to it. She had chosen to head so far from home only to hide from Kael. Not from Ner'zhul.
In truth she would be more than exhilarated to meet the Lich King again.
She felt as though she already had one foot on the boat to Northrend. So close to success now.
And she listened to victory calling, calling...
"The orcs have become increasingly hostile of late," Railen Proudmoore said as he squinted into the rising sun. Standing on the high balcony of his late father's stronghold, nothing of the City below escaped him--nothing that belonged to him escaped from his view. He could feel the onshore winds breezing through the dawning town, brushing softly past his face. He sucked in a pleasant breath of morning.
Yet on the same balcony looking out the same view only half a year ago, his father Daelin was slain, betrayed by his youngest and favourite child. The thought brought a frown upon the young admiral's weathered face. He did not know what to do with Jaina. He would have killed her, but that would make him no different to her, guilty of murdering his own kin. What else could he do? He kept her locked in the dungeons. Best pretend she never existed. Best hide her until he was strong enough to make up his mind.
Behind him, a dark-cloaked figure buttered her toast at the breakfast table. She replied in a somewhat impassionate tone, "When they come, they will. There is no sense in brooding over it."
"Don't you see, Brysta?" he snapped heatedly. "If they are planning a mass invasion, I am not going to just sit there and do nothing."
"Of course you are not," she shook her head, paying no heed to his rising temper. "But if that is to happen, Sir Usven will advise us what to do."
The walking miracle, Carew Usven, slowly turned his goblet in his hands, the last drop of the dark bittersweet liquor twirled at the base of the glass--"Alcohol so early in the morning? What is it if not sheer madness!" used to be Brysta's mockery behind his back before she came to rely on him. And it was true he ate almost naught at all--he did not require food.
Brysta used to despise him, but now, she adored him--worshipped him for his dark powers and immense wisdom. And twice she had offered herself to him.
He thought about the beautiful sorceress--she tasted much like fine wine. He saw in her an asset he must claim for his Dark Mistress, a warrior more cunning compared to her brawny and impulsive brother yet at the same time ignorant in her own ways. There was no pleasure in her flesh he could attain. True, she was more than any mortal man could ask for, and yet he was already married--to the Dark Lady's telekinesis.
Sylvanas had made certain he never wanted to divorce from her power.
He left behind a weeping human wife a long while ago. The moment he saw the secret blue light in Sylvanas's eyes, he knew that the life he previously led was a mistake, meaningless and sad. How could he have been such a fool? How could he have possibly wanted to spend a life with an incompetent and narrow-minded whore of a wife? He had touched the mind of the Dark Mistress and tasted a fraction of her wisdom--and it was enough for him to know that he never wanted to leave her side.
Do this for me, Sylvanas said when she sent him to infiltrate the House of Proudmoore. I can trust no one else but you. Flattered by her faith in him, Usven went willingly. He would do anything or give anything willingly to remain in her favour.
"That is right, milady. The orcs are naught to be feared," he answered, giving Brysta a touch on her arm that would have been regarded too bold in human customs. But he was certain the sorceress was taken enough with him not to mind his forwardness. Nor the icy death of his hands. "We might not have succeeded in obliterating those foul brutes in the previous assault, but the Light has shown us that they can be defeated. And they will be defeated."
The Light? The Light was nothing compared to the Dark Lady.
His mistress had transformed him, moulded him into something much more refined--her powers had given him a more mature face, fading grey colours in his hair which made him look undeniably solemn, astute, and handsome. He put on a mask of sincere affection as Brysta cast a look of covet longing his way. Poor wretched thing.She still had not understood a thing, had she?
"What do you propose, Sir Usven?" Railen Proumoore, at the moment, also had on his mask of faked respect. He might appear to look up to Usven as a man of great and inexplicable wisdom, and yet in his heart there was only distrust and hate--fear, as well. For a man who had so easily put the vile orcs into their place, he might as well turn against everyone and make himself ruler of the land.
With the Dark Lady's power, Usven was more than capable of doing that. But he would not--it was not his objective, or even in his interest. His only desire was to serve Sylvanas, and her alone.
"Take heart, Admiral," Usven said, setting the glass down upon the dining table. "The orcs are preparing for an attack soon. Let me lead your army again. This time, those foul brutes will not win."
They would not win. Nor would the humans.
Because the Dark Lady would claim the victory.
(DALARAN, 13 YEARS AFTER SYLVANAS SAILED WEST)
Despite the many similarities Kael continued to note between Leprecha and Jaina, the former was never late for an appointment. Her precise and impatient personality would allow her to waste no time in idle and pointless pleasantries. As soon as he and Khecomo joined her at their designated meeting place in the morning, she began to explain their situation right away.
Khecomo was perhaps not the best choice of a companion, but he was the only one. With Iria still weak from her injuries and bedridden, she was in no shape to attend her king. Given the previous disputes between the sorceress and the rider, Kael had lukewarm feelings about this meeting they were to have this morning. He only prayed that Khec would have enough sense to keep his wits about him and not provoke Leprecha anymore than he already had.
Kael appreciated his caution--truth be told, while he trusted his sentiments for the young sorceress, he needed Khec to be alert for the both of them. Leprecha had a way around him that made him believe her unquestioningly. He was glad the rider was there to remind him that nothing was as simple as it seemed.
"How many is the slave mistress able to gather?" Kael inquired, interrupting Leprecha. Lost in his thoughts, he was hardly able to pay attention to what she had been saying.
"Four hundred--maybe more," she replied.
Four hundred. Sylvanas's army was certainly larger than that. But if Leprecha's speculations held true, they would be able to seize the Undercity before the Dark Lady reached it. Kael was impressed by the confidence the young sorceress showed as she laid out her plans. Perhaps it was because of that, he did not feel the need to panic even though the risk was high, even though his logic protested in every other sense.
He noticed how her dark blue silk dress shimmered in the light of the morning--a nice choice of colour, but perhaps much too elaborate for a woman so young. Her sheathed sword hung on her belt, although she did not bring her stave. Her dark curls were held in place by two jewelled butterfly-shaped pins. Of no doubts she could be stunning even to the eyes of elven men. But thinking how she probably made the villagers suffer for her extravagance, he could but shake his head and sigh.
She picked up the hem of her skirt and carefully hopped over the puddles of rainwater collected from the night before. Kael remembered how the soft pitter-patter comforted his troubled mind and finally lulled him to a restful sleep. He had always loved the rain.
Khec tagged along without comment by his side, tugging uncomfortably at his embroidered cloak. Being trained with the riders in the wilderness since an early age, he was unused to such profligate choice of clothing. Khec expressed that he would give anything to have his leather armour back--the innkeeper had, seeing the condition of the burnt and blood-stained armour, thrown it to the fire and promised him a new set. But the rider was quite irritable and swore that if the humans try and plate his new armour in gold, he would throw it back in their face.
Lady Leprecha entered a stable that stood at the mouth of the town.
Khecomo immediately scanned the vicinity in suspicion--reminded that he should stay alert, Kael also kept his guard up.
"Tiurin, this is Lord Kael'thas," Leprecha approached an old man seated a stack of hay with his head bowed and his back to the wall. He did not look up--given his elderliness, he could be either dosing, or near-deaf.
The sorceress bent over him and put a hand under his chin to make him look up at her. He let out a sharp gasp, "Ah, Lady Brettshard! It is you! How good to see you again, lass!"
Kael thought the latter speculation true because the man spoke exceptionally loudly. But what the aged stable-hand exclaimed did not surprise him until Leprecha hissed.
"Ah, I apologize, Lady Leprecha," Tiurin corrected himself.
Lady Brettshard?
Kael remembered her telling him that she had many names. This could be one of her many aliases.
Leprecha helped the old man up to his feet and introduced Kael to him again. His enthusiasm seemed to dim as they turned upon the two elves standing by the door, but he nodded civilly and asked them how they were.
"Tell her we are here," Leprecha requested.
"Aye, I will," Tiurin nodded and excused himself, hobbling slowly outside with apparent difficulty. It almost pained Kael to watch as he laboured his way down the pebbled road and disappeared around the corner.
When Tiurin returned, he entered and approached Leprecha from her left. Kael noticed almost irrelevantly that she had to turn and accept the key given to her with her right hand. That awkward gesture caught his attention and told him something about her--he just could not quite tell what it exactly was yet.
"Here you go," Tiurin did not seemed bothered--Kael had a feeling that the old man had known her for long enough to no longer pay any attention to her motions. "And when you do go to the prayers again, burn your father an incense in my name. May he rest in peace."
Leprecha blinked. She looked as though she was about to say something, but instead, she nodded, "I will."
She turned to catch Khec's suspicious glare and shot back a defiant gaze. Kael did not know if she noted his new discovery.
The knowledge that Sylvanas killed him does not mean I know how he was.
He remembered she said this regarding her father.
Murdered by Sylvanas, known to Tiurin--who?
In his mind, he began to work through possibilities. He certainly did not claim to know everything the Dark Lady had done--he could not before she left for Kalimdor. Now it was even less possible.
And why did it matter?
Leprecha bade Tiurin a quick farewell and led the two elves out of the stable into a cottage on the other side of town. She keyed the door and instructed Khec to bar it behind them. The house was dark--there were windows to a side, but layers of dust blocked out all daylight from outside. The young sorceress made her way down through a hatch to the basement. Kael felt every bit as though she was leading them down to a deathtrap.
But a single candle flickering in the centre of the basement calmed him a little. By its sickly flame, he was able to see a large screen on one side of the room. Someone was concealed behind it--a woman of elven heritage, as far as he could tell from her silhouette upon the canvas. Yet he made no mistake about her. The stench of demon chained heavily about her--why had Leprecha brought him here to this dangerous woman? He exchanged a worried glance with Khecomo.
"Four hundred, Leprecha?" came a raspy voice from behind the screen, speaking in clear elvish. Kael thought he recognized a strong Kaldorei accent. "With your famous powers, you can take on an army by yourself, my dear. Why so many? You'll do fine with just two hundred."
"It is not myself that I am concerned with, Mistress," Leprecha replied with a mock bow--never had the two elves seen her act in true reverence of anyone.
Two blue beams escaped from behind the screen. Kael and his rider both shuddered in spite of themselves as they felt cruel, scrutinizing eyes upon them. The dame, whoever she was, seemed to be a powerful and intimidating figure.
"Perhaps, perhaps," she lifted her sight from the two and shifted her body. Kael thought he heard the sound of blades jingling against one another. "I do not understand you, girl," she continued, ignoring the discomfort of her two elven visitors, "With your powers, you could very well blast the Queen of the Forsaken to smithereens. Why bother play her games?"
Leprecha did not answer, and changed the subject abruptly, "...about the four hundred slaves?"
"The villagers asked that you waive ten thousand off their debt."
Leprecha frowned, "Tell them, five thousand."
"At least I tried," the female elf chuckled. There was no mirth in her laughter. It was only cold and cruel, "I'd add another ten thousand on top of that if I were you. You risked your life for them. They saw the state you were in after you eliminated the mob."
Was the one single spell that took forty lives a chance incident? Was it not as easy as it sounded? Even so, it was still quite inconceivable.
"Enough about me," Leprecha scowled, annoyed. She was never at ease whenever she found herself to be the subject of discussion--and yet everyone everywhere seemed interested in uncovering her origins and her mysteries. "Can you have the forces ready by the morrow? Make sure the blacksmiths arm them properly?"
"For you, my dear, of course," the female elf's comment made both Kael and Khec shudder.
"I offer you my thanks," bowing again, Leprecha began to retreat. "We take our leave. Until tomorrow, Mistress Davita."
"Who the hell is that woman?"
Khecomo exploded in rage once they were outside the cottage, "Who? What is a night elf doing in Lordaeron--and overseeing a slave market too?"
His outburst was received by nervous glances from the human villagers on the road. They did not understand elvish nor the reason for his anger, but for someone to openly shout at their Lady Leprecha, he must have been even viler in nature.
"I do not have the slightest idea," Leprecha marched down the road two at a time as though she was attempting to evade Khec's questions. "Between she and I, it is only business. I have no intention of finding out anything about her."
"Oh, spare me," Khec snapped, picking up his pace behind her. Had his mind not been preoccupied, he would have noticed that he had left his king unguarded, "You have not the slightest idea--and yet you trust her enough to tell her our course--"
"I've told her nothing," the sorceress protested, turning abruptly to face the rider. "She does not know where we are headed."
"Tell me you've sold us out, and maybe I'll find it easier to believe you, wench."
Leprecha was about to argue when she changed her mind and smiled instead, "You forget, dear Khecomo. You do not have to trust me. You can always find your own way to rescue your people."
Khec cursed her, but his angry words were hollow. Despite how much he hated to admit, she was the elves' only hope--at least all the hope he could see at the moment.
Behind them, Kael'thas was barely paying attention to their heated quarrel. His mind was somewhere else--for once, he was not thinking about his own survival or pondering Sylvanas's change. His thoughts coiled around the mysterious night elven woman who had just given him the means to save his people.
She was not an enemy--no, but neither was she a friend. She offered her help freely now, but he felt there must be a price that she had not yet spoken of. He feared the consequences of accepting her aid.
And what of Leprecha? What was the truth she sought? Was it in his power to give it to her?
He decided that he would revisit the cottage. He would do so alone, and he would ask the night elf to name her price.
And through dusty windows, the Black Warden watched as he paced slowly away from her hiding place--the dark prison that she could not leave. No one must see her in her state. No one.
She pressed her forehead against the dusty, crude glass.
Come back, she whispered secretly to the elven king as he cast a final glance back at the cottage. Come back and find me.
I am the one who require your aid, Kael'thas.
Kael waited until dark when he slipped from his room through the window. He thought he should have told Iria about his suspicions for Mistress Davita so that she would know to find help if anything happened to him. But believing his general would try to stop him, he decided against it.
He had no idea what possessed him to think that he should go back and confront the slave mistress. Was it even wise to question? Leprecha was right about one thing--he did not have to trust her, and yet she was his best chance of saving his people, if not the only. It was foolish and pointless to doubt--besides, he could not think of a price he was not willing to pay in order to restore Quel'dara.
And yet, while it was not too late to find out the hidden cost, perhaps he should make sure he did not miss the chance to back out.
He found his way back to the cottage in the dark, almost grateful that the streets were empty of people else he would draw attention upon himself. He had questioned the wisdom of letting the humans know that he was an elflord--Leprecha had taken care not to reveal his true identity and at the same time make use of his status to mill the villagers around in his name. Still, he worried that rumours might start. If they reached the ears of Sylvanas or her spies, all could be lost.
He found himself standing in front of the cottage. No light escaped from the grimy windows. Not even a single flickering candle. Shrouded in night, the structure just looked dirty and abandoned. Empty.
Why, of course. If this was a site of an underground slave market, it ought to be empty after a deal was made. The slave mistress would certainly not stay around to be discovered.
Anyhow, he had come so far. Might as well try his luck.
He knocked at the door.
He had not expected there to be a response anyway.
Was it only his overactive imagination--or why would the slave mistress demand anything from him now that he was helpless and impoverished? It was almost laughable--he should not be too surprised if the army did not appear by the morrow.
Sighing, he knocked again.
This time, he was positive he heard some sounds coming from within the building. Like feet shifting, blades clanging. He strained his ears to hear some more, but everything returned to dead silence again. Was that the dark mistress inside the house? Had she heard him? Had she known he was there to find her? He tried the door--it was barred. Just when he was about to force it open, a hand touched him from behind. He swallowed a cry of surprise and spun around to defend himself...
It was only Iria, wrapped in her red ranger's cloak, "Milord, what are you doing out here?"
"Iria! You are not supposed to be here!"
If the dark mistress had decided against opening the door for him, he had a feeling that Iria's sudden appearance was to blame. He was so close to finding out the truth--or so close to putting himself in grave danger.
"I certainly do not mean to give you a fright. I tried to find you, but you were not in your room," she appeared stunned by his outburst.
"No, I need some fresh air," he lied, knowing well that it was hardly enough to convince a child. She probably had seen him try the door--but it was not her place to question her king anyhow. In a gentler tone, he added, "You are still unwell, Iria. You really should stay inside."
"I am well enough to fight a war," she replied, pausing suddenly to catch her breath, "After all, if you will lead your army to the Undercity in two days' time, I cannot be idling in bed. Milord, it's Khec..."
It was only then when he noticed how pallid she was--she had probably been running to find him. He realized something was wrong, "What is it?"
"Khec and Leprecha," she told him, "They are trying to kill each other."
"Damn it!" he cursed. "Where are they? Take me to them!"
"By the lake," she led the way.
It was after dark, after the elves retired to their rooms when Khecomo saw Leprecha slipping away from the inn. Thinking that she might be heading out to find her demon friends, he followed her to learn what he could.
But he was wrong.
She went into the woods just outside Dalaran and stopped before a moonlit lake. Beneath the willow's shade, he saw her disrobe and slid into the light-blessed waters. He knew he should not bother with staying, but somehow, a small gesture of her hand made him halt. With her back still towards him, she combed her long hair to a side. Moonlight revealed to him what horrors she had hidden well beneath her clothes--many scars blemished her pallid skin.
Time had begun to take away some of the disfigurements, but one distinct sword wound ran from the left side of her nape all the way down to her waist--a wound that had severed her whole arm. The limb was stitched back crudely, but it explained to Khec why he had never seen her move that arm.
A sound caught in Leprecha's throat as though she was pained.
And suddenly, the sword wound flared white hot.
Khec held his breath and made no sound as he inched for a closer look.
He knew that kind of wound. It had to be created by a runeblade, and because of its enchanted nature, it would never fade.
Letting out another agonized moan, the sorceress suddenly disappeared underwater.
Khec hesitated--was he to rescue her? If he did not, he feared she might drown and take away what hope that the elves had left. But if he did, that would not necessarily be wise, and she would not necessarily be grateful. For what seemed to be a long and unbearable moment, he stood frozen, trying unsuccessfully to decide what to do.
He breathed a sigh of relief as she resurfaced with a gasp and found her footing. He heard her speaking angrily to herself, something unintelligible to him that sounded vaguely like orcish--but why would he have this impression?
The shadows shifted suddenly, and an immense darkness choked his vision. He gasped as the water around the sorceress began to glow.
What he saw next was inexplicable--terrifying. He had no words to describe it even if he was asked to. He ducked behind the shrubs and closed his eyes, trying with little success to convince himself that he was mistaken, and he had not seen that horrible reflection in the water.
Betrayal...
Upon the silent winds came a frigid whisper that sent chills down his back. He thought he knew that voice. But that just could not be. It could not be...
Khec shrank back in terror, moving as quickly and silently as he could away from the lake, through the dark forest. In his blind panic, he made a very unelven error--he tripped over something and fell flat on his face.
He would have just got up to his feet and resume his flight, but that 'thing' which had been the cause of his disgrace caught his attention. It was the sword that Leprecha always carried, never drawn but valued--how did it get there? Pain split his head for a second. He thought he could hear the same whisper of death again, crying out to him...
Betrayal...
He picked the weapon up--it burnt in his grip with a coldness that chilled his heart. But he could not put it down. It seemed that his hands were clued to the scabbard and they no longer obeyed him. By the light of the moon, he recognized the skull on the hilt now, as though seeing it for the very first time. He might have sworn its design changed right before his eyes. His fingers closed around the cursed hilt and drew it. The silver blade gleamed in otherworldly splendour.
There was naught to deny now...
The legendary stealer of souls.
Frostmourne.
He willed himself to drop the runeblade--it took him tremendous effort. With a yelp, he thrust the weapon away from him and drew his double blades. He lunged. His weapons collided with another. His eyes widened in horror, and he was almost convinced his heart would burst from the shock.
His opponent's stave glowed blue in the dark. The emerald eyes flared with the same angry intensity.
"You've tried my tolerance, rider."
"Who...who are you?"
A/N
Mwahahaha. I feel so evil. I'll end this chapter here.
Coming up next on Blood Leprechaun, we'll see how Sylvanas continues to manipulate Thrall (she is not exerting absolute control over Thrall--she's just influencing his thoughts). We'll head to Kalimdor and see how Illidan is doing too. And of course, Khec will attempt a very senseless thing which will make him 'a traitor to Quel'dara'.
Thank you again, reviewers. I really feel so loved. You've got so many theories about Leprecha, and I congratulate one of you who actually got it right. That person will receive a big hug in my next update when all mysteries are cleared. For the sake of suspense now I'm not gonna tell who. I think most of you should already have that figured out by now (smiles).
Queen of the Harpies: Here's to romance, girl!! W00t!! Thinking about it, I've been doing lots more romance lately. Must be peer pressure, which isn't a bad thing at all (smiles).
Thanks, hon. I'd really love to see Syl and Illie together, but I love Syl x Kael too. Too bad I can't have it both ways!! Haha, curse my indecisiveness!! Poor Illie...I wonder why he's always the one who doesn't get the girl. I can't say that something bad is going to happen to Illie, but... I'm not really crazy about Furion though, like I said in my response to iaam07 in the previous chapter. He doesn't deserve Tyrande.
I can't decide between loving/hating Leprecha myself...guess with these overpowered villainesses it's always a love/hate thing. Syl definitely has changed. Now without Kael and Tiani, she's even more concentrated on her task to destroy Nerz. But she doesn't really see how her drive destroys her at the same time. (sigh) If only the world could be perfect.
Inaam07: Thanks for your theories!! Um...surely you have a point. Nerz is powerful enough to play this kind of game and take over the world. But I beg to differ. I don't really enjoy the idea of an invincible villain trying to control the world. My view on Nerz: Though knowing that he could attain so much more and become the most powerful creature in the world, he does not want to--it is meaningless to rule forever--no matter how much power you have--if you rule alone. Instead of beating the crap out of everyone and force them to obey him, he shows them how vulnerable they really are, and then let them go. He breaks Sylvanas, for instance, by showing her how much alike they were, and that she can never really escape from him. All that she ever wants is to defeat him--and in realizing this truth, all she has been working for is meaningless, and she is, in another sense, destroyed. That way, Ner'zhul does not rule over actual lands or physically obtain more power. He dwarves his enemies' spirits and scourges their minds--and that will make him more powerful than if he actually controls the whole world.
But thanks though. I'll definitely take your argument into account when I explain Nerz's motives in further chapters.
Weirgate: Thank you for the long review and your compliments. I promise I'll try to unconfused you as much as I can. This is actually the first time I'm doing a sequel that is more complicated than the original!! And I'm kinda jumping between timelines too. Hopefully, all mysteries will be cleared up when I get to the end of this part. No worries. I love this story, I won't give it up.
Uh-huh, uh-huh...Syl actually attacked Theramore at the beginning of the second year she left Quel'dara. The previous eleven months were spent in travel (to Kalimdor) and preparation for invasion. She'll take Jaina captive after approximately a battle of two months, and travel back to Lordaeron (which takes another eight months this time cuz of some storms at sea) to prepare for battle against the Lich King. Then, she returned to Undercity where she locked Jaina up for approximately 11 years. Of course, how 'he died and she became him' will soon be revealed--that will be the central mystery of the story.
The great Queen of Nazjatar will tell you that you are partly right--Nerz certainly is a patron figure for the most part of her life (hint: points to her holding Frostmourne??!). Yup, Tianithan (he'll just be called Tiani later on) will be staying with the Night Elves. By the way, Vashj has guided Sylvanas and Illidan to Kalimdor, and I guess she is/they are safe and warm (I doubt that myself?!) in the afterlife. I don't think she'll be appearing in this story. But if I don't change my mind we will most probably...(SPOILER) revisit the afterlife.
Slinky Avenger: Thanks for your review and invitation to your C2 community!! I'm so honoured.
Demongod: Nerf please indeed. Thanks for the PM on WCR too...geh...(grins evilly).There's always a possibility of an M x I fic--I'm such a hypocrite I always eat my own words. Thanks for reviewing MGTO, but ouch, I feel the slap (cries). Ah, my pride...but thanks for telling the truth though.
Lord Arcane/Lurker: You too. Thanks for following Blood Lep and reviewing MGTO. And thanks for your crit. I really appreciate it.
The Reviewer: Thanks!! Yup, glad you're thinking the same thing. I myself grow to hate Leprecha more by the chapter, and yet she'll have a really large part to play in further updates.
Keeper Azreal (formerly Archaon lord o chaos undivided?!): Thanks for the review. Sorry for confusing you. When I typed that thing about the Dragon Aspects, I was actually referring to fellow fanfic writers Eternity and a Half and ShadowedLight's story. Of course...I've been working with Eternity lately so I learned a lot about the Dragon Aspects from him. (Before I didn't even know how to spell Nozdormu!!) Hahaha, certainly you didn't think that this crazy Sylvanas fan (me) wouldn't know she has 2 sisters? Alleria and Vereesa, of course--I've written another fanfic 'My Ruins' regarding that relationship. Ah well, poor Vereesa. I guess it's better if she remains in the dark.
Drunken Panda7: Thanks for the encouragement. Oh, another theory (smiles evilly)?!
WingchumonZERO: Thanks!! You're back!! Yup, Leprecha is training to be an archmage, but that spell with which she killed forty men is definitely not what Jaina would teach her, rather...(hintzz).
Crimson Paladin: Thank you. Yes, Leprecha certainly exceeds expectations. She can theoretically take on Sylvanas, but there is a reason she wouldn't do it--something that will be revealed hopefully in another 2 chapters (I'm so dying to get to that part!!). The Undercity is actually located underground the Capital City of Lordaeron. As for the Faceless Ones--I don't really have any plans of including them, to your disappointment. But the spec of this story is already fairly large, and I don't want it to get beyond what I have in mind. Plus, if I included everything in one story there will be no new fanfics from me (Someone in the background: Bah! Who cares about your fanfics?). Yup, as long as I don't change my mind we will see Alanen again. Thanks for liking him. That poor guy.
Trevor X1: Thanks. Heh, I guess Khec is the typical hot-headed hero who acts on impulse half the time. This rashness of his will eventually cost him--and hopefully he'll learn something from it?! I don't know why, but I feel like putting Iria in the story. I may have plans for her (smiles), so I guess that's why she's female (?!). Kael, Leprecha, Jaina, Sylvanas, Illidan...we shall see soon enough.