BLOOD LEPRECHAUN by J Cae
A/N:
Heya, lords and ladies!! I'd like to thank all of you for your support. That is the best birthday present I could ever get (and guess what? I've just turned 20!!). I am very grateful and touched by how many people cared and stood up for me--without your help, the case would never have been solved as quickly (more on that in the A/N after this chapter, if you're interested). Thanks so much!! I love you all!!
Okay, I'll shut up for now and let you read.
CHAPTER EIGHT: FILCHED
"Who are you?"
Khecomo had been taken by surprise, although he could not decide whether it was by his finding, or by the hollowness of his own voice.
His opponent was fully robed now--he had not even seen her leave the lake. Her dark hair was wet and hung in tendrils over her pallid face. But it was the unnatural glow in her emerald eyes that made him shudder.
Blue sparks flew from his blades as they scraped along her stave. She shifted her footing as lithely as a cat and sprang to counterattack, pushing her weapon forward in a fluid, graceful motion. The magical crystal on her wand sizzled, and he barely managed to evade its fiery kiss. He found himself staggering as he lifted his blades to parry her second blow. She had the speed and balance of an elf, the strength of a human, and the savageness to match that of an orc.
"Who are you?" he repeated his question, his throat suddenly felt dry. "Are you Ner'zhul?"
Leprecha tossed her head up in mirthless laughter, "Ner'zhul, Ner'zhul. What would I do without him?"
"Are you the champion of the Scouge? Why is Frostmourne in your hands?"
"Sylvanas may not have been able to defeat the Lich King, but he was certainly not invincible."
"Impossible!" he cried. "Just what are you insinuating?" Was she claiming that she was the reason for the Scourge's downfall?
"I defeated him and claimed his treasured artifact."
"You cannot possibly mean you defeated the Lich King!" having recovered from his initial shock, he deftly parried another of her blows. "Don't you realize the absurdity of your fabrication? A child defeating the demon in whose hands kingdoms crumbled and princes died?"
He managed to open a gash on her stave-bearing arm. Dark blood soaked through the elegant fabric of her clothes. He saw her gritting her teeth.
A spell blast knocked him backwards and he tumbled down a small slope. He attempted to stand up when suddenly, he felt as though he was pinned to the ground by a hundred blades. He cried out as the world erupted into painful red shards around him.
His doubt was accounted for plainly enough.
He tried to stand up on his feet and examined his wounds, expecting to see himself bleeding all over the place--no blood was visible, though the pain was still evident. His gaze immediately snapped upon her as she began to speak again.
"They did not know their enemy as well as I did," composedly, she set her stave down upon the ground. "That was the reason for their failure. But I have spent the better part of my life in the Lich King's prison. I have learned his strategies well--perhaps too well."
Frostmourne was out of its sheath, its accursed hum ringing in Khecomo's ears. The young sorceress approached him. It was then when it finally crossed his mind that she would kill him--it was certainly within her power.
"What do you want from us?"
"I told you--a truth," she said, her tone dangerous.
"What is this truth?" he had never trusted her--and his judgements held true. But was it too late for him? Was he to die this night? He knew he had to make it back to Kael and caution him against this witch, and yet he seemed to see no escape.
"That would hardly concern you," she stepped forward.
He backed away, stalling for time, "I have a right to know."
"You speak to me about rights?"
He tossed one of his weapons straight at her heart. Frostmourne whirled around and his curved dagger landed useless in the dirt. Another bolt sent him sprawling backwards, landing with his face in the mud. The dirt muffled his curses as he relived the pain of those hundred stabbing blades. He could not get up--and yet he knew if he did not, she would kill him.
"Well, I shall grant you the right to die quickly..."
She raised the runeblade and recited a spell. He was not trained in arcane arts, yet he knew it was a bad sign. He braced himself for the immobilizing pain...
...that did not come.
A scream pierced his hearing. Blue streaks of furious lightning darted from the sorceress before she could strike. Khec turned his head and found his king standing with his arms outstretched in concentration. Iria was behind him, her bow and arrows in place.
Leprecha's eyes gleamed with wild hatred as she attempted to intercept Kael's siphoning spell. But the blood mage stopped abruptly. There on his face was a mixture of confusion, fear, and recognition. He moaned, her name upon his lips, "You...are..."
"You know who I am--you always know," she answered quietly.
Hardly recovered from the shock of his discovery, Kael approached her, his steps unsteady. Both Khec and Iria tensed--the latter rushed forward.
But Leprecha cast Frostmourne to a side, its faint glint died as it hit the ground. She did not resist as Kael held her hands in his own. The gloves she always wore might deceive the eye, but not the touch--never the touch. Three fingers were missing on her left hand, attached to the arm that she never moved. His silvery gaze bore into her emerald eyes in guilt and perplexity. He understood what he needed to know. The woman standing in front of him, the astute sorceress, the blood-lusty demon child--she was the same girl who saved his life so many years ago and threw away her own.
Emotions choked him as he folded her into his arms. He barely heard her draw in a gasp.
"Elma..." he hissed, "Why?"
Wrapped up in a new black velvet cloak, the sorceress sat wordlessly in the empty tavern, staring into the dancing amber in the fireplace. It was barely autumn in Dalaran, yet there was a chill that cut to the bone--to the heart. Although outwardly she seemed contented to just sit in silence, Kael could read from her unconscious gestures that she was as uneasy as he was inside. Her slender fingers on her good hand drummed the arms of the chair as though she was impatient to be over with it.
The elf king sat facing her a small distance away, making no more sound than occasional sighs. He had been trying to weave words to bridge the gap between them, but words only failed him miserably. The day before, the two of them were strangers brought together by mutual use. This night, they were old friends, shocked by how the other had changed--and somehow he found their former dispositions easier to bear.
"You didn't know my father's last name, did you?" she asked suddenly. It startled him, "Or you would have known who I was before."
"No," he shook his head, extremely grateful that she broke the silence--just anything to start off a conversation. "What was it?"
"Brettshard."
"Ah."
The old stable hand called her by her last name.
"I thought to caution Tiurin, not only against you, but against all who knew that Elma Brettshard was dead and buried thirteen years ago in Dalaran. Her father was a dreaded demon. The last thing they need to know is that his daughter is back from the dead."
He nodded, guilt written on his face, "If I had known you were alive, if I had known there could be any hope..." He might have told her that he made a grave for her in Quel'dara as well--but not now. Not while she was alive, not while she was sitting across from him.
"This?" she pulled down the neckline of her robes to reveal the long deep cut across her left shoulder, "A cut like this can do no more than kill a child." And with a sorrowful expression that he at last came to understand, she added, "And that's what it did."
He stared at the scar, unable to speak--and with trembling fingers, he traced it across her body, wincing in pain as though it had been his own flesh under the blade. He saw the many other scars and burns she had suffered through the years--each of them on her pale skin were like stabs and scalds upon his soul. They were the punishment for his failure, and she had to be the one to take them, "Ner'zhul did all that?"
She sighed, "Most of them."
"I'm sorry," emotions strangled his voice, "I'm sorry. I could have saved you. I want to make it up to you somehow."
"What? Are you going to marry me?"
He looked at her. For a few seconds, his surprise was too great for him to speak.
The corner of her lips curled up in a sardonic smile--he did not need to be reminded how beautiful she could be. It did nothing but to increase the wrenching pain in his heart when he thought about the torment she had been put through.
"I was only jesting. You're too old for me," she laughed at him--and then he realized how stupid he must have looked with his jaw dropped. She perplexed him. He had been prepared to console an anguished soul, not be teased by a light-spirited teen.
"Still, I could have done something. I'll--"
"You did," she reminded him, suddenly her tone was solemn again as she draped her velvet cloak back around herself. "You let Sylvanas go. She freed me."
Many more questions came into his mind. He did not know which ones to ask first. But he figured this had to be of priority, "If Frostmourne is in your hands, is Sylvanas..."
"Held under my telepathy?" she blinked, "No. I have no talent in telekinesis--or so Ner'zhul told me. But then, he told me a lot of things that weren't true."
He believed her--she was not a stranger to him now, not the demon or the blood leprechaun. She was just Elma, though no longer a child.
"Sylvanas didn't kill your father," he said softly. "Alanen died by the lich king's hands."
"I know," she said darkly, not at all surprised by what he was saying to her.
"You know? And yet..."
"I was lied to," she whispered. "Ner'zhul made me believe that--maybe it was easier to believe him."
He was about to ask her what the last line meant. But he decided against it. It would pain him too much to hear. "Sylvanas was with your father in his last moments. She gave him her word that she would save you."
"She kept her promise."
"Do you...still hate her now?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Silence.
Dreadful silence.
"What am I to do?" She began to tremble, "All these years, there's only been Ner'zhul and no one else. He had been my only teacher, my only family and my only enemy. He was the only thing I knew of love and life. He was everything--and Sylvanas arrived to take that everything away from me. I have to hate her."
He could not think of anything he could say to comfort her. He understood the turmoil in her mind. But most of all, he thought he understood the true torment that Ner'zhul inflicted upon the young woman.
"But she took care of me--I learned some elvish from her--until..." Elma could not continue.
Until Sylvanas was killed. Until she became Ner'zhul.
"What happened to her? How did it--"
He had not realized he asked the question until he heard it and saw her turn pale--and then livid.
"Don't ask!" anger surfaced for the first time upon that young face--raw, terrible anger. He shrank back from her, stunned by her violent reaction, "Don't ask!"
She bolted for the door. He heard her rapid footfalls heading up the stairs, followed by a slam of a door.
Don't ask!
She was terrified by what happened to Sylvanas, and heaven knew--so was he. The outcome of the Dark Lady's transformation unnerved him, sickened him. He wondered what terrors had befallen his beloved--but perhaps he would much rather he did not know.
When Zypporah informed him the next morning that Lady Leprecha asked for him, Kael had a sinking feeling. He was not ready to face Elma again so soon after having aggravated her the night before. He thought he owed her an apology, yet he did not know a way to do it without reopening a sore.
But Zypporah just pointed at the window. He looked...
The morning sun caught in his eyes and reflected off the metal armour of a crowd that gathered outside. There, in front of the tavern waiting for him, were four hundred slaves of several races--humans, trolls, ogres, gnomes.
And some other creatures that he could not identify.
Lady Leprecha was weaving between rows of slaves, inspecting each and every one of them, her stave gleaming in her hands. Several of the slaves snickered nervously among themselves--it seemed that they did not enjoy the idea of fighting under the command of a young human female. Yet knowing that she was a mage, they dared not openly scorn her.
Quickly, Kael gathered Khec and Iria and the three went downstairs to greet her.
At least now, they had an army.
At least now, they had a chance of fighting Sylvanas and rescuing their people.
(THERAMORE, 4 WEEKS AFTER THRALL WROTE TO JAINA)
The Warchief's letter addressed to Jaina Proudmoore was brought to the Admiral's Citadel by an elven runner garbed in midnight blue. Neither Railen nor Brysta happened to be present when this messenger chose to present herself. Two guards received it on behalf of the Admiral. Finding it rather suspicious, they asked the runner from whom the message was and of what purpose--the elf only told them that she delivered it because she was paid to and knew nothing about it. The guards remarked with some scorn that the mighty elves who had once branded themselves so different to humans should fall to the same slave-master--gold. They tipped her and let her go.
Railen was furious they did not think to retain her for interrogation--a correspondence from the orc warchief addressed to his traitor sister! Indeed he had been suspicious of their liaison, and this was proof that they were still conspiring something! The guards only replied that they did not feel the need to question the elf because--well, because she was an elf, and after all, she was too small-minded to be trusted with any great secrets. Besides, very few knew what really happened to Jaina Proudmoore. Most just assumed that the absence of their beloved lady was accounted for by her illness.
But on second thoughts, the two guards admitted to each other that the elf woman was very strange. She had an air of importance about her and did not look at all like the type to take on petty jobs. That aside, they agreed that she was hauntingly beautiful--especially her eyes. They would both dream about the blue starlight in her eyes sometimes.
Railen opened the letter and read it. To his horror, Thrall's tone was quite firm this time. Somehow, he always had the impression that the Warchief was hesitant to wage a war. Yet he sounded as though he was prepared in this letter. Railen took a moment to reflect upon his situation--Usven's forces might have pushed the orcs a bit too far too soon. Of course, he was by no means afraid--to obliterate the orcs completely in his father's name had been his intention all along. Yet two week's notice seemed too much on the short side. He thought he should make Jaina write something to pacify the Warchief for the time being while he prepared his troops in secret for a massive battle.
But Sir Usven dissuaded him from it.
"Fear not, my friend," the Knight laid a hand on his admiral's shoulder--few men were entitled to such a privilege around the stern and self-important admiral, and Usven happened to be one of them. "The Light calls. The orcs will not win. Victory is at hand. How long must we hide from it?"
And with that reassurance from his general, Railen made a public demonstration of burning the Warchief's letter (while the blasted orcs were still on the main continent three day's sail away). Usven was given blessing to ride to the battlefield against the orcs and give them a proper greeting as they came ashore. Railen and Brysta themselves would guard the Citadel valiantly should the foul brutes manage to breach the defences at the coast.
Usven, guided by the Dark Lady's wisdom, chose a battleground a bit inland to what his men had expected. He reasoned with them that it was a strategic location for an ambush. He emptied out the local villages and had the soldiers pretend in their place. Some still doubted the wisdom of his decision--he reminded them gently that he was their miracle.
And when the orcs sailed ashore and marched their troops onto the coast of Theramore, they were greeted by no hostile humans. They marched inland and passed through a peaceful, unsuspecting village.
"Ride to victory!" Usven shouted suddenly as he appeared from behind a crude brick house. All the innocent-looking villagers suddenly abandoned their work and unsheathed their weapons to greet the startled orcs. "Ride to victory!" the human general kicked the flanks of his black horse and rode forward with his sword held high.
There would soon come victory. But whose victory?
Usven impaled the first charging grunt in the chest. His sword came out dark with blood. The second orc was not too far off. He swept his weapon across his opponent's throat. He did not think he managed to sever the thick neck with one blow, but he knew he had done quite enough damage.
He charged, shouting for his mounted warriors to run down a line of grunts at the front. Hapless creatures! Foot soldiers would always be the ones to die first, their names never remembered, their deaths never glorified.
He let his sword swing freely, meeting a raider who just managed to parry his attack. The orc bared his teeth and reversed his stroke, and Usven blocked with ease. Although he was hardly as strong as the orc, speed and tirelessness aided him. In a competition of endurance, even one as robust and brawny as an orc would not outlast an undead.
Against mounted warriors, raiders undoubtedly had an advantage. Although their hounds were hardly as tall or noble as the horses the humans chose for battle stallions, their stinking bitches could bite--sometimes their jaws were powerful enough to snap the legs of horses and bring them to the ground. Several of Usven's knights were unseated as their mounts collapsed, and they themselves fell under the blades and axes of the Horde.
Usven was not afraid to die.
What he did, he did for the Dark Lady. He had no regrets. He would gladly fall by orc hands, just as he would gladly run the humans to the ground.
Sylvanas's arrow pierced his heart--she had warned him by her telepathy, and he had turned just in time to catch her arrow in his breast. He bore it proudly, as he would wear a shining medallion with pride. He gasped a cry of feigned pain--her powers sheltered him from feeling any pain.
Seeing that their leader was injured, the humans clustered around Usven to see if he was hurt. He shook his head, snapped the arrow in two, and ordered them not to break their formation.
The orcs' reaction was quite the opposite. Sylvanas had penetrated their unbeatable warrior and caused him pain--perhaps he was not as invincible as he was rumoured to be after all. She let another three of her arrows fly, and they all pierced Usven through the weakness in his armour. Thrall gave a howl of encouragement to his warriors. They swarmed forward. The humans fought and faltered.
Victory.
Brysta dreamed about victory the night before the war. She took it for a good omen. To tell the truth, she did not care much about the battle. Everything was in good hands. Everything was in Sir Usven's hands.
With her arms folded in her robes, she sat in the study and attempted to concentrate on the magic scrolls laid all over her desk. Yet she found it impossible to concentrate. The battle was going on outside--a confrontation between the humans and orcs. She could hear the cries of death and triumph roaring, blending into one terrible voice. If she looked out from her window, she could see the skirmish outside, the blood-soaked standards flying, weapons clashing, men dying. It was happening all too close for comfort. She could not fight the feeling that something was about to go wrong.
But what could be wrong under the careful manoeuvre of her brother and Sir Usven?
Victory.
She barely realized when the quill pen slipped from her grip and hit the blue carpet, leaving a black stain. She muttered a curse at her lack of concentration and bent to pick it up--when suddenly, she paused. She could sense a flux of magic--be it only a minor leakage of arcane power. She was aware of its chaotic nature. She stood up and started to turn when strong arms strangled her from behind. She thrashed and fought as hard as she could but to no avail. She saw the malicious glint of a runeblade, slitting her throat. She gasped and pressed her hand against the raw wound.
She had the notion that his body was cold.
Blood gurgled in her throat as she tried to use a spell against him--she knew it would be her last spell. But the arcane words eluded her, as though they had been siphoned from her mind. She flailed, gasped and weakened. He released her, and her lank form could do no more than to slide to the ground, blinking in incomprehension as she saw her murderer's face.
"Arth--"
"Die," said he, his voice resonating from far away. "Die, and taste my victory."
Green lights escaped from her body. She screamed silently when the immobilizing pain took over. She felt life leaving her. Fear gripped her for a moment--and then, she felt nothing. She seized to move.
But her eyes fluttered again. The gash on her throat closed. Her once pale skin shrivelled and was replaced by a greyish hue. But she was strong again as though she had never died. She got up to her feet.
"Now go and free Jaina," he commanded her. "Take her to the Dark Lady."
"Yes," Brysta hissed--there was a new and strange hollowness in her tone. "Yes, Master. I will take Jaina to the Dark Lady."
"I smell the stench of a free orc."
The Forsaken froze as their lieutenant frowned. His grimace was a terrible sight to behold--many lines formed on the rough, white features as they scrunched together like a crumpled sheet, his eyes gleaming in bright anger. He moved about the deck, busily shoving aside crates and barrels to uncover the prey that eluded his attention earlier.
"Me? I don't see any free orcs around," hissed a banshee in the body of an orcish sailor on board the Warchief's ship. "But then, this mind I have possessed is so slow and uninteresting I might as well dose off before I can think."
"Enough with that absurdity already," the dreadlord snapped, brushing her--or his--complaints aside. This particularly haughty banshee had to be a dratted high elf before her death. Varimathras had never been particularly fond of elven females, and it took someone as powerful and ambitious as Sylvanas to change his mind. But then, when she defeated him, she was an undead.
"Find the orc, every damned one of you lest he should escape and warn the Warchief of our plans!" the Nathrezim commanded.
The Warchief had gone off to war, leaving behind his fleet guarded only by a small number of sailors and foot soldiers. They were helpless against the Forsaken forces that ambushed them. The Dark Lady's plan was a bold one--but then Varimathras could not recall her making one that was not aggressive. She would have them hijack the Horde's ships while they were at battle with the humans and then upon their return force them to set sail for Northrend.
The Forsaken had long concealed themselves on Theramore, awaiting for the orcish fleet. Thanks to the Dark Lady's foresight, Usven made certain the clash with between the orcs and humans would take place far enough away from the shore to disallow the former party any chance of going back to rescue their fleets. Of course, being creatures of the living, the orcs needed food and provisions for the long journey. Sylvanas would provide them no reason to refuse her. Ghouls and crypt fiends silently stocked the decks with supplies.
There was only one small glitch to her success--that free orc who might make his escape and inform Thrall what happened. Although Sylvanas was powerful, she was alone--perhaps Usven and the mind-possessed Warchief would aid her. Yet against an angry mob of orcs who found themselves betrayed, Varimathras was not counting on chances.
He could still smell the stench onboard the ship. No doubt he would be looking for his getaway now, but it would not be easy with the Forsaken alert and searching the decks. He could try and hide, but he would not be able to forever.
No.
Where could one single orc conceal himself against a whole army of the Forsaken? Where could he possibly hide?
Varimathras descended decks below. Ghouls ran around, stacking crates on top of crates. The dreadlord accidentally knocked over a couple that contained dried fruits. With a curt grunt, he gestured for the lesser ghouls to help him clean up. They obeyed without complaining, picking up each piece of fruit. One of them gave a sudden yelp.
Ah.
Varimathras peered over two barrels of what he believed to be fresh water and found the trembling form huddled behind. To his surprise, the orc was hardly sinister nor prepared to fight. Instead, hers was a curved, feminine shape. Tears streamed from her piggy black eyes, tears that failed to touch the vampiric dreadlord--so this was the supposed hindrance to Lady Sylvanas's plan, was it? This insignificant female orc?
She was hardly a warrior, he could tell. Was she the cook? Was she the wife of someone?
"Feed?" hissed one of the ghouls almost hopefully.
"I'd say, nay," Varimathras decided. "Summon a banshee. Possess her. She might be of use to us."
Being trained a bit in the common tongue, the unfortunate orc woman was able to understand her fate even if only by a little, "No! No! Please! No!"
No!
Her protest was echoed by a more authoritative voice.
"Dark Lady," Varimathras felt his knee weaken as he placed a hand over his stilled heart. "What do you propose we do with her?"
We will need her as she is. Take her prisoner.
The orc looked at him in stupid confusion. She might have wondered why he paused suddenly to speak to himself, but she dared not.
"My mistress says to spare you--for now," Varimathras told her coldly as he signalled the ghouls to usher the woman away. They all heard Sylvanas's command and knew what was to be done with this worthless orc.
"Where go Manai?" the orc woman asked nervously in broken Common as the ghouls tugged at her and roughly urged her to follow. "Tell! Where go Manai?"
The dreadlord listened as his Dark Mistress spoke. His bloodless lips curved up in a sadistic smile, "To hell."
Teaser:
Remember the man who faced off five hundred of the Forsaken alone.
Remember his daughter who was foreseen to have even higher potentials.
Grief is their weapon, and pain, their guard.
Darkness is their Father who blessed the sorrow which flows in their veins.
And so it has been confirmed: Leprecha is Elma.
I haven't yet explained about Alanen and Elma's powers in RG, and I will do so in BL--and I've nicked that theory off one of my own original stories...Anyway, you'll see that it has a lot to do with the Erader and why Kil'jaeden had to find ways to contact Alanen in RG.
I dropped a hint about what really happened to Sylvanas somewhere in this chapter...heehee.
Re: Suspected Plagiarism
Author Felore has emailed me and voluntarily removed his/her story. He/she claims that the idea was his/her own and that it was a mere coincidence. Know that I do not make accusations lightly--it was after careful inspection did I come to that deduction.
Even though I am still quite reserved, if this is what he/she claims, I will allow him/her the benefit of doubt.
A/N:
I also really appreciate your response re: BL being my last War fic. I was really upset that night when I typed up the AN--and that was what I was planning to do had it not been for the huge support I'm getting from you guys. I won't stop writing (yet), but let's say that I've been investing too much time and emotions on fanfics, and I'll need to cool down a bit.
Right now, I don't have any plans for new Warcraft fics--keep on inspiring me. There will always be a chance I'll start a new one. I'll try and finish what I've started, and that is a lot of work too. Chances of seeing Mirror of Remorse and Maiev completed are slim though.
Shameless Ads: If you're a regular visitor of my DA account, you should notice two paintings of Leprecha and another half-completed one of Undead Sylvanas x mysterious war character--I am trying to decide between Kael or Varimathras.
Now take a deep breath. I've got a long list of people to thank (smiles).
inaam07: Thanks for caring. Haha, you almost got me telling you everything on DA. Stop tempting me, or else (smiles evilly)...
BIG HUGS. You were the first one to get it right--Leprecha IS Elma!! Hmm...but you changed your mind in the last chapter. Anyway, Nerz is certainly a patron figure in Elma's life--and I'm guessing we all know why now.
Thanks for your compliment anyway. As you can probably tell from my style of writing, I have a thing for plot-twisters. I just can't help it XD.
Ride4Ruin: Thank for your crit--it helped!! I admit I have the tendency to complicate my stories. I just have to be reminded from time to time that knowing my own plot well does not equate having the skill to make it clear enough for my readers.
Hang on a bit! The truth is quite simple--it is only the lies that make it complicated. I promise I won't branch the plot out until I untangle this bundle of twisters--whack me over the head if I break my own promise.
Crimson Paladin: Usven is back, and yes, you can more or less say that he has 'replaced' Alanen. Actually his 'dark powers' are more like attributes of being undead (meh). That's kinda why he doesn't die easily and doesn't require food. He doesn't really have mind-reading powers--he's just obeying Sylvanas.
My sympathy for the Black Warden also increases as I go deeper into the story. She'll use Kael, but ultimately, she's not after him or his power.
You're absolutely right about Leprecha. She's certainly not as tough as she seems--and you'll know what I mean when we get to the next chapter. It's only partly true that Nerz taught her that over-advertised spell as you call it (smiles)--more like he found a way to unleash her full potential. The power runs in her (and Alanen's) veins and Nerz has no access to it. More will be explained about her power later in the story.
Furion...yes, he's harsh with Illidan most of the time. But I will make him suffer in Blood Leprechaun and he'll somehow change into another person (I'm excited, hee!!).
Thanks for caring. Yeah, normally, I prefer not to jump to accusations, and I can totally understand that. But I'm glad it ended well.
Demongod86: Thanks for sticking up for me all through this (hugs). I've so heard that 'duck' quote before. Awesomely true.
Hugs to you too. Yes, Leprecha isElma, and her arm got hacked off. I don't intend to give out a lot about Davita's role so early in this story, but let's say she gets more important--and she's the sole person who knows what happened to Maiev. Kael will definitely meet Davita--but that doesn't mean he'll like her. As for Elma's allegiance... we'll see.
In the end, yes, Nerz will still pwn everyone cuz he's my ideals of a bad guy.
Thanks (smiles). You made me feel so much better too. I'm glad I made you read tho. I know how hard it is for non-bookworms to pick up something and read (I've always been a non-bookworm).
Yeah, since I'm not continuing the story 'Maiev', I thought I just might bring Wyena over. I'm glad you liked her.
EmeraldForest: Thank you for your support (huggles). I won't stop writing.
Derek Chue: Thank you so much.
WingchumonZERO: Thanks for the compliment. As we go deeper into the story, you will see that Elma is actually very unlike Jaina. Kael's only getting this impression because they're both archmagi who fights with similar styles, and because Jaina was the only human woman he's been really close to --which accounts for his misconceptions. Jaina, on the other hand, should be about forty years old in the 'present time' of the story. Leprecha is too young even for a disguise (ouch!).
Besides, I knew what I was gonna write a sequel when I said Elma was gaining importance somewhere in the A/N of RG (smiles).
Thanks for sticking up for me. I won't be leaving yet.
Lord Arcane: Haha. I think I have unconsciously based Davita on the Queen of Blades somehow--at least her appearance. She is actually somewhat like those vile tormentors now, and from what I perceive in the game, they look a tidbit like Infested Kerrigan. Davita's intentions will be revealed...soon. Tiani too.
Trevor X1: I'm sorry I distracted you--or should I say I'm glad I inspired you? (points to own MGTO and My Ruins and sighs) Disappointment, I hear ya--those two didn't get as much recognition as I was hoping they would. But do keep on working on your story!!
Poor people in this story indeed--can't think of anyone who isn't worth pity? I myself do not pity Thrall, even though he deserves a lot of sympathy in later chapters--I know what he's gonna do to Syl, and I don't like it. We'll see what happens.
Thanks for looking at my DA (hugs).
I'm hoping to talk Wizards of the Coast into publishing some of my original fics, haha. But not likely, since they have like 3000 of these pathetic begging and nagging each day or something. I'm prepared to send in a manuscript. Hear from me soon--I hope.
arthus: Thanks so much for your support, arthus (hugs). I won't leave (yet).
Azzandra: Thanks for reading, and thanks for your compliments too!! Congratulations for guessing it right too! Oh, Leprecha will get worse in further chapters. I love her and hate her so much at the same time it doesn't make any sense. Davita too. I can't quite decide what I feel about her. But never mind me--I'm ranting again. I'm sorry I didn't update. I should have earlier, but I was preoccupied...kinda, with homework and painting, I guess. Again, thanks for your support.
GG Crono 4: Haha. Thanks!! I'm not particularly blocked now (touch wood), but I've just been busy with homework and my painting. I've always wanted to try and write faster, but I can't seem to be able to do so...meh.
Buehler: What's that supposed to mean? Anyway, I thank you for taking the time.